Chapter 22: Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice
The party stood before the grand Song of the Morning temple, dedicated to the deity Lathander. The structure rose majestically, its central dome commanding attention, encircled by a symphony of smaller domes. Ornate arches and intricate carvings adorned its exterior, while vibrant hues of red enveloped the domes, capturing the essence of dawn. The temple stood as a testament to divine beauty, an architectural marvel that inspired reverence in all who beheld its splendour.
Jaheira glanced at the grandeur of the temple, her expression tinged with disapproval. "A remarkable display of opulence." she remarked dryly. "But then Lathandrites have always been known for their excessive displays. One wonders if the hard-earned donations of honest, toiling folk could have been put to better use elsewhere."
Charmane could not help but agree with the astute observation. As she entered the courtyard, her gaze was drawn to the sight of a captivating sirene with resplendent yellow skin. Her revealing red robes marked her a cleric of Lathander.
Neera, looked shocked and bit her lips in apparent confusion, trying to make sense of a pious, good-willed sirene. Edwin on the other hand, took the moment to admire the view.
"Salutations. I am Rashel, how may I help you today?" the sirene cleric asked.
Charmane walking closer to the cleric and lowered her voice. "We have encountered a young boy in dire circumstances," she explained, leaning in, ensuring the boy in question did not overhear. "His family fell victim to the atrocities of the mad cleric, Bassilus. Would the Temple of Lathander be willing to provide him with shelter and care?"
Rashel listened attentively as Charmane explained the situation, her expression filled with empathy. After a moment of reflection, she spoke with a gentle voice, "Your compassion for this young boy is commendable. The Temple of Lathander welcomes all who seek solace and healing, especially those in need of a nurturing environment. We shall gladly provide him with shelter, care, and the guidance of our devoted clergy."
Charmane felt a surge of relief. Before concluding their conversation, she hesitated for a moment. "There is another child, who may have shared a similar tragic fate," she revealed, "The boy mentioned a Netty, during our trek up here. If it is within your means, perhaps you could extend your kindness to her as well."
Rashel nodded, her expression solemn yet determined. "We shall do our best to aid and protect both of these innocent souls," she assured Charmane. "Thank you for bringing their plight to our attention. Your compassion is a true reflection of Lathander's light."
As the cleric lead the boy away, Charmane heard the Red Wizard mutter to himself. "This land is infested with mercy. A cesspool of charity, breeding sympathy like maggots in a carcass. Why won't the monkey just let it rest."
Imoen rolled her eyes fully expecting her friend to begin yet another meandering exchange with the sullen wizard, filling the air with their usual banter. However, to her surprise, Charmane remained uncharacteristically silent in the face of Edwin's cynicism. And, even more peculiar, Edwin wore an expression even more sullen and irritable than his usual demeanour, if such a thing were possible. Imoen narrowed her eyes in suspicion but said nothing.
Jaheira, on the other held, held a genuine tone of appreciation as she spoke to the rogue. "You possess a darkness that dances at the edges of your being, Charmane, but it is moments like these that remind me there is more to you than meets the eye."
Charmane's smile carried a touch of sadness as she responded, "You'll find, Jaheira, that even amidst the darkest of shadows, we can find glimpses of light."
Jaheira arched an inquisitive brow, sensing that there was a deeper meaning hidden within Charmane's words, "Aye, Charmane, 'tis true. But be wary for darkness has a way of twisting and turning those who dance within its grasp."
"Fear not, Jaheira, for I am well aware of the shadowy dance that surrounds us. " Charmane remarked. "Perhaps it takes a more discerning eye to recognise the flickers of light amidst the gloom."
Imoen couldn't resist the opportunity to jump into the cryptic conversation. With a mischievous grin, she chimed in, "Well, you know what they say, Jaheira. It takes a spoonful of sugar to make the darkness go down!"
Jaheira smiled, "Ah, but one must be cautious when sugar is laced with venom, lest it sweeten the bitterness but poison the soul."
As the cryptic conversation unfolded, Edwin's brow furrowed deeper, his irritation mounting with each passing word. He couldn't fathom the meaning behind their exchanges, and it chafed at his very being. "Incomprehensible drivel!" he grumbled, his voice barely audible. "They prattle on like monkeys swinging from the trees of lunacy, dishing out cryptic nonsense like stale leftovers. One day, when they least suspect it, I shall unleash a magnificent fireball upon the lot of them, and perhaps then they'll learn the true meaning of clarity! Yes, yes, a fiery spectacle to illuminate their ignorance! They'll beg for mercy, but it shall be denied, for the Great Edwin Odesseiron never stoops to bestowing mercy! FWOOM! Ah, the glorious flames shall cleanse the land of their bewildering banter!"
Despite her crossness with the mage, Charmane had to bite her lips to not laugh at his monologue. She turned back as the sirene cleric returned and asked her for information about the area. The rogue's eyes lit up when the sirene mentioned a Ulcaster School of Wizardry.
"It was devastated by Calishate mages out of fear," the priestess was saying, her voice laden with caution. "Forgive me, for I should not speak of this. The high priest frowns upon us talking of this haunted place, let alone approaching it. Although you seem like capable adventurers, I implore you not to be tempted by the allure of the ruins. They hold great historical significance, and it would be a tragedy if they were lost to looting or further desecration."
Charmane nodded "Indeed, we must respect the ancient ruins and preserve their integrity," she responded, her voice laced with solemnity. Yet, her mind silently calculated how well her party would fare against the undead at Ulcaster.
She bid the sirene thanks and promptly entered the temple to collect her reward. Inside, her eyes were immediately drawn to a man donning resplendent chain mail, embellished with an opulent array of shimmering gems, forming a radiant symbol of a sunrise on his chest. The ostentatious display perfectly mirrored the excessive nature of the temple itself. Flanking the governor of Beregost stood three sirenes, their scant attire revealing and their voices weaving a mesmerizing hymn that filled Charmane with an uncharacteristic sense of reverence. The heavenly music stirred a fleeting temptation to make a generous donation to the temple, but she quickly dismissed notion.
Charmane gritted her teeth, silently contemplating whether robbing the pious charlatans would be worth the headache of having Flaming Fists chasing her around the Sword Coast. Yet, as she accepted the comforting weight of the five thousand gold coins, such thoughts faded into the background. The Lathandrites may be excessive but their generous rewards left her with little reason to complain.
Before their return to Beregost, the party decided to explore the surroundings of the temple. Aside from the local wild life, the area was fairly safe. The party made doubly sure of this by killing a group of Hobgoblin bandits that thought it would be profitable to rob a band of well-armed adventurers.
However, the true menace revealed itself in the form of a pack of emaciated wolves. "They're undead…" Charmane said with gritted teeth as a wolf bit into her lower arm. Even as it drew blood, the huge wound Charmane had inflicted on the creature's hide healed before her eyes. "The Bassilus plan!" she shouted.
Reacting swiftly, Jaheira began casting, imbuing the front line with a warm red aura one by one. Edwin then positioned himself directly behind the melee, his voice rising in a chant. Within moments, flames erupted from his palms, engulfing the wolves in a scorching blaze. Charmane and the half-elf couple felt the intense heat, yet remained relatively unharmed.
The relentless barrage of fire spells from the red mage, complemented by Imoen's fiery arrows, left the undead wolves howling in pain. Varscona's icy slashes delivered a chilling shock, further augmenting the damage inflicted. Before long, the once menacing pack of wolves lay motionless, their undead existence forever extinguished.
"Aha!" Edwin boasted triumphantly, holding his spellbook open, its pages now glowing with eerie blue aura. "I have unlocked the realm of 3rd level spells." Edwin said smugly.
Charmane nodding in acknowledgement but said nothing.
"My wild magic can make even a 1st level spell infinitely more powerful than any of your 3rd." Neera quipped, sounding just as smug.
"Watch yourself, freak," Edwin sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Lest your wild failures have you permanently relegated to the rank of latrine-digging filth."
"Aren't you supposed to be nice to us?" Neera asked, with a scowl.
Edwin retorted sharply, "I'll be nice to the ones who matter, and you, aberration, don't qualify. Now refrain from addressing me, lest your words be fed to you on the end of my boot!"
Taerom Thunderhammer was beaming happily as he caught sight of the party, "Ah there you are! We found a way to counteract the contaminant, and I've tested it out on my stock. Once we're certain it works I'll send our results down to Nashkel, but in the mean-time go ahead and take a look at what I've got."
With the approval of the party, Charmane took the initiative and allocated a portion of their shared funds, along with her personal share, to acquire the poisoned dagger. They would soon be fighting hordes of bandits and the poison would prove to be an invaluable asset against their adversaries. She watched Taerom pick the weapon out of its enchanted case, and silently cursed the wretched mage who invented magical locks.
The next stop was the Thalantyr's fortified abode in High Hedge. As the door swung open, the resident mage looked far from pleased to see them.
Not feeling particularly charitable towards condescending spellcasters, Charmane snapped. "There is no call to be so rude. Why are you so reluctant to deal with me?"
Thalantyr, unyielding in his demeanour, retorted, "I have no desire to entertain dealings with the likes of you. All I ask is for people to respect my need for privacy,"
"Fine," Charmane replied coolly. "Though a little interaction never harmed anyone. Rumours say you gave up the company of adventurers. If I were to hazard a guess, you would enjoy a little dungeon romp every now and then."
Thalantyr's eyes flared with indignation as he exclaimed, "You know nothing of me! Best that you pray, to whatever deity turns your crank, that you NEVER face what I have seen. Bah! The inexperience and STUPIDITY of youth. I care not if you go out and get yourself killed, for it's not the least favourable end you could face! If you have business here I suggest you get to it! Otherwise, begone!"
Charmane took a deep breath and composed herself, "While I apologize for evoking painful memories," she began, "Your experiences do not change mine or the fact that I'm stuck with this talking chicken. Now," Charmane said, mustering her usual smirk. "Would you care to parley with the poulet, or should I just give you the bird?"
Unexpectedly, Thalantyr's stern countenance crumbled as laughter escaped his lips. "Hahaha, um, yes, well... I suppose we should deal with the situation at hand," he chuckled, trying to regain his composure. Then, focusing his attention on the transformed Melicamp, he asked, "Now then, my good chicken, what seems to be the problem?"
Imoen leaned forward, "She sure does know how to handle 'em grumpy mages, don't she?" Imoen whispered, giving Edwin a knowing look. He responded with a disdainful huff, clearly displeased by her observation.
Melicamp turned out to be Thalantyr's wayward apprentice, a restless and impatient young man who grew weary of learning the ethical considerations, responsibilities, and perils that came with being a mage. Seeking to expedite his own training, he made the impulsive choice to abscond with a selection of Thalantyr's magical artifacts.
"It has taken me some fifty-odd years of life to gain the power I wield, and the will not to use it." Thalantyr scoffed, his annoyance palpable in his voice.
Charmane's eyes narrowed as she felt a sense of déjà vu at Thalantyr's words. Intrigued, she listened intently to their conversation. It became evident that Melicamp's curse had been brought upon him by a pair of cursed bracers, one of the items he had recklessly pilfered from Thalantyr's collection. The elder mage, with a tinge of regret in his voice, reluctantly admitted that he lacked the necessary power or knowledge to undo the curse's effects.
Charmane, eager to find a solution, inquired, "What sort of item could cause such a problem for even such a mage as yourself?"
Thalantyr sighed, his voice tinged with irritation, "The magic that so many revere today was not always the same as it is now." Thalantyr said. "Any adventurer worth his salt should know this, and know that not every bauble they wring from a dungeon will be helpful. The bracers in question were a vain little reminder of— well, it doesn't really matter does it?" the mage said, sounding resigned. "Suffice to say that I have no idea what their intended function was, and I was in no position to ask their former owner. Years have passed since my... release, and the spoils of that Netheril ruin remain as enigmatic as ever. They resist even the strongest divination, and attempts to dispel result only in explosive consequences. Some things should just stay buried."
"Is there nothing that can be done?" Charmane asked, her concern evident in her voice.
Thalantyr paused, his brows furrowing as he considered the possibilities. "Hmm, that's right. You sold me a component, a skeleton skull, not long ago. I may be able to bend a few magical rules to reincarnate this foolish boy." he mused, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"Reincarnate? But does that spell not require *cluck* the recipient to be dead?" Melicamp interjected, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
Thalantyr nodded, acknowledging the accuracy of Melicamp's observation. "There must be a dead element, yes. That is what the skull is for. I cannot fully explain what I am to try, but it's something of a reversal on the reincarnation scheme. The age of the enchantment that changed you may allow for a loophole in the laws of magic. Of course, it may just kill us both in the casting. Such is life," he explained, a mix of caution and determination in his tone."
The grouchy mage began chanting, his voice resonating with power as a purplish-black aura enveloped him. With a surge of magic, a bolt of energy struck the chicken, causing it to collapse. In a matter of moments, the feathery form transformed into that of a young man.
"And that, as they say, is that," Thalantyr declared, his voice tinged with a hint of relief.
Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, Melicamp exclaimed, "I have arms! Arms and hands and feet and... Oh, thank you, Master Thalantyr, thank you!"
Thalantyr brushed off the praise, his attention drawn elsewhere. "Yes, yes, boy, now be quiet a moment," he grumbled. "Blast it. The bracers are no longer on him. It is as I feared. Likely they either spent what magic they had in a single charge, or it is their wont to be whisked away after inflicting the damage they do. I had hoped to seal them away, but now it's certain they will fall into the hands of some other unfortunate fool."
Turning his attention back to Melicamp, Thalantyr inquired, "Tell me, Melicamp, do you quite feel yourself again?"
"I... I think so," Melicamp replied, still trying to comprehend the sudden change in his situation.
"Good, though it was the greatest of luck you did not retain a wing for a limb," Thalantyr remarked dryly. "You always were a bit cockeyed, but I suppose that doesn't count. I suggest you remain here, however, so that I might keep an eye on you. If you insist on playing with the forces of magic, at least I should see that you understand them. Perhaps you will be a touch more cautious now that you have experienced what can go wrong."
"Yes, Master Thalantyr," Melicamp agreed, his voice filled with a newfound respect.
Thalantyr sighed, realizing his role in Melicamp's life had shifted. "I suppose your master I must be," he muttered. Then, addressing Charmane, he added, "And you, Charmane. I trust you will be cautious in your travels as well? I wish you 'intelligence' on your journeys. I would wish you 'luck,' but it runs out much quicker than you would think. Good day."
As the party departed from Thalantyr's residence, Edwin couldn't help but voice his frustration. "You waste our time with farm animals, and we gain nothing in return!?" he exclaimed, his disdain evident in his tone.
Charmane's eyes narrowed as she turned to face Edwin. "Nothing? You'd think a mage like yourself would appreciate the opportunity to hear from someone as experienced as Thalantyr," she retorted sharply.
Edwin scoffed dismissively, "Experience from the likes of Thalantyr? Please, I have no interest in the feeble knowledge of those lacking the resolve to wield true power. I seek wisdom from sources more deserving of respect." he declared, his tone dripping with superiority.
Charmane sighed in exasperation and continued walking, choosing not to engage further with the haughty mage.
The party had ventured into the depths of the Larswood forest, arriving late into the night and setting off to explore the area at the first light of dawn. As expected, the forest was infested with bandits, but these miscreants were poorly trained and ill-equipped. It wasn't long before they stumbled upon a group that decided to speak before launching their attack.
"Drop ye weapons, and mayhaps ye outlive the day!" their leader exclaimed, his men had their bows trained on Charmane, who had accidentally revealed herself while scouting ahead. "I'll no be sayin' it twice!"
Charmane met the leader's threat with a mocking grin. "I can't well be scalping that pretty blond hair off you without them, can I?"
"The bitch is askin' for it! Get 'er!" the man ordered.
A volley of arrows rained down where Charmane should have been, but the rogue had vanished like a whispering shadow.
"What in the blazes? Where'd she go?" one of the bewildered bandits asked, his confusion evident. But before he could process the situation fully, a sharp pain erupted in his back, followed by a searing agony coursing through his veins.
Charmane had swiftly struck from the shadows, with her poison enchanted dagger. As the toxic substance worked its way through the bandit's body, she slipped back into stealth, eluding the rest of the startled bandits who now stood back-to-back, wary of another surprise attack. It was a pity she was no longer dealing with mindless monsters. She was about to make a strategic retreat, when her party burst into view, drawn by the commotion. It didn't take long for them to decipher the reason behind the bandits' unusual formation.
Khalid and Jaheira charged forward, their shields held high to deflect any arrows, while projectiles from the backline pelted the bandits.
The bandits soon found themselves overwhelmed by the coordinated assault, their feeble resistance crumbling under the relentless onslaught of the party.
Charmane, seizing the opportunity, swiftly closed in on the bandit leader, pressing her poison-laced dagger against his throat. Her voice dripped with cold menace. "Unless you fancy a slow and agonizing death like your unfortunate comrade over there, you better start talking. Tell us what you know, and perhaps I'll grant you a swift end."
Fear etched deeply across the man's face as he trembled under Charmane's lethal grip. His voice quivered with apprehension as he struggled to form his words. "M-me name's Teven," he stammered, his thick accent giving his speech a rough quality. "I've been servin' them Blacktalons for about three bloody years, I have. They want us disruptin' the iron trade in this cursed region. That's all I really know, I swear!"
Charmane's eyes narrowed as she pressed further, her tone laced with both skepticism and determination. "And where might we find your wretched camp, Teven?"
Teven's gaze darted anxiously, his voice filled with genuine uncertainty. "We get our supplies from up north, ye see. But the camp, it moves about all the bleedin' time. I don't rightly know where it is now. They keep us on our toes, they do. That's all I know! Please, just let me go!"
Charmane weighed her options for a fleeting moment before she leaned in, Varscona, resting menacingly against the man's back. "I cannot afford the risk of you alerting your superiors," she uttered coldly. Without hesitation, she drove the blade through his heart, ensuring no warnings would be given.
In a momentary lull in the chaos, Edwin approached Charmane, a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. "Well, well, Charmane. I must admit, your capacity for ruthlessness is always a...pleasing surprise. However, since our attempts at extracting information have regrettably failed, it appears that a more strategic approach would be advisable. Infiltration, perhaps?"
"I was just considering the same, actually," Charmane stated icily, her voice devoid of any warmth or playfulness. The anger from their previous argument still simmered beneath the surface. "I'm sure we will find plenty of them further north. Let's get moving." She deliberately turned her back on Edwin, not waiting for a response, and instead focused her attention on looting the fallen brigands, her movements sharp and purposeful.
Imoen was now sure that something was amiss between the two. Curiosity getting the better of her, she sidled up to Edwin, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
"Say, Edwin," Imoen chimed in, her voice carrying a playful lilt. "What's goin' on between you two?" the girl asked gesturing at Charmane. "Been havin' a bit of a tiff, have ya?"
Edwin's eyes flickered with irritation as he turned to face Imoen, his voice dripping with impatience. "Must you incessantly pry into matters that do not concern you, girl? There is nothing to discuss. Your knack for meddling is as irritating as ever."
Imoen's grin widened, undeterred by Edwin's sharp response. "Come on, Edwin, you can't fool me. You gotta be nice now, or at least pretend to be. Charmane won fair and square."
Edwin muttered something under his breath, his annoyance evident. He attempted to compose himself and speak in a more civil manner, albeit with a hint of grudging politeness. "Very well, girl. I shall attempt to articulate this in a manner that does not invoke my usual insults. I kindly request that you cease your incessant prattling and kindly remove yourself from my immediate vicinity."
Imoen's grin widened, "Aw, c'mon, Edwin! That ain't nice enough! I wanna see some real effort here. So what's really going on? Spill it!"
Edwin grumbled in annoyance, clearly not thrilled with Imoen's persistence. He muttered under his breath, "It is only a minor… er difference of opinion, nothing more. Now, kindly cease your prying and leave me be."
Imoen, couldn't resist teasing Edwin further. "You better sort it out, Edwin, 'fore Charmane decides to replace you with Neera. You wouldn't want that, would ya?"
Edwin's expression turned sour. He shot Imoen a glare and replied through gritted teeth, "Replace me with that unpredictable imbecile? Preposterous!"
Imoen chuckled mischievously, knowing she had struck a nerve. "Y'know, Edwin, Charmane ain't one to forget a grudge. You never know what she might do."
Edwin huffed dismissively, his irritation apparent. "Charmane can play her games if she wishes, but mark my words, that wild mage will not last long in our company. Not if I can help it."
Imoen grinned. "Alright then, Edwin. Good luck!"
Edwin grumbled, his disdain for Imoen's words evident. "Pah! Odesseiron does not need luck." However, a flicker of uncertainty betrayed his confident facade.
The progress through the forest was painfully slow. The bandits, while lacking in skill, compensated with their guerrilla tactics. They would lurk among the dense foliage, firing arrows from their concealed positions. The mages and Charmane swiftly conjured protective shields, creating a shimmering barrier that deflected the projectiles aimed at them. However, the rest of the group had to rely on their agility and a fair amount of luck to evade the incoming arrows.
Charmane, her senses honed, took on the dangerous task of stealthily manoeuvring through the shadows. Like a ghost, she moved swiftly from one hiding spot to another, dispatching the bandits with lethal precision to ensure the safety of her companions. Each strike was executed swiftly and silently, leaving no chance for retaliation.
As the party ventured deeper into the seemingly endless forest, they stumbled upon a clearing that caught their attention. It was a sight of intriguing mystique—a construction site, with an air of ritualistic significance. The ground had been prepared meticulously, marked with intricate patterns and symbols. Tools and materials lay scattered, waiting to be utilized in the completion of this enigmatic endeavour.
Charmane and her companions cautiously stepped into the clearing, their footsteps muffled by the soft soil underfoot. The air was charged with an aura of anticipation, tinged with an otherworldly energy. The structures within the construction site were still taking shape, their foundations strong and purposeful. Pillars rose toward the sky, adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to come alive in the dappled sunlight.
As Charmane and her companions took in the scene, their reverie was abruptly shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps. Charmane's instincts kicked in, and she swiftly drew her weapon, ready to defend herself against the approaching threat. A man, his face contorted with anger and vengeance, rushed toward them, his voice filled with venomous intent.
"Arrogant fools!" the man spat, his voice seething with rage. "You return to the very slaughter for which you were responsible. Your blood will soak the ground before I allow any of you to leave! I will avenge the deaths of my brothers!"
With narrowed eyes, Charmane met the man's fury with a calm defiance. "We just got here!" she retorted, "We've killed bandits on the way here, sure. If they happened to be your 'brothers', then too bad."
The man's face twisted further with disbelief and anger, "You think your excuses can work on me!" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "I know what you are, what all of you are! Let the wrath of Malar destroy you and your faithless companions."
The man began chanting, his voice rising in intensity, as a vivid green glow emanated from his hands. Sensing the impending danger, Charmane swiftly dropped into stealth, poised to neutralize the threat. However, before she could make her move, a sudden shift in the atmosphere disrupted the man's concentration.
A dark, black-purple aura enveloped him, interrupting the threads of his spell and causing him to falter in confusion. His eyes darted around, searching for answers in the midst of his disorientation.
"Hah! It works!" Edwin's voice echoed through the clearing, brimming with smug satisfaction. "The fool is deafened now, his incantations reduced to mere mumbles. If only this affliction could heighten his sense of smell, he might crumble from his own putrid stench."
Charmane had to bite her lip to stifle a chuckle in response to Edwin's snide remark, finding a fleeting moment of amusement amidst the tension. However, her mirth was swiftly replaced by a focused determination as she swiftly closed in on the unsuspecting druid, unleashing a flurry of precise strikes. To her astonishment, her weapons met an unexpected resistance, as if they were colliding with solid wood rather than flesh, resulting in minimal damage to the man.
Before she could reassess the situation, another druid burst onto the scene, joining the fray. Charmane's instincts kicked in, and she prepared herself for a defensive stance, ready to fend off the new attacker. However, to her astonishment, the newly arrived druid directed his assault towards the first druid instead.
Once the enemy druid lay dead, the new arrival approached the group, his voice filled with a mix of grief and urgency. "I am Corsone," the second druid introduced himself, his tone heavy with sorrow. "I must apologize for the actions of Osmadi. He had lost his mind after what happened here... some days past." He paused, "A group of bandits, calling themselves the Chill, infiltrated our camp as we worked upon this sacred shrine. They showed no mercy, killing and murdering everyone they came across, including some of Osmadi's closest friends."
Charmane was puzzled by the explanation and sought clarification. "Were they not your closest friends, too?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion.
Corsone stumbled over his words, realizing the oversight. "W-why yes, of course, that is what I meant," he replied, his tone slightly flustered.
Unsatisfied with Corsone's response, Charmane continued her questioning. "From the sounds of it, you knew him well. Why did you let us attack him?"
Corsone sighed, his weariness evident in his voice. "It's true, we knew each other very well. But there was nothing that could be done. He had lost his mind. I think you can understand that. Sometimes one doesn't have a choice."
Jaheira's stern voice cut through the air as she interjected, "Truly, it strains credibility that a druid would so readily condemn a mourning soul to death. Surely, a solid thump on the head would have sufficed?"
With a touch of frustration, Corsone replied, "There was no other choice! Do I have to explain myself over and over? Please leave me be, so that I may bury my companion."
Charmane's accusatory tone persisted as she probed deeper. "Oh so he's your companion, now. That's very strange indeed. I, for one, would rather die than bear the guilt of murdering my own companion."
Corsone's patience reached its limit, and he retorted sharply, "I murdered NO ONE! I did what had to be done! All of you might be dead if it weren't for my help! Leave me be."
Charmane remained skeptical, her voice laced with suspicion. "You give yourself far too much credit and your excuses make no sense. I think you wanted our help to kill this man. An old grudge, perhaps?"
Corsone dropped the façade, "You... are correct. I did need your assistance to kill Osmadi," he confessed coldly, his voice devoid of remorse. "Thank you for the help. You were wrong about one thing. There is no grudge. I am a Shadow Druid. I poisoned Osmadi and his companions so that we could be rid of their weakling presence. Now we should easily be able to make this land our own. Unfortunately, there will be no room for meddling city folk. It is time for you to feel the fury of nature, as only I can administer it. Goodbye!"
Charmane's voice carried a hint of amusement as she responded, her words laced with a touch of sarcasm, "Madness seems to have a firm grip on your mind, doesn't it? Surely, you just witnessed us practically executing this druid right before your very eyes."
Corsone's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and defiance. "Will you let me walk away then?"
A dry smirk played on Charmane's lips as she replied, "No, not really."
"I thought as much," Corsone replied, his voice tinged with acceptance, as if he had anticipated her answer all along.
Reacting swiftly to the impending danger, Charmane shouted to Edwin, urging him to cast Dispel Magic on the druid. As the Barkskin dissipated, Charmane, utilizing the shadows to her advantage, swiftly struck the exposed druid, delivering a lethal blow.
Charmane's mood lifted as she rummaged through the lifeless bodies of the fallen druids. Her keen eyes fell upon the gleaming weapons they carried, each exuding a palpable magical aura. Eagerly, she handed them to Neera to identify their extraordinary properties.
One weapon was an ominous, cursed spear that resonated with an air of raw power. It promised unparalleled potency, capable of piercing even the most formidable defences and dealing devastating blows to the hardiest adversaries. However, its use came at a treacherous cost, inflicting harm upon its wielder with each strike. Recognizing the potential risks, Charmane made the decision to keep the cursed spear as a last resort.
Her attention then shifted to another remarkable find—an enchanted club pulsating with the lingering vengeance of a dryad who had lost her sacred grove. Much like the cursed spear, this weapon possessed the ability to penetrate the defenses of formidable opponents. However, its power was reserved for those who defied the laws of nature, making it a potent tool against unnatural creatures. Charmane claimed the enchanted club for herself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a dusky hue over the landscape, Charmane and her companions continued their journey towards Peldvale. With nightfall approaching, Charmane deemed it necessary to halt their progress and make camp. They gathered around a crackling fire, the warmth enveloping them in a comforting embrace.
Taking a break from their arduous travels, the group savoured Jaheira's delectable rabbit stew, its aroma mingling with the cool evening breeze.
Imoen, spoke up, her voice carrying an air of curiosity. "Y'know, that mad druid, Osmadi, mentioned somethin' 'bout Malar. I mean, druids and all, I never figured 'em for the religious sorts."
Jaheira glanced at Imoen, "While it's true that many druids draw their power from their bond with nature, some find their strength through a connection with a spirit or a deity. Take Malar, for example. He is a deity associated with nature's wild and primal aspects."
She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before continuing, "However, I follow a different path. I revere Mielikki, the Lady of the Forest. She embodies the beauty and harmony of nature, protecting its delicate balance. It is through my devotion to her that I derive my powers as a druid."
"Speaking of Malar," Edwin interjected with a smug grin, "Have you ever heard about his intriguing connection to Bhaal?"
Imoen's eyes widened with curiosity, "Ooh, ya mean the Charmane's likely father, right?"
Edwin leaned back against a log, "Ah, Malar, the so-called Beastlord," he began, his tone dripping with superiority. "He fancies himself as the patron of hunters, marauding beasts, monsters. It is all rather… barbaric."
He paused, relishing in his own cleverness before continuing, "Now, mind you, Malar is nothing more than a minor power among the deities of Faerun. The Red Wizards of Thay, such as myself, do not concern ourselves with such petty deities. We believe that true power lies within the mastery of magic itself. Gods are mere distractions for those who lack the intellect to rise above their mortal limitations."
Edwin continued his tone dripping with mockery. "But, if you must know, there was an incident involving Malar and those pitiful beings known as The Dead Three - Myrkul, Bhaal, and Bane. They were squabbling over the power of Jergal, the Lord of the End of Everything and the first god of death, strife, and the dead. Malar, in his pathetic attempt to assert his relevance, sought to join the game. But, alas, the others didn't deem him worthy. They played a game of knucklebones without him, leaving Malar furious and empty-handed."
Edwin chuckled softly, clearly relishing the tale. "Malar is but a minor player in the grand scheme of things. His presence may hold sway over those who choose to follow him, but among the pantheon of gods, he is nothing more than an afterthought."
"Now, ya see, Edwin," Imoen piped up with a playful grin, "Normally, when them monks at Candlekeep start goin' on 'bout gods and all, my eyes get mighty heavy, and I'm off to dreamland faster than a blink. But, I gotta admit, your way of tellin' the tale with all them insults and jabs thrown in, well, it sure kept me awake and listenin'!"
She chuckled softly, her excitement evident in her voice. "I reckon it's like a spicy stew. Sometimes, ya just need them extra flavours to make things interestin'! So, keep 'em insults comin' and keep sharin' them stories. I'm all ears!"
Edwin's expression shifted to a mixture of annoyance and impatience. "The wager ends today, girl. I shall no longer be burdened by this absurdity and shall return to my perfect self."
Imoen pouted playfully and nudged Edwin's arm. "Aw, come on, Edwin! You were actually kinda nice when you tried! It was...refreshin', in a way. But, I suppose the world can't handle too much sweetness from you. Just remember, though, if you ever feel like bein' nice again, I'm here to appreciate it!"
Edwin let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, and returned his attention to his stew. The flickering firelight danced on his face as he muttered to himself, seemingly dismissing Imoen's playful remark.
Charmane listened intently to Imoen and Edwin's banter, her gaze shifting between the two. As Imoen playfully nudged Edwin's arm and expressed her enjoyment of his storytelling style, Charmane couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement and fondness for the young girl's enthusiasm. It was endearing to see Imoen find enjoyment in Edwin's unconventional way of sharing knowledge.
However, Charmane's irritation from the previous night still lingered. She couldn't easily forget Edwin's harsh words and dismissive attitude towards her attempts at light-heartedness. As she observed Edwin's reluctant response to Imoen's playful request for him to continue being nice, a part of her wished he would take the opportunity to show a genuine change in his demeanour.
With a mix of resignation and lingering curiosity, Charmane glanced at Edwin. For now, Charmane decided to let the matter rest. She understood that Edwin needed his space and his defences up, but she also hoped that one day he would realize the value of trust and genuine connection. With a thoughtful expression, she turned her attention back to the flickering flames of the campfire, pondering the complexities of her companions and the journey that lay ahead.