Chapter 21: Echoes of Regret
Charmane's eyes shot open, her heart pounding against her chest as she jolted awake. Blinking rapidly, she took in her surroundings, relieved to find herself back in the realm of reality. The feeble flames of the campfire cast flickering shadows on the sleeping forms of her companions, providing a sense of comfort and grounding. Underneath the weight of her covers, her body radiated an unsettling heat, leaving her feeling strangely unsettled.
Somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, an inkling whispered to Charmane, a primal instinct that resonated within her very core. She sensed an undeniable truth: the mysterious divine power that had bestowed upon her the ability to heal with a mere touch had grown stronger. It now thrummed with an energy that surpassed its previous limitations, allowing her to wield this extraordinary gift not just once, but twice per day. The realization sent a shiver down her spine, mingling with the remnants of her unsettling dream, leaving her both awestruck and apprehensive about the untapped potential that now resided within her fingertips.
Feeling the heat within her intensify, Charmane pushed aside her covers and sat up, seeking solace in the cool night air. She needed to cool herself down, to bring her racing thoughts back under control. As she stepped away from the campfire's flickering glow, Khalid, who was keeping watch, turned his attention toward her. His voice, calm and laced with concern, broke the silence of the night.
"I couldn't help but notice you were muttering quite loudly in your sleep. Troubled d-dreams, mayhap?" Khalid asked gently, his words a soothing balm to Charmane's uneasy mind.
Charmane sighed, her gaze meeting Khalid's steady and empathetic eyes. "Yes, Khalid, it was another nightmare. It felt… symbolic." she recounted, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Khalid's brows furrowed, his concern deepening. "Such dreams are certainly n-not to be taken lightly, Charmane. They may hold deeper meaning, a glimpse into what lies ahead. We must tread c-carefully, for there may be more to your newfound powers and these dreams than meets the eye."
Charmane nodded, her expression a blend of gratitude and determination. "You're right, it's becoming impossible to ignore the signs." Charmane sighed, her gaze distant as she contemplated the implications of her dreams. "I wish I had the answers…" she admitted, her voice trailing off as uncertainty lingered.
Khalid's gaze softened, "Though the answers may elude us for now, Charmane, what m-m-matters most is that you remain steadfast in the face of uncertainty. Do not let the power bestowed upon you cloud your judgment or lead you astray," he advised, his words deliberate and measured. "Stay true to who you are, and let your actions be guided by your own moral compass. It is in staying grounded that we find our strength and navigate the darkest of paths."
Charmane's usually sardonic demeanour softened as Khalid's words sank in. She had always been one to scoff at inspirational speeches, but there was something genuine and fatherly about Khalid's advice that resonated with her. It stirred a longing within her for the guidance she had lost when her foster father, Gorion, had been murdered. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to feel a pang of nostalgia, remembering the wisdom he had imparted.
With a nod of appreciation, Charmane met Khalid's empathetic gaze once more. "Thank you, Khalid," she said sincerely, her voice carrying a newfound resolve. "You're right, I'll try not to let this power get to my head."
Khalid's stuttering voice conveyed a mix of relief and pride. "I-I-I am glad to hear that, Charmane. We are here for you, and we will face whatever lies ahead together."
Charmane's lips curled into a wry smile. "I'll try to keep my moral compass in check, just don't expect me to ever become a paragon of virtue," she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes. "But if I go too far, I trust you and Jaheira will be there to impart your wisdom."
Khalid's gentle chuckle resonated through the night air. "You can always count on us, Charmane," he assured her, his voice carrying a touch of warmth. "While we may have our d-differences, we are p-p-proud to aid you in your journey and help you make the decisions that shape your path."
Charmane nodded, "Thank you, Khalid." Charmane said sincerely. She sensed that Khalid and Jaheira's outlook on life centred around the pursuit of bettering society, a path that Charmane herself had frequently strayed from in her pursuit of personal gain. Nevertheless, they had rarely passed judgement and remained steadfast allies throughout their time together. "Your words mean more to me than you know."
The party had been journeying south along the coast for three days, their eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of the elusive mad cleric known as Bassilus. The path they had taken so far had been uneventful, save for a few stray ghouls, skeletons, and the occasional encounter with wild beasts. The once verdant coastal flora led to sparser vegetation, with smaller clumps of trees dotting the landscape. It was here that they came across a man wearing a dull grey tunic.
As they approached in hopes of asking for directions, the man's face contorted with fear and distress. "No, stay back lest this madness be catching!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with anxiety.
"Calm yourself, good sir," Charmane replied, her tone soothing and reassuring. "Diseases of the mind are rarely contagious."
The man, clearly agitated, continued to express his bewildering encounter. "I have been a rural merchant all my life, and am thereby no stranger to poultry of any shade or colour... But there be a fiendish hen to the east that, when I picked her up, spoke to me in a voice most human. Either I am in the chill grips of the deepest fever or that chicken be possessed by a spirit from the very depths of the ninth and final hell!"
Edwin did his best to maintain his scowl but couldn't resist quipping. "Ah, the wonders of the world! A poultry encounter of such magnitude surely tested the limit of this monkey's intellect."
Charmane's bit her lips to keep herself from laughing. "Well, it seems this fowl encounter has really scrambled his wits," she quipped, unable to resist the opportunity.
Imoen, ever the mischievous lass, chimed in, "A talkin' chicken, ya say? Must've been cluckin' mad!"
The rest of the party groaned and rolled their eyes but the stranger was not amused. "I'm warning you, go no closer! It's possessed!" the man warned one last time before scurrying away.
"Well, let's go and investigate this alleged talking chicken, shall we?" Charmane remarked with a wry smile, her eyes glinting with curiosity.
Edwin, his expression grew disgruntled and he muttered under his breath, "Just what I needed. Following the directions of an addlebrained peasant in pursuit of a clucking fowl. Oh, the trials I endure!"
Their journey eastward was not without its challenges, as the path they treaded was rife with bandits. However, the seasoned party had little trouble dispatching these would-be assailants, their combined skills allowing them to swiftly overcome each obstacle in their path.
As they ventured further, their ears caught a faint but unmistakably sound of whistling, its beautiful notes drifting through the air from the southeast. Guided by the enchanting tune, the party reached a group of unfortunate hobgoblins that died trying to rob the adventurers.
Charmane picked up the sword from the corpse of the hobgoblin leader and inspected it with interest. It looked sharp and a shimmering magical aura surrounded it.
"All this traveling, all this adventure," Charmane heard Neera say behind her, "How do you manage it?" The wild mage's eyes sparkled with wonder, her voice tinged with both curiosity and a touch of envy. "Until now, I was barely able to keep my head above water. Yet here with you, it seems almost... easy!"
Charmane scoffed as she turned to the wild mage, "Easy? You think this is easy? We," Charmane emphasised. "have to combine skill, strategy, teamwork, and a lot of hard choices to make it through all of this. Don't mistake our competence for simplicity."
Neera nodded, attempting to understand Charmane's perspective. "Oh, well, yes, there's obviously that," she replied, her tone shifting to a more thoughtful one. "I just meant that ordinary things are easier. I'm not constantly worried where my next meal is coming from or whether a kobold will sneak up and slit my throat as I sleep."
Charmane smiled wryly. "A kobold? Really? Try having trained assassins jumping out at you everywhere you go." she said with a laugh.
"And Red Wizards!" Neera retorted sardonically.
"Oh, yes," Charmane replied with a hint of amusement. "They're truly a delight, those Red Wizards." She glanced knowingly at Edwin, who returned her gaze with a glare that could curdle milk.
"Things were much different in High Forest." Neera added wistfully. "It's ironic how my life turned out."
Charmane groaned inwardly, "You're going to regale me with tales of High Forest now, aren't you?"
"You see, I was born and raised in that thicket. At least until my mistakes piled up high enough to come crashing down on me," Neera replied, her voice tinged with a mix of longing and regret.
Charmane's gaze hardened as she retorted, "Only a coward flees from her mistakes."
Neera sighed, her response laced with resignation. "So call me a coward. I freely admit to fleeing with wild abandon, and I—I know just how it looks."
Charmane remained silent for a moment, her expression unreadable, before finally speaking. "Mistakes can haunt us, but we can't outrun them forever. Eventually, we must face the consequences."
Undeterred by Charmane's stern words, Neera continued, her tone laced with a touch of defensiveness. "My spells led to a maiming or two, if you don't count the second-degree burns. Completely accidental, and everybody lived. At least, I'm pretty sure everybody lived."
Charmane's eyebrows furrowed, her gaze piercing as she observed Neera. "Your blithe attitude towards maiming others is concerning, Neera. Life is not a reckless game of chance." Charmane found solace in the fact that the spells she had entrusted Neera with were limited to protective enchantments and identification spells.
Neera's voice trembled with a mix of guilt and frustration as she blurted out, "It was an accident, okay!" with a touch of resignation, she continued, "During our magical training, we were supposed to summon a sphere of fire, and mine got away from me somehow. One moment I was concentrating, the next moment my classmates were rolling on the floor screaming."
Charmane raised an eyebrow, "Remind me to stand back when you cast a spell, Neera." she said, wryly.
"You don't need to rub it in. I know better than anyone the harm I caused," Neera said, her voice tinged with remorse.
Charmane's tone was stern as she replied, "Well, you have only yourself to blame."
"Yes, of course I blame myself! Accident or not, I should have been more careful. I could have taken responsibility or at least fetched a bucket of water. Instead, I ran away, terrified of what I'd done," Neera confessed, her voice heavy with regret.
Charmane's gaze hardened slightly as she probed further, "You didn't even try to help?" Her disappointment deepened, and she silently added "unreliable, impulsive and untrained" to the ever-growing list of reasons why she should try not to view the half-elf as a true member of her group.
Neera sighed, her tone filled with regret. "Horrible, I know. Afterwards, I ran into the woods and couldn't bear to go back to face the consequences. I snuck back into the village now and then for food, and once to leave a note for my parents, but eventually I had to leave. I took to wandering High Forest, but I kept running into the wrong people and doing the wrong thing. Eventually, Turlang the treant grabbed me and said, 'Take a hike.' Well, maybe not in those words exactly."
"Well that was less exciting than I imagined." Charmane said, with a smirk.
Neera's response was tinged with a mix of sarcasm and self-deprecation. "I apologise if my tale of heartbreak and woe bores you, Charmane. Maybe next time I should embellish it with some courtesans and dragons to make it more exciting." the girl said, with surprisingly optimistic lilt to her voice.
As the party pressed on towards the east, Charmane caught sight of a small figure amidst a clump of trees. It was a little boy, his fragile form draped in tattered rags, peering intently through the foliage at something ahead.
Approaching cautiously, Charmane's voice softened to a gentle tone as she spoke, careful not to startle the child. "Hello," she greeted, her words a soft murmur carried on the breeze.
"Sssh! I'm spyin' on Bassilus an' his spooks. They're funny," the boy replied, his voice hoarse from thirst. He looked about seven or eight years old.
Charmane's curiosity piqued at the mention of Bassilus. If she had heard correctly, her bounty was lurking on the other side. Concern now flickered in her eyes as she inquired, "Where are your parents, little one?"
"Oh! You mean Mom? She disappeared. I been looking for her an' Johnny, but all I can ever find is these spooks. One of them's wearing Johnny's knickers, though, but I don't want to think of where it got 'em..." The boy's voice trailed off, his words tinged with a mix of innocence and unease. "Be careful you don't scare Bassilus, okay?"
Charmane's heart sank at the mention of the child's missing family. Concerned, she pressed further, her voice filled with empathy. "How long have you been here?"
"For a day an' a half," the child replied, his weary tone revealing the weight of his circumstances. "Bassilus keeps on tellin' these stories about how happy he was as a kid, but all of the spooks just kinda moan and mumble and stuff, like they're not really listening. That's what my brother Johnny used to do before he disappeared, mumble like that when he weren't really listening..."
Charmane's sensed his vulnerability and loss, and gulped trying to keep her own emotions in check. "You must be hungry. Go with the nice lady with the pink hair over there and have something to eat, okay? Stay with her for now. It's not safe here. Those spooks are dangerous."
"Thanks!" The child beamed, and ran off towards Neera, who had been watching the exchange with the rest of the party a little further back.
Through the thicket, Charmane found herself gazing upon an ancient ceremonial ground, shrouded in an air of timeless reverence. The circular arrangement of towering stones, weathered by the ages, stood as solemn sentinels, silently witnessing the passage of countless seasons. In the centre of the sacred space stood a man adorned in worn chain mail, his tabard proudly displaying the symbol of Cyric. Flanking him were three ghouls, their gaunt and grotesque forms contrasting sharply with the skeletal archers that lurked in the shadows. The faint sound of patrolling skeleton archers echoed through the clearing.
Undeterred by the undead presence, Charmane entrusted the young child to Neera's care and led the rest of the party forward.
As they emerged into the open expanse, an eerie laughter reached their ears, emanating from the mad cleric. "Heh heh heh heh heh heh... Oh, brother Thurm, why not grace our ears with a ripping tale of the old days? Heh heh. Always a delight!"
"Brilliant." Edwin muttered, "Brother Thurm's performance was just the thing I was longing for the entire day… Charmane," the mage demanded. "I urge you to execute this lot, before we have the chance to enjoy the sounds produced by the vocal cords of the undead."
One of the zombies, likely 'brother Thurm', emitted a guttural noise in response to Bassilus's ramblings.
The cleric's voice carried a disturbing mix of deranged amusement and fervent desperation. "Oh, don't hesitate on my account! Some of the others may not have heard them," he commented.
The zombie continued its dreadful noise, growing louder, as if compelled by the cleric's madness.
Bassilus's voice crackled with emotional turbulence, "Hold your peace then, though I remember a time back at Zhentil Keep when you would sooner die than be quiet. You... would sooner... um... I'll wait till you feel like telling them yourself, I don't remember the old days so well," he stammered, seeming unsure.
The cleric's eyes now fell on Charmane, startling him out of his reverie, anger taking over his features. "You there, what is the meaning of this...? Who dares interrupt while I speak with my family? I'll have your heads if you're here to harm the…" The cleric's eyes went wide with disbelief, "No! It can't be! Is that you, Mother? It cannot be otherwise, you haven't changed a bit in all these years!" he exclaimed, his voice a fragile mixture of hope and confusion.
Charmane gripped her weapons, still in their sheathes. "Uhh, yes, son," she played along "It certainly has been a long time. How are you doing, my boy?" she asked, indulging the priest's delusions.
"About as well as can be expected, I guess. It has been difficult, but I've got most of the family back together. Some did not seem to recognise me at first, but I helped them recall," Bassilus replied.
"No matter." Charmane said, trying to sound kind. "I've not seen you since, um, Zhentil Keep. Thank the gods we all got out safely," Charmane continued, maintaining the façade.
"Yes, though it was frightening for a time because I thought I was the only one of us that survived. I thought I was the only one who…" the man's voice trailed off, his eyes widening in despair, "The only one." he stated in disbelief. His face contorted in fury. "You lie. YOU LIE! You cannot be my mother because she died when I left the... when I…" Bassilus's voice cracked with anguish.
"It's not I who lies, but you to yourself!" Charmane declared with conviction. "You rob others of THEIR loved ones to replace those you betrayed long ago!" Charmane retorted firmly.
"No! They lived, all of them!" the cleric exclaimed in panic, "I saved them and they live! I…" his features were now clouded with guilt. "I ran." For a fleeting moment, sanity flickered in Bassilus's eyes as he surveyed the undead that surrounded him. "Dead... all dead," he mournfully whispered, and his control over the undead crumbling. Without his magic sustaining them, the abominations collapsed into a disordered heap. "It isn't true! It cannot be... You lie! You will die for slighting my memory!" Bassilus shouted, a mad gleam in his eyes.
The priest, now alone stood no chance against the well-armed party. Charmane had been ready to take on the undead, but the preparations were for naught. Even as she delivered the killing blow she felt a mix of disgust and sympathy for the cleric.
Charmane was no stranger to the tales of the infamous Cyric-worshippers who once inhabited Zhentil Keep. In the annals of Faerun, the Zhents were regarded as villains, their allegiance to power and ambition overshadowing any semblance of familial bonds. It was an unspoken assumption that a Zhent would prioritise his own survival, callously abandoning their kin to meet their own ends. Bassilus's tragic tale seemed to align with that narrative, his family left to perish while he sought his own refuge.
And yet, laying before them now was a man consumed by a guilt so profound that it had driven him to madness. The sight stirred a pang of sadness within Charmane. She could not help but wonder how Bassilus's life might have unfolded if he had grown up in a society that nurtured the value of family and companionship. Her gaze involuntarily drifted sideways towards Edwin, her mind briefly entertaining an idle thought. She swiftly dismissed the notion, as a hollowness threatened to settle in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of witnessing Edwin succumb to such a fate.
The talking chicken in question was a white feathered fowl with a red beak. Your bog standard hen, in fact. It was currently being chased by a pack of wolves.
"Buc-becaw! HELLLLP-becaw!" It squawked. "Buc-becaw-kill-the-wolf! Buc-becaw-stupid!" it trilled in indignation.
Once the wolves were dispatched, Charmane squatted down to inspect the hen.
"Th-thank ye. *cluck* You have saved *cluck* me." it said.
"How lovely." Edwin drawled. "Now we are saving chickens from big bad wolves. I hear that your earliest heroic deed was bringing an antidote for a cow that was sick to her stomach. Perhaps farming for you would be…"
"Edwin…" Charmane interjected, her voice carrying a pointed tone as she tilted her head in amusement.
"Blasted wager," Edwin muttered under his breath, his frustration evident. "What I meant to say, is... er... perhaps, our time would be better spent on more important matters than conversing with a mere barnyard fowl?"
"While I'm glad you have been conversing with Imoen, instead of just insulting her." Charmane began with a smile. "I didn't expect you to be so nonchalant about… well this," Charmane continued, gesturing at the hen . "This chicken possesses the ability to speak, a clear magical anomaly. It could be the result of a variety of intriguing reasons—magical experimentation, demonic influence, divine intervention, a rare magical mutation, or even a wild mage that managed to polymorph itself by mistake. The possibilities are endless! As a man of intellect, wouldn't you find such anomalies fascinating?"
Edwin sighed, his annoyance giving way to a reluctant curiosity. He couldn't deny the allure of unraveling the mysteries behind a talking chicken. "Fine, get on with it."
The hen, as it turned out, was none other than "Melicamp of Beregost," a mage who claimed to be "adept in the magical arts." The man was so adept that he had accidently fumbled the incantation to a polymorph spell and had been living as a chicken for months now. A slight smirk tugged at Charmane's lips as she listened to his explanation, attempting to maintain a façade of sympathy for the unfortunate man. Keeping a straight face, however, proved more challenging than battling a swarm of carrion crawlers. Regrettably, the party lacked the means to dispel the polymorphed spell, so Melicamp suggested taking him to Thalayntyr at High Hedge.
Charmane glanced at Melicamp with a quizzical expression. "For someone claiming to be his apprentice, you seem rather uncertain about his willingness to assist you," she remarked, her tone laced with curiosity.
Melicamp shifted uncomfortably, his chicken form twitching nervously. "Oh, it's nothing, really!" he clucked, his voice betraying hints of anxiety. "The relationship between an apprentice and their master can be... strained at times. But I am certain he will extend his help when we reach him."
A warm smile spread across Charmane's face. "Well, Melicamp, you're in luck. Our journey takes us in that direction," she said, her words carrying a genuine sense of reassurance. With a gentle motion, she opened her backpack, and the hen eagerly hopped inside, relieved to leave behind the constant threat of wolves and other dangers.
Khalid, Imoen, and Jaheira were diligently occupied with the task of setting up their camp, ensuring their temporary haven would provide a measure of comfort and security. Neera, having just completed the identification of their latest trove of magical artifacts, ventured off to attend to her own affairs.
"Interesting," Charmane mused, her eyes scanning the magically inscribed words that appeared within her journal. She was reading the latest entry about the short sword she picked up from the hobgoblins. It whistled a melancholic tune in her left hand. She looked up with an innocent look on her face. "It seems a dwarf crafted this blade for a reclusive mage, his only companion, a gesture of camaraderie amidst solitude."
Edwin's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why, pray tell, are you staring at me while speaking of swords and friendship? Is there something you wish to impart, rogue?"
A mischievous smile graced Charmane's lips as she explained, her voice laced with a hint of playful intrigue. "Ah, dear Edwin, you see, while this whistling sword lacks the subtle grace required for stealth, it possesses a unique charm. Imagine yourself cornered by a formidable foe, danger closing in. In that dire moment, this blade would not only defend you with its steel, but its melodic whistle would carry through the air, alerting me to your plight, guiding me to your side."
Edwin, caught off guard by the playful suggestion and the subtle undertones of Charmane's words, arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Your words carry an intriguing melody of their own, my dear. Are you implying that I am in need of rescue, and that you alone would come to my aid? How delightfully audacious."
Charmane chuckled, feigning innocence as she met Edwin's gaze. "Ah Edwin, you always find intrigue in the most mundane of conversations. Surely, I speak in hypotheticals, contemplating the possibilities that lie before us. After all, what fun is life without a bit of audacity?"
Edwin smiled, wryly. "Indeed, my dear, audacity is a trait you possess in abundance. But tell me, do you often find yourself pondering the plight of poor, defenceless mages in need of rescue?"
Charmane leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Oh Edwin, you do have a flair for the dramatic, don't you? I can just imagine the tragic tale of a misunderstood mage, trapped in his tower of wit and intellect, yearning for a companion who can appreciate his acerbic charm and twisted sense of humour."
Edwin's eyes narrowed as a flicker of anger danced across his features. He clenched his fists, his voice dripping with venomous disdain. "Enough with your absurd fantasies, Charmane! I am not some pitiable fool in need of rescue, nor do I seek companionship. Your insipid notions are nothing but a mockery of my grand designs."
Charmane, taken aback by the sudden change in Edwin's demeanour, raised an eyebrow, her playful demeanour giving way to a more serious expression. "Edwin, I meant no offense. I was merely jesting, indulging in the whimsy of imagination, if you will. There is no need for such hostility."
Edwin's nostrils flared as he seethed with indignation. "Hostility? You know nothing of true hostility, rogue. Do not pretend to understand the intricacies of my mind or the depths of my ambitions. I have no need for camaraderie or your pitiful attempts at deciphering my character."
Charmane's frustration boiled over. With a pained expression and a hint of anger in her voice, she muttered, "Fine, have it your way." Without another word, she shoved the flat edge of her blade against Edwin's chest, pushing him back slightly, before turning on her heels and walking away, leaving him standing there, stunned and alone.