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Dearest Readers, may all doors before you always open to faces friendly and fond.

THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE

Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 19 : When Earth Reflects the Sky

"Dotie?"

There was no mistaking the half-duergar's familiar mug among the sea of faces in the cobbled streets of Berdusk. Alone instead of with Nells or at the park where they were supposed to meet later, walking by herself and casting furtive glances over the shoulder could only mean one thing – the dwarf had ditched the first mate and succeeded in escaping the tedious task of trade shopping.

Probably heading for one of the taverns to gorge herself on grog and maybe even find a boyfriend in the process!

Okami had called after her, but a quick word that she would be back in a jiffy was all Irse could afford. No time to explain.

Mustn't lose the chance to blackmail and needle Dotie a good one.

But the press of people swelled between them for it was now the hour of closing of public bureaus, some shops and guild offices; though Irse pushed on, determined to catch up. About a block away, she found Dotie standing before a tavern whose sign claimed the place as The Flourished Flagon.

Gotcha!

She slipped behind a lamp post and peered around. From her vantage point, she saw the dwarf glance sideways once more before finally opening the door.

Rather than joy, a look of surprise flashed on Dotie's face, followed by alarm, her mouth gaping in an angry yet voiceless cry before darting inside with urgency.

What just happened? Is Dotie in some sort of trouble? Should she go back to her Teacher, then? But what if there was no time?

Her decision made, Irse ran across the street and weaved through passersby, finally reaching the tavern door herself. Lantern lights, fiddle music, boisterous laughter, and shattering of tankards being tossed all streamed through the windows. Her hand was already upon the latch when her eyes strayed to a poster nailed on the wood at level with her waist.

Humans and elves not allowed, it warned in a drunken scrawl.

"Huh," Irse snorted. Maybe they don't really mean it at all, she reasoned as she pushed the door open and went inside.

It led straight into the common room, the entire floor quite below street level, a series of brick steps leading down from the front door. From this perch, one could immediately look around the place.

"Dotie?" Irse called out but found no sign nor reply from her crewmate.

Louder this time she called out once more over the sea of people sitting down at the tables. Well, she had mistakenly thought everyone was sitting down. A lot of them were standing. On their not quite tall legs.

Dwarves. Gnomes. Halflings. All smallfolk and nary a tallfolk in sight.

Even the oil paintings on the walls – all crudely drawn portraits of the shorter races in various dramatic victorious pose and standing on the heads of bigger monsters slain. Dragons, beholders, or extra-large xvarts, among others.

And an occasional pile of defeated drow and elves beneath their feet, the latter made evil-looking by tacked on villainous twirly mustaches on their exaggeratedly effeminate faces. Irse cringed at the lubberly level of artistic license.

Merriment died down in deathly silence as all eyes turned to her.

The elf wore an awkward grin as she timidly shuffled past the tables. Everyone remained still, tankards at the lips, playing cards held in midair, turkey legs bitten down but not chewed. It was as if every living creature in the room had turned to stone but with moving eyes, accusingly following her around.

Three dwarven men barred her way, armored and helmed in leather and steel, wispy beards braided.

"Oh, hello there. Just need to find my friend. Didn't mean to disturb you, Sirs," she greeted.

"Sirs?" the lead dwarf bellowed. In a gruff but unmistakably female voice.

Irse blinked several times. Now she knew why Dotie always had shaving nicks on her chin.

One of them, standing behind the lead dwarf, knuckled the latter on the shoulder. "Ho, Balfara! This leaf-ear thinks we all look alike."

"Shush it, Vigdis!" Balfara admonished her companion as she sized up the girl before her. "You have no business in this place, elf," she told Irse.

"I- I'm sorry. Like I said, I'm looking for my friend."

"Do it look like you have a friend in here?" Vigdis growled.

"But I saw her come in a while ago and-"

"Din't cha' hear what she said! Ya gots no stinkin' friend in here! Yer knife-ears are dull this time, eh tree-hugger!" jeered the third dwarf of the group

Laughter erupted around the room as a table of men dwarves cheered. "Good one, Zesil! You tell off that flower-reekin' tree-hugger!" one of them sneered.

Irse rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, elves hug trees, very funny," she muttered.

It had always escaped her why everyone and their mother thought it hilarious. There was nothing amusing about a person embracing rough and scratchy wood crawling with sap and ants. Unless you caused it on someone else. And then she remembered a prank and Brother Nador and a tree covered from branch to root with ants and a side serving of bees. Now that one was funny. Irse sniggered at the memory.

"Now, if you'll please just let me find my friend and I'll be on my way."

"Maybe we haven't made it clear what we think of your kind barging in unwelcome in our place," Balfara threatened. She trained her weapon at the young elf.

Irse's eyes traveled down to the dwarven axe in front of her, whistling admiringly at the intricate etchings upon the broad face, continuing all the way to the handle of polished oak.

"That's a nice axe," Irse praised, pointing down at the axe head. "Was it made by elves?"

Throaty gasps emanated from the table next to them.

Rounded eyes bulged with ire beneath the helm. "You say my clan's treasured axe is of elven work? How dare you! This was forged by my great-great-great-great-grandfather with his own hands!"

"Really? Neat! Is he an elf too? I don't see the resemblance but if he goes that far back," Irse supposed innocently, hovering a palm in front of her at stomach level in a show of measuring the other woman's height.

Balfara shouted, "You insult my clan and my ancestor! I won't stand for any disrespect, especially from the likes of a leaf-loving dew-kisser!"

The crowd to her left ooh-ed.

Irse stole a few impatient glances around the room. Where in the realms is Dotie anyway?

She turned her eyes back on the dwarven woman before her, remembering the respectful reverential ways with which Shar-Teel and Dotie had always addressed each other.

"Listen here, Miss Stunty-Dirt Fairy. I'd love to stay and comb the fleas off the half-shaved owl bear on your chin, but you have more pressing holes to dig up," she began.

The crowd to her right aah-ed.

The elf bent her knees, cupped an ear, her voice taking on her best impression of Dotie's manner of speaking as she hollered, "'Cause ye gotta dig up yer greatest gran'pa fer he's now rollin' in his cave grave 'cause his greatest gran'daughter is a bearded lady goblin with pixie hands who wishes her pretty elven axe was half as ugly as her goat face. Ah, a wee minute, it be not yer face ya smooth cheeks, are ye puttin' yer trousers on the wrong end again?"

The tavern erupted in howls, mugs slamming on tables. But Balfara growled, clutched her weapon with both hands, shaking with terrible fury.

"Enough of this yammering! Let's settle this now, you and me. Maybe you'll learn not to mock one of the Deep Folk!" she roared.

Irse raised a hand in front of her. "Hey, we shouldn't fight, or the city guards will arrest us for scuffling in a tavern."

"The city guard? Hah! What do they care; so long as it doesn't spill over in the streets. You're mistaken if you think fights aren't permitted in this place!"

Irse grinned. "Oh, I was hoping there's a single pub in the realms that doesn't allow brawls at all, and that this would be it?" she ventured hopefully.

A halfling in one of the tables answered, "Well, there's The Running Stag at the corner of Steelsword. They don't let duels there anymore after a fight between two druids many years ago."

The elf scowled, puzzled. "Druids dueling? What would they be arguing about? Whose tree is woodier?"

"Dunno exactly what, something about 'forest management', big words for a big duel. Folks who were there talked of storms beneath the roof and earthquakes on the wood floor! Vines and fur flying everywhere, squirrel and chipmunk locked in mortal combat, angry devil mushrooms and vicious daffodils sprouting on every crack and corner! Ever seen a bear and a hippo-elephant hybrid duke it out?"

His companion butted in, "It wasn't a hippo-elephant you idiot, it was a hierophant of Eldath!"

"Bah! Whatever! Sounds the same anyways. Either way, place was trashed worse than a horseradish patch after a stampede of satyrs soused on stout. So if you wants a place with no fights, then go to the Stag instead."

Irse bowed quickly. "Thanks for the suggestion. I think I'll go there now." But she was about to leave casually when the dwarven women barred her way again, weapons raised.

"Where do you think you're going, elf? We're not done with you yet."

Irse frowned and stepped back. She made to draw her bokken, not to fight but to be ready to defend herself, except...

She had left the wooden sword at the inn!

"Wait! I don't have a weapon. Are you going to strike an unarmed opponent? That's dishonorable, isn't it?"

The crowd murmured in agreement and considered the dilemma.

One of the men dwarves asked, "But are ye one o' them fist-fightin', water-chuggin', inner-peace-mongerin' prats?"

"You mean, fighting monks?"

"Aye."

"Do I look like I can break a board with my bare hands?" Please don't any of them say she can break a board with her bare face instead, the elf hoped.

"Nae."

"Because I'm not. I don't have a weapon on me now, so I'm not fighting any of you," Irse declared, hands outstretched, palms open in a gesture of peace and surrender.

"Here you go, then. This should do for you," the gnome bartender volunteered and helpfully placed a wooden staff upon Irse's open palms.

She glared at the stick now in her hands.

"This is a mop!"

"Not just any mop, but a powerful enchanted mop made by elves in the fabled island kingdom of Evermeet, used for none other noble purpose than to swab the floors in the private loo of the elven king, Zaor Moonflower."

The gnome bartender scratched his nose in recollection. "At least that's what the curio seller in Amberside told me."

She made a wry face. "The curio seller? A man who dresses like a topless carrot?"

"That be him."

Irse blenched, tongue sticking out at the corner of the mouth. Hopefully they had the mind to wash the mop first; no telling for what suspicious spills it had been used to clean up in Cirio's tent.

She wagged the mop and addressed the women. "I said, I don't want to fight any of you. Say what you will about me and elves but I'm leaving now."

"Don't ye give ear t' her. That's the knife-ear's way o' gettin' yer guard down!" Zesil yelled.

Balfara hefted her axe. "You're already armed, elf. You've wasted enough of our time! Prepare yourself!"

Irse was about to protest when the dwarf charged at her.

Lessons and instinct kicked in as she sidestepped from the first swing of the axe. Grinning with cheeky sureness, she evaded the second one, and another, and the next one, and the one after that, relishing the growls of frustration from the other.

"Stand still, you flighty rat," Balfara snarled.

Bad luck and overconfidence blundered in as the final stroke swept further than expected; Irse tripped and fell backwards. Balfara aimed down on the prone elf, but the latter rolled away from the axe as it smashed on the wooden planks of the floor. Irse dived straight for beneath the nearest table.

"Coward! Just like your kind! Don't hide from me!"

Beneath the long table, Irse crawled with as much speed as she could muster on all threes - mop still in hand, flinching as mucky boots on stubby legs of seated patrons brushed against her hair and back.

So this is what a roach feels like while fleeing from her slipper. Now if only she could fly like one.

"Dotie? Dotie? You here?" she called out, peering around her, if perhaps her crewmate had been hiding under the tables the whole time. Darn it, she cursed silently, has the dwarf turned mage and disappeared into thin air?

She emerged from the other end, in time for Balfara to catch up. Irse ducked from another swing of the axe and caught sight of the front door not too far away. She turned tail and ran for the exit, snaking through the benches and tables. Patrons grabbed their precious tankards and rushed away from her path, a miracle that she didn't slip on the spilled drinks.

Only a few more tables stood between her and freedom. Then someone threw a chair. Irse dodged the flying furniture, glimpsing Zesil standing on a stool, arms still outstretched from having heaved the chair, face annoyed from having missed the elf.

Vigdis skidded right in front of Irse and swung a wooden club. It merely grazed at the hip but enough to hurt a bit and cause her to stumble. Zesil had already jumped down from her stool and was marching towards them, a felling axe in her hands. Balfara joined her companions and the dwarven women advanced against the elf, slowly as if waiting for the latter to make the first move and the first mistake.

Irse cautiously backed away, free hand running over the chair rests, ready to grab and throw one, just in case. They were pushing her back, leading her towards the center of the room, further from the front door. Her jaw ground in frustration as the mind desperately scrambled for a plan.

No other choice, then. She raised the staff at chudan, mop head inward. All three were about as tall as between her waist and chest. Irse remembered how Vigdis had swung her club low enough sideways to reach the hip and Balfara's axe arching high enough with the elf's face still within range. Adjustments might have to be made, she reminded herself, then lowered the mop to gedan, low-guard.

At seeing the elf ready this time, all three launched themselves together, though in their eagerness, Vigdis and Zesil rushed past their leader and came up on Irse at the same time. The elf slid to her left and met Vigdis head-on, parrying to redirect the wooden club, stepping back and dodging a swing from Zesil. Vigdis pushed in between them readying to strike but before the club went down, Irse swiftly thrust the mop point at her torso as with a stab, the light leather armor absorbing only some of the impact, then smacked hard at the unprotected shoulder.

As Vigdis dropped to her knees, Zesil cried and charged. Irse leaped back, switched ends, pivoted and brought the mop down on Zesil's exposed arm, then a swipe at the helmed yet exposed face. Zesil fumbled, her scream muffled by the damp head smacking against her mouth.

"Ew," Irse mouthed, empathizing with her foe's apparent disgust, right before Balfara sprung at her, heaving the axe with all her might. She sidestepped away from the direct course and countered with an upswing, but the axe blade sliced clean through half of the mop handle.

Irse backed off and stared aghast at the broken staff in her hand. She swallowed an anxious lump in her throat. Nothing can be done now except to try and get close enough to strike with the halved stick.

From the corner of her vision came a flash weaving through the crowd and leaping from off a table, landing lightly on foot to stand between her and the women.

Teacher.

Okami drew his sword but lowered the blade at his side. Seeing the intruder in their womenfolk's fight, the men dwarves rose as one from their places. Weapons were drawn - axes, swords, flails, maces, and a halberd. They positioned themselves behind Balfara and her companions.

"We'll be surrounded," Irse whispered with dismay. What a way to go or be arrested by authorities – all because of a fight with a trio of angry dwarfettes and their supportive boyfriends.

"To our right are more halflings than dwarves. They might not stand in our way. On my word, run through them and do not stop until you are out of the door," Okami instructed with his typical calm.

"And you?"

"I will follow close and fend them off."

Irse inhaled sharply, knowing there was no point in arguing. "Right. I'm ready."

The dwarves inched forward. Okami lifted his sword at kasumi, an odd stance to defend against shorter foes. Until Irse realized the blade tip pointing downward, perhaps to feign lack of a guard below but in readiness to block lower strikes or for faster stabs from above and through neck and shoulder plates.

"Now!"

Jarred from her thoughts, Irse breathed in first, about to make a run for it when an angry voice boomed above all.

"By Marthamor's maggoty mullet, stop, all o' ye!" Dotie cried, standing by the front door, surprise and alarm on her face and nicked stubbly chin. Frantic, she rushed down the steps and through the crowd, elbowing and shoving at those too slow to move out of her way until she reached the center of the room and planted herself between them and her folk.

Dotie! So she had already gone, but came back for them! Irse's heart sang with relief.

Astonishment spread on the faces of the stout folk, taken aback by the fierceness in her eyes.

"Ye be keepin' yer filthy ball-scratchin' hands off 'em!" Dotie warned.

"What's this? You'd choose a human and an elf over us?" Balfara questioned. "What are they to you that you'd be a traitor to your people, duergar?"

Dotie glanced around the room, seemingly at a loss for words to answer the accusation. She fidgeted for a few moments but then straightened herself as she muttered, "Eh, what be that F- word that humans be usin'?"

Dotie messily scratched her nose. "Hmmm. Aye, that be right. I be choosin' 'em, fer this man, eh.. this man…," she declared as she pointed at Okami.

"... this man now be my Fiancé!"

Irse would have spewed every drink she had ever had her entire life so far, had her jaw not dropped to the ground first.

Okami's sword arm suddenly went limp.

And to the horror of all, Dotie wrapped her arms around Okami's waist, glaring proudly at everyone, daring anyone to dispute her declaration.

"What about the elf?" Vigdis asked with suspicious eyes, pointing her club.

Still clinging to her instantly betrothed, Dotie smirked and nudged her head towards Irse.

"Eh, her? She be his ex-..."

"Ex- what?" Zesil echoed, extra-curious.

"Ex-Mother-in-Law."

What.

Irse made to charge at Dotie to wring the latter's neck, but Okami held her back with a raised hand.

"Calm yourself. She is only trying to help," he said, eyes narrowed, and lips quirked. "… Mother."

"Well, she'd really better be helping," Irse replied through gritted teeth. "… Son."

Yet it seemed that Dotie's profession had tendered the hearts of all; evidenced by the mix of acceptance and nausea on the faces of her kinfolk. The men dwarves lowered their weapons as they murmured and nodded at each other.

"'Tis true, they say. Love is blind like a buggerin' mole," the dwarven men chorused among themselves.

Balfara scowled at Dotie, then at Irse, fists clenching and face clearly tensing from an inner struggle. The three dwarven women cast uneasy glances at one another before shaking their heads and putting away their own gear.

"It pains me to let go of this slight, but if you've taken this man for your own heart and the elf is somehow kin to him, then they're no strangers to us. We shall then leave you in peace," Balfara conceded with heaviness in her voice. She nodded at Dotie, then she and her companions walked away as the others likewise returned to their tables to resume their interrupted merriment.

Irse looked down at her feet. Broken mop still in her hand, she ran after her former foes.

"Wait," she said upon reaching them. Balfara and the others paused to regard her.

Irse bowed in genuine apology. "Please forgive me for insulting you. I had thought only my people could make fine weapons, but it turns out I was wrong. That's a wicked sharp axe you got there! Imagine if instead of wood, this had been an arm or even a neck," she gushed, holding up the mop.

At the young elf's words, Balfara's expression softened.

"Apology accepted," she said, chuckling. "Thanks to you, I now have a tale to tell my kin of how Vigdis and Zesil were made into bumbling fools, bested by a lone elf and her mop."

"Bah! It's not a fair fight. Ye had a magical mop," Vigdis complained.

"Aye, next time we're seein' if yer just as good with only an ordinary sword!" Zesil challenged.

Irse scratched the back of her neck and laughed sheepishly. Once again and with more humility she bowed before them and they likewise bid her farewell with respectful nods, parting afterwards in peace and smiles.

Irse turned to the gnomish proprietor and handed back what's left of the borrowed weapon. "Sorry about your mop, Mister Bartender."

The gnome waved at her, unaffected. "Give it no mind, lass. I bought that one as part of a pair. Still have its partner - the one that was used to wipe the floor of the private loo of Evermeet's elven queen, Amlaruil Moonflower, as what the curio seller told me. Couldn't pass up a good bargain too, buy-one-take-one."

She made a wry face at the remembrance of the bizarre merchant and his weird wares. Okami called to her and she jogged over to them. Along the way she passed by tables of halflings and gnomes who cheered and raised their tankards at her; their adulation explained by the pile of coins being exchanged among them and tossed in by sulking disappointed dwarves. Irse grinned to herself.

To think that Master Ulraunt had said her antics were unprofitable to her and everyone else.

Outside of the tavern, Irse realized something which disturbed her greatly. She turned to look at the Flagon one last time.

"I never got to taste any of the food in there. Do you think it's better than at Blackpost's?" she asked her companions as she turned back to look at them.

And noticed another thing which disturbed her greatly.

"Hey, hey. Divorce isn't final yet. No one's allowed to paw him except his lawfully wedded wife," Irse snapped as she rushed over and pried Dotie from her Teacher's waist. The dwarf grumbled but yielded.

How the two managed to walk together like that without stumbling was testament to Okami's martial sense of balance. And gentlemanly politeness.

Freed, he coughed and continued ahead. They passed by a wooden sign that confirmed their direction towards Clearspring Tor and Irse fell back with Dotie.

"Thanks for coming back for us," she whispered down.

"What are ye mumblin' about?"

"I saw you near the fountain; you ditched Nells didn't you? Then you went in the tavern and it looked like you were in trouble. So, I followed you inside, but you were gone. Did you go out the back door? Did you know I was following you, that's why you went back?"

Dotie scowled in confusion. "Ye sayin' I went there. Then I left. Then I be goin' back fer ye?" Seeing the elf nod in the affirmative, the dwarf wagged her head.

"Nae. It be the only time I got there. Why'd ye think I be rattled when I got to the front door? Got free of that shop-crazy halfer fer some grog an' a good time. Then of all places an' in the one tavern fer my kinfolk, I find ye an' him in heaps o' trouble!"

"But I saw you go there before I went in. It was you, I can't be mistaken," Irse insisted, wondering now if this was all some trick. But the seriousness in Dotie's face was true and honest, even disturbed at the strangeness of Irse's claim.

"Right. Maybe it was someone else," Irse accepted in word, but not in mind. They both continued to walk in silence behind her Teacher. She absently dragged her feet, deep in thought.

Though her eyes had never failed her; it could have been none other, not even another dwarf with a slight resemblance. And the sky still had some light when she first saw Dotie in the crowd. Dotie and her unmistakable somewhat grayish pallor, gingery braided hair, wobbly gait. Even the partly healed nicks on her shaven chin. Solid Dotie.

If it was truly her whom Irse had followed to the tavern, then it was as if she saw what the dwarf had been about to do in the future.

She put a hand on her mouth, rubbing the palm across her lips in serious wonderment as she stared blankly ahead.

Was it truly possible? A quick recollection of a handful of strange instances at the Keep – such as whenever she bumped into someone at the same place she had already passed them by, yet the other person claiming they hadn't run into her previously.

Or that time she and Imoen were planning a new joke and of the ladder they were to use, she had found broken in pieces in a pile outside the shed, forcing them to abandon their schemes. Yet within the day, she witnessed one of the laborers climbing upon it, puzzled and sure it was the same ladder with the faded red paint. The rotten wood of the lowest steps had shattered beneath the weight of his foot. The ladder had then been torn apart lest it be used again and cause harm this time; the broken pieces left in a pile in the exact same arrangement where Irse had seen them earlier.

This, and a few more, like that odd sense of knowing as with that Harper wizard's true appearance, or the pull of the meteorites which led her to choose them blindly, or that feel of familiarity at the Gate despite never setting foot there.

Back at the Keep, she had told Brother Karan about these times. He had listened with patience yet discounted the possibility of the supernatural, suggesting instead that the physical occurrences could be coincidences and the unexplained sensations as repressed memories superimposing themselves as new or the present. Yet how could they be from the past when they were yet to happen?

And now, this happening with Dotie. There must be some explanation. It itched and gnawed at her; not the first time she had gotten in a pickle because of it. Whatever it was.

Then a flicker of hope - what if both or one of her parents had similar visions too? Not unlikely, for it was said that children take on the traits of their sires. Perhaps her mother or father would have the answer, and the solution.

Heart stirred, she quickened her pace in hope and anticipation.

"Irse, that is not the way we are going," Okami called at her, his voice a little too far in her hearing.

She halted and turned around, realizing her thoughtless steps nearly took her in the opposite direction. Dotie and her Teacher stood a few paces away, staring at her; the former with a smug look on her face, and on Okami, a rare expression of displeasure.

Uh-oh, he seems miffed this time.

They continued to walk in silence until he sighed. Irritated.

"I am not your warden. It is not in my place to forbid you from going where you please."

Did he say that to her or for himself? Irse scrunched her shoulders and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"I thought I saw Dotie and followed her into that tavern, thought she might be in some trouble. 'Guess I was wrong, huh?" she admitted, looking up at him with a guilty grin.

Okami didn't answer, eyes keeping straight ahead though evidently disappointed.

"C'mon, they started it. I was even running away the whole time until they got me cornered," Irse argued.

"Do you think I'm using what you taught me to go looking for fights for no reason?"

He stopped walking. She circled and faced him.

"I'd never do such a thing. And it's the truth," she said and raised her right hand.

"I swear, on whichever is the pointier sword in Lord Tethrin's holy belt. If I'm lying then may it take me, whether as a giant lightning bolt or the most freak way possible like… like… someone cleaving a rump roast beside me and the blade flying off the handle and stabbing me in the face," she vowed in all seriousness, crossing her chest.

A vendor passed by, pushing a cart with a makeshift hanging rack full of swinging sausages.

"Mobile meat! Get your mobile meat! I chop your chops on the spot!" the butcher yelled as he stopped the cart, pulled out a rump roast, slammed the piece on a board and commenced carving the meat. The cleaver glinted above his head and swooped down to sever a slab, steel blade loudly smacking on the wooden board, repeating the process with gusto.

Wide-eyed alarm crossed Okami's face as he glanced at the butcher and his enthusiastic cleaving. Evidently taking no chances, he shooed at Irse to stand further back, putting himself between her and an expected bladed projectile.

She moped at his obvious lack of confidence in her oath but shrank back as Okami narrowed his eyes at her and sighed.

Impulsive, it said without voice. He sighed again. Reckless, it added. She bowed her head, a guilty cub with diffident eyes looking up at him.

"Who am I to pass judgment if I was not there at the beginning; when I only came to the door at the moment you faced two of them at the same time," he admitted. "At the very least, it is clear you have been observing and paying heed to your lessons."

"I'm always listening, and it won't go out the other ear. It's broken, remember?" Irse flicked at the left ear and winked, relieved at seeing her Teacher's expression soften a bit.

"An' I'm gonna break the other if ye two sods don't hurry. Already missed my chance fer a drink an' I be dratted if I don't start early with the mead sellers at the Tor," Dotie hissed at them and wobbled ahead.

Blacksmith and apprentice glanced at each other, then chuckled as both moved to follow behind their unwitting savior.

They quickly found the captain and the first mate at the Clearspring Tor, a wide grassy open space designated as a public park upon a crag overlooking the smaller river. With the sun already set and the summer air clear and cool, more people had begun to gather at the grounds. Picnic mats were laid on the grass as groups feasted on fare bought from vendors. Children played and ran on paved paths and around the trees under which minstrels entertained and sang for small crowds.

"There you are! Where did you go and why didn't you tell me first?" Nells asked Dotie, a hurt look on her face.

Beside her, Shar-Teel stood holding a woven basket filled with not a few dark-colored bottles. The captain rubbed her nose and cast knowing looks at the other three.

Dotie mumbled, "I, eh… be lookin' at the other stores. It be faster to find more goods fer ye to sell if we split, but I found nothin'." She sneaked in a warning look at the other two who kept their eyes averted.

"Oh, I didn't know. That's... truly kind of you," Nells said genuinely grateful. "The captain said you left me to go to a tavern, though I didn't believe you'd do something as thoughtless," she chirped, oblivious to Dotie's fidgeting.

"And it seems you ran into them too."

"Aye. I be lookin' at stalls when I, ah –"

"We were at the fountain when Irse saw her," Okami added, truthfully and nothing more. Both dwarf and elf backed him up by nodding a little too eagerly.

Shar-Teel pulled out a bottle and uncorked it, noticing the elf staring at the basket. "Am not a full tightwad, you know. Bought only a spare cork but got me everything else for free," the captain boasted.

Soon they found a good spot to enjoy the upcoming fireworks, a few feet from the edge of the crag and midmost along the perimeter.

Though more accurately, the captain wrangled a good spot from a small group of young men, threatening to tan their hides if they didn't scoot off. The boys took one look at Shar-Teel, sulked but moved over to side to give the crew a wide berth.

Naturally, Irse and Dotie were tasked to procure dinner for everyone. Naturally, a task not completed immediately for the young elf insisted on buying from nearly every single vendor within the vicinity.

"Are ye tryin' to feed an entire soddin' navy," Dotie grumbled through the loaves of bread and wrapped meats and cheese piled on her arms.

Irse rubbed her chin as she jangled the coins in the small pouch entrusted to her by the first mate. "It feels as if we're missing something important."

Dotie rolled her eyes. "What? Roast boar, clay-baked trout, sucklin' pig, grilled venison, stewed swan giblets, boiled peacock tongues, braised bear paws," she listed in a mocking tone.

"C'mon, does this look like a smorgasbord right now? I know you're always hungry but don't be dreaming and greedy," Irse chided, ignoring the dwarf's indignant glare.

"Goldenstars!" a hawker called out from not too far.

"That's it!" Irse cheered, running and waving the coin pouch at the vendor as it were a dinner bell.

"Are you trying to feed an entire sardin' navy," Shar-Teel exclaimed at seeing the parcels in their arms. "There better be coin left in there."

The elf puffed her cheeks. Indeed, enough coin left to drown an entire navy in beer.

Everyone settled down to enjoy their supper, the young elf most of all, ravaging through half of the bag of goldenstars while the others were merely midway into their bread. Before them the Clearspring stretched out, merging with the Chionthar in the horizon, a dark mirror dully reflecting the moon and stars. As they were finishing their meal, they watched below as four barges rowed to the middle and dropped anchors.

A blast of the trumpet and the fireworks show started. Smaller rockets were the first to be launched from the barges, fizzling upwards and bursting into sharp crackles.

Successive missiles fired towards the sky, erupting into synchronized explosions with each round lasting a good several seconds. First were red and orange flame tongues spiraling outwards. They were followed by blazing yellow dots splattering across the black canvas in alternating cadence, glowing strings of green whirling in all directions, shimmering curtains of blue flowing like waterfalls of light, then dazzling purple globes which blazed and twinkled into nothingness, all repeated for more rounds but in varying order.

In between bursts of light and the thunder boom, the crowd gasped and clapped around them; the children shrieked with delight. Nells supposed that the fireworks may have been imported from the famed Felogyr's at Baldur's Gate whose pyrotechnics were produced by gnomish inventors and illusionists. Light flickering from the sky shone off the beer bottles hefted by Shar-Teel and Dotie.

For the finale, fountains of silver and white gushed from the barges. As they continued to blaze in tall columns of light, large streaks of fire zoomed towards the sky and exploded into massive luminous anemones in all hues, rapidly followed by more, turning night into day and color.

"Their light, brilliant and magnificent," Okami mused. "But only in an instant. Then gone and returning to the darkness."

Irse looked at him, her brows furrowed. Like the fleetingness of the fireworks that he lamented, his face was briefly illuminated by each flash, then dimmed at the passing of light.

To her mind came her foster father's words. Each soul is like a match flame. With care and patience lit until it glows to its peak, but with a mere gust of breath, extinguished forever.

Then it dawned upon her, both terrifying and sad.

As with the fireworks blazing in the sky for mere seconds, so will the span of a human lifetime before her eyes. Like a match flame.

She understood now.

"You're right. Here too quick, but gone too soon and forgotten," Irse agreed, turning to look at the sky once more.

"But not if I hold on to this moment for as long as I can."

The last round flared above their heads.

"And remember it forever."

They lingered for several seconds before dissipating into a thousand flickering sparkles falling gently to the earth.

"Then it will not have been for naught," he said.

She stole a glance at her Teacher still gazing at the heavens, a faint but proud smile upon his face.

Irse then grinned to herself as she looked up again to watch the last of the golden sparks fade into the night sky.

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And scribblings more:

The Bhaalspawn gains a new ability. The divine inability to follow plainly written door signs. ;P

In the end, Balfara could've not let it go but chose to be the Bigger Girl in the situation. Be like Balfara, folks. ;)

Some gods sow oats. Others test oaths. ;)

And… Dotie and Okami - The OTP That Never Was.

Because someone is convinced that Dotie has the hots for Okami. You know who you are. This is all your doing. XD