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Retroactive Scribblings:
Revised and expanded the last section in Chapter 61 to clarify that Xan didn't slay the pair of bandits he encountered en route to Beregost.
Unfortunately for our Preciously Prim Enchanter, every kind deed has either a tradeoff or a punishment.
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Dearest Readers, may you always find hope glowing and plentiful, even in the darkest tunnels. Like cave moss.
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﴾ THE HIDDEN SWORD ﴿
Book Three: Meeting of Fires | Chapter 64: ﾟ .* ･｡ﾟ Cave of Stars ﾟ .* ･｡ﾟ
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Days passed, dark and shrouded in gloom, bleak and uncountable in a world without the sun and moon.
Were it not for the unfailing routine of dank kobold tea and meals concocted from indescribable bits, and his urgent objective to uncover the mystery behind this iron plague and safeguard his People from any repercussions of this crisis – Xan would have surely succumbed to madness.
Or to illness caught from Mulahey's unhygienic standards of living.
Providentially, the kobolds were quick to comply with some simple changes suggested by the elf. Flaming hazards such as paper and straw were at the very least gathered and consolidated in sections away from the fire pits and volatile chemicals. Filth and refuse promptly cleaned away to repel vermin.
On the other hand, the altar to Cyric remained off-limits. That one, Xan would not permit himself and the kobolds to touch even with a ten-foot pole doused in acetic acid.
And so over the passing days, the ill-starred Greycloak devoted himself to the delicately covert task of ferreting out information on Mulahey's superiors, and the desperately overt task of attempting to break down the potion into its base components.
If perhaps the ingredients themselves might offer hints to the nature or location of these saboteurs, particularly if derived from exotic plants and creatures obtainable only in certain locales. However, no further clues could be gleaned without suspiciously obvious and outright questioning that might betray his true motive for assisting this half-orc in this hopeless endeavor.
For the primary solvent could only be delivered from outside by prior emissaries, already pre-made and merely required mixing with water to extend its volume. Xan raised an intrigued brow at the labels on the empty potion crates, the words scrawled with an elegant yet heavy hand which wellnigh screamed –
'Super-Secret Ingredient! Just Add Water for Ease of Permeation in the Ore! Don't Mess It Up, Stupid Humans!'
Not as informative, but at least clearly instructive.
"I take it you have never had any breakthrough so far," Xan queried the half-orc.
Mulahey scowled, the glass beaker held up to his face only serving to amplify his oleaginous uncomeliness. "You don't I think tried my best? That obnoxious Tranzig laughed when I told him of my efforts. He said I will never succeed for the potion was said to have been brewed with the aid of elven craft. You'd think his being part-orc like myself would make him support my cause more. But he thinks he is better, claims he is just quarter-orc."
Xan nodded with feigned sympathy. Sharing the same heritage like Mulahey? Another clue about this Tranzig fellow, then.
But as for claims of the potion being made with elven skill, well, that explained the invective on the crate labels. Once again, Xan had to disguise his shock. For how could the magic of the Tel'Quessir so honed to preserve nature could be redirected to destroy it instead? More reason then to get to the bottom of this conspiracy.
However, said bottom remained ominously elusive - either deeper than expected or must be in some other bottomless pit instead.
As to the nature of this Tazok whom Mulahey feared and loathed, and Tranzig, whom Mulahey loathed and loathed more - Xan managed to gather some scraps and slivers of information for the half-orc had a knack for incessantly complaining.
Whether while gobbling down his meal, sending out the kobolds in another pointless errand, or praying nay more like groveling to Cyric for spells. Even while doing his business in the makeshift lavatory, a roofless chamber naturally partitioned by a rock wall, from which every unholy sound echoed the loudest and every foulest whiff of redolence emanated the strongest.
"I say, Tazok values brawns over brains too much. I'd rather his captains and their army of brutes be down here doing the dirty jobs instead, so that I'm up there free to do work I prefer," Mulahey grumbled while measuring drops of the potion into a beaker.
Captains and an army, but who and how many? Up there instead of down here, but exactly where in the surface?
Tempting as it was to ask specific questions, however, doing so would only expose his cover. A little more patience, though the harvesting seems fruitless.
"I agree. Your profession is not meant for drudgery such as this. Though if you were assigned elsewhere, what station are you best suited to manage, in your opinion?"
Play to the interrogatee's ego and desires, and they will willingly spill their wine and bare their soul.
Mulahey paused, a rare thoughtful expression on his face. "Station? Why at the head of Tazok's host, of course! Calling on the power of Cyric and raining down his wrath and fear upon our enemies- those pathetic doers of good and the law!"
A legion consisting of the debase and wicked, yet resorting to covert means to sabotage commerce in the Sword Coast. And to what true end? For this iron scarcity already brought no small tension between Amn and Baldur's Gate, compounded by troubles in the trade routes.
Wait, what of the bandits whose activities appear to be opportunely increasing since the shortage began? Could they be under the command of this Tazok as well, whether by contract or direct employ? Are these bandits one and the same with this felonious flock led by Tazok? Xan furrowed his brows, staring intently at the mortar and pestle in his hand.
Had he been remiss in questioning the pair of brigands who ambushed him on the road to Beregost? Should he have delved further and interrogated them about their affiliations? At that the time he dismissed the outlaws as being nothing more than thugs operating independently or as part of some unscrupulous low-level criminal syndicate. Regardless of the missed opportunity, those particular bandits didn't seem brighter than a pair of rocks – hence, unlikely to know anything beyond whichever immediate hand paid them and directed their weapons' aim.
On the other hand, could Tazok's group be part of some greater coalition, certainly one with the capital to pull a complex scheme such as this? If so, what organization exists in the realms that would go to great lengths to undermine mercantile activity? And what group would allow followers of the Mad God in its ranks?
An association with less than kindly motives, obviously. And one with the resources and notoriety to recruit evil humanoids to attack caravans to control trade near their territory.
"So why do you think we must continue to work hidden in the shadows, rather than bring Tazok's army to strike terror to all? Or is it because rather than outrightly conquering new territory, Tazok only wishes to expand economic power in the Sword Coast with this artificial iron scarcity?"
Like what the Zhentarim might do – Xan almost added.
Mulahey snorted and carelessly slammed the beaker on the table and glowered at the elf. "You ask too many questions, Blacksheaf. Why don't you shut your pouty little mouth and keep to your task, lest I break those dainty little fingers of yours."
The half-orc roughly seized the implements from Xan's hands and ground the herbs and seeds in them with a heavy hand as if to demonstrate the required diligence, then shoved the mortar and pestle back to the elf. Xan swallowed dryly, nodded, then meekly gathered the scattered ingredients into the bowl.
Tread carefully and with only small steps to reach the truth, he reminded himself.
Small steps closer and closer to the abyss.
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Days few but endless crept on without progress, their efforts futile in parsing out the plague potion's components. For while Mulahey deserved credit for his resourcefulness in having gathered the basic laboratory tools, the complexity of the substance required skills exceeding their abilities. Unfortunately, the constant failures were also exceeding the limits of Mulahey's near non-existent patience.
Often the half-orc took out his frustration on the kobolds, randomly lashing at them with words and by hand. Sometimes a smack at the back of the head, a kick to their flanks, threats to chop off their tails, or render them immobile with his dark god's power and then feed them to the giant spiders.
Through these incidents, the elf mostly kept his peace lest he invite the half-orc's wrath upon himself. But as the abuse escalated in frequency and severity, Xan found himself subtly intervening.
"Hold, did I not ask this one to bring us a report on the miners' positions upper levels? I will speak with him first." And then Xan would proceed to converse with the kobold entirely in draconic while a spiteful Mulahey looked on. Truthfully asking about what they've learned from their patrols in the hopes of gaining any information to aid him in possible escape, followed by helpfully instructing the kobold to leave the room quickly and stay out of the half-orc's sight as much as they can.
Or…
"Oh look, Mulahey! This particular reagent is reacting unlike before! Perhaps we are making some serious progress." Well, not exactly – since Mulahey wasn't looking and Xan would sprinkle over the heated mixture any of the ground semi-precious stones he remembered could produce varying colors of flame. Often it worked to distract the half-orc, giving the kobolds enough time to scurry to safety.
Then another day, more successive failures. Before them lay a sample of the plague potion in a tray, stubbornly refusing to let its base components separate or be known despite the diligent application of testing solvents.
"Cyric's Curses," the half-orc screeched and swiped the vessels off the table.
Xan instinctively flinched at the sound of shattering glass and immediately sprang from his seat. He shook his head at the mess. Never mind the puddles of diluents soaking the table and floor. The still smoldering embers from the overturned burner and the scattered papers worried him more. He motioned to a nearby kobold and gave instructions to clean the clutter. Obediently, the kobold shuffled in with broom and pan -
And was savagely seized by the half-orc. Before the elf could intercede, Mulahey proceeded to thrash the hapless creature. "Damn you, Tazok! Damn you to the hells if I don't cut out your monstrous heart first and offer it to the Dark Sun," he bellowed while raining blows on the unresisting kobold.
Xan ground his teeth at the scene before him, fists clenching as the kobold's distressed yelps echoed in the chamber. Growing more enraged, Mulahey clasped its neck with both hands and began to wring the poor creature at its throat. Terrified yips soon became shrilling gasps for air.
A life so small and insignificant in this world, about to be snuffed out like a candle forever.
Xan shut his eyes and took breath. Enough. With strength surprising even himself, the elf dashed in and swiftly pried Mulahey's hands off the kobold. Startled at the interruption, the half-orc himself stepped back.
"Frahr," Xan gently instructed the coughing kobold to breathe. "Wux bensvelk?" he said, asking the creature if it was all right.
Wheezing, the kobold bobbed its head. "Sukriya," it thanked the elf.
Mulahey eyed them, seething, porcine nose flaring. But Xan ignored the other, ushered the kobold out if the room then returned to the table only to be grabbed in the arm by the half-orc.
"You forget your place, Blacksheaf. I alone have the power over my minions," Mulahey said. "Who do you think you are – speaking to them in their crude tongue? Are you teaching them to rebel against me?"
Xan merely leveled him a look of contempt. "You may lead this operation in any manner you please, but I cannot abide by these actions. Repeat those repulsive deeds again, and I must take my leave from this barbaric fellowship!"
A sudden madness glazed over Mulahey's eyes. "Then see if you can leave without walking!"
Still grasping the elf by the arm, Mulahey delivered a hard steel-toed kick to Xan's shin, then brusquely let go with a shove, sending him reeling against the side of the table which rattled from the impact.
Xan was no stranger to physical blows – from childhood scuffles with siblings and other children from which losses were quickly accepted as another deficiency to address hence his eventual gravitation to studying enchantment magic. Or from the punishing drills and sparring practices imposed by a fencing tutor who refused to heed Mother's insistence that the frail and brittle student be coddled. That one had been dismissed without payment and with extreme prejudice.
But this – to be struck unprovoked and out of malice? His calling would eventually bring him face to face with evil, a hazard he had always known and accepted. Yet to be the target of one's compulsion to wantonly inflict agony upon another was something unfathomable to him.
Xan clasped at the table, breathing heavily as the dull pain in his side melted the strength in his knees. He stared dismayed at the half-orc who slowly beamed into a manic grin. With the air of one satisfied with his work, Mulahey chortled a snorting laugh and casually sauntered out of the room.
Groaning, Xan wagged his head as he surveyed the disarray surrounding him.
Perhaps, some messes cannot ever be cleaned.
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"Your supper, Master Blacksheaf," the kobold chirped brightly despite the healing bruises around its neck.
At least, some semblance of routine and normalcy. Seated upon a tattered cushion on the cold craggy floor, Xan waved an acknowledging hand, and the kobold likewise sat down and placed a tray of food on the ground beside him. Here they hid in a quiet nook in the farthest and most isolated part of the cavern, one surrounded by tall rocky mounds. By the wall lay a small pond of clear underground water, the echoing drips from a stalactite strangely comforting to his ears, if not to his spirit. Nonetheless, a rare space of peace and quiet away from the half-orc and his contemptible company.
"Usually we only have grubs and rats deep-fried in batter," the kobold said. "Sometimes, Kurtulmak gives his blessing and we catch ourselves – a fat cat!"
Xan scrunched his mouth and discreetly clutched his stomach. That would explain the suspicious crunchiness of his daily meals and the one time he coughed up a hairball. Mystery solved, unfortunately.
"But because you helped us, the tribe insisted you eat well. So from now on, it's the specials for you!"
Ah, how kind of them to assuage his fears of eventual accidental food poisoning.
"Sukriya," Xan sincerely thanked the kobold.
With sprightly enthusiasm, the kobold explained each dish clearly with the intent of allaying their favored guest's apprehension. Hashed gourd and turnip pickled with peppers and sap from some plant which the kobold assured him was perfectly edible. A chunk of griddled bread stuffed with stewed mole. Salad greens drizzled with a golden oil and generously sprinkled with an unfamiliar condiment.
"I must say, this one is quite appetizing," Xan said, starting with the salad. He let the flavors permeate his senses, noting the sharp bitterness of the fresh herbs, the nutty flavor of the oil which hinted of pressed walnuts.
"However, the seasoning is something I've never tasted before," he added, rolling it around in his mouth. Tiny, ovoid, whitish and translucent, popping all over his tongue with a slight fishy yet buttery taste.
"Oh, you mean the ant eggs? We like them better when newly hatched, but they're just as good sauteed with onions and tomatoes. But for the salad, we only drenched them with juice from a lemon we found in the forest," the kobold helpfully disclosed.
Ant eggs. Xan paused from chewing and swallowed hard.
"Delectable," he said wryly which the kobold fortunately accepted as high praise.
Done with eating, Xan helped rearrange the dishes on the tray beside him, wincing as he shifted the injured leg. By the Seldarine's mercy, no bone seemed to have been broken though he limped for a day like one seriously maimed.
Seeing its rescuer in pain, the little kobold tilted its head and whined softly.
Xan could only sigh. "It is no fault of yours. Doomed as I am, peradventure the fates have something worse in store for me."
Such as finally suffocating from the overwhelming effluence of Mulahey's incessant belching and wind-breaking. He sneezed and wiped his nose. Surely he would never meet another creature more malodorous than this crazed cleric.
The kobold rubbed its snout. "I know, I know, this place isn't so clean for an elf like you. Were it not for cruel Master Mulahey and the pesky miners and spiders, this is almost as nice as our old home under the tumbledown elven bridge some ways north of here."
Firewine Bridge. Xan perked up, surprised to hear a mention of ancient Tel'Quessir history from a kobold, of all creatures.
Well, not so ancient to be precise. For only two centuries ago which had not been long prior to his own birth, Firewine once flourished as a small but prosperous elven trading town. However, a fierce magical battle caused the immediate destruction of the place. Today nothing else remained but the derelict stone bridge and a permanent zone of wild magic in the area.
In his childhood he often heard Mother decry the wasteful pride that led to the loss of a valuable trading post. And Father speaking pensively of the need to preserve the place for the learning of future elven archaeologists.
At the very least, the ruins served a decent purpose of sheltering others, even kobolds.
"There we used to putter about in the tunnels and guard the shiny gems and coins we find, hunt rabbits at night and sleep in the cold marble niches in the day," the little creature recounted, skinny shoulders sagged with sad recollection. "Always so quiet there for no one goes to Firewine not even to look for treasure. Crazy magic keeping everyone else away, they say. Just as well, for no one bothered us in our happy old hole."
How idyllic for a kobold, a place secluded from the rest of the realms where one might live content and free. Like his beloved Evereska, Xan recalled wistfully.
Despondently, the kobold scratched at the ground as if scribing a map of its former home. "But big folk came one day, armor so dark and swords so bloody and sharp, and arrows of coldest iron so many. Adventurers seeking elven treasure hoard. Almost wiped us out. The few of us left in our tribe escaped to here and Master Mulahey found us. And killed some of us with his skeleton pets we cannot pierce with our spears and arrows. Threatened to kill more if we don't serve him, so now we do even if we don't want to."
Mulahey has skeletal minions? A priest with the unholy power of commanding the dead. Xan bristled, disgusted. Death was a natural process, and for the elves it served as a path to the paradise of Arvandor. But unlife was an abomination in opposition to the reverence they held for life itself. And to violate the mortal shells of the departed to turn them into the undead, into perversions of nature, was a depravity most loathsome to the Tel'Quessir.
He exhaled slowly, letting the anger pass, and gazed down at the sad kobold.
"I am sorry for the loss of your home and kin," Xan said with genuine empathy.
For how unimaginably woeful it would be if Evereska itself were besieged by N'Tel'Quess and tainted by their wickedness and greed, and the People cast out like vagabonds into this heartless world? More so, to become slaves, deprived of freedom most valued by an elf, and living in helpless terror under the boot of a tyrannical monster.
But the little kobold let out a hopeful bark. "Well, who knows? Someday we will finally poison all the ore until there is none left, and maybe Master Mulahey will let us go. Then we can leave this place and find another cave where there are no miners and spiders and half-orcs. But for now, we toil and toil, snout and tail."
How enviable this great hope from one so small in stature and footprint in the grand scheme of the cosmos.
Xan hummed in wordless sympathy and closed his eyes if only to momentarily summon memories of his beloved home, now only a distant echo of a life belonging to another.
Oh, to once more walk beneath the glimmering canopies of the blueleafs of Evereska, rather than among these cold lifeless twisted rocks. To stroll again in his family's gardens taking in the opulent scent of stargazer lilies and the sweet trails of honeysuckle. Rather than the moldy reek of wet rags and pungent musk of damp scales, and the stench of unwashed robes and half-orc armpits.
His heart sank deeper as his eyes shut tighter, raising his face as if to see the much longed for skies of his home. Oh, to feel the gentle warmth of the northern sun and behold the soft radiance of the moon, and the crystalline stars shining so brightly above Evereska.
Unlike here –
Xan opened his eyes wide, blinked, and gasped.
A sight he had never seen, a spectacle he never noticed until now.
For above them in this section of the cavern, the rockbound ceiling spread itself, so impossibly high though so low beneath the earth. Deeply dark, impenetrable by the sun and moon yet astonishingly sparkling, speckled with luminescent moss and glowing mushrooms, their otherworldly glow reflected among the minerals crusting the rock. As if they were the celestial lights in a true night sky, they dazzled defiantly against the dim expanse.
"Glowing moss they gleam,
In cave like stars underground,
Not as bright, just right."
The elf glanced down at the kobold, taken aback.
"That was- quite beautiful," Xan said sincerely. Much like a minute gem in the miry mud, shining with tiny yet bold hope.
The little creature shyly wiggled its bottom and looked to the side, embarrassed. "Just a verse I made. A cousin taught me how. Funny fellow didn't like to mine as a kobold should. Many years ago, he went away to the north to visit other family, become a skald and find adventure and songs. I wonder where he is now? Did he find our other tribe, maybe even ran into another elf like you?"
Xan raised a brow in interest. A kobold poet here and a kobold bard there. By the Seldarine, what other oddities might he come across in his path before the end of his journey in this life?
But for now, he must content himself with what little light he might find in the darkness.
The elf beamed down a muted smile and the little kobold squinted up with reciprocal cheer. For some time, they sat hushed and listening to the tinkling echoes of water dripping from the stalactites. After a while, the kobold spoke of some chores yet to be done, bowed to the elf, and left.
Silence regained, Xan looked up once more at the glittering derivative firmament and sighed.
And sighed more deeply for indeed, the primeval splendor of this ancient stone vault made him feel… insignificant.
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ﾟ .* ･｡ﾟ Starry Scribblings ﾟ .* ･｡ﾟ :
"strength surprising" Why yes, I've always pondered on Xan as a mage having 7 Constitution yet with 13 Strength. Then there's Edwin with 16 Constitution and 9 Strength – the Red Wizard surprisingly suited to the rigorous outdoors but had to ask for Irse's help with hauling his two big brown hairy sacks. XD
"Ant eggs". Those are delicacies in certain parts of the world, after all. ^^ Kobold Kuisine loosely based on Tymantheri cooking, although Tymanther wasn't founded by the displaced Abeiran dragonborn in Toril until after the Spell Plague. Was assuming here that draconic kin share similar inherent tastes. ;P
"cannot abide… barbaric fellowship" Based on Xan's in-game dialogue if he leaves because your group rep drops too low. Loved Jeff Benett's voice acting there, you can truly feel the scorn in his delivery. More so in Xan's swipes at Eldoth.
Have to confess, enjoyed much writing the parallels and mirroring scenes here and there: Xan choosing to call himself by the Common equivalent of his surname was my nod to his cousin, poor sweet and friendly Erevain Blacksheaf who perished in a cave in IWD1. Xan yielding his moonblade in Mulahey Manor with Irse surrendering the Kogitsune in the Friendly Arm Inn in Chapter 49. Xan's "cave of stars" moment and Deekin's Cousin's Kobold Haiku parallel to Irse and Okami's "river of stars" scene back in Chapter 9.
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