It was hot. That was the first thing she noticed as she regained consciousness. Not even a dry heat, but a wet, sticky burning that made her feel like she was in a jungle, or a rainforest. Her head hurt too- gods, it was like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. That combined with the humidity made a moan escape her lips as she tried to raise her head from its slumped position- she succeeded, though just barely. Jaheira blinked, her vision half-blinded by the strands of her hair that stuck to her face with the heat. She was in a brown, musty tent, tied to the stake in the middle that held it up. Aerie was tied on the opposite side of her- she could see the Avariel's body if she craned her head around as far as possible, but the effort was more than her head wanted to bear at the moment, and she ended up slumped in the same position as before, sliding to the ground with a thud.
What had happened? The last thing she remembered... transporting outside the walls of Saradush, surrounded by an army of soldiers and fire giants. They'd dropped their weapons- as outnumbered as they had been, it would have been folly to try and fight. She remembered one of the soldiers grabbing Aerie- a little rough for Minsc's tastes, and the ranger had moved to protect her. Two fire giants had moved to strike Minsc down, and she'd gone to protect him- then something had hit the back of her head and she'd dropped like a stone.
Minsc... thoughts of worry for her friend gave her a burst of new strength. She looked around the tent, but the ranger was nowhere to be found. If their captors had thought him more trouble than it was worth to keep... she swallowed, pushing away those thoughts. No. No time to think about that kind of thing. Their first priority should be finding Greywulf and the others. Assuming that something had gone wrong, and they ended up outside Saradush... perhaps the other three had ended up inside? Her heart fell as she realized just how difficult it would be for the others to find them if that was the case. For all intents and purposes, she and Aerie were on their own, or at least until they could find Minsc again. And get free of their captors. This... could be difficult.
First things first... waking Aerie up. The last thing she'd need was to get free, and then try to carry an unconscious elf out of the war camp alone. Assuming, of course, they could even find their way out. She turned her head, ignoring the pain that thudded at the back of her neck from whatever blow had rendered her unconscious. She tried to speak, but only a bare croak emerged. This heat was unbearable- she swallowed, trying again. "Aerie... Aerie, you need to-"
"Wake up? Allow me to help."
Jaheira turned back to the open flap of the tent, where a thin, lanky man dressed a wizard's robe had entered, looking down his long, crooked nose at the two women. He had a dark sneer across his face, a pair of spectacles resting at the bridge of his nose. He stepped around Jaheira, her glare never leaving him, and then knelt down beside Aerie. He took her slumped head by the chin, shaking her a bit, slapping her cheeks lightly until the elf's eyes began fluttering open.
"Huh...?"
"That's better." he stood upright, then circled around to where the two of them could see him if they craned their heads to the side. "It would not do to have one of you asleep for this. I do my best work in groups."
"Who are you...?" Aerie managed, but her voice was a bare creak. In a flash of terrible insight, Jaheira realized that it wasn't just the heat stealing the moisture from their throats. Something they'd inhaled perhaps- the bespectacled man smiled thinly, his mouth an unfriendly crease upon his stretched features. "I see you've noticed that speaking is a bit... problematic at the moment. Like a sore throat, isn't it? I've found that breathing a pinch of this dust I made keeps little witches like you from speaking those nasty incantations that could interrupt our time together."
His words made the purpose of his presence abundantly clear to Jaheira- if she had been worried before, this only served to strengthen the nagging feeling of desperation that was growing at the back of her mind. "This... this isn't necessary..."
He chuckled, taking his glasses off and wiping the lenses with a white cloth from his pocket before returning them to his face. "No... no, my dear, believe me when I say that I've done this long enough to know how it all goes. I'm sure that you... a warrior from the looks of it, could tell me plenty about battlefield tactics and the like... but when it comes to interrogation, do not presume to tell me how it should be done. Now... introductions. You may simply call me the Doctor. Yaga-Shura's pet name for me... he rather liked my glasses and it stuck. You need not tell me anything... yet. It will all come out in the end, believe me."
Aerie was growing visibly panicked- the increased struggles Jaheira could feel behind her would do nothing but exhaust her, but could she blame her? For as much experience as the Avariel had gained in the past two years with them... this would not be something that any time adventuring could prepare you for. He knelt by Jaheira, unfolding a small roll beside him, an assortment of shiny metal implements inside- he picked up one of the glinting knives, inspecting it carefully. "It's always important to keep your tools clean... take good care of them and they will take care of you. That's what I've always said..."
"I'm sure." Jaheira managed, desperately wracking her brain for something to save them- "I told you, this is not necessary- we are on the same side!"
Aerie let out a slight whimper as the Doctor came to her side, examining her features with one hand as he raised the knife to her cheek lightly. "Is that so?"
Not much time... she had to come up with something to stall him, anything to give him pause. Aerie wasn't going to be any help here- either she was too paralyzed by fear, or perhaps this was giving her flashbacks to her time in slavery back at the circus... regardless, it was on her. Jaheira felt sweat pour down her brow, her heart thudding like a drum. First rule of a convincing lie? Add some truth to the mix.
"We were transported here by magic- we were coming here because of the siege!"
"Hnh. You are rather insistent on speaking out of place, aren't you?" the Doctor frowned, standing up straight and moving back around to Jaheira, sheathing the knife, then bending down and taking hold of one of Jaheira's hands, holding her little finger firmly. "Did you know there are two hundred and six bones in a human body, give or take?"
A sharp crack echoed in the tent, and Jaheira could not suppress a scream before she bit down harshly on the yell. The Doctor smiled, continuing, "A good, clean break. Now you have two hundred and seven."
He stood, walking back around to Aerie, Jaheira trying to hold his attention before he turned his malice on the elf. Rule number two of a convincing lie? Tell the target something they can relate to. "We were... we were hunting Bhaalspawn!" Jaheira managed, half shouting as she cursed the pain running through her broken finger. "Agh... by Silvanus, leave her alone!"
The Doctor glanced at Jaheira, then turned back to Aerie. "You've been rather quiet, dear. Anything you wish to say before we begin?"
Aerie couldn't take her eyes off the implements of torture the man had unrolled before her- she was frozen. Absolutely terrified. Jaheira's eyes widened as the Doctor shrugged, grasping for a long metal knife. Third rule of a convincing lie? When in doubt, drop a name and hope for the best. "We were sent by Illasera!"
The Doctor stopped, and just like that, Jaheira felt a smile press at the edges of her lips, despite the pain, despite the fear. Found it. Final rule of a convincing lie- once you had an in, you played it for all it was worth. The Doctor relented, setting the knife back down before coming to face Jaheira again. "You know a name that only those involved in our organization should know... so either you speak the truth, or you are someone we should probably dispose of right now. I wonder which it is."
"Why would we come here if it wasn't by her order?" Jaheira hissed, trying to find the proper mixture of threat and respect to slide into her tone. Too much respect and she'd lose her chance to persuade him, too much threatening and she'd come across as hostile. "She sent us here, hunting the Bhaalspawn, just like Yaga-Shura."
"I had thought she was hunting our other target..." the Doctor murmured questioningly- he was good. Not giving away specifics, like the fact that their target was Greywulf or that it had been near Suldenesselar. She had to convince him soon, because if he was going to keep pushing, she'd run out of info to feed him sooner rather than later.
"Gorion's wards were too fast- she went after them alone and sent us to help break the siege." Jaheira insisted, her mind spinning through all the possible lies and trying to come up with the ones that seemed most plausible. The big problem was, of course, that none of them seemed all that plausible. Even if they did secure some kind of release, how would they be of any use in 'breaking the siege'? She had a sinking feeling that any time they were buying would be minimal- safety meant getting out of this war camp and finding the others.
"Hmm. You might be telling the truth. Though I, for one, cannot see how the three of you would prove any more helpful in breaking the walls of Saradush than the army that my master has assembled here." the Doctor sniffed, finally putting his implements away. "You might pass as a Black Reaver... but the elf has so little fortitude, I could not even imagine her as an adventurer. Still, I shall not be the one who defies the orders of Illasera the Quick. I will inform Yaga-Shura of your words, and if he believes you... well, we shall see, won't we? Perhaps we shall speak again."
He left the tent, and only then did Jaheira release the breath she had subconsciously been holding for the last few moments. A choked sob issued from behind her, and Jaheira craned her head around to try and see Aerie, the girl shaking her head in misery. "I'm so sorry, Jaheira... I almost got us killed, or worse... I just..."
"The circus." Jaheira said quietly, understanding immediately.
"I just... I saw those tools and I was back in the circus, back in the cage again...!" Aerie stopped, trying to calm herself, trying to shake off the fear and terror that had returned to plague her after so long. "I am truly sorry, Jaheira- I had thought I was over these fears. I... I guess I thought I was stronger than all this."
The two women sat in silence, saving their voices in the thick, hot air. It would have been bad enough without whatever the Doctor had done to keep them from casting spells; as it was, even swallowing felt like downing whiskey after their throats had been rubbed with sandpaper. "Do you think Minsc is all right?"
"You are his witch, Aerie. For as long as I have known him, he has held his charges in the highest regard. Minsc is far too stubborn to die until he knows that you are safe; he will be fine." Jaheira said, putting as much comfort in her voice as she could manage... and scarce believing a word of it.
X X X X X X
It was hot. That was the first thing he noticed as he stepped through the mighty oak doors, passing the pillars and statues of those long since passed. The Hall of Glory- those knights and paladins who had given their life for the cause they believed in with all their heart. Men and women who had fought to the end and been slain in the line of duty, those who had gone beyond simple heroism and passed into the realm of legends. A new pedestal had been placed along the path, though the statue had yet to be fully crafted- the young man could not help but smile at the thought of his old mentor, the man who would soon be immortalized in stone. In retrospect... Keldorn would have hated it.
Gods, it was hot. Perhaps the heat was a simple byproduct of the heavy plate armor he was wearing and the cloudless sky outside, or perhaps it was a feeling of uneasiness, under the scrutiny of these stone statues, each one a far greater man than he could ever hope to be. No... he had endured enough of that self-deprecation in the past. He was worthy. He was a knight... a squire, of the Radiant Heart. He had proved himself before, and he would do it once more. Anomen Delryn exhaled and raised his head as he strode down the hall, leading to the Order Council Room. It was a path few ever tread, for the Prelate and the greatest of the Order rarely shared their counsel with any of the junior members of the Order, or even those who had yet to pass beyond their thirtieth year of service.
Still, it had been the request of Sir Ryan Trawl and Prelate Wessaren that he meet them in this grand locale, and he would not disappoint. Since his demotion to squire once again, he had done a few tasks here and there, but nothing of any great import. Mostly, he had been seeking the guidance of Helm within himself, hoping to maintain the balance, the peace that would be necessary for him to ever fully grasp the tenets of the Order. Things had been going well, if slowly... but to be called by these two men could mean nothing but an assignment of the greatest import. He could see Sir Ryan Trawl in the circular room, talking with Prelate Wessaren- he could not hear what they said, but he forced himself to quell the curiosity within, to be nothing less than a paragon of obedience, of patience.
Finally reaching the Council room, he stopped in the doorway, giving a stiff military bow to the men before him. "Prelate Wessaren. Sir Ryan. I have come, as you commanded."
"Indeed. Enter, Squire Anomen... we have much to discuss."
The hard tone in the Prelate's voice was not exactly comforting- still, it was not a harsh tone, not one that boded ill for the squire's future. Or perhaps it did. He felt the urge to squirm, suppressed it, and instead took a few steps forward; seating himself only after the Prelate and Sir Trawl had done the same.
"I imagine you are eager to hear why we called you to this place." Sir Ryan, his handsome features only just beginning to show the signs of age, clasped his fingers before him, keen eyes meeting Anomen's. His forty-five years bored through his gaze, and Anomen had to force himself not to look away. "Tell us... what do you know of the citadel known as Watcher's Keep?"
The name was familiar, if part of a bit of ancient lore that Anomen had never judged as particularly important. "Only what was taught me in the lessons of the Order." he confessed after a moment of hesitation. "There were tales of an ancient battle being fought within the tower- the legends state that Helm himself intervened and ended the conflict deep within the bowels of the citadel. It has been locked and sealed by the power of Helm ever since."
"Everything you said is truth... though incomplete." Prelate Wessaren countered, leaning across the table, his steely eyes betraying the importance of what he was saying. "The Keep has been locked for millennia, yes... but it has also been guarded for millennia. A sect of warriors and priests commissioned by Helm himself, known as the Knights of the Vigil, has kept watch over the Keep ever since the Neutral god closed its doors. For over two thousand years, the Knights of the Vigil have kept the doors of Watcher's Keep secure... and now, after the Time of Troubles brought gods low and shattered bonds of magic throughout Faerun, the wards holding Watcher's Keep closed have been weakened."
"Weakened?" Anomen repeated, rubbing his beard in contemplation as he tried to process what he was hearing. "But surely, if Helm ended the conflict, there was no longer a threat inside to be worried about-"
"That is... untrue." Ryan Trawl said grimly. "We recently received a message sent by courier from the Knights of the Vigil. They have been tasked by Helm himself to restore the wards of the Keep... for if they fail, it will release the Imprisoned One."
"What... what is that?" Anomen asked, a sudden chill running down his spine. For Helm to have given a command to the knights directly... this matter must have been dire indeed. "Some kind of evil?"
"We do not know..." Sir Ryan confessed, "The Knights keep their secrets close. Well guarded, even from the rest of Helm's followers and allies. The fact that they have contacted the Order speaks to how urgent this matter truly is. From what they told us, it appears they have been unable to perform their task... and they are requesting help from us. What kind of help, what the task will entail... all of this is hidden from us. All we know is that they have requested the aid of the Order, and we are honor-bound to answer."
Prelate Wessaren studied Anomen for a moment as the squire listened to Sir Ryan. A year ago, Anomen would have stood to his feet, bursting with pride and confidence, ready and willing to take on this task for the glory of Helm... and himself, truth be told. He had been far too eager to prove himself, and had in the process nearly drummed himself straight out of the Order. Still, this man who sat before them now was... different. Altogether a new man. One who had shown himself worthy of the title 'Knight of the Order,' and yet... he had come so close to falling once again. His actions against the man who had murdered his father, Saerk Farrahd... he had toed the line, but not crossed it. If he was to prove his worth... this was the moment.
"Squire Anomen, I shall speak plain and true." Wessaren spoke up, straightening his shoulders and squaring his jaw. "This task must be completed- the will of Helm is clear in this matter. And yet... the Order is stretched thin right now. You know all too well the destruction that the Bhaalspawn are causing throughout the Realms- our knights have dispersed throughout Amn and Tethyr in an attempt to quell the violence, both incited by and against the god-children. Most of our wisest paladins and knights are gone, away in this hour. That is why we have decided that it shall be your task to aid the Knights of the Vigil."
"I, sir?" Anomen said, at once both pleased and surprised by the announcement. A task of such import, given to him? Surely this would be the chance he needed to redeem himself in the eyes of Helm and the Order...
"Yes, it shall be you who carries out the will of Helm." Wessaren nodded. "As I have said, the Order is too dispersed at the moment to send a force of the size this task deserves, but you have shown great success working with mercenaries and paid warriors in the past. We shall trust your judgment in this matter. Go, and know that Helm is watching."
"I... I shall. Thank you for this opportunity- I will not disappoint." Anomen bowed, turning on his heel and stalking out, the import of what had just happened still ringing in his mind. This was his test... there could be no doubt. It took great strength of will for him not to charge off to Watcher's Keep immediately- no, he would prepare for this. He would need others... and if not Knights of the Order, then those whom he could trust with this kind of mission. And what of this... Imprisoned One? He would have to wait for the Knights of the Vigil to provide some answers, he supposed. As for the team he was going to assemble... well, the Copper Coronet was only a half-hour away. Anomen steeled himself, clutching the shield that bore his family crest tightly as he departed the High Hall of the Radiant Heart.
Moira... I shall make you proud of me.
X X X X X X
Distant explosions rattled the tables and bar of the tavern that Sarevok, Greywulf, and Imoen were currently seated at, nearly toppling the line of glasses planted upside down across the bar- the barman scrambled to keep them from tumbling onto the floor into a mess of glass shards that would be both unpleasant and sharp to sweep up. The beleaguered barman, his head a sweaty mess of graying hair, wiped his forehead with the rag he had been cleaning glasses with a moment ago, looking around the room nervously. "Close one, that. Any damages?"
Nobody really bothered to answer him, but apparently he took the lack of a reply as a sign that everything was all right, and he resumed his monotonous work, if looking more harried and flustered than before. All three siblings had ordered something to drink, and were quietly nursing the alcohol before resuming their hunt for both a way to enter the castle and seek out this Il-Khan... as well as finding the others of their group. Greywulf downed another portion of his ale, noting with a quiet smile the half-glances Imoen kept sending his way. He finally sighed and set his mug down, fixing gazes with her. "Something you wanted to ask me?"
"Nah... just makin sure yer all right, that's all. I mean... it's hard not knowing where the others are, especially in a time and place like this..." Imoen shrugged, brushing pink hair from her mouth before she took another drink. "So... are ya doin all right?"
"Me... well, I'm worried about the others, but that's to be expected, I should think. I'm not planning on rushing off to go assault a Harper Base alone or cleanse a Shade Lord's temple, if that's what you're implying." he smirked, arching one eyebrow above his mug as he lifted it again, nodding to the barman for another drink. "I like to think I've grown up a bit since then."
"Just checking." Imoen chuckled, wiping foam from her upper lip. "And it wasn't all that long ago, ya know. Six months, maybe."
"Yeah, well... you and I both know that this life has a way of making you grow up faster than you'd like." he replied quietly, handing off his empty glass as he sipped his new one. "Well, for most of us, anyway."
"Now would you really have me any other way?" Imoen mock pouted, folding her arms as she sat on the barstool, sticking her upper lip out. "You'd be bored to tears if I ever stopped bein' lovable ol me!"
"Bored to tears, ecstatically happy... same difference." Greywulf shrugged, before glancing down and realizing that his new drink was no longer before him. Imoen was busily downing half of it by the time he looked up and saw where it had landed- she giggled and hiccupped once before sliding it back to him. "Careful Im... now's definitely not the time to be getting sloshed."
"Says Mr. Lightweight over there." Imoen smirked, cracking her neck back and forth. "Yer just sore cause you know I can drink you under the table anytime."
Greywulf didn't bother to dignify her comment with an answer, simply choosing to finish his drink, avoiding eye contact with her until his ale was gone. Besides... she was right.
Sarevok only half-heard anything that the two beside him had said- it was all childish, unnecessary banter, nothing of any importance. He had been busy doing his utmost to find someone, anyone, in the room who looked like they might have the slightest bit of usefulness to their quest. Most of them looked like simple peasants, caught between two armies, the wrong place at the wrong time. Others may have been Bhaalspawn... but if so, then the taint of Bhaal ran thin through their veins. Mayhap a wizard in the far corner, perhaps an avenue to explore- city guards harassing one of the waitresses, they might know a way in. Not much else...
"I'd ask if you're ready to get moving, but you seem to be one step ahead." Greywulf's voice cut evenly into his concentration, and he glanced beside him, only grunting in reply to the wizard's query. Greywulf took his apparent attention as a sign to get started, then lowered his voice so that their words would only be heard between the three of them. "We don't know just how bad this siege has become, so our best chance is to split up. Imoen, you purchase the supplies we'll need at the Temple across the street. Sarevok and I will see about finding the leader of the city's defenses and see if we can't get a clearer timetable to work with."
"A waste of time." Sarevok retorted, glaring at the room behind them. "Given a day of searching and we could be within the castle. If you wish to remain so that we might locate your erstwhile companions, simply say so."
Greywulf met Sarevok's harsh reply with a cutting tone of his own. "Very well- I don't deny that the longer we stick around the city, the greater chance we have of running across the others. But as for finding the city's defenses, I'd hardly call survival a waste of time. If the walls go down while we're still here-"
"Then we can simply teleport away, much as we teleported in." Sarevok commented, finishing the last of his drink as the other two siblings exchanged curious glances, turning back to him.
"What are you talking about?" Greywulf frowned.
"Heh... for all your power, you do not yet grasp the full extent of your taint." Sarevok chuckled. "You had the power to create the Pocket Plane we met in, did you not? Perhaps it was subconscious, but it was yours just as well. Do you not realize that you have the power to form it once more? Or rather, to bring us there at your will?"
"You're saying I can bring us to the Pocket Plane anytime I wish?" Greywulf said cautiously.
"Why didn't you bring this up when we were talking with Mellissan?" Imoen shot at him. "We could have used it to transport these people out, away from the siege-"
"And given away any advantage we had over this Mellissan woman." Sarevok retorted. "You are far too trusting… you give much in exchange for little. We do not know anything of this woman except that which she has told us… it would be wise to keep some things secret from her, as she has done with us. Sometimes I wonder just how you survived so long without one such as I in your midst."
Greywulf ignored the taunt, but considered the rest of Sarevok's words… they were true enough, really. Perhaps inspired by constant paranoia on the dark warrior's part, but still worth taking into account. "You're right. But if we had to transport the people out-"
"It would take weeks. Maybe longer." Sarevok shook his head. "The strain of holding each person becomes greater with each person you transport. We have seen the consequences of not holding onto those with you, as shown by the disappearance of your comrades. You said that you felt them arrive in this plane of reality, near our location... but are you willing to take that chance again, bringing them into a plane of reality formed in the essence of Murder? You must be doubly careful the next time we return, assuming we find the other three of your companions."
Again, his words rang true- the prospect of accidentally dropping civilians into a realm of eye tyrants or Balors was somewhat... unappealing. That, of course, left them in the same position they started in. "Fair enough- we'll see what we can find here, then we'll look for the leader of the city's defense. Im, why don't you go ahead and start gathering supplies? Meet us back here in three hours- that should be enough for you to get what we need, maybe do a little reconnaissance if you get the chance."
She nodded, hopping off the bar stool and heading for the door, leaving a few gold pieces on the bar as payment for her drink. Greywulf watched the coins jingle on the bar before settling, chuckling to himself. "I'm surprised she didn't just leave me with the bill-" he stopped abruptly, noting the purse that the barman used to wear on his belt was missing. Underneath his belly, the man had yet to notice, but for some reason Greywulf didn't feel inclined to wait until then. "Well then. Shall we?"
Sarevok pushed off the bar and stalked directly towards the soldiers, still groping and pawing at the young waitress, revulsion and fear across her pretty features. Gromnir's men had free reign, and if they took their drunken attempts too far, there was little she could do to protect herself besides run. One of the men laughed again, reaching out for her skirt- Sarevok's hand gripped his in a vise of iron, the soldier yelping in pain as he looked up, his blurred eyes suddenly clearing to see the glowing yellow eyes of a Deathbringer. "You are one of Gromnir's men." It was a statement, not a question. "Tell me... how would you enter the castle where the general hides?"
"Oy...! Let me go-" the soldier cried out, trying to pull away but failing miserably. The other soldiers clustered around the table pushed themselves to their feet, but Greywulf raised his quarterstaff in warning, giving them just a brief moment's pause. "Jus' two of them! Who d'you think you are?! Gromnir owns this town- we'll cut-"
His drunken threats were cut off as Sarevok crushed the man's hand, throwing him to the ground as he drew the Sword of Chaos, planting his feet with the sword at guard. "I will not ask again, fools."
"Sarevok... if we want to get anything out of them-" Greywulf began, clenching his teeth as the three soldiers who had been around the table charged, their own weapons drawn and ready to strike them down. The cries of the barman for them to stop were faint echoes, lost in the sound of screams as Sarevok's blade rammed into the first man's stomach, impaling him in a spray of blood. Greywulf's quarterstaff blocked the downstrike of the second, a burst of magic missiles sending the third to the ground, a smoking hole in his breastplate as he groaned, barely conscious. Sarevok shoved his opponent off the sword, sending the corpse flying into the man still standing. He stumbled over the body of his comrade, and was in no position to stop Sarevok's backhand swing from taking his head off.
Sarevok smiled as he surveyed the scene- Greywulf grabbed him harshly and pulled him in so their eyes met. The sorcerer hissed, "Next time, if we want to question someone, we should think about leaving them alive!!"
"I only killed two of them." Sarevok retorted, pushing Greywulf's hands away easily. "They were drunkards- we would've gained nothing from them in the end. We must show the residents of this city that they have more to fear from us than Gromnir- only then will they betray this madman."
"There are other, better ways to persuade people!" the sorcerer growled, the rest of the bar desperately trying to avoid any sort of eye contact with the two men. The man whose hand Sarevok had broken was beginning to stir again, but he dared not move or speak while they remained less than an arm's length away.
"Words are nothing without actions to back them." Sarevok replied stonily. "These soldiers will know what we are capable of now. Next time, when we encounter those who might actually be of some use, they will think of this. They will remember what we have done in the past, and they will cooperate. If not, then they will meet the same fate."
Greywulf grit his teeth, his anger rising quickly. The worst part about trying to argue with this man was that his words, his arguments... they all made sense, from a certain point of view. A bloodthirsty, unfeeling point of view, but a valid point of view nonetheless. Greywulf leaned in, steeling his voice. "You want to be a part of this? Fine. But we do it my way from here on out. Got it?"
"And what might that entail?" Sarevok folded his arms, a hint of amusement across his face. "Should we have talked with them? Negotiated?"
"Maybe..." Greywulf tossed back with only a hint of hesitation- he leaned down to the man with the broken hand by the table, pulling him up. "We'll be back. You tell all your little soldier buddies that until we get the information we're looking for, you can expect more of this kind of thing. And I don't know how long I can keep that guy behind me under control. Am I clear?"
Sarevok came to Greywulf's side with a vengeful smile, pulling the wide-eyed soldier from the sorcerer's grasp, taking him to the tavern door. Greywulf inhaled sharply, sure that Sarevok was about to ignore his words- no. He simply pulled the man close, said some things that Greywulf couldn't hear, then growled and pushed the man to the floor. The soldier veritably scrambled to get out, out the door in the blink of an eye.
The bar was slowly regaining the dull murmur that comprised the background to nearly every tavern along the Sword Coast, and Greywulf couldn't help but feel the slightest bit curious as Sarevok returned. "What exactly did you say to him?"
"Do you really want me to tell you?"
It took less than a half a second for Greywulf to decide.