55 – A Walking Disaster

"As far as I'm concerned the chance of randomly turning oneself into a turnip is no worthwhile tradeoff for a little boost to one's spellpower," –Zulkir Druxus Ryhm of Thay, discussing the possible benefits of wild magic

Wheezing out long, ragged breaths, Dorn planted his sword in the dirt and leaned hard against it. It was all he could do to keep from crumbling to the ground, his armor rent and dented; face bloody and beginning to swell. A few more raw gasps, and then he lost his battle with gravity, knees buckling and gauntlets desperately gripping the crossguard of his sword.

Little more than a pace before him lay the Champion of Azothet, flat on his back with his armored legs twitching and his breastplate caved in. He was struggling to breathe and having an even harder time of it than Dorn.

It had not been an elegant duel. But then again, where they ever?

Simmeon's plated and enameled armor had seemed impenetrable, and Dorn's strength was inhuman, his massive sword weightless in his hands. Dorn's pace had been relentless, but Simmion had matched it blow for blow, never missing an opportunity to counter. They had both called up clouds of darkness, emanated waves of despair, and had bolstered their blows with the power of the Nether Planes, but to no visible effect, their abilities perhaps too similar to throw the other off his guard. Evenly matched and heavily armored, it had come down in the end to hammering, gripping, smashing and gouging.

The Fires of Perdition had long since dimmed and flickered out, their summoners slain, though faint shadows seemed to still hang in the air where the smoke had been. As soon as the flames died down the full warband had crept forward with their weapons ready, but Ashura had held them back with a raised hand and a shake of her head. With a little awkward confusion they had formed a semicircle at the edge of the battleground and became spectators. Some watched the unfolding savagery with unease and disgust (Xan and Garrick,) or with cautious curiosity (Skie, who stared wide-eyed, but kept cringing back at the sound of each heavy blow,) or outright amusement (Shar-Teel –who laughed and kept up a running commentary– and Viconia, wearing the look of a mildly entertained spectator in the stands of an arena.)

An ugly, desperate struggle; the duel had truly been decided by sword pommels, mailed fists and hammering crossguards, along with a lot of kicking and grappling. And it was not quite over yet.

As Dorn struggled to keep from falling over and Simmeon wheezed and gagged, hands weakly clawing at his staved-in breastplate, Shar-Teel let out one of her sharp, taunting laughs. "Ha! Can't quite finish it can you?"

Turning his head just slightly, Dorn scowled at her through tight, bleary eyes. Then he dropped fully to his hands and knees. Ignoring Shar-Teel's next laugh, he crawled forward towards his fallen foe, grunting out soft words along the way in what sounded like a chant.

Struggling to push himself up slightly, Dorn reached out and gripped the curled horns of Simmeon's helmet. He braced himself, drew in a sharp breath, then with a sudden burst of strength he wrenched sharply. There was an ugly crunch, along with the sound of steel grinding, as the Champion of Azothet's head twisted at an angle that was painful even to watch. He lurched a few times, then the wheezing breaths stopped.

All was still and silent for a moment, then above the two champions wisps of smoke and shadow began to spiral upward. Gradually the curls wove together into something resembling the face of a horned bear, split by a bestial grin. From the spot where Simmeon lay a figure floated upwards, formed from smoke and ether; a human silhouette, limp as it was pulled by unseen forces towards the sky and the widening maw of the beast.

The Daemon Lord chomped down greedily, then with a wink the smoke blew away and the image was gone, as if none of it had really been there at all. In fact…

Ashura glanced around at the others. Only Imoen was looking pensively up towards the forest canopy and sky, everyone else oblivious. Only Imoen. And me. Just like in the circle.

"There," was all Dorn said, voice flat, and Ashura found herself wondering if the victory tasted a little sour now that he knew how much he had been used.

"So you did have something left," Shar-Teel observed. "That's the trouble with horned helmets, eh? Perfect thing to grab on to."

"Aren't you wearing a horned helmet?" Imoen asked her.

Shar-Teel's lips curled a little as she nodded. "And grabbing and twisting is exactly how I killed the man I took this helmet from." She tapped one of the horns. "Has me thinking I should wear something different. Especially when I duel this big meathead."

Dorn didn't acknowledge the comment. He had slipped back into a kneeling position and was catching his breath, though he seemed less winded and wounded than he had been moments ago, his vigor restored by killing his foe just as it had been with Kryll. Once he had recovered he looked down, pondering his fallen nemesis a moment. Then he wobbled to his feet.

Dorn's eyes then turned to Ashura, and when he said nothing she eventually filled the silence with a question. "So the job's done?"

Bending down to yank Simmeon's great helm off his misaligned head, Dorn's tusks finally showed with a smile, and he chuckled. "Some job you performed," he noted dryly, though there was no malice in his voice.

"You seemed to want all the revenge-killing to yourself," Ashura said with a shrug. "Complained about people 'stealing' it." Her eyes narrowed. "And I don't appreciate being used by some daemon lord."

"I did not intend…" Dorn began, then shook his head. "Bah. But you saw. I seem to have been a pawn to greater powers this whole time. Chafes me as much as you."

"Not as much. You made a choice."

"And where did you get your powers? The ones that allowed you to stay within the ring of flames."

"I don't bloody know. But it wasn't by choice."

"Lucky you then, spawn of Perdition. Or what was it the voices called you? 'Godchild?'" Ashura glared and Dorn went on. "Some would kill for the powers you seem to wield. Draining the life from your enemies. Or scattering them before you in terror."

"She can pull poison outa' people too," Imoen put in.

"Anyway," Ashura growled as she held out a flattened palm, eager to change the subject.

With a laugh Dorn swiftly lifted the coinpouch from his belt and tossed it to her. "I hope you don't mind if I keep the helmet. A souvenir of my vengeance."

Ashura just shrugged and with a nod Dorn placed the great helm upon his head. It was made of enameled black steel trimmed with silver, open only at a narrow cross-slit for the eyes and mouth and decorated with curled black horns like those of a devil. Clad head-to-toe now in darkened armor, Dorn looked every bit the black knight from a storybook. He just needed some glowing red eyes.

"It is a nice helmet," Shar-Teel agreed as Dorn hefted his greatsword and set it upon his shoulder. "Wonder if I can repeat your twisting trick when we have our duel."

All Dorn did was snort before he turned and sauntered towards the forest.

"Bah!" Shar-Teel snarled after him, taking a few steps herself. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "That was joke. I promise not to hurt your precious little neck. We'll just fight to first blood."

Dorn kept walking.

"You said you would!"

"Become a champion of Azothet," Dorn shot back over his shoulder. "As I told you before: that is the only sort I am interested in 'dueling.' And there's an opening now."

"I serve no one," Shar-Teel growled.

"An attitude I once shared. 'Til I found power more appealing than the illusion of freedom. Perhaps you'll come around some day. You'd make a fine blackguard."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." They continued towards the forest path. "And you agreed to a duel!" Shar-Teel insisted. "I remember."

Pausing, Dorn looked full over his shoulder, face hidden by the black helm. "Another time perhaps. I've just had the fight of my life, and I'm quite tired. I need an ale. Not a duel."

"You got the piss beaten out of you and need some time to curl up and cry while the bruises clear? Fine. Fine." She stabbed a finger at his back. "But next time I see you, I'm going to test what you're really made of. In a way that puffed-up pig in the black Harvestide-festival costume couldn't!"

"Fine," Dorn snarled. "We'll duel next time we meet." As he turned his head and started again in the direction of his horse he seemed to mutter something more under his breath.

Turning around, Shar-Teel gestured at Ashura. "Since we're out of good fights, I guess it's time to divide that purse." One side of her mouth curled up sharply. "And find somewhere to spend it. Town's only a few hours off. I say we drink away our earnings at the Burning Wizard."

"Good plan," Ashura agreed with a weary nod. They parted ways with Dorn and made Beregost by dusk, where they easily found their way to the tavern. Celebrations followed, though soon they found themselves in search of more work.

As the sun set over Beregost twenty-eight days later, the adventurers rolled into town once again; bone-weary, in desperate need of a bath, and weighted down heavy with treasure.

'We really need to find one of those bags of holding you're always hearing 'bout,' Imoen had observed several times along the journey, first when they had been struggling to bag up a bulky pile of middling gems and jewelry in a basilisk's nest, then later when they were picking through a wretched-smelling pile of corpses and valuables deep in the basement of Ulcaster's ruins. The fact that people kept insisting on rewarding them with piles of cumbersome, individual coins (often partly in silver,) had almost become a nuisance too.

Things had begun with a simple bounty hunt, the mercenaries setting off to track some madman named Brage who had been slaughtering travelers with a powerful (and supposedly cursed,) sword. He had been easy enough to find, out on a side-road between Beregost and Nashkel choked with corpses and overturned carts, but when they had confronted him some woman had leapt out from the trees to Brage's defense, swinging a mace at them and screaming about how the madman could still be saved. Things had not ended well for either of them, though the sword had been a terror to watch in action.

Then, on the trail back to the Coastway Road, they had come upon a small camp of laborers who were digging up some ancient mound. The leader of the excavation, a very enthusiastic scholar named Charleston Nib, had mistaken them for brigands at first ('Easy thing to do,' Garrick had remarked with a sidelong glance at Shar-Teel,) but when he realized that they weren't he had offered them a job.

It had seemed a meager task really –guarding the site– but Ashura liked the idea of sitting around doing potentially nothing for once. A bit like the days on the caravan trail, but hopefully with fewer bandits. Nib had been stingy at first, spouting some nonsense about the excavation being a 'nonprofit venture,' but they had eventually talked him to a reasonable price and taken their positions around the dig site.

A simple and easy job. Except for the part the next day when every laborer who entered some chamber deep in the mound came out raving in an unknown tongue and trying to kill everyone else with their picks and shovels. And the part where Nib's partner Gallor tried to run off in the chaos with an idol that had been dragged out of the cave, only to be struck down by a spectral creature with a flaming sword. And the part where the specter attacked everyone nearby.

But when the dust had settled, the laborers were dead, and the wraith had dissipated Nib had at least paid them (before fleeing the site as fast as he could.) And the reward for proof of Brage's death had been even greater. And the reward for clearing the wolves out of the ruins of Ulcaster's School (of course they had turned out to be hellhounds that had emerged from a portal where the students used to practice conjuration. Of-bloody-course!) had been greater still.

In between those little ventures there had been days of rest in Beregost, some treasure hunting along the coast that had been thankfully less eventful then their journey with Safana, and of course the basilisk hunt through a garden of stone and horrors. Quite an ordeal, even with some preparation, but in the end none of them had ended up statues or (worse still,) piles of rubble.

So all told the month they had spent stumbling from one profitable disaster to another in the wilderness had been worthwhile. Still, as they headed into town from the eastern temple (where they had collected their latest reward,) all Ashura wanted to do was hitch her horse, kick up her feet, eat a decent meal, and not think of bounty hunts for a good long time. The burnt gouge that one of the hellhounds had left in the back of her thigh still itched.

Once again the Burning Wizard seemed the best option, and it was there that Shar-Teel had led them, taking Garrick and Skie by the arms and dragging them through the scrapwood door with talk of getting 'Good and shitfaced!'

Ashura was a bit less enthusiastic. The Wizard was stocked with nearly every sort of drink you can imagine, but what little food they served was atrocious ('Grease smattered with some breading and…oh! I think that's a very sad, triple-diced little tuber swimming in there?' was how Imoen had described it when they were last in town,) and she didn't particularly want to sleep in a dingy flophouse again. Not with all of her gems and reward-money begging to be spent, and luxury rooms and fine meals out there to be had.

There was one possible problem though.

"Ya think we're still welcome here?" Imoen whispered as they made their way towards the iron fence and broad walls of Feldpost's Inn, Xan following a cautious step behind the pair. "Or…you know: any of the nice inns in Beregost?"

On their way to the door they slipped past a pair of prostitutes who always seemed to be milling about in front of Feldpost's, and one of the women –the redhead– glanced up with wide and horrified eyes, her teeth showing as she clamped down on the stem of her pipe. Ashura sent a tentative wave and the most apologetic look she could manage back at the poor woman, remembering the last time they had seen each other. Wasn't my fault she wanted to say, but decided it was best to walk by quickly and step up to the whitewashed door of the inn.

"We'll find out in moment," Ashura muttered as she pushed through. Since they had been kicked out of the Red Sheaf on their first-ever visit to town, and smashed up quite a bit of the Juggler last time they were there, it seemed like Feldpost's was their best option. Provided the owner had never figured out that they had kidnapped and murdered one of his guests, of course. Ugh.

With the nice pile of treasure they had gathered Ashura was in the mood to settle in somewhere cozy for a while, but Beregost was probably not the place for that long-term. Baldur's Gate was a lot more appealing, with far more inns to get kicked out of, and maybe they could even afford a decent townhouse. But for now a good meal was the first thing on her mind.

The cavernous taproom of Feldpost's was much as she remembered it; cozy and colorful and quiet, the rich red carpets and wall-hangings dampening the chatter of the well-dressed patrons and the clinks of their cutlery. Red and gold dominated the room, the primary colors of the curtains, the rugs, the tablecloths and…

Something oddly familiar caught her eye. Red robes and gold jewelry. Surely not.

But the figure at the far table was facing them, and those moonstone-encrusted bracers and that circlet were quite distinctive. Not to mention the braided black moustache. All doubt fled when the man looked up from his plate of untouched food, raised a spindly hand, and waved at them, seemingly unsurprised.

Ashura's eyes widened.

"Cyric's tongue!" Imoen swore beside her, mouth agape. Then her hand shot to her dagger and yanked it free before she started to stalk across the carpet, Ashura following fast at her heels and wondering if they were about to get kicked out of an another inn.

Edwin Odesseiron simply gave the girl a bemused look as she neared him and held her dagger high, gasps ringing out from the nearby patrons. "You!" Imoen snarled. "You tried to feed us to a pack of gnolls! And you have the nerve ta…ta wave?!"

Clear as it was that Imoen was just waving the dagger around for dramatic effect, Ashura reached over and carefully placed her hand on the back of her friend's wrist. Hopefully that would calm the guests. Meanwhile Xan was watching the red wizard with narrow eyes, his hand on his pouch of spell components. Likely sizing the other mage up.

"That is not quite how I remember our last parting," Edwin stated dryly. "In point of fact, I clearly remember providing you with the means to overcome the mangy dogs in the form of combat-enhancing spells. A most gracious gift, for which you should be thanking me."

"Thanking! Thanking!" The dagger started to flick forward and Ashura gripped Imoen's wrist for real now. "You betrayed us!"

The red mage rolled his eyes. "Such unseemly melodrama. What I did was lay events out perfectly and elegantly, in a manner that would best suit my mission, and (lest we forget) insure the continued survival of you, your lovely friend," he gave Ashura a nod, "and your blonde war-wench. A courtesy (since you did assist me with those annoying hobgoblins.)"

"A courtesy! You…you fork-tongued, back-biting, primped-up, snail-sucking, Beshaba-breathed…"

Ashura interrupted Imoen's stammering attempts to come up with more insults by chuckling. "Events 'laid out perfectly and elegantly' huh? That's not exactly how I remember it."

That seemed to insult Edwin far more than any mention of Beshaba-breath or snail-sucking. Whiskers shook as he scowled and titled his head. "I may have…let us say underestimated the absolute indestructability of a certain Rashemi berserker. A rare miscalculation."

"Uh huh," Ashura simply said with a smirk, letting go of Imoen and taking a seat at the table. Behind her Imoen let out a 'hrmph' and sheathed her dagger, arms crossing.

"In any case," the red mage continued, bridging his fingers, "that annoying ox-man shall not be around to interfere with my current plans. Plans –I should add– that capable warriors such as yourselves-"

"What?!" Imoen squeaked. "You can't seriously-"

"Do you not hire yourselves out as mercenaries? There have been quite a few stories of your exploits floating around this backwater village. And the ridiculous amount of armaments, wands and magical potions on your person certainly adds to the impression (though the elf looks more a pampered prince than a hired sword.)"

"We don't hire out to snakes like you," Imoen snapped. "Hells, just last week we were working for an evil asshole who was completely full of himself. Why should we hire out to another one?"

In answer Edwin simply stretched out his hands and displayed his fingers, gem encrusted rings sparkling in the lamplight along with the moonstones on his bracers. "Because I can pay handsomely of course," he stated proudly. "And in a currency I doubt your former employers could manage: arcane paraphernalia that will keep even a foolish baboon such as yourself alive far longer than you are due."

Imoen rolled her eyes and fluttered her lips like a horse. "That's a great recruiting strategy you've got, ya know. Tell someone you wanna hire them then insult them as much as you can. Not that we'd dream of working for you to begin with!"

"'We?' Is that the royal we, or does the dark haired warrior now lack the wits to speak for herself?"

Ashura just chuckled and pointed back at Imoen with a hooked thumb. "I go where she goes. And yeah, we really are on a 'no working for evil assholes' break."

"A pity. What I had in mind was an exceedingly simple task as well. I need a book retrieved from a house in Baldur's Gate. And in exchange I have a wide sampling of rings-"

"I know something of the forging of arcane rings," Xan cut him off, eyes on the Thayan's fingers.

"Then you can attest to the quality of my wares," Edwin countered. "This ring, for instance, quickens and expands the mind, facilitating the ability to understand more spells, among other things. I imagine you would benefit a great deal from something that fills the gaping void between your pointed ears."

Xan just gave him an even look, and the red mage continued, tapping a second gold band. "This other ring I wear may be more appealing to-"

"Odesseiron!" a man with a thick accent bellowed from the top of the nearby stairs, making Edwin reflexively bend forward and cringe, shoulders rising slightly. Three figures were sauntering down the steps; a bald, wrinkled man in the lead, his head decorated with tattoos and his broad robes as red and resplendent as Edwin's. He was followed closely by a much younger Thayan dressed in a less gaudy robe, and a dark haired woman in a wispy, boldly slit dress. Ashura recognized the woman, who was trying to tame and tie up her rather tousled-looking hair. It was the other prostitute she had last seen fleeing down the hall of the Jovial Juggler months ago, during that…unfortunate incident.

Once he reached the bottom of the staircase the leading Thayan shook his head with disapproval and swept a hand in Ashura, Xan and Imoen's direction. "Those are not white haired half-elves," he observed. "Have you forgotten that you have a job to perform? And it is not consorting with western whores."

"(No, obviously that task falls to you, Ekandor,)" Edwin muttered under his breath.

The older man seemed to hear him clearly, thought the comment simply drew a grin. "Obviously," he stated, patting the woman on her bottom as she walked past him. The prostitute just rolled her eyes and made her way towards the door, and Ekandor spoke on. "It is one of the perks of seniority, and having a reputation for results and success." His smirk grew and a chiding tone entered his measured voice. "My little witch-hunter." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now get back to your search."

With an embarrassed grimace Edwin pushed himself up from the table. "I suppose I shall get to it then. (One day. One day.)" He looked over at Ashura. "And I don't suppose you have seen a young half-elven girl with short white hair? Quite distinct looking." When she shrugged and the others said nothing Edwin sighed. "Of course not." And with that he hobbled away and out of the common room, the other two Thayans making their way to the bar.

As soon as Edwin was gone Imoen plopped down at the table and pulled his abandoned plate close, immediately snatching up one of the stuffed buns and biting in. "Serves him right," she said as she chewed. "Ha! Acts so imperious, but turns out he's just a cowed little mageling." She dug into her a meal, and eventually a rotund woman made her way to the table and took their order for several more plates, including some food Ashura intended to take back to the others (hopefully Shar-Teel hadn't gotten Garrick completely incapacitated with drink by now.)

Later that night they found the innkeep and discussed boarding, and to Ashura's great relief he seemed to barely remember them.

Midday found the companions slowly guiding their horses north through the streets of Beregost, half of them a bit hungover and the other half well rested, but all with full bellies and clean faces at least. They were on their way to the familiar road to the Friendly Arm, and after a stop there they had decided to ride for the Gate and likely stay for a good long while. It would be a wise place to settle in for the winter, and after a little buying and selling in the Beregost market they were sure they had enough gold piled up to settle comfortably.

It was a good day for traveling too, even if they were getting a late start. The sky was an empty blue, and the still autumn air was pleasantly crisp. Of course they had just turned onto the northern track of the Coastway when a complication arose.

Just like always.

It came in the form of a short, slight girl of perhaps twenty, running down the road in their direction. There was an overwhelmed, desperate look in her eyes, her ears were sharply pointed, and her hair was white and pixie-short. Ashura groaned internally at the sight of her, letting out a deep breath through her nostrils. The white-haired half-elf. Hunted by red wizards. Of course. Of bloody course.

The half-elf carried nothing, and was dressed in a rather minimal black bodice and riveted leather trousers tucked into sturdy boots. When she spoke her words came spilling out, voice nasal and quavering. "You! Hey you!" she called out to Ashura, arms waving wildly. "Yes, you! A little help please?!"

"With what?" Ashrua growled, already assuming the answer.

"There's bandits!" the girl yelped. "Vicious, magic bandits! They must have gone to advanced bandit school or something. They're trying to capture me!"

"'There are some mages after me' would have been a simpler way to put it," Xan observed.

"Yeah, well that wouldn't have emphasized their sinister, bandity nature!" the half-elf countered.

"Look," Ashura grumbled. "We don't want to get between- hey!"

Imoen had just elbowed her hard in the ribs. "A girl behind chased by hunters. That ring a bell? Remind you of anyone? Huh?"

With another grumble Ashura looked over her should, swords slipping out into her hands. "Alright, alright. Garrick, guide the horses back a bit will you?"

"Yes sir," the bard replied before he began to sing a wordless drover's song.

Stepping in beside the half-elf and looking down the road, Ashura muttered. "Guess we're protecting you then. Would be nice if we could at least get paid."

"Sheesh," the white-haired girl complained. "People like you really bolster my faith in strangers."

"Or you could at least tell us why the red wizards are after you?"

"Well, I'd love to give you a long and detailed explanation," the half-elf said as figures crested the hill and began to march forward. "But oh look!" She pointed. "We're out of time." With those words she squirmed in behind Ashura and some of the others, taking cover.

Just as Ashura had figured, the trio of Thayans from yesterday walked into view, flanked by two towering gnolls with dark fur, armored plates and halberds. As before the older red wizard –Ekandor– took the lead, a confident gleam in his eyes. And as before Edwin was scowling.

Easing into a ready stance and lightly gripping her swords, Ashura shouted at the approaching mages: "So! You want this girl for something?" The others had begun to fan out behind her.

Ekandor sneered. "I see you've found some fools to hide behind, Neera."

"Yeah, well excuuuuse me for not wanting creepy bald guys to get ahold of me so they can get elbow-deep in my brains!" the half-elf squeaked back.

"Red wizards do have a reputation for that," Imoen noted, eliciting an eyeroll from Edwin.

Ekandor's eyes shifted to Ashura. "This half-elven girl is a particularly potent wild mage; a danger to herself and others. We are here to study her anomalous powers, and keep the world safe from them. Now step aside. You've no idea what she's capable of. And do you truly wish to risk your lives for a stranger?"

Ashura glared. "Eight of us against the three of you, plus your little dogs? I think you're the one who needs to step aside."

"Yeah!" Neera added, still hiding behind Ashura. "You get away from here before me and my new friends decide to inject a fist into your mouth!"

Rolling up his sleeves, Ekandor shook his head. "We shall have her. Willingly or no." As the red mage had been speaking Neera had pressed her hands together in an arcane gesture, and Ekandor immediately replied by cupping his own hands and starting to chant something. From there everyone moved at once, swords swishing through the air and bowstrings drawing back taunt and chants starting up.

Instead of magic words Neera shouted: "Away with you, you pompous creep!" but that seemed to have the same effect: a heat-shimmer flecked with gold grew around both her and the red mage.

Less than a blink later there was a rush of air and a popping sound, and Neera and Ekandor seemed to change places, the Thayan's hand-motions going erratic at the sudden surprise. The power that had been building between his palms just turned to sputtering, purple smoke.

But the shimmer around him and the wild mage remained, then expanded, and suddenly everyone in the area was wavering. In flash Ashura felt her stomach lurch hard, and when the haze cleared she found herself standing back to back with Edwin. In fact everyone had shifted to a slightly different spot, gnolls and Thayans and mercenaries alike, and all three red mages cursing when they realized that their spells had been disrupted.

"Iblith'kyrn faern!" Apparently the same thing had happened to Viconia.

Neera was having no problems with her magic though; she was already chanting in draconic and building up another spell, bright fuchsia light growing around her fists and her wild hair standing and swaying. Before Ekandor could get an arcane word in Neera slammed her fists together, aimed in his direction, and she broke from her chant to shout: "Eat flaming –or possibly frosty– death!"

The blast of pulsating fuchsia ballooned into a blinding light, then with a puff and a wheeze it blinked out, a few sparks falling to the ground. Neera glanced down at her fists, then up to the sneering and completely unaffected red wizard, then down to her fists again. "Oh shit," she muttered.

Ekandor took a triumphant step forward, gesturing and calling up runes to orbit around him like a shield, but then the ground beneath him began to shake and he stopped advancing, brow crinkling. Ashura and the rest took an instinctive step back as well, the air now filling with a sulfur smell and a sound like stone grinding upon stone.

The effect seemed centered just between Neera and Ekandor, where little flashes started to bubble in the air, resolving into objects. They seemed to be bones –prismatic and ghostly– rotating and knitting together as soon as they appeared. The strange formation grew into two pillars that bent and arched together, and between the bones the air began to shimmer; red and white and black, smoke and flames spiraling into what appeared to be a newly formed portal.

At the sight of it Neera backed away, her eyes wide with terror and her empty hands raised defensively. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" she repeated. "Not again!" And with that she whirled on her heel and fled as fast as she could down the road.

"Is that a…gate?" Imoen murmured, taking another step back.

Shadows spun between the pillars of bone, congealing into a pair of broad draconic wings that stretched wider and wider as they emerged from the burning vortex. They were followed by fingers as long as Ashura's hands, thin and sharp as swords, and those fingers gripped the edge of the gate to haul the rest of the creature through. Next came a beastly red face with glowing amber eyes and a shaggy black mane perched upon a long, thin neck. A gaunt body of sinew and bone followed, red and gleaming like it had been stripped down to the muscle. Lastly long clawed feet stepped over the threshold, flames erupting where they touched the cobblestone road.

"Is that a…demon?!" Garrick stammered as the creature glanced around at the new world it had just entered. Ashura took a cautious step forward, swords pointed at the new arrival, but an ice-cold wave sent her reeling back and drew an involuntary shiver. Her jaw hung open, eyes wide, paralyzed by fear and awe.

The demon had focused on the younger Thayan now, and it let out a growl that sent smoke billowing from its mouth and nostrils. A ghostly shimmer shot through the air from the creature's eyes, but it seemed to deflect harmlessly off protective runes that flared up around the mage.

The demon's snarls turned into a howl of rage and in a blur it rushed for the man, fire trailing each furious step. One of the gnolls leapt forward, growling right back and swinging its poleaxe overhand, but with terrifyingly fast reflexes the shaft of the axe was snatched and held tight. The demon and the gnoll locked eyes, and once again something shimmered out from the demon's gaze, bridging the space between them.

With a high canine yelp the gnoll seemed to shrink back and physically wither, its eyes going a blank and rheumy-white, and its lips wrinkling and rolling back to expose teeth and gums. Its paws went limp and it let go of the poleaxe, stumbling backwards, jerky like a marionette, and as it did the demon hefted the halberd and rushed forward with another shocking burst of speed, looming over the young red wizard. The axe-blade came down even faster, there was a brief flash of light as it struck some sort of barrier, and then the steel pushed through and buried itself deep in the red wizard's bald forehead, his arms flopping to the side and the magic that had been building upon his fingers turning to smoke.

Ashura was shaking her head vigorously now, trying to warm the ice water in her veins, but before she could another wave seemed to hit her. Her vision blurred, the world swirled and shifted all around, and then her legs were suddenly not hers to command; the streets and houses of Beregost zipping by as she turned past one towering building, then another and another.

It was like some nightmare, haplessly fleeing through endless streets. The sort of nightmare that would end if she could only make herself turn. Turn and fight.

A snarl of frustration shook her out of the dream and she skidded on the cobbles. There was a clink as her armored side struck something solid, and she found herself leaning and righting herself against the obelisk in the Beregost town square, panting hard. Damn. Ran pretty far.

It came as a relief when she saw Garrick and Shar-Teel steak by and keep on running, side by side and driven on by the demon's fear. And it came as a surprise when Ashura glanced over and realized that Edwin was leaning against the obelisk beside her, a smug look on his face rather than terror. She shot him a glare and he turned his eyes back down the street.

"This, of course, is bad," the red wizard observed dryly. There were panicked shouts erupting through the town, and plumes of black smoke were rising from the north.

"Yeah," Ashura muttered, turning towards the smoke. At least Garrick was okay. But what about Imoen?

"I can," Edwin added, rubbing his hands together, "of course, banish the demon. Conjuration is my specialty in fact."

She kept glaring, and Edwin turned back to her, an expectant look on his face. "Okay," Ashura snarled. "Do it!"

But Edwin seemed to be in no hurry, and the only action he took was to straighten his robes and brush some imaginary durst from the bright red fabric. "Such presumption," he complained. "For a western barbarian to order a Red Wizard of Thay about." With a dramatic shake of his head he watched the smoke rise higher. "Convenient that the demon disposed of Ekandor's sniveling little toady, but I would prefer to wait until we are sure it has slain the old man himself. Hopefully-"

"That thing might be killing my friends! If you don't banish it right NOW-"

"Yes, yes," Edwin cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We've established how valuable your friends are to you. Especially your redheaded sister. And I shall be happy to save them. For a price."

"I'll do anything you ask," she replied immediately. "Just banish the demon. Now!"

Edwin's eyes actually went wide at that, and he looked taken aback. "You…you would agree without first hearing terms?"

"Sure. Whatever. Now let's banish the fucking demon!" She pointed down the street with her righthand sword. At the moment she didn't particularly care what 'favor' he asked. Not like he had a contract written in Infernal for her to sign, witnessed by a notary and affirmed by Dispater himself.

So if he demanded too much later she could always just kill him.

"If I had known you were such a poor negotiator…" Edwin shook his head. "As it is I will simply ask for your assistance procuring the book I discussed earlier, in Baldur's Gate."

"Fine. We were headed there anyway. Now BANISH!"

"Very well then." He pointed to a spot in the shadow of the obelisk. "I will draw the binding circle there, though we'll need to lead the demon to it for it to work. Could you…"

"Lure the demon?" Ashura growled, turning towards the northern street and beginning to stomp forward. "Sure."

"Do you have a way to overcome the aura of fear? A potion perhaps?"

"I can do it."

"Wait!" Edwin shouted after her before she had taken off. "This creature is a nabassu. If the demon locks eyes with you for a significant time it can draw your lifeforce out, leaving you a ghoulish husk under its command, like it did with that gnoll. Perhaps ghoulification would improve your attitude (and your intelligence as well,) but you may wish to avoid it."

With a nod Ashura took off running, the proud square houses of Beregost once again blurring by. Following the screams and the smoke was easy enough, and as she ran she slipped a small glass flask from a pouch at her belt. Not proof against fear, but maybe it would help.

Slowing slightly so the contents wouldn't slosh out, Ashura bit the cork and pulled it free, then tossed the bottle back and gulped as fast as she could, warmth quickly flowing through her veins the way it might from a sudden shot of liquor. She paused when the bottle was halfway drained, grimacing at the sour taste, then forced herself to down the rest. The warmth grew, unnatural strength spreading through her limbs, and when she went from a jog to a full sprint once again her boots drummed hard against the street.

There were screams ahead, just around the bend, and before she turned it two men from the town militia raced by with high-pitched squeals, their spears abandoned behind them. She dodged around the fleeing peasants, turned a corner, and came upon the scene of the battle. A decapitated corpse lay on its back nearby, blood pooling on the cobbles and into the gutter, and there was another body curled up in fetal position on the other side of the street beside a dead gnoll. No one she knew at least; the dead seemed to be wearing the same uniform leathers as the other militia.

There were other men and women dressed the same, holding pikes or spears or swords, some backing away from the demon but most standing as still as statues, a supernatural sheen clinging to them. Skie was among them –on the far end of the street– seemingly paralyzed with an arrow knocked and drawn.

In addition to the warriors there were three priests clustered together, the rising sun of Lathander stamped upon their tabards and their holy symbols held aloft as they chanted with quaking voices. Bright rays of light arced in over their heads, focused on the emaciated gnoll, which seemed to be cowering as smoke rose from its fur. Smoke rose from the footprints that the demon had left as well, and there were flames lapping and climbing up the side of a nearby house.

Of Ashura's other companions there was no sign. Hopefully they had had the good sense to flee or at least find cover even if the fear had not effected them. Unlike me. Ashura was still running forward, eyes narrow and focused.

The demon itself was ignoring the priests, Skie, and militia at the moment, advancing instead on Ekandor, who had just clapped his hands together and barked out a hasty spell. The air rippled all around him as bolts of arcane force welled up and arced towards the nabassu in a storm, each bursting into blue sparks, to little effect. The demon countered by lunging and swinging the stolen halberd in an effortless sideways swing, but the blade of the axe passed through the red wizard with a waver instead of a thunk, obviously hitting an illusory decoy.

Ashura fought to push through the waves of fear that rolled off the demon's body as it raged and roared, searching for the real Ekandor. The waves were palpable and felt frustratingly solid, but with her teeth clenched, head tilted, and eyes down she tried to channel that frustration, pushing back. In a burst she closed the last few paces, boiling blood dispelling the ice in her veins and putting everything into the first swing of her leading sword.

The blow caught the demon by surprise, snapping bone and slicing membrane with a wet crunch that nearly severed a wing. That got its attention!

Faster than Ashura could follow the creature whirled and countered, and she found herself doubling over, boots scraping the street as she flew backwards from a blunt blow to the gut.

Cartwheeling arms and dancing feet and desperate lurching kept her from falling. She had almost stopped and straightened by the time steel streaked in from her right; the blade of the halberd this time instead of the butt. Her ears filled with a metallic screech and clang and the blow sent her pitching to the side and rolling across the cobblestones, the hilts of her swords clacking against the ground. No way to keep on her feet now.

Senseless, vision flashing and ears ringing, she found herself fighting to push up; to shake her head until it cleared.

No time for that though. A shadow had fallen over her. Smoke filled her nostrils and heatwaves buffeted her cheek. And above her the demon let out a howl that overcame the screeching in her ears. No time to clear her head. Nothing there but mindless fury anyway.

She shot up, lefthand sword leading the way, its blade biting into the halberd's haft. Her right sword followed and the demon deflected it with the axeblade, then it twisted and tried to swing the staff from a different angle. Ashura followed each motion, matching the creature blow for blow, swings bolstered by rage and magic.

Unthinking, lumbering, ducking and snarling, she hacked at the poleaxe and splinters flew. At one point the demon lurched back and freed a claw, flinging a bolt of something insubstantial her way, bringing on a clenching sensation. But she refused to be stilled, and her next blow nearly broke the halberd in half.

There was a vague notion –in the corner of her mind– that she was supposed to be doing something else. Running? Fleeing? Surely no. Rage and retreat were incompatible.

She lunged again and the hissing face of the demon loomed close, her right sword slicing down and into the pole of the halberd with a satisfying snap, the follow-through of her lefthand blade passing through flying splinters to cut through demon flesh. Black blood glittered and streaked across the creature's cheek, and it turned its head, as if punched.

But an instant later it became a blur and countered, a force like a battering-ram striking the breath from Ashura's chest. This time she failed to keep her feet planted; this time she flew, bits of broken chain torn from her armor and gleaming as they floated out before her and seemed to hang suspended in the air.

Then reality rushed in hard and she struck the cobbles with a jolt.

The winged shadow rushed in to strike her again, and now she was scrambling and rolling and fighting for footing. She twisted backwards and claws raked past her, then another sweeping slash of the demon's flattened hand glanced off the plate at her shoulder and dented it with a clang.

The damned thing's fists and claws seemed an even more potent weapon than the halberd had been! What a useless victory!

A furious leap and she was standing again, wobbly. The blows and the scrambling had moved them both well down the street, beyond the burning building, and something tall and smooth and white loomed in the corner of Ashura's vision. The obelisk.

Oh yeah! She was supposed to…go there? There had been a plan-

As if in answer an irritated male voice called out across the square. "What are you doing you idiot?!" it demanded of her. "Can you not even follow the most basic directions and instructions?"

Turning on her heel, Ashura glared towards the source of the voice, and something half-remembered compelled her to seek it out, rage driving her feet forward. It only seemed to take a couple of strides to dash to the obelisk, a figure in red standing beyond it with his arms crossed and a disapproving glare on his face.

"You finally figured out-" the arrogant bastard began, but Ashura couldn't hear the rest of his words over the full-throated roar she was letting out. The man cringed and took an involuntary step backwards as she ran at him with leveled swords.

Before she reached him a wall of flashing red symbols flew up before her, clinging to her skin and armor like a web that slowed and then stopped her in her tracks. The runes wavered in the air all around her, lines of script bending and undulating with her struggles.

It was a bit like walking at the bottom of the ocean, but she managed to force one foot in front of the other. The glyphs had only held her for a breath's span, then they parted, allowing her to stumble through.

For a moment Ashura shook her head, disoriented, then the howling and thrashing of the demon close behind brought her back into focus, and she whirled around and straightened. The wall of glyphs was still there, ghostly and translucent, and the nabassu was beating upon them with its fists.

"You're a strange one," an acerbic, thickly accented voice stated from right beside her. Ashura turned, trying to blink back the fuzziness in her head as she looked at Edwin, then the demon, then Edwin again. "My wards should not have…responded to you like that," the red wizard went on. "For a moment I thought you were breaking them, but in the end you did pass through." Edwin's eyes were on the demon, which was giving up its struggle. Soon it just placed its palms against the barrier and growled.

"And for a brief moment," Edwin added "it almost looked like you were charging me rather than luring the demon through the wards."

"Eh," Ashura grunted, squeezing her eyes shut then opening them. Pains both sharp and dull were starting to sneak up on her, now that the adrenaline was seeping away. She shrugged. "Well, we caught it didn't we?"

"Indeed." He straightened a bit, hands hidden in his sleeves and a pleased look on his face.

"An adequate job, I suppose," Ekandor interrupted as he approached both them and the demon. "Perhaps it was wise to bring a conjurer along after all, despite your reputation." He gave the entire scene –demon, Edwin, smoke and all– a distasteful shake of his head. "What a disaster. A shame to loose Brendan. He was a promising boy." Straightening a bit, the red wizard clasped his hands behind his back. "Though surely the girl has not gotten far, and hopefully this stunt depleted her most…destructive and chaotic magics. My divinations should track her easily enough."

Turning curtly, Ekandor looked to Edwin. "Odesseiron," he commanded, then gestured with an open hand at the demon and said something in a language Ashura couldn't follow.

Edwin nodded, a blank look on his face. "It shall be banished," he replied, then faced the demon, a commanding tone entering his voice. "Nabassu! You understand the nature of the planar bindings I have placed about you, and what they compel you to do?"

Yes, a gravelly voice whispered, seemingly more in Ashura's head than in the air. The first time the demon had bothered to speak.

"Good." Edwin pointed. "Then kill Ekandor here before you return to the Abyss." The moment the words left his lips Edwin whirled, a wand in hand and pointing forward. He immediately growled out a command-word.

The older Thayan had turned at the same time and begun a spell of his own, blue flames beginning to surge around his fingers, but the faint gust of energy launched from Edwin's wand struck him first. The magic merely seemed to make the air around Ekandor shimmer and do little else, but when the great winged form of the nabassu collided with him at less than a heartbeat later it had much more of an effect.

The fires of Ekandor's spell sputtered out, his body hit the street with an ugly crunch, and the arcane words he had been droning rose up into a scream as fangs and claws tore into him. Sodden clods of red fabric flew, along with bits of flesh, and within a few breaths innards had spilled out upon the cobblestones and the mage's head was attached to his shoulders by the barest of sinew.

Then there was a rush of air; a vacuum opening and filling, and the demon was gone, leaving only a quivering mess behind.

Scowling, Edwin turned his head away, looking a little queasy. "Unseemly. But what can one expect from demons? Still, I'll have to thank that wild mage girl for dropping such an opportunity into my lap."

Once he turned towards Ashura the disgust began to fade, replaced by an arrogant smirk. "Now, I believe we had a deal?"

Author's Note: This chapter was inspired by the first time I recruited Neera while playing the Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition. Around level one or two, the very first time she used a spell in a fight (I think it was against xvarts of gibberlings or something like that,) I got: 'Wild surge! Is that a gate? Is that a demon?!' and a raging nabassu appeared in the middle of the battle.