Epilogue - Further Adventures

"No matter where you go, there you are." –Confucius

Mirtul 3, 1369 D.R.

Eyes burning and lungs heaving, Imoen shoved the door aside and stumbled out into the light, dropping to her knees at the top of the wooden steps. Raspy cough after raspy cough followed, though thankfully she managed to keep her highbite down. Eventually she found the strength to slip her legs around, sitting down on the stoop and wiping the tears from her eyes.

Once her vision had cleared a bit, she noticed Viconia and Kirian down on the grass in front of the storehouse. Both women were on their hands and knees, still coughing hard.

Above them, the sky was a deep azure, speckled here and there with puffy, flat-bottomed clouds. A pretty day. Hard to believe that there was a dingy vault just beneath their feet, where a summoned demon had been let loose minutes ago. Last Imoen had seen of the creature, before the choking gas had forced her to flee, it seemed like it had been dying, so hopefully…

The door flew open, nearly off its hinges, and Imoen tensed. To her relief, though, the figure who came stumbling out was no demon, even if he was near as big and broad as one. Minsc was hacking and rasping hard, just like the rest of them, yet somehow he managed a giant, goofy grin as he caught Imoen's eye and leaned against the storehouse wall. Trails of orange smoke seeped out through the doorway behind him, rising up into the air.

Shortly behind Minsc came Hurgan Stoneblade, the old fellow as bleary-eyed as everyone else, but trying to hide it. Dwarven pride and all that. He coughed, lightly as he could manage, into his fist, then turned his head.

A moment later the last member of their odd little band came strutting out of the building, a fiendish grin plastered across his bushy-browed face. Looked like the drow had been completely untouched the gas. As he adjusted his spidersilk cloak and sauntered over to stand beside Imoen, Baeloth Barrityl gave her a slightly disappointed shake of his head. "Such a shame that you left early. You missed the most marvelous show!"

"Yup," Imoen rasped. "Such a shame, me not suffocatin' on account o' that gas-ball you threw in our midst."

Baeloth made a dismissive gesture. "Yes, yes. You disappointingly delicate surfacer scum, with your primitive need to breathe. I had forgotten about that particular weakness. Apologies." Didn't sound the least bit sorry.

"So what sorta show did we breathin' scum-folks miss?"

Baeloth looked off, and actually got a bit wispy-like. "Oh it was glorious. Simply glorious." His voice took on a 'let-me-set-the-scene-for-you' sort of tone. Ever the showman. "The nabassu, choking and then crumbling to dust. The cultists, trying to chant despite the poisoned gas and sounding like a choir from the pits of Pandemonium. Then, one by one, the demon would possess the humans and come bursting out in a spectacular shower of gore and viscera, like it was emerging from a squishy, fleshy egg. And each time that happened, the demon would find that it was still trapped in the cloud, cough, turn to dust, and then the cycle would repeat itself, until the entire chamber was caked in bits of exploded human. No more cultists, no more demon." He let out a nostalgic sigh. "Ah. It reminded me so much of home."

"Guess you would'a just loved Oompah the Exploding Ogre, then."

Baeloth's attention had drifted off, and he didn't respond. Instead, he yelled over to Viconia, who had finally recovered from her coughing fit. "Hey. You! The disgraced exile! Do you remember that most delightful form of execution that the Sorcere invented a while back? Where the prisoners step onto an explosive rune, and then…pop! Bits of prisoner everywhere. As I recall, that was the fate most of the servants of House DeVir met, once their patrons had been defeated."

Viconia just gave him an even glare.

"I thought you might be familiar? Eh. In any case, the scene back in the basement was quite similar." He scoffed. "And you thought that we should flee from the demon! Ha! A nabasu is easy enough to deal with, so long as you know not to look it in the eye. That blasted, tricksy cambion that we took the dagger from in the first place was far more of a challenge, really."

"At least you did not nearly kill us all when we fought the cambion," Viconia replied. "In fact, as I recall, once your initial spells had failed you simply slunk back into the shadows and did nothing more."

"A tactical maneuver."

"Your cowardice does not concern me, male. Better that you curl up and hide than summoning a cloud of poison into our midst without warning!"

Baeloth sighed dramatically and threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine. Next time I will try to shout a warning first. Give you all a sporting chance to step out of the way." He looked to Imoen. "There. See. Teamwork and harmonious group-dynamics and all of that…stuff you're always prattling on about." He then surveyed the group. "We all survived and won, in any case."

Imoen chuckled. Eh. Yeah, they had. And, prone as he was to perniciously poking and prodding his companions, the drow sorcerer had proven himself useful enough, especially during the grueling descent through Durlag's old tower.

Just so long as Imoen could keep Viconia or Kirian from murdering Baeloth, and vice-versa, while keeping the pair of dark elves that she seemed to have adopted from being murdered by an angry mob…well. Then everything would work out fine! Easy-peasy!

A few hours later, after Hurgan had thanked them, paid them, and then headed off, the companions found themselves all sitting around the biggest table in Ulgoth's Beard's single (and rather shabby) inn. A very nervous innkeep hovered nearby, taking their orders for eveningfeast. (Well, for ale at least. Just one choice when it came to the meal.)

Baeloth had restored the disguising spell that made him appear to be a moon elf (after his usual complaints), and Viconia now wore her mask, but they had just killed about a third of the town's population. So…yeah. The innkeep had every reason to be terrified. Maybe vengeful too. Those cultists had been his customers.

On top of that, the village of Ulgoth's Beard was way too close to the Gate for Imoen's liking. There were no Flaming Fists actually stationed here, but it was just a day or so's walk down the river to the big city. If word of their presence spread…well. This was definitely not a place they should stay overnight (and it would probably be best to test their food for poison before digging in.)

For now, the innkeep appeared to be more fearful than furious. He worked a corner of his apron between his fingers, head cocked, as he thought over the question that Imoen had just asked him. "Aye," he eventually said. "Aye, they were here." He was a ruddy-faced, bearded fellow; not exactly chubby but a little on the pear-shaped side.

"Oh really?" Imoen perked up, trying to give the poor fellow her friendliest smile.

"Twice, in fact. The first time was back in the winter. They had a nasty run-in with our local archmage."

"Archmage?"

"Shandalar's his name. Lives in the floating boat. He just happened to stop in for supplies when your friends were here, and was none too pleased to see them. The halfling girl especially."

"Halfling?" Imoen had described Ashura, Edwin, Shar-Teel, and Coran to the innkeep. If there was a halfling with them, she must have been a new edition.

"Yeah. The halfling came in and joined them." He thought a moment. "Here's how I recall it: they had come in for a midday meal; Raven-Hair, that big blonde woman with the pigtails, and the foreign fellow in red robes with the braided beard. No tattooed elf with red hair, though, sorry. Anyways, this halfling girl with purple hair came tromping in a little later, and I guess she was a friend of theirs. She seemed real friendly, at least. Ended up eating with them, but sometime after that Shandalar arrived, spotted the halfling, and got furious. Claimed that she had stolen something from him, back in Baldur's Gate."

Hoo boy! Imoen had a pretty good idea now of what that stolen 'something' had been. And who the halfling was. One more reason to get the heck out of Ulgoth's Beard fast as they could. Wouldn't want to get spotted by Shandalar, or his daughters.

"They all talked for a bit, back and forth, and Shandalar just got madder and madder. Then he cast some sort of spell that zapped them all away at once. Poof! Thought maybe they'd been vaporized, but when I asked, Shandalar said that they'd been sent to 'an appropriate prison.'"

"No!" Minsc shouted, fist pummeling the table. Then the ranger shot to his feet. "We must up and mount a rescue immediately! Point us in the direction of this prison, my good sir, and we shall-"

The innkeep cut him off. "No need for that," he insisted. "Like I said, I saw your friends twice. The second time was…" he thought a moment. "Hm. Sometime last month? Guess they had broken out of whatever Hell Shandalar had sent them to. Could be that they came back for revenge, but Shandalar and his girls were away at the time. They do that, you see: just sail off in that flying ship, then show up a tenday or two later.

"Anyways, your friends ended up booking passage on a ship. Bound for Athkatla, as I recall. Was the last I saw of them."

"Ah," Imoen said. "That makes sense." Edwin had been after some treasure that was buried beneath that city. And the magical imprisonment explained why Shura had never showed up for their reunion at the Friendly Arm. Whew. Glad she didn't just forget. Imoen had been a bit worried since then, though she had known pretty definitively that her sister was still alive. The dreams, and that hall with the statues. Ashura's statue had still been standing there, last time she'd checked.

Giving the innkeep her toothiest smile, Imoen handed him a fat, gold, dwarf-minted coin. "Thank you so much for telling us," she said. "We'll be out of 'yer hair soon as possible." She handed him a second coin. There were plenty to spare, after Durlag's Tower. "And we're real, real sorry 'bout the business with the demon cultists."

The innkeep forced a polite smile, pocketed the gold, and headed off.

"To Athkatla we go, I 'spose." She shot Minsc a smile too, as he finally settled down. 'Course, he was still looking about suspiciously, searching the room for damsels-in-distress to rescue.

Across the table, Kirian snorted. "So we're chasing after 'Raven-Hair' then? Good. That bitch owes me a belt."

"Pretty sure she won that fair and square."

Kirian's lip twitched, and she ran a hand through her mop of short, mouse-brown hair. "There's nothing fair about throwing your opponent at a basilisk."

"That's totally not how it happened."

Kirian's only retort was a low grumble as she crossed her arms and looked away. Like Baeloth, she was another stray they had picked up on the road to Durlag's Tower, although Imoen had met her before that. Bit of a story: they had first met Kirian when she had been the mouthy leader of a group of adventurers, competing with Imoen, Shura and the rest over the bounty on some madman who was cultivating basilisks.

When the rival hunting parties had met they had exchanged a lot of insults, and somehow they ended up agreeing to a rather stupid contest between their 'leaders,' the winner getting their pick of one of the loser's enchanted items. The little race had ended (predictably) with Kirian stumbling into a basilisk and getting petrified. Then, once the lizard had been squashed, Ashura had snagged Kirian's enchanted belt and they all gone on their way.

Imoen had hoped that Kirian's companions would have come back and freed her, but it kind of came as no surprise when, months later, she had found the woman still statuefied in mid-stride with a surprised look on her face, her pants now around her ankles to add insult to injury (at least she had been wearing a longish tunic!) Once Kirian had been de-rockified (and taken an embarrassing fall) she had actually made a pretty good addition to the team. Sword-and-spell wise, at least. Certainly had a mouth that still got her into trouble.

"And come on," Imoen eventually added, glancing at the kitchen and hoping that their meal would be arriving soon. "After the vault below Durlag's Tower and all the rest, can't you afford to just buy a new enchanted belt? Or ten? They probably sell all sorts of stuff like that in the markets of Athkatla."

Kirian pouted a moment more. "I guess so." Then she grinned. "Alright. I admit it. It was quite the haul. Best I've ever seen."

Imoen clapped. "And the City of Coin just sounds like the perfect place to spend our new treasure." And catch up with her sister, of course. See? It would all work out.

Mirtul 12, 1369 D.R.

Rising and falling, the ship cut through the waves, threading its way past treacherous shoals and on to the deeper waters of the Sea of Swords. Up on the deck, beneath the single mast, Ashura leaned back and pressed a rag to her cheek, trying to wipe away the blood that caked her face. It was a warm, clear day; the sky a deep blue, brushed at the edges with the faintest of clouds.

Glancing back, Ashura watched the island recede behind them. From here it just looked like a clump of jagged rocks, with the ancient trees of the forest peeking out here and there, all ringed by golden sandbars. At the rear of the boat Durlyle minded the rudder, his sister standing nearby and adjusting the rigging, assisted by the air mephit that Edwin had conjured up. The little creature buzzed around the sail, fiddling with the ropes, and the twins looked up to meet her gaze. Durlyle gave her a hint of a smile and a friendly nod, before Ashura turned away.

A little awkward. Most of the blood that was smeared across her face and soaking into her recently-donned tunic had belonged to Durlyle and Delainy's aunt. That fact didn't seem to upset the twins, and perhaps now they just saw Ashura as their pack's new leader, but still…

"You missed a spot," Edwin grumbled, stepping in beside the mast. His hands had been in his sleeves, but now he unfolded them and pointed at Ashura's face. "There." Another waggle of his finger. "And there…and above your neck…and…bah! You're just making more of a mess. Come the morrow, I'll summon a water elemental to clean you up properly."

Ashura snorted, abandoning the blood-soaked rag. The wind felt good on her face, and the briny scent that it carried was familiar. "Appreciate it."

Up at the ship's prow Shar-Teel was slouching and staring off. She looked about as filthy, beaten up, and exhausted as Ashura felt, though the halfling that stood at Shar-Teel's side was a study in contrast. Alora's violet shirt was the same vibrant hue as always, despite all the time on the island and the fact that they had just gone crawling through cramped, wolf-infested caves, and her fuchsia hair had somehow kept its luster. Even Edwin's robes were speckled here and there with dirt, but Alora had remained untouched.

The hin girl turned to look over her shoulder, and her wide moon-face broke into a huge grin. "This is so exiting!" she chirped. "No more running and getting chased 'round that teeny-tiny island by the big mean wolfies!" She stopped herself and coughed. "Um. No offense meant, of course. All the big mean wolfies present—" her eyes swept over Ashura and the twins "—are totally fine! I was just going stir-crazy in that little place."

"This boat is even more 'teeny-tiny' than the island," Edwin pointed out, his voice dry. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable out on the open waves? It can be arranged."

Alora laughed at that. "Good one, Edwin! So happy to see that you've brightened up enough to start telling jokes!" And with that she turned back to watch the sea.

"(Who says that I was joking?)" Edwin's gaze shifted to Ashura, his voice pitched low. "My mephit could easily snatch her up and deposit her out there with the flotsam and jetsam where she belongs. If our 'captain' wishes it."

Ashura rolled her eyes and said nothing. Hells, even if Edwin wasn't joking and they actually tried to murder Alora, she doubted it would be that simple. The girl had managed to evade and even tease a raging pack of wolfweres in the close confines of a derelict ship, not to mention avoiding Ashura's own jaws, that time that she had lost control. The mephit probably wouldn't fare any better.

"Remind me," Edwin continued, still glaring at Alora, "why we are carrying such an annoying piece of cargo in the first place?"

"Because she broke us out of the magical prison."

"That she had gotten us into in the first place!"

"You had a hand in that too."

"Bah."

"As I recall, that wizard was only mad at her, until a certain red idiot started pestering him…" Her voice trailed off when a shadow fell over her. Durlyle had slipped in at the other side of the mast, his sister left to mind the till. He knelt, his cloak brushing the deck, and offered Ashura a stoppered bladder.

"The decoction of belladonna flowers, as asked," the young man explained. "Mixed with the blood of the elder within your stomach, it may dissipate the…curse, as you might call it."

Nodding, Ashura took the waterskin. It sloshed in her hand.

Edwin groaned. "More likely you will vomit your innards out and die a slow, painful, hallucination-wracked death. You do realize that is poison, correct?"

"It is not strong enough to injure one of our blood," Durlyle stated, dismissive. "Visions will accompany the imbibing, however. Should you choose to drink it, I will watch over you."

"(So sweet)," Edwin grumbled "(that I can feel my teeth rotting away.)"

"Or you can attempt to embrace the beast, as we have discussed," Durlyle continued, ignoring the red wizard. "Ride it. Guide it. Live with it. But…difficult, that may be. When turned you were more…fearsome than most."

That was putting it mildly. Shar-Teel's ribs were still healing from the blow Ashura had given her, and Alora would have been bitten in half if the hin girl hadn't been so preternaturally nimble. Of course, the strength, heightened senses, and toughened hide that the transformation gave her were difficult to things to just casually throw away. She remembered Shar-Teel's sword bouncing harmlessly off her skin; remembered cutting a swath through the other creatures, her new form bolstered by her divine blood; and she remembered the fight with Kaishas. Would they even be leaving the island now at all, if she hadn't been able to face the pack leader on equal footing?

Exquisite power, but no control. Ashura turned the waterskin over and over in her hands.

Seemed like it was about time to take some control. To make plans, instead of just drifting and reacting, one crisis to the next. She was this ship's captain, right? She pulled the stopper, and gave the noxious potion a careful sniff.

Edwin spoke up. "Before you drink that, and begin to writhe about while frothing at the mouth and hallucinating, we may wish to decide on a course."

Ashura snorted. Speaking of control. Mr. Constant Demands had his own ideas, as always (though he had settled down a little after the…incident in the Wood of Sharp Teeth.)

"I would, of course, suggest a south-easterly direction. We were heading to Athkatla before this irritating detour, correct?"

Ashura shot him a glare. "If it really is my choice, how about Waterdeep? Always wanted to see it. And I hear Athkatla gets too hot in the summer."

"Yes. Yes. You are the leader. You've made that quite clear. I shall simply advise (the best advice being that we should seize the power that sleeps beneath Athkatla! But do as you wish, foolish girl…)"

As I wish? She was kind of tempted to shove him overboard. (She thought once again of the incident in the Wood of Sharp Teeth.) Would his stoneskin contingency instantly sink him? A fitting end for someone who always over-plans.

Of course, the chests full of Balduran's lost treasure – now stowed beneath the ship's floorboards– had been toted along by Edwin's summoned creatures. He had his uses. Was even reliable, in his way.

And, thanks to those chests, it seemed that they were wealthy once again. Their makeshift hold was brimming with gold, gems, wands, and precious or enchanted knick-knacks. Not to mention Balduran's logbook and magically preserved journal, which were probably the most valuable treasure of all. Real historians (as opposed to fake ones like that asshole Mendas) would pay quite a lot for those. Baldur's Gate would be the obvious place to sell them, but perhaps they could get a bidding war going in another major city. Waterdeep…or Athkatla.

Looking again at the waterskin between her hands, Ashura made a decision. "Tell your mephit and the twins to point us southeast," she ordered. "We seem to have come across some treasure. What better place to spend it than The City of Coin?"

There. Course set. Provided they didn't get hit by another rogue storm. Or lured onto the rocks by sirines. Or attacked by a kraken. Or boarded by Githyanki pirates.

Eh. What was the worst that could happen?

Afterword: And that's that. A gigantic writing project finally COMPLETE! What a relief, and thank you for reading!

I'm not sure if I'll ever write a sequel to this, but if I do, I'm curious what readers think: Ashura the Rampaging Werewolf going into Shadows of Amn, or Ashura the Leader who may have learned a lesson or two and resolved to be less reckless? I have some ideas and preferences for a sequel, but I'm still a little split (and a werewolf protagonist might be an interesting, if drastic change.)

In any case: a HUGE thank you to everyone who has faved, followed, and/or reviewed this fic. And even though it's finished —dear readers— I would always welcome more feedback of any sort (Please? - Please? - Please?) It's always appreciated.

Post Script: Whew! So here's my one, tiny claim to fame: go to the Baldur's Gate fics section on this sight, select "all stories," and do a search by number of reviews. Do you see which story comes up at the top? Do you know what that means? It means I have a huge number of people to thank!

And a huge thanks to: (going to need a deep breath for this)

Celamity (I miss you; in the Baldur's Gate fandom and beyond, you were always an amazing master at saying the most possible things with the minimum possible words. Then I looked at your profile and got the impression that you're a big Jane Austin fan. And I was like "Yeah, that makes sense"), Kyn (thanks so much for Ashura's portrait! It was perfect), kaspain (you're amazing too!), Blue-Inked Frost, Trisa Slyn, Datakim, Theodur (so many great reviews!), WareTheVenom(since I think you're an amazing writer, I was especially thrilled that you R&Red my fic), AstroDeath (hey! Come back sometime and give us a few more chapters of your awesomely wimpy Bhaalspawn character and his misadventures with a very sisterly, bickering Imoen; I really liked your fic!) sunnysoul, JCL1371, NoNameAvailable Bis (really appreciate all of your blunt critiques) Lalaithe (I've said this before but: your amazing fics were what inspired me to write my own, so I was really happy that you read and reviewed my stuff!), Arkeus (I really appreciate your super-negative review. It highlighted a lot of big flaws with my writing, and I appreciate the constructive criticism), Breitve (I need to write some more interesting Minsc and/or Imoen scenes for you!) Eyanid, wyval, Gensuru, CYM187 (wow! Thank you for all of those super detailed reviews, even if it's a little embarrassing how many holes you keep poking in my plots. Though one thing to constantly remember: my protagonist made wisdom her dump stat, doesn't ever plan ahead, and survives on hard headedness (and maybe a lot of constitution) rather than being clever), and…last but not least, a huge thanks to Alexij. Wow. You surprised me with a bunch of great reviews for an old, dead, and completed fic.

Whew! So anyway: I'm extremely grateful to every reviewer. Thank you, and every last one of you (sorry if I missed anyone. Poke me if I did and I'll add you to that monster paragraph!) for your support.