A Gentleman's Pastime
I rose with the sun (or close enough, since it was delayed by no more than it took Daeghun to holler for me twice, and I have a very short name); dumped a bucket of the unbelievably cold well water over my head watching the mist float over and away from the creek; ate a mix of dry roots and meat soaked in hot wine, while the itchy shirt clung to my dump skin and Daughun laid out my entire day, till the very moment the sun would go down. The older I got, the more often I tried to squeeze in an unscheduled item here and there, like topping up a bucket of milk from a maid in the barn with a kiss and a cuddle. Still, those innocent deviations were minor, and in their own way as repetitive as the chores.
For all those years of rote, one would have thought I felt elated that night in Fort Locke, with the day of surprises behind me, and another day coming to do whatever pleased me. Yet, after my prayer was done, I sat on the bunk exhausted (for my Lord has answered), and watched snoring Khelgar and red-haired Neeshka with envy. How many years did they have on me of waking up and choosing to do one thing over another? Neeshka in particular… maybe that's why she slept so comfortably, so… cat-like even her tail tucked around her with a tabby's neatness. I yearned for their experience, and watched, and then…
I yearned to slip my palm into the middle of the serene bundle, to learn for myself if the girl's fiendish core was too hot for her to ever need a blanket. Alas, the room I rented afforded no privacy, so Neeshka has seen me to sink to my knees, and I have seen the gnarl in response to my piety. It's better she made her peace with my calling before I came to her.
More importantly than that, killings of the day were inspired and I was rewarded with a new clarity and a surge of power. Take it from an old man: blood spurs on the divine will surer than it does the wolves and the sharks. If you don't believe me about the wolves and the sharks, catch a druid in the grove nearest to you and ask. I am a bit of an authority on the druids, and I assure you, they will give you every crumb on it, and the shadows of the crumbs, and the mold left behind when the crumbs were swept away… But I digress. Old age, you understand.
The night in Fort Locke… yes.
I felt my Lord's will so strongly that I was surprised I was able to stand it without bursting. There was no need to dull the ecstasy by firing up another desire. I fell asleep craving power, and woke feverish with it, and… enough, enough! Those who are not privy to the grace are now skipping forward out of boredom; those who are, they are jotting down their own, more powerful description because my words fall short. The wisest know that all words fall short. They are smiling at my efforts.
The morning came. I made a beeline to the water well in the inn's yard, and dumped a bucket of the unbelievably cold water over my head. The sun wasn't quite up yet, but there was light enough. All I needed was my father beaming at me with pride, or at least relaxing that chiseled jaw of his a touch.
Instead someone giggled behind my back. I do prefer a sharp intake of breath or an alternative respiratory response indicating a loss of poise when a woman spies my glorious behind free of britches, but that particular one looked like she desperately needed a laugh, so I forgave the hilarity.
"My child," I said in the way of greeting, "Your troubles are graver than keeping your balance and dignity while getting dressed in public. Or did I miss my guess?"
The giggler's face fell. "Yes," she croaked, and handed me my shirt. It clung more desperately than ever, it itched with the ready enthusiasm, but I was showing less of my perfect manliness to the world.
"I am Liza," the woman said drawing some strength from saying her name out loud, "We are… we were farmers… lost everything to the strange creatures and their fires and swords, but they are demons. It's the humans that cut deeper, Father."
By the end of it, she ran out of the philosophical insights, and I've laced my pants. I gestured for Liza to continue. My new awareness detected something beyond the trite, the injustice done that I must avenge.
I was also pleased to learn that the Nine Hells spawn run amok here. My chances of finding the mage and running my spear through him to avenge Amie were better if it wasn't 'the one time only!' staged in West Harbour. It beat me why, but I was unconcerned with his reasons to entertain a long term harassment of the piss-poor peasants in the region. After all, stranger and much less logical things had happened in the Realms. Much stranger and much less logical.
"The bandits captured a lot of folks, as we tried to get to the Fort, no doubt to sell as slaves. My husband… my husband's among them. He fought… tried to." Liza sighed. "Here there is a garrison and the walls, but Vallis won't send his men to free the villagers. He says, that with the patrols missing he has too few men as is. I am sure Commander Tann –" she suddenly stopped, and stared at her feet.
I turned around and looked behind me to see who else came to enjoy the sunrise over the Fort Locke's water well. The robes the man was wearing were worn but distinctive. Ilmaater's man. Where Liza was embarrassed, I was mildly annoyed. The Crying God tried to manipulate my Lord, and his priests seem to follow the suit whenever they run into my kind. I don't know how he knew me for what I was, but he did.
"Father Tor," Liza whispered, "forgive me for complaining about my misfortune instead of bearing it."
"Ilmaater hears you, poor Liza, and will grant you strength," Tor said gravely, "yet, it cannot be undone now, I fear."
"Wh-what can't be undone?" Liza asked.
"Go in peace, good woman, it is better you remain ignorant as to what you have unleashed. Pray for your husband and the others. Be at peace with your sorrow…" as Liza shuffled away, Father Tor kept his soulful eyes on me. If he noticed Liza's rubbing her thumb and forefinger in a universal sign of money at me, with a pleading look, he did not show it.
Me, unleashed… a strong word, but the right one. I felt compelled by my faith. And the money Liza promised for the rescue.
"When you go, son," Tor sighed, "remember the innocents, and do not inflict pain in the wake of your vengeance."
The man truly credited me.
"Also know that these lost souls committed a blasphemy, by taking a Holy Symbol from me. If you can win it back, returning it to my Temple will be… just," Tor hurried through this, not as embarrassed as Liza, but close enough. We parted with curt nods to one another. Well, he did not credit me much after all. In fact, he thought I was gullible and borderline mocked my faith. I, of course, resigned to turn the hills upside down and inside out to prove my mettle. To Liza, to Tor, to Neeshka… after all her face was glued to the window for a long time now.
"Well, look at you," Neeshka said crossly once I was back in our room, "how come I did not figure you for the Whiny God's pawn?"
"Because I am not," I replied. "If that is settled, wake Khelgar up. We have work to do."
"Wo-o-o-rk?" she wrinkled her nose funnily.
"There is a bandit camp somewhere in the woods," I started.
"Yeah?" Neeshka cocked a curious eye at me.
"Easy money, and bounty for some luckless peasants waiting for the next slavers' caravan," I explained. I hoped it touched the cord. "I'd like to see if any of the locals is a tracker who can get us there."
"Bah, that's easy. I've seen lowlifes' camp in the woods, can't imagine there are more than one bunch of them 'round here. Slim picking and all that. Now, in Neverwinter, why, that's when you pick and chose – Can I have a catnap now that I saved us oodles of time? You can pretend looking for a… a trapper, father."
"You can show the way," I made it a statement, not a question. "Now."
"Fine!" Neeshka yelped, "you've ruined my sleep anyways, trooping out of here like… like a wild boar! And the ugly dwarf's never stopped snoring!"
That last one was the honest truth. Neeshka kicked Khelgar in the rear. Once, twice... more, until the silence finally descended upon us. The dwarf sat up, stretching and yawning and rubbing his eyes with a kid's innocence. Neeshka's red eyes attempted to drill a hole through my head.
"What did I miss?" Khelgar asked looking at us with a grin.
"We are going to free us some slaves," I replied.
"What? Why?" asked Khelgar
"It's a gentlemanly pastime," I said, "Everyone's doing it. Hurry, you are about to miss breakfast and one heck of a fight."
"NEVER!" Khelgar roared. "The fight, is it on before or after breakfast?"
"After, you barrel of hair," Neeshka responded immediately, "or at least I hope so. No food after no sleep won't fly."
"Well, you keep your hood up, demon girl, or we'll get one during, like as not," Khelgar retorted.
I sighed and picked up my pack. The inspiring words about poetic justice, camaraderie and glory seemed inappropriate in a stinky room in Forte Locke, with three misfits setting out to take on an unknown number of outlaws. I just said: "Let's go." And tried to figure out just how long Neeshka watched from the shadows.