Identity Crisis

(8:00 PM)

Even if he is the Bloodletter, he strikes me as something of a cowardly waif. So if he escapes, he will avoid the direct route, Dace thought to himself as he waited, leaning against a large rock. The mercenary was a fair distance from the faithmongers on patrol; within temple grounds and close enough to see the back of the tower, but far enough that he had ample time to disappear in the off chance that he was spotted.

Despite all his candour, the mercenary was clear-minded enough to know that he would need assistance in order to reach his next target. Cordas was dead, he gathered that much from what he overheard while sneaking out of the temple. But the crimelord's superiors, the ones who directed Cordas to steal the Sigils, were still at large, as was the wayward celestial.

Dace couldn't possibly care less about the artifacts or whatever grandiose plans they were carrying out… all he wanted now was to strike back against the self-righteous celestial. And perhaps revitalize his underworld reputation; after being out of the business for the past three years, it would take a rather significant kill to re-establish his old standing.

Pushing away from the rock, Dace began moving closer to the tower as a cloaked figure climbed out one of the windows. Moving quickly, Dace crossed the field and intercepted the elf as he sprinted away from the building.

"Why are you still here?" asked the elf, not slowing down as they reached the edge of the temple grounds.

"Cyrael tried to kill me, and I always pay back slights against my person."

"The priestess and I had you locked away on Lancam's Isle. Are you planning to pay me back for that? If you are, I'd really like to know so I can expect the blade in my back ahead of time."

Dace snorted indignantly and tugged on the cuff of his leather jerkin. "I was fool enough to be apprehended on that fateful day, therefore I deserved that fate. The celestial, however, failed to end my life, therefore I deserve to live and exact vengeance upon him." He paused a moment to lock a solid glare at the elf. "Moreover, my contract to you is still in place."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure that all sounds deceptively rational." The elf arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying the mercenary's reasoning. "But even so, I'll need to stop off at my guild before we do anything. I think we're going to need more manpower and supplies than what we have right now."

"Do you have a set of lockpicks?"

"Uh, yes. I took them back from the evidence chest after Selena set –"

"Then we require nothing else. The strength and skill behind your actions should come from you and you alone, not in the tools or magical curios you wield." A breeze blew past and as the mercenary's cloak fluttered slightly, Cerdan noticed Dace was holding a dagger in his hand. "If you refuse, then I will interpret your action as a hostility against my personal safety."

The elf frowned, but decided to play along for the moment. "Fine, whatever. You're even madder than I am, so maybe there's something to your ill-conceived plan after all. But even if we do try to handle this alone, it still begs the question of where Cyrael is hiding right now."

"That, I do not know."

"Or do you expect to track down the man that Cordas answered to… what was the name Tavros gave you? 'Pryus' or something? Where, praytell, can we find him?"

"That, I do not know."

As they reached the pavement, the thief slowed to a stop and folded his arms over his chest. "Then how, praytell, do you propose we find them?"

"Simple…" Dace removed a rolled parchment from inside his jacket and unravelled it, holding the scroll up for the elf to see. "These are the orders for my release from Lancam's Isle earlier today. A full, genuine pardon from a Baldur's Gate official. Somehow, this man was convinced to set free a murderer sentenced to three consecutive life terms." He tapped a finger on the signature scrawled at the bottom. "So we travel to the Ducal Palace, and we interrogate this Duke Ryloch."

(8:07)

"What do you mean 'his cell is empty'! I checked on him no more than an hour ago!" bellowed Saudere, charging down the steps into the prison level. "How could he possibly escape when he was imprisoned just this evening?"

Charell wiped her forehead, struggling to keep pace with the High Prelate. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea, sir. I don't know how he could possibly free himself from those manacles, they were magically bound with an enchantment and –"

"How many men do you have available?" he snapped.

"Er, not many, sir. Most are still wounded or otherwise exhausted from the earlier problems in the temple, and priestess Shademoor is currently preparing to lead the remainder to search the city for the stolen Sigils."

Saudere reached the end of the corridor, stepped into the cell, and surveyed the room. There was no sign of a struggle, and the manacles didn't appear to be damaged. Someone had to have voluntarily released the Bloodletter.

"Find the priestess immediately," he said, picking up one of the manacles by the chain. "Make sure she doesn't have a chance to set foot outside the tower; I want to interrogate her personally."

"But sir, the Sigils –"

"This is more important than some sparkly trinkets. There are thousands of dead souls crying out for justice, and I'll not let any person under my charge ignore them," he growled, hurling the manacle into the wall. "Mark this: If the priestess is responsible I'll have her head. This proves it. Elves only care about aiding their own kind."

(8:10)

"You mean the Duke's wife learned of our plans?" growled the man in the mirror pane, brushing a spot of dirt from the breast of his red armour.

Ryloch raised his head and looked down his nose at Pryus. "She has been dealt with, but now we'll have to fabricate a story for my aide's 'disappearance'."

"You're becoming sloppy, you incompetent false-face. What happens if other officials come to suspect what she knew? Do you and your aide intend to knock off each of them in turn and then masquerade as half the palace court?"

"The matter is well in hand. At worst, I can abandon this lifestyle and set up again elsewhere." The Duke shrugged a shoulder. "It matters not, as I imagine the whole Sword Coast will be busy enough when the new order comes into play."

"I think you are becoming lax in your current identity."

"And why not? What is 'identity' to these primates, but little more than a name and face? My people have the gift, so it is our birthright to make use of these creatures as we will. You and I are equals in this endeavour, we both know that humans squander the precious identities they possess."

Pryus snorted out a wisp of smoke. "You're rationalizing now."

"I care not," Ryloch fired back without pause. "In human society, 'tis far better to wear the mask of a somebody than to live true as a nobody. Whatever fate befalls these people is one that they set upon themselves."

"Believe that if you like. I've found that they are often more irritatingly resourceful than anticipated." Pryus snarled slightly, scratching at the back of his hand. "Very well. Continue your charade if you will, but know that I'll grant you no sympathy should you fail to adequately conceal yourself." The red lord waved his arm, and his image dissipated."

Ryloch looked toward the grandfather lock by the wall and grabbed another apple from his desk as he noted the time. His agents should soon be contacting him via spell, and then he would have no further reason to remain under his current façade. Still, he enjoyed the amenities that accompanied this particular name and title. Who knows? With time and selective targets, his people might yet become the masters of this teeming enclave of primates. Anything was possible, if you had the right gift.

(8:14)

"I guess we should be grateful that the city's rulers placed the new temple of Tyr so close to the Ducal Palace. Those politicians just keep worrying about their own health, don't they?" said Cerdan, glancing over at his dour companion.

The mercenary grunted in response and continued peering through the bushes and past the iron fence, observing the guard movements around the palace perimeter. "Four patrols, each taking a slightly different route. But they all eventually go past this side of the building every few minutes."

Cerdan peeked around the foliage and examined the south entrance of the building in the distance. This was the only part of the palace that lacked a watch station. The door at the wall's mid-point was likely in place for the servants, who were housed in a separate building on the opposite side of the palace, across the garden and orchard."

"One patrols seems to make the rounds a bit slower than the others. That affords us a better window of opportunity." Dace pointed at a pair of guards coming from around the corner of the palace wall. "There. That is the lagging patrol. I estimate we will have under six minutes to climb the fence, sprint across the field, pick the lock, and get inside."

Cerdan nodded his tacit approval, and they continued to wait patiently for the patrol to pass by again. "So…" the elf suddenly said, "How's the food at Lancam's Isle? I figure I should find out, since I might end up there in the near future."

"You talk far too much for a former warlord. Caden the Bloodletter never became famous for his ability to hold inane conversation."

"Please don't call me that," Cerdan muttered, the levity leaving his tone. "I haven't gone by that name for a long time. It's not who I am now."

"So who are you then? Do you carry a black heart or a white hat?"

That's a better question than you're aware, Cerdan thought, What identity should I call my own now? Hero or villain?

"Earlier today," began the rogue, abruptly changing the subject. "Selena believed that you were the Bloodletter. Guess no one told her Caden was an incredibly handsome devil, hey?"

"More faithmonger ineptitude. The Battle of Caden's Hill took place almost fifty years ago. I was likely still being spoon-fed then." Narrowing his eyes across the field, Dace continued, "You do not possess the demeanour of a soldier. It is a wonder that your kind could muster up enough military strength to slaughter thousands of knights."

"In the end we didn't fend them off with armed force… it's complicated than you know."

"Is that regret in your voice?"

Cerdan released a single, indignant laugh. "Hardly. Why would I regret the outcome of the war? We won, despite what the faithmongers may think. I'd do it all again, if I had to."

"Then perhaps you are not such a hopeless fool after all." Standing, the mercenary began to move around the bushes toward the palace fence. "But stop talking like a sentimental fool. I was a frontline soldier once, and I bear no illusions on the matter; a leader's duty is to send his men to die, and to ensure they do so in the right place and time." He stepped up and grabbed the iron bars, preparing to hoist himself up. "And on that related note, it is now time for an audience with the esteemed Duke Ryloch."

(8:22)

"We need a diviner to detect when she lies." Saudere stopped before opening the door. The elf waited inside, and he wanted to be prepared. "No doubt she'll attempt to further deny her involvement with the Bloodletter and his subsequent escape."

"I hardly think this is all necessary, sir," piped Charell, "The priestess has always been one of our most forthright faithful, and I'm sure she'll –"

"No. I can no longer afford to simply take her words at face value. Who is the most experienced diviner in the temple?"

"Priestess Shademoor."

The High Prelate grit his teeth. "Then who is the next most experienced?"

Charell scratched her neck, "Well, of those available, it would probably be me."

"Good, then we can begin at once." He turned and opened the door. The young woman quietly took a deep breath, then followed him into the chamber where the priestess waited.

"Must we constantly go through this routine?" Selena asked as Saudere took a seat in the chair across from her. The elf cast a questioning glance toward Charell, forcing the younger cleric to look away. "We both have more important duties to attend."

Saudere pointed directly at Charell and said, "Begin your casting." He then turned back to the priestess. "I don't trust your words, elf, so the cleric here will be divining every sentence that escapes your lips. She will gauge the falsehood of each statement you make, so do not deign to trick us."

Charell closed her eyes a moment and waved her hands in the necessary spell gestures. Ironically enough, the priestess herself was the one who taught her this spell many years ago. The human cleric cleared the thought from her mind as she finished casting, and a slight buzzing sensation overcame her body. Opening her eyes, the cleric could now make out a slight aura around each person in the room; Selena, High Prelate Saudere, even the guards standing on either side of the elf woman.

They were all limned with a colourless spiritual aura that seemed to make the air around them seem to wiggle and wave, like the air near an open campfire without the smoke. So long as the aura remained transparent, Charell would know that they were telling the truth… assuming there were no other magical countermeasures in the room to throw her off. No spell was foolproof, and even the most skilled casting could be trumped.

The cleric nodded to the Prelate, and he began his interrogation. "How long have you served the Church of Tyr?" he asked. Charell guessed he wanted to test the divination magic first, before getting to the heavier questions.

"Almost my entire life, ever since I was a child."

The woman's aura remained unchanged, so Charell nodded to Saudere. "Truth."

"Now speak a lie, priestess."

"I am a traitor to the Church of Tyr," she said in a flat voice, staring into the Prelate's eyes. Instantly, the aura changed to an opaque black, like smoke coming off her form. In a few moments after speaking, the priestess' aura cleared up and became transparent again.

"False," said Charell.

"Hm. Very well, then." Despite the result of her statement, Saudere clearly didn't look impressed at all. "However, I imagine that the truth and what you may believe to be the truth are two separate spheres. State your rank and name in the Church."

"Priestess of Tyr, Selena Shademoor," she replied. As she spoke the name, however, her aura suddenly shifted to black again.

Charell stared at the priestess with an arched eyebrow, wondering what this could all mean. "She spoke falsehood on her name…"

Before Saudere could pounce, the elf raised a hand. "While that is not my elven birth name, it is the name that I adopted for use in human society. It's a rough equivalent in Common, and was never meant as a deception. I've used this name for so long, that it has become natural to me."

Her aura went clear again as she spoke. Charell nodded an affirmation to the Prelate, but also sent a wary gaze at the priestess. Selena had never mentioned anything about this to Charell before, and the cleric started to wonder if she might actually be hiding more than she was letting on, as Saudere seemed to believe.

"According to Church records, you have a history of opposition to the execution of prisoners, but it only ranges back to about fifty years ago. That's around the time of the Battle of Caden's Hill. What happened?"

Charell rubbed the back of her neck, wondering what the Prelate might be getting at. Throughout the young cleric's entire life, Priestess Shademoor had always been a challenger against agents in the temple who sought to have criminals hanged or beheaded. Before now, the Charell never wondered why the Selena felt this way; she just assumed it was part of the elf's nature.

The priestess took a slow breath, and the fingers on her left hand fluttered for an instant. "Fifty years ago, I captured and arrested a particularly notorious criminal; a serial killer, in fact. This resulted in his public execution a few weeks later. While this happened during the war, it was not related in any way."

"I see. So what made this execution so special? Why did this cloud your perspective on rightful justice?"

There was a spot of sweat visible on Selena's forehead. "That- that isn't something I wish to discuss, and it is completely irrelevant to the case of the Bloodletter. The Church still has records of that case, and you can consult–"

"I've already read the case documents, and I am convinced that your change in perspective is a sign of weak spirit." The Prelate suddenly shifted to a sharper tone, "How long have you been in association with the Bloodletter?"

"I've known him for about three years," she sighed, shaking her head. "But before today I never knew he was the Bloodletter, or even a fugitive of war."

"Have you ever provided him with information against the interests of Tyr's justice?"

"No, never. At worst, we traded information on criminal activity in the city, in order to better apprehend the more violent types that prowl this city like wolves; murderers, anarchists, those sorts. But I wouldn't pass him anything harmful to the Church or the general population of Baldur's Gate."

Saudere leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. The frown on his face grew as he spoke, "Did you enter Caden's cell alone tonight, shortly before eight?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. Charell noticed that the priestess was now sitting almost perfectly still, not moving at all, except to speak. She was hiding something.

"For what purpose?"

Selena hesitated a moment, letting her eyes close briefly. Charell shifted uncomfortably, hoping the priestess would just spare herself the difficulty and speak the honest truth. Clearing her throat, the elf said, "I went there to put an end to my relations with the blackheart, and to say goodbye. That is –"

"I don't believe you!" Saudere bolted up from his seat and slammed his hands down on the table. The sudden noise caused Charell to flinch slightly, but the priestess remained impassive. "Do not seek to leave a smear upon the souls of those who perished at Caden's Hill!"

Charell came forward and gently pulled the Prelate away by the shoulders. "Please sir, she's telling the truth. Perhaps our resources would be better spent elsewhere, such as a renewed search for the Bloodletter?"

"Sir," Selena cut in, "my loyalties to the Church remain. I only seek to prevent further harm to our Order and to the people of the city. Right now, we're wasting time on this witch hunt, when there is a far more potent threat, a fallen celestial, freely roaming Baldur's Gate."

Saudere frowned and refused to back down from the matter. "The Order of Tyr fought and won against a tribe of heretic elves during the Bloodletter's war. How does that make you feel? Does it make you resent the holy symbol you wear about your neck?"

"I am a faithful of Tyr, first and foremost. Being an elf is irrelevant to that fact." Selena leaned forward and folded her hands. "Moreover, I cannot offer an opinion on the war itself when the details surrounding the Battle of Caden's Hill are so shrouded. For one, what exactly was the nature of the 'Behemoth', and what role did it play in the conflict?"

Saudere's lip twitched and he uncrossed his arms, placing his hands flat on the table as he loomed closer. "You presume much by questioning me, but unlike you, I have nothing to hide. I can freely say that the Behemoth was a weapon of magic, created by the elven forces to commit atrocities against humanity. One more crime by your kind."

Strangely enough, the Prelate's aura turned dark as he said this. Charell's brow furrowed, but she decided it would be safer not to voice that peculiarity at this time. Perhaps the Prelate was unaware that the divination was affecting him as well.

"Ahem," the cleric began, "Prelate, she has been more or less straightforward and honest with us. As I suggested, might it be time to consider turning our attention elsewhere? It would be more practical to start searching the district for the escaped prisoner."

Saudere wiped his forehead, then pointed a finger in the elf's direction again. "You are hereby confined to your quarters until I give permission otherwise. I think my Royal Horsemen will be needed to hunt down the Bloodletter, so your goose chase for this 'fallen celestial' that no one else has seen is at an end." He motioned to the guards. "Take the priestess away."

As the knights moved to take her by the arms, Selena shook them off and stood on her own accord. "Sir, you're making a mistake. I am not an enemy to the Church. For your sake, I do hope the celestial isn't planning anything destructive for the city."

As she was escorted out of the room, Saudere turned to Charell and said, "Send out an order to the knights and city officers in the region: All exits from the nobles' district are to be sealed. Nobody is permitted to move in or out this night until the Bloodletter is found.

(8:33)

"I've sent an aide out to round up the palace guards you dismissed earlier. They should be back in place within the hour," said Fara, or more precisely, the being that now wore Fara's face.

Ryloch nodded, "And the human woman's corpse?"

"Disposed of via the same venue as the Duke."

"Good. There is little to do now but wait for our colleagues to complete their own assignments. Why don't you go stalk about the palace halls and complain about your 'husband'? The palace staff shouldn't suspect that anything is different."

Fara grinned and stepped out of the room, leaving Ryloch alone in his study with the mirror.

"Pryus is right," said a female voice from the mirror. "You are becoming too comfortable in this current role. I warn you not to lose sight of the long goal. You seem to be growing distracted over momentary pleasures."

"The people left themselves open to threats, it should be within our right to enjoy the opulence that these primates have otherwise squandered."

"So your spite toward them simply stems from a matter of outward appearance, then?"

"Nothing more," Ryloch replied, reaching for another green apple. "I don't expect you to understand what it is like to be brought into this world without the treasure of identity and individuality."

"Understand it, no." The woman in the mirror suddenly glanced upward, concern evident on her face as the illumination on her side of the portal flickered briefly. The light then returned to normal and she calmed down. "But I can empathize, as does Pryus, as does Cyrael. However, let me warn you that we still have work to be done before the night is through. Do not let the trappings of your temporary identity overtake your judgment."

"Mm. You mean you still have work to be done. The Behemoth's Heart?"

"Recovered like child's play. But the darkness of the night impedes my search for the wielder."

Nodding along, Ryloch flipped a knife in his hand, catching it by the handle. "You should have dealt with him sooner."

"No, that would not do." The woman shook her head briefly. "It was important to begin by cutting off his contacts and allies in the city. With no remaining bastion, he will return to the righteous cause. Even after only fifty years, he has no doubt lost some of his inner fire." She paused, seemingly caught up in some distant memory, and lightly ran a finger across her lips before continuing. "A rekindling of the spirit is needed first, if he is to be reminded of his priorities…"

(8:37)

"Inconceivable…" Saudere muttered to himself, leaning over to rifle through the desk drawers. "Where did I leave the cardinal scroll?"

It wasn't until just a few minutes ago that he realized he'd left the red documents exposed. The priestess knew about the Behemoth, so the Prelate had to assume that the information was compromised. Yanking open one of his travel bags, Saudere breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the other red scrolls were still safely collected.

At least the priestess didn't have the gall to go snooping through his personal equipment. If she wasn't fully aware of what the Behemoth was, then perhaps he could let the matter slide for now. But her discovery made it clear that he couldn't afford to keep the remaining documents here any longer.

Before he could even think about how to destroy the cardinal scrolls, the Prelate heard a rapping upon his chamber door. He quickly sealed the bag and tucked it back underneath the desk. "Enter."

One of his Royal Horsemen stepped inside, followed shortly by Villet, that young acolyte who always seemed to be underfoot in the temple. The knight bowed and spoke loudly, "This whelp claims he has something to tell you concerning the Bloodletter. Apparently –"

Villet took a brazen step forward past the paladin, holding his head high. He quickly blurted out, "Priestess Shademoor is a traitor. She set that elven criminal free!"

Saudere stood from his chair and braced his hands on the desk. "Are you certain of this, boy? I warn you, I'm in very little mood for baseless accusations and tall tales from children attempting to curry my favour. How do you know this?"

"I was down in the prison level doing some chores earlier, and I spied the priestess enter his cell. I heard the criminal tell her to deliver a message to his allies in the thieves' guild, and then they walked out a few minutes later and –"

The Prelate didn't want to hear anything further. Now he had a witness to the priestess' indiscretions against the Church. He jabbed a finger toward the Royal Horseman. "Alert the tower knights, and inform them that the priestess is a traitor to their cause. No one is permitted to see the elf without my express permission."

He returned his attention to Villet as the paladin saluted and left. "As for you, acolyte, you seem like a rightly lad to me. There is a special task I want you to do for me…"

(8:40)

Pressing his back flat against a pillar in the palace, Cerdan slowed his breathing and kept still, trying to avoid letting his shadow fall outside the small alcove. The elf raised the onyx statuette in his hand, and waited patiently as the footsteps approached his position. As soon as the sounds began to recede, the rogue emerged from behind the column and stepped out after the guard.

He slammed the figurine down, cracking the guard in the base of the skull. Cerdan had to move quickly to catch the man as his unconscious form lurched forward, but only managed to slow the guard's collapse due to the man's bulk.

"Too loud," whispered Dace, appearing from behind the elf. "Difficult to believe you made a living as a thief. Perhaps a leadership role has rendered you inept."

Struggling under the guard's weight, Cerdan gradually dragged the unconscious officer back to the alcove, hiding the man's body behind the marble column. He didn't bother responding to the blackheart's jab, but kept glancing about the corridor in case someone did come to investigate the commotion. The elf quickly placed the onyx statuette back on the corridor shelf where it came from, just in case the other palace guards were more attentive to detail than the one who was now off in dreams.

"Doesn't it strike you oddly," began the elf, "that there are so few guards on patrol in the palace? This floor, especially."

Dace shrugged and continued to step through the hallway, dousing every third wall lantern they passed to keep patches of shadow present in the corridor.

Cerdan glanced back into the passageway behind them, wondering if he was imagining sounds. Only one of the Dukes was currently in the city as far as he knew, based on guild reports from the past few days. That still didn't explain the absence of security here. The rogue thought back to his capture at the temple, wondering if Selena could have set him free earlier as part of a trap.

Removing the magical tracking crystal from his pocket, the elf checked the golden lights. All the tiny sparks were starting to grow dim, indicating that the magic was starting to deplete itself. Currently, the lights were still all clustered in a location to the north, the Tower of Tyr, no doubt. Of course, that didn't mean the palace guards weren't partaking in a snare of some kind, lulling the two fugitives into a false sense of comfort.

"There," Dace whispered, pointing at a heavy oaken door at the end of the hall. Hanging on the walls alongside of the doorway were two royal blue standards, each bearing a symbol in the shape of a three-horned helmet. The mark of Balduran, founder of the city. The banners clearly indicated that the room belonged to a Duke of Baldur's Gate.

They approached the door, and Cerdan grabbed the handle, motioning for the human to stand back. There were voices coming from the other side, so the rogue guessed that this must be Ryloch's chamber; the other Dukes' private rooms would likely be vacant during their absence from the city.

Dace quietly drew his dagger from its sheath and held it ready. The mercenary glanced back down the hall for a moment as Cerdan slowly twisted the handle, checking if the door was locked. He encountered no resistance, and passed a quick nod to the mercenary.

Cerdan flung the door open wide and Dace calmly strode in. Within the chamber were two middle-aged humans, a man and a woman, both dressed in the type of clean garb seen among nobility. Naturally, they immediately got to their feet as the intruders entered unannounced.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you and how did –"

"Duke Ryloch," Dace held his arm out , levelling the blade in the man's direction. "You will seat yourself and be silent, lest spoken to." He brought out the scroll containing the prison release orders, and threw them toward the Duke as he closed in. "We have a matter to discuss. As you can see, I am a convicted serial murderer, dangerous enough to be sent to Lancam's Isle and survive. So you would do well to avoid angering the man with the blade. I have absolutely no qualms with murdering a pair of high-strung nobles; it would certainly go toward restoring my reputation."

Cerdan closed the door behind him and watched as Dace moved forward to force the Duke and his wife into their leather chairs adjacent to the fireplace. Neither noble appeared the least bit frightened by the intruders, which seemed strange to the elf. Then again, as politicians they were likely confronted with death threats on a daily basis.

The woman glanced warily between the intruders, then looked toward her husband as they settled into their chairs. "Ryloch, shall we…?"

Staring at the document in his hands, the Duke's eyebrow furrowed and he quickly shook his head. "Perhaps we should hear these gentlemen out, and learn what brought them to us." The man's eyebrow arched slightly, and Cerdan didn't like the curiosity in the man's voice. He was planning something troublesome, no doubt.

"Now," began the mercenary, standing before the empty fireplace, "let us begin with your relationship with a Southside Row gangster named Cordas…"

(8:49)

Selena stared at herself in the mirror, trying to figure out in her mind exactly how she could have ended up in such a position and, more importantly, how she was going to rectify this whole mistake. That's what it had to be; a misunderstanding, a lapse in judgment. But a lapse on whose part?

If a knight knowingly obeys an unjust order from his commander, which of them is more at fault? It was a rhetorical question asked of every young acolyte who would deign to become a full member of Tyr's faithful, one that Selena herself was once quizzed on many years ago. Ironically enough, that must have been nearly fifty years ago, around the time of the war against Caden. Now, more than ever, she wished she could remember how she replied.

The door to her chamber suddenly creaked open, and the elf turned to see one of the Royal Horsemen holding it open for Prelate Saudere.

"We know you set him free," he said in a steady voice. It was the dead certainty in his tone that pierced into Selena's being. It sounded like he was no longer making assumptions or blind guesses on her actions… this time it seemed like he truly had it. In that moment, it all blew up in Selena's face.

"Priestess Selena Shademoor, by the authority vested in me by the Order of Tyr, I am hereby placing you under arrest for conspiring against the Church and aiding the unlawful release of a justly convicted criminal."

The elf felt her left hand reflexively close into a fist, but she quickly released it. "His conviction was anything but just. Am I to be hanged at dawn in his place, then?"

"No. There are strict procedures and investigations that must be adhered when the accused is a member of Tyr's faithful." He paused a moment and his lip curled into a sneer. "If you were a competent person, you might have remembered that before you brashly decided to kill Sir Treysen. Strikingly ironic, isn't it?" Turning his back on the priestess, Saudere moved back toward the hall outside.

"Sir," she called, "I did what I believed was right. If you think Caden is the villain, then you've made a grave error. Everything that has come to pass thus far is part of something sinister." Saudere paused in the doorway as she spoke. "This is a serious matter that can't be ignored by the Church. It's greater than me, greater than you, and greater than Caden. If I am to remain held, then I implore you; carry on the search for the Sigils and the fallen celestial, Cyrael."

Saudere was silent for a moment, then craned his head to throw a glance over his shoulder. "Someone will be sent here later to take an official statement from you. Don't think I'm fool enough to put you in one of temple jail cells… you've probably set a multitude of ways to escape. After your statement is taken, you'll be moved to an appropriate prison until the investigation can begin in a few days. " The Prelate nodded to the guard, and walked away as the knight sealed the door shut.

Resting her head in her hands, the priestess let out a groan. I'm not wrong about this, I can't be. With all due respect, High Prelate, I'm going to fight against this. Cyrael is still prowling the night. If you won't follow the true threat, then it falls on myself to make a stand, for all our sakes.

(8:53)

"Hello, here's something interesting." Cerdan raised the document up to his face and checked every word closely. The elf slammed the desk drawer shut and stepped out of the study. He waved the sheet high in the air. "What's this matter about the 'Wild Source' and Waterdeep, good sir?"

Ryloch gripped the arms of his leather chair and didn't remove himself from his continuous glower at the mercenary.

"You have not been forthcoming with any information thus far, and my patience is at an end. Now answer him," said Dace, leaning forward and making a light slash across the left leg of the noble's trousers. "It is in your best interest to not prove yourself useless to me."

"I don't think you understand just who it is you're threatening," replied Ryloch. "When the guards return, you could both be executed for this whole debacle."

The elf laughed as he tossed the letter to the mercenary. "That is quite unlikely. He's a borderline madman, and I'm the local Shadow Thief guildmaster of the city. Between the two of us, I think we're capable of outfighting or outwitting whatever low-paid muscleman comes through the front door."

"You're the guildmaster?" the Duke whispered aloud. His expression changed ever so slightly, and he raised an eyebrow in what appeared to be a look of curiosity. "…Very well, the truth then. The Wild Source is a chunk of black stone from up north. From what I know, it's an artifact that possesses one of the highest concentrations of wild magic in all the Realms."

"Wild magic?" echoed the mercenary.

"Ugh, it's a new form of magic that came about during the Time of Troubles. Freakishly chaotic," Cerdan mused, shaking his head in disgust. "It creates dangerous and completely unpredictable effects whenever a spell is cast… try to throw something even as simple as a magic missile in a wild magic zone, and you might find your clothing spontaneously turn pink, or a dozen gateways to the Nine Hells could suddenly open up before you."

"And this Wild Source carries an even greater concentration of magical power than that found in the Helmlands," Ryloch continued. "One of the benefits to being a Duke of Baldur's Gate is complete knowledge of some of the highest demanded valuables in the Realms."

Cerdan scratched the underside of his chin as he considered this. Ryloch now had a connection to two major artifacts; this Wild Source and, through Dace, the Sigils of the Fallen. It couldn't be a coincidence that the Duke would simultaneously have a hand on such volatile artifacts without some greater agenda.

"Hold a moment," said the elf, "Why are you telling us this? When you heard that I was the guildmaster you suddenly changed your attitude…"

Ryloch simply grinned at the rogue.

"Are you bringing this Wild Source to the city?" Dace demanded, ignoring the elf's suspicions. He turned to face Cerdan. "If the Source is on its way, then Cyrael may emerge to retrieve it." Looking toward the Duke once more, Dace leaned forward and planted a foot against the chair. "When is it arriving in Baldur's Gate? And by what route, land or sea?"

Surprisingly, the wide smirk remained on the Duke's face as the mercenary spoke. "Wrong time, wrong place, you animal. The Wild Source left Baldur's Gate over a week ago. Don't you understand? It's already moved beyond your grasp. Even now, it sits in the hands of my associates." The man chuckled as Cerdan and Dace exchanged glances. "You primates are too late."

(8:58)

"Sickening stench," he mumbled, wiping the last drops of vomit from his lips. Being up here on top deck was a nightmare; he hated the salty stink of the ocean waters. Even the rain from the storm overhead did little to curb the scent, but there was little he could do to avoid this responsibility.

"Captain Masque!" shouted a voice from the main deck over the rumble of the storm. "Our lookout has spotted an escape boat a short distance off starboard, possibly survivors from a downed vessel. Shall we intercept?"

Straightening his posture, the Captain replaced the officer's cap atop his bald head. "How far are we from the shoreline?"

"Only a few hours until we reach the Waterdhavian harbour, but we should still stop to pick up these survivors. It is our responsibility. And those people probably won't last long enough in this terrible thunderstorm for another ship to rescue them." The ship rocked violently to the side, and both the Captain and his first officer had to seize the nearest rail posts to keep from losing their balance on the wet surface of the deck.

After a moment, the officer continued to yell to the Captain, "Of course, if they do happen to survive, some might wonder why the official flagship of the Sword Coast alliance would be forsaking its duty!"

Masque frowned and wiped his moustache as rainwater continued to pour down over the brim of his hat. With a reluctant nod, he gestured for the first mate to begin the recovery. "Very well, we'll make a short stop to rescue these people, but make sure there are no spellcasters among their number. And confine them to the passenger decks. I don't want anyone sticking their noses into our precious cargo…"

"Aye, Captain."

The Captain turned his gaze outward and glanced up at the moon's position, which was barely visible through the dark clouds overhead. The evening was still young and the ship was sturdy enough to weather the storm, so they could spare some time for this detour. Indeed, the only thing that mattered at this point was maintaining appearances. So long as none suspected that he wasn't the true captain of the Ever Dauntless, the Wild Source would reach his master's associates in due time…

(9:00 PM)