General disclaimer: I own nothing, even Maiyn generally decides her own path.

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Loose Ends

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The quill moved swiftly over the parchment, etching neat, regimented symbols detailing the findings from recent times. Sir Ajantis Ilvastarr paused for a moment, reaching the point in his report that had caused him the most worry and concern. He'd heard the reports of Maiyn and her companions reaching the Forest of Tethir, confirming the direction he'd suspected they'd take. So far, however, they had not emerged on the other side -- the few contacts he had remaining in the Tethyrian lands had seen no sign of them, and could only speak of a disturbance within the leafy glades, deep within the wood itself.

He sighed, placing the quill down neatly, and placing the cork firmly into the small bottle of black ink. He read over his last few sentences: The Children then took a southerly direction, heading amidst the trees of the elves, where one of them shall surely meet her kin. Our own still travels with them; Sir Anomen takes his quest seriously, and I have no doubt he will report back when he is able to. For now, they seem to have their own business to attend to; perhaps a final conclusion to the incidents regarding the explosion in the Promenade, and the fall of Spellhold.

Not once did he mention the sire of the Children; the term 'Bhaalspawn' left a bitter taste in his mouth, and more so now he'd had the brief, but pleasurable experience of meeting the two girls cursed with that particular attribute. The elven one was slightly more concerning than her charming, human 'sister' -- but Coran had spoken enough of her, and he trusted the fighter's impressions enough to cast the doubts aside. Since his return to the city, he'd asked Helm to watch over them during his prayers, hopeful that there would be some way for each of them to cast away their dark shadows and free themselves from the taint that ran through their veins.

He rolled his report up, then picked up the candle that flickered on his desk, holding it over the paper until the wax dripped and began to firm, sealing the contents safely within. In one fluid motion, he grabbed his cloak from the nearby windowsill, pressing the outline of the heart-shaped symbol until it was imprinted on his correspondence, and stood from his seat, heaving the garment over his shoulders with his free hand. He swiftly strode to the door of his study, almost falling over Faraji in the process as the boy trotted past, delicately carrying a stack of freshly laundered sheets and blankets along the corridor, under the watchful eye of Aime. She offered a bobbing curtsey to her Lord, then scolded Faraji good-naturedly for dropping a facecloth as he called out an apology, and they continued on their way. Ajantis smiled and made his way to the staircase, almost leaping down the steps two at a time in his haste.

The noise he made during his descent echoed around the airy entrance hall and he winced openly; pausing at the foot to have a small, embarrassed cough before making his way over to the tall, dark-haired woman who was standing by one of the polished wooden cabinets. Her attention was on the bowl of petunias and daisies before her, long, slender fingers arranging the flowers into a pleasant display. She tutted loudly as he drew up beside her.

"Must you do that?" she asked, a trace of amusement on her voice. When she looked up to Ajantis, he could clearly see her eyes twinkling, and despite her efforts to hide it, there was a faint trace of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"I am dreadfully sorry, My dear Lady Bethany," he said, wholly sincerely and taking her hand gently in his to raise it to his lips as he offered an apologetic bow. "I forget sometimes."

"I blame all the time you spent at the Order," she replied, shaking her head slightly. "So much armour, and all of you in such a rush. It causes the most terrible din."

"I will double my efforts to keep that in mind," he smiled. She was such a beautiful creature, and despite her scolding, she was one of the most patient women he'd met. In fact, the only one who had been patient enough to wait for his training to finish...

"Well, please do also remember that my Aunt Imelda and Uncle Rupert are visiting for dinner this eve," Bethany continued, turning to face him; all his transgressions were forgotten in an instant as she prepared to speak of her plans. "Aime has collected what we'll need - and you should see the shellfish she managed to purchase from the docks, this morning! It was from some vendor she'd never tried before, but Faraji swore by him, though I do not think you'd appreciate to know how little Faraji knew the wares were good-"

Ajantis raised en eyebrow.

"-But it is all gloriously fresh and it looks absolutely divine -- wait until you see it! And my mother sent over a bottle of wine that she picked up when they were last in Calimport -- she had one for herself, and she says it complements the fish nicely, though we might want to change over to the bottles you picked up from Beregost for the main course, because Aime's sister-in-law provided us a succulent cut of venison, and Phyllis -- you know, the lady next door? Lady Phyllis DeMontford?"

Ajantis nodded mutely.

"Well, her housekeeper, Jean, does this wonderful thing whenever they have fresh venison, so she is coming over later on to help Aime in the kitchen-"

"Lady Phyllis is?" he asked.

Bethany frowned. "No, my love. Jean is. Do pay attention. Anyway, we have the food planned out completely, though not the tableware -- really, I do hope that when we marry we are provided with some practicalities for dinner parties, because you're absolutely no use!"

Ajantis grinned widely. "Well, since you are proving to be a master at these affairs, it doesn't really matter how inept I am, does it? Am I right in thinking you plan to meet your sister, later, to purchase some utensils and cutlery fit for the event?"

"Of course," she replied. "We shan't be too long, though we did plan to take Faraji along with us if he is free from your tasks. He can help us to carry everything home."

Ajantis groaned internally; he wondered just how much everything would be.

"That will be absolutely fine," he stated, smiling widely. "I need to go to the Order to submit this report, though I daresay it shan't take long."

Bethany's brow wrinkled, and she gave her betrothed a dangerous look. He swallowed nervously.

"You won't be late, will you?" she asked suspiciously. "I know what it is like when you get caught up in Order business -- you say it will only take an hour in the afternoon, and you're gone for a half day, or more!" She paused and sighed. "I understand your duty and your obligations. But please do learn to tell me how long you will be more accurately; that way, I may never end up being disappointed, hmm?"

The knight bowed yieldingly, offered his intended a quick peck on the cheek, and called his farewells as he strode to the door; not only would he look like he was he was trying to see to his duties in a timely manner so he could rush back home, and therefore please his wife-to-be... but he was also escaping any further discussion relating to the household; which, he'd decided some time ago, ran perfectly well as it was, without his interference.

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The overcast sky looked so dark and heavy that Brielbara almost wondered if it was going to fall to the earth that day. The rain had begun several days before, easing off as the temperature fell lower and lower, signalling the start of the colder season; though this year it seemed to be colder than it ever had before. Now, it was only a matter of time until the first flakes of snow began to fall.

Behind her, Namara murmured gently as she told stories to her doll. Then -- a random giggle, and a surprised exclamation. Brielbara smiled softly at her daughter as she turned to watch -- already her father's heritage was beginning to show, with the bright, green eyes, and the small points at the tip of each ear. It has ceased to be a painful reminder of the elf that Briel had once assumed she loved; now it was just a display of the beauty of her child.

She sighed softly; the weather was no excuse for her loitering in the warmth of her drawing room this late into the day, and she was expected to open Sorcerous Sundries in the absence of Halbazzer; the older man had travelled north to meet his first grandchild for the first time, and Brielbara did not intend to let him down by missing out on potential trade in his absence.

But... something was amiss. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that all was not well, but she was unable to pinpoint what was causing it, or why she felt that way. The letter she'd received from Coran's old companions had worried her slightly; she had expected him to have been lucky enough to find them quite swiftly, and concerns over his well-being had come more and more often to the forefront of her thoughts.

But she shook them aside; he was a survivor, of that there was no doubt. Perhaps he'd met them by now... perhaps not. His old ways may have surfaced, and he was more likely to be in the warm bed of the latest pretty girl to catch his eye, than he was to be in any trouble that would be worthy of causing Briel to have any worries. But still the ominous feeling lingered and the weather seemed to have changed to match. She was superstitious enough to have growing concerns regarding it all, and decided that enough was enough. She grabbed her cape, only pausing to kiss her daughter's brow gently, before calling goodbye to Alice in the kitchen as she swept from the house.

The drizzle hung in the air, causing everything to become damp quickly. She drew her hood up, glaring darkly at the blackened sky. The walk to the shop wasn't long, but the wetness underfoot had caused parts of the road to become very muddy and slippery, and she took her time as she went, causing her journey to be longer than usual. She was glad to be inside again, when she'd reached her destination.

There had been no one outside as she'd walked along the roads -- people were staying in, avoiding the weather, and even the travellers seemed reluctant to leave the warmth of the taverns. It was to be a slow day, of that there was no doubt; but it would give her time to try her own cantrips, and so she rummaged through the shelves, gathering the necessary items and cleared a space on the counter.

There, she laid out the various reagents and raised her hands to her neck to unclasp the silver necklace that never left her skin. Her hands shook slightly as she opened the pendant, pulling free a solitary hair from the small clipping that nestled inside, and she placed it into the crystal bowl, replacing her jewellery before she added the other ingredients. The words coming from her mouth were stilted at first -- she was out of practice, and she feared it would prevent her from casting the spell; but as she got further and further into the conjuration, the words began to flow more naturally. As she uttered the last word, she waved her hand once across the watery mirror and held her breath.

For many moments, nothing happened; but then it began to cloud over, and slowly a scene came into focus. Brielbara watched wordlessly; her eyes widened, her heart began beating faster... her hands trembled as she raised them to her mouth. The vision didn't last long -- but it was enough for her to see what she needed to see; it was enough for her to see Coran's body as he lay there, prone and lifeless, as several figures stood at his side, their faces sad and tired.

Maiyn was not one of them.

The sound of the bell tinkling above the door caused her to start, and she blinked several times, shaking the thoughts, the vision, from her head. Hastily she began clearing the bowl away, forcing a smile onto her face as she looked up to her customer. A tall woman had entered, garbed in the clothes of one accustomed to travelling in all varieties of weather, and looking completely unfazed by the conditions outside. Her eyes locked onto Brielbara's own, and she smiled genially -- but the gesture never seemed to reach her eyes.

"How can I help you?" Briel asked; the counter finally clear as the woman walked over, breaking her gaze only to look around the shelves and racks of magical components. She had delicately pointed elven ears; Brielbara's heart lurched at the sight of them, and she desperately tried to turn her concentration onto something else, moving one of the boxes of glitter-dust around so it was more prominently displayed beside the jars of pickled eyes.

"I'm in need of some things," the woman replied; her voice was smooth and seductive; her dark eyes seemed to take in everything. Brielbara had seen many adventuring and travelling types purchase goods from the store while she'd worked there, but none of them carried the confidence and the assuredness that this elven woman did with ease.

Brielbara nodded, listening as a list was rattled off for the usual, and some of the less usual items, gathering the reagents that were close, and leading the woman over to the racks to show the varieties for others. The human woman shivered slightly as she pulled two bottles of undiluted snake venom that had arrived not a tenday ago from the jungles in Chult. They were the most potent poisons she'd ever come close to -- even the scent from them was known to be deadly, and extreme care had to be used when manipulating them. But as well as their deadly effects, they contained the potential for great power, apparently; the more experienced mages would peer at them every day, over the tops of their rimmed spectacles. Only one other jar had been sold so far, and it was not to anyone in the wizarding profession. Brielbara had lived in the Gate long enough to know some things, and to understand that she should never reveal what she did know. And so when the most favoured girl of the most prominent assassin from the Thieves Guild made her purchase, she was only thankful that the wards placed on Sorcerous Sundries each night had been enough to prevent the courtesan's boyfriend from merely stealing it.

Eventually, the list was complete, the trade was done and Brielbara secured the coin in the magical box that Halbazzer had picked up from Cormyr. The elven woman found a home for her new possessions in pockets, pouches and bags, then smiled, again -- her eyes remaining almost cold, and focussed, as they had before.

"Thank you for your assistance," she said. "I wonder... could you give me some information on the City? It is the first time I have travelled this far north, and one of the street boys was kind enough to point me in the direction of your shop."

Brielbara smiled back. "I'd be happy to," she said, waving over to a small seating area beside some of the older tomes that were available for reference only. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything," the elven woman said, following the human woman's lead easily. "But first -- tell me your name. I do like to know a little about the people I spend time with."

"My name is Brielbara," Briel replied, sitting down on one of the seats. The woman seemed to pause for a moment, but then moved on effortlessly, easing herself down into one of the other chairs. Her smile seemed to intensify.

"Brielbara?" she asked. "How... lovely. It is a very real pleasure to meet you. But... I am forgetting my manners, aren't I? My name is Illasera... and I am sure you will be all the help I could need."

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A set of perfectly manicured nails drummed relentlessly on the surface of the tavern's counter. Edwina Odesseiron, formerly known as Edwin, was very unhappy with her life at that moment; not only was she stuck in a simian, backwater town, full of peasantry and yokels (but with the largest supply of lovely red silk that she'd ever seen outside Thay, and a beautician who appreciated the finer arts of making wizardesses look good), but she'd also lost all track of the Bhaalspawn that she'd been sent to obtain for her country, and she had no idea where to begin looking for them (damn these Divination 'spells'!). And so, she'd decided to stay here -- not because she wanted to, but because there was a large, ugly, gaudy set of statues sitting in the town's square, and two of them bore a remarkable resemblance to the foppish elf and the brain-dead apprentice he'd had the misfortune to travel with previously.

The fact that the foppish elf seemed to have some kind of link to the Bhaalspawn, and an incurable dose of cockiness, meant that there was a very good chance he'd take the filthy creature here, to show off the display of poor stonemanship to her. And when he did, Edwin... Edwina (sigh) Odesseiron would be on hand to take her by force, if necessary. And then he could finally return to Thay, with his prize, and relieve himself from this ridiculous curse.

He just had to wait. It was a masterfully cunning plan, and there could be no chance of it failing. His only hope was that he would not be driven mad by the almost continual attempts from the local young men to woo him; what was worse, that he'd been tempted, once or twice, to try it out and see how it felt.

A tap to his shoulder made him leap from his stool, his face as scarlet as his robe with indignant fury at having been manhandled yet again. Before he could register who he was speaking to, he'd begun a full-blown tirade.

"Simians! (Insolent, monkey-brained, addled plebeian!) Remove your filthy appendages from me before I... before... I... ah." As the words trailed off, Edwina coughed with some embarrassment and lowered her eyes to the ground. Eventually, she found the words she was looking for, and tried again.

"Hello, father. It is... good to see you."

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The gnome clapped his hands; and in a flash of light the lion disappeared completely, causing the audience to ooh and aah. Vesper squealed in excitement, and Leona clapped wildly, both enjoying the show fully. Keldorn smiled as he looked over to them, and then returned his gaze to the woman sitting by his side, allowing him to hold her hand throughout the whole production.

The Order had understood his plea when he'd requested to lessen his duties, but full retirement had not been granted. Instead, Sir Keldorn was to spend every other day at the Order, involved in the training of the squires in non-combat situations, and to lecture them on campaigns he'd been involved in. This was enough to appease the Lady Maria; she had her husband back, as part of their family once again, but also had plenty of chances to pursue her own interests and activities with the other ladies of the court. For the first time in many years, she looked happy once more. And he was glad.

The children were benefiting too; he was learning more about them then he'd ever thought possible before, as he'd been sure he'd already known all he needed to know. Leona's mischievous streak had taken a bit of getting used to, and her tomboy nature had taken him completely by surprise. And Vesper's excellence at her schooling, and apparent natural talents when it came to music... he had been completely unaware of them before. He had been a fool to have been so blind to it all, but he had not been present enough to appreciate it. Now he could.

Maria caught him gazing at her, and she rewarded him with a warm, fond smile and a slight squeeze from her hand. He chuckled, letting himself look back at the spectacle of the circus while the two girls laughed uncontrollably at the clown being chased by the moose. He'd enjoy it while he could; after all... tomorrow he had to explain diplomacy to a particularly social set of younger squires; followers of Lathander, none of them strangers the attractive qualities of a woman, or the debates on what made good mead.

It would be... interesting.

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Sime stood by the railings that ran around the docks, and stared at the building rising up from the middle of the row. The windows looked darker than ever before, and the man standing at the door was eyeing the passers-by with suspicion and thinly veiled hostility. Curtains twitched in the upper levels, the door was tightly shut, and probably barred from the inside; the whole place was screaming to the world what it was.

Since Mae'Var's demise, the place had gone to ruin. After surviving Spellhold, death, the Underdark, and then Bodhi and her minions, she'd left the city to go hunting Saemon Havarian; though quite unsuccessfully. The gold that she'd managed to obtain from the mad wizard, Xzar, had funded her trip away, and she'd hoped to be able to clear her head from the thoughts that had refused to leave since the day she realised she'd fallen in love with a traitor. But it was futile; and then Aran had recalled her to Athkatla, quite suddenly, and she'd been handed the remit for the second most powerful Guildhouse in the city. For the first time in her life, she'd hesitated.

She could refuse, and leave again; she was respected enough to choose her own missions, to a degree, and Aran loved her as his blood. He would not force her to make a choice she did not want to take. But at the same time, he had already made her overcome the most difficult part. Once she'd initially left the city, it was so easy for her to stay away; to keep her mind busy with a futile hunt for a man who was almost as evasive as her own family. What was she running from? No one within her guild knew of her weakness, and those she travelled with... well, she trusted them enough to not speak of it. The excitement of the vampire hunt had been exhilarating, but then they'd parted ways for good, and Sime felt... empty. It was another sense of loss, and she'd broken down in tears when she returned to Aran's room that evening, to report. For the first time she could ever remember, he'd dismissed every single guard that night, allowing her to speak of Yoshimo and of her shame. He'd not even done as such when he'd awkwardly called her to the room; one night shortly after he'd achieved the position of Shadowmaster, and uneasily began a lecture on the differences between men and women. He'd only stopped when she gently pointed out that she was already twenty years old, and had known of the differences for some years.

To her surprise, he'd listened to her, held her when she was finished, and then allowed her to go. She'd been relieved, but she'd also felt saddened. There was no fight to try and keep her there... the sense of loss deepened. That's why she'd returned as soon as his letter had arrived; she needed to feel needed. And he was proving that he needed her in the only way he really knew how to.

So she'd accepted the guild. It would give her focus, and it would give her a reason once again. She wasn't an adventurer; the loss she felt from departing from the group was slowly lessening, but the wistful memories would remain -- just as the quiet longing she felt at night, for the arms of her eastern lover to return to her bed would be with her. But both would fade; the horror she'd felt at her first cold-blooded kill had passed; the guilt over her first theft had passed.

It would all pass. Now, she had a job to do. And the first thing would be to change the awkward appearance of what should be a threatening and ominous building.

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Montaron hated nature. He hated a lot of things, but there was something even more offensive to his senses about nature; and this meant that he was one very unhappy halfling as they spent yet another night camping in the wilderness, somewhere that he could only hope was getting closer and closer to civilisation.

Xzar was sitting by the rough fire, cross-legged, swaying erratically as he hummed some kind of 'tune'. He'd contemplated asking him to stop, but decided that the longer the wizard was busy doing something else, the more time he'd have to read these bits of tatty paper that had been stashed in his pack. He'd learnt the art of reading and writing from a fairly young age -- the Zhentarim had no use for anything illiterate, and it'd been more than his life was worth when he was younger to avoid learning. Though, with hindsight...

The writing on the paper was quite neat and tidy, which caused him to have a fair bit of suspicion. After all -- each one of them was signed with the mad wizard's name. For as long as he'd known the mage, Xzar's writing had always been erratic, almost incomprehensible, and usually gibberish. Even his spells were unreadable by anyone but him.

The first sheaf contained a lot of notes regarding some kind of magics; there seemed to be the reports from some experiments, the speculation on using different ingredients in various spells and the potential effects. Montaron frowned as he read; this had to be some kind of elaborate joke, didn't it? The mage'd been as mad as a hatter the whole time he'd had the misfortune to know him. The halfling was already aware that his life was one, large, unmitigated disaster, but not even the Gods could be so cruel as to make it so that Xzar was only mad when Montaron was around...

Could they?

He leafed through a few more pages, and paused when he came to one with 'MAIYN' written in large red letters. The sudden change of ink colour from black to red didn't faze him in the slightest -- but the information beneath, did. He read, quietly -- so engrossed by the revelations that he barely heard the constant humming in the background. When he was finished, he let the papers drop away from him, and he stared into the distance for several moments.

It was her. She was the 'power' they'd been sent to find. She was what the Zhentarim wanted.

And he'd completely missed his chance; he'd even been in her company, been brought back to life by her! And... he'd not once realised.

He screamed. He screamed so loudly that their pack-horse managed to somehow break free from its tether and gallop off into the forest. He screamed so loudly, but Xzar paid him not a bit of attention. How could it possibly get any worse?

The pain searing through his throat answered his unspoken question succinctly. His hands instinctively rose to the agonising source, wrenching the arrow free as he fought the waves of dizziness that began to spiral around his consciousness. The figure approached; cloaked and dark, mysterious and menacing -- but Montaron knew exactly who it was, even as the katana flashed in the moonlit night and easily ripped through his flimsy and torn leathers.

The world drained away, and he made no fight, and put up no resistance -- there was only so long a halfling could continue to push against the overwhelming misfortune that constantly seemed to crop up in his life. There would be no return, this time... and this... this made him glad.

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Valygar Corthala had found their trail by sheer luck. On his return to Imnesvale to check on Colette, he'd stumbled across a set of halfling and human prints, and he'd begun to follow them. Not far on, they'd accosted another human, and made off with the horse in tow. Valygar found the body lying in a ditch, and made a mental note to return to it, to ensure the poor victim got the appropriate burial.

But first he had a date with destiny.

They wandered in circles, getting no closer to civilisation, and no further from the temple than they had been when he first picked up their tracks. But they did make good progress; especially for those who appeared so unaccustomed to the wilds. It was only a matter of time, though. The ranger knew this; he followed and waited.

They were tired, that evening. The provisions they'd found on the horse were running low, and the halfling had barely managed to sleep in the past few nights because of the mage's antics. Valygar had realised there was an apparent shift in his attitude; the demise of his ancestor had lessened the distaste he felt for those practising in the magical arts, and spending time with the two younger girls had made him grudgingly accept that he could not judge all wizards by one standard.

And that night, he realised that if he was able to kill only one, then it would be the halfling. The non-spellcaster. The mage... he couldn't figure out the mage. He was mad, of that there was no doubt. If he were to escape, then he'd surely perish in the wilderness without his guard to look after him. He was unimportant. The small one was all Valygar was focussing on.

And so he made his way to the horse, keeping himself shrouded in the shadows and darkness, and cut the rope that tied it to the tree. With impeccable timing, the halfling screamed, and the horse bolted. Valygar couldn't suppress his smile, and he cautiously glanced through the scrub at the contorted features of his seemingly incensed prey.

It took only a second to notch the arrow, and another to find the perfect spot as the halfling's head lolled backwards in temper. The arrow flew straight and true, and, silently, the ranger drew himself up, making his way calmly over as he pulled his katana free from his belt.

No words were exchanged -- the thrust easily penetrated the worn armour, and there was barely a gurgle passing from the halfling's lips as he slumped further to the ground. The blade was pulled free easily, and Valygar turned to the mage. He sat by the fire, still; the tuneless humming had stopped, the stillness of his figure in the dark night was almost eerie.

Before the ranger could decide what to do, the wizard had jumped to his feet, a bloodthirsty cry shrieking from his lips as he launched himself at the ranger; Valygar had just enough time to bring his katana up in an attacking posture, when the mage managed to abruptly stop himself, and, instead, he smiled almost serenely, and reached out to poke the halfling's corpse with a toe.

"Montaron, I... never loved you," he half said, half sighed, flicking his wrist once in the ranger's direction. Valygar automatically grabbed the dagger from his belt, throwing it deep into the mage's shoulder and causing him to cry out in pain, just as a wave of fire seemed to course through his own body, and leave him collapsed on the ground, convulsing heavily and drifting into unconsciousness.

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When Valygar awoke the next morning, the mage was gone. The halfling's body still lay where it had fallen, but now it was missing several vital bodily organs, and the pool of stagnant formed around the mutilated corpse made the ranger heave and retch as he scrambled away.