Scourge of the Sword Coast

by Anja Kidd

Aphra and Imoen of Candlekeep embark from their childhood home, barely children themselves, into a life of bloody misadventure and time-bending lunacy. This story is cross-posted on AO3 and WP.

5. Ch 4: Local Concerns

"Lady, you couldn't even find your own ass, even with your friend's help."
—Canderous Ordo, Knights of the Old Republic

---

IMOEN

It had been a violent day - couple days - or so Imoen told herself when she woke the following morning from a vivid and bloody dream. In it, she'd wandered into a gray temple full of shadows, and met a man there who had tried to kill her. His dark form and menacing, yellow eyes had chased her throughout the complex, room after room. He'd wrested her own sword from her hands and turned it on her, a gleaming silver blade as bright as Selûne's full light. He drove it into her gut mercilessly, hatred flashing in his expression. Imoen then floated out of herself, up and away until she saw an angry orc-girl chase down Imoen's own hunter, and beat him senseless with a club until he moved no more.

She woke. It wasn't her extraordinarily vivid dream that had awoken Imoen, but her sister's rather vehement shaking in her own cot - the creaking of the wood supports indicated they were about to break, so she gently shook her sister's shoulder and drew back when Aphra's gray eyes snapped open and her breathing became rapid. She stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling for a moment before Imoen softly called her name in the dim dawn light. "Aphra?" She called quietly so as not to wake the others in the room in their cots. "Aphra, you were having a nightmare," she quickly explained as Aphra's gray eyes snapped to her own.

What Imoen was not prepared for and least expected were the tears that welled up in Aphra's eyes and rapidly began to spill down her cheeks. Imoen instinctively reached for her sister, enveloping Aphra in her arms as she reassured her, "Hey, it's alright, it was just a bad dream."

"N-n-n-no it wasn't—" Aphra tried to say, but Imoen shushed her.

"It'll be alright," she said against her better judgment, having no idea of what her sister was going through. Her own dream was still swimming in her mind's eye, too real for words - the feeling of being stabbed through viscerally tore at her for a few wretched moments as she held her crying sibling and tried her best to still comfort Aphra while staying strong.

"You're not listening," Aphra complained, sniffling. "It wasn't a dream," she insisted and pulled away, almost pushing Imoen away from her in the process. The expression on her face was truly wretched, and the commotion seemed to have woken the other two - Neera and Garrick - who now watched the two of them with wide eyes and rapt attention.

"Aphra," Imoen chided as she stumbled backward and caught her balance, as she always did whenever her sister inadvertently used too much physical force. It wasn't Aphra's intention to stand out - she just inadvertently did - and Imoen wanted to do her best to help others still treat her like a normal person, if such a thing was possible. The look on Aphra's face suggested otherwise. There was a complex mixture of despair, confusion, and trepidation that she seemed to oscillate between, before settling on some kind of grim certainty.

"It wasn't a dream," Aphra told her confidently. "I saw the future. I lived in it, like I'm living now. You were there, Imoen. You told me, you told me and I didn't listen to you. I didn't understand! But this is the moment, isn't it? The one we'll both look back on in that horrible place, unless I somehow change things and save you. You were taken by this . . . This wizard, this horrible man, and I was powerless to stop it—!"

"Slow down," Imoen suggested in as calming a voice she could manage. "Because I also had a wild dream, and it definitely wasn't anything like that," Imoen reported.

Aphra stared at her intently. "What did you see?"

Before Imoen could open her mouth to explain, Neera interjected from the corner and stood from her cot in her sleep-gown, announcing, "Oh what a coincidence, me too! I dreamed that I had a wild magic surge after the Red Wizards found me again, and then we all became chickens and had to flee into the forest where we lived peacefully off of mushrooms and seeds for several years and eventually got devoured by ice-wolves for sustenance during a really bad winter!"

" . . . What?" Was the only reaction Imoen felt like she was capable of upon hearing that.

"Yeah! My dreams are fun," Neera concluded cheerfully, putting her hands on her hips. All three eyes fixed on her, but Neera didn't seem to mind or was just oblivious of the attention. "I mean, except for the being eaten alive part. Yours probably also weren't that fun, huh?" She figured, pursing her lips in contemplation. "Oh I know!" She declared suddenly and approached Aphra and Imoen, close enough that she could put her hands on their shoulders. Aphra stared at Neera in a mixture of amusement and bewilderment; Imoen stared at Aphra, wondering just what was going through her mind. "You should both write about it, before you forget it. Keep a journal, but just for your dreams! When I had nightmares, I used to do that and it helped me learn what I was really afraid of in the process - not just Red Wizards, but my own magic," she confided.

"I'm specifically terrified of arch-wizards who can turn people to stone and paralyze me with a glance," admitted Aphra.

". . . Like a medusa?" Neera wondered, effectively distracting Aphra but Imoen wasn't sure if that had been her intention. Either way, it had the effect of calming Aphra down immediately, as she became confused and meek.

"What? No, not a medusa, I mean—he's—he knew magic—I don't know what I mean," Aphra concluded eloquently. "Either way, it wasn't a nightmare!"

"I believe you," Neera affirmed immediately. Imoen was suddenly struck with gratitude that Neera had decided to accompany them, if only for her unexpected finesse when dealing with Aphra. "But to make sense of it, you should first write it down, so you don't forget anything you saw."

Aphra's eyes brightened as she finally considered this and looked up at Neera from her cot gratefully. "I can draw the people I met!" she realized, and then her head whipped to Imoen. "There should be a blank journal or two in my—"

"—In your pack," Imoen finished simultaneously and bent to dig one out of Aphra's pack at the foot of her bed. "There's half a dozen Aph," she reminded her sister wryly as she picked one out with smooth leather binding. "Did you really think you'd have all this time to write and draw while we're traveling?"

"I drew a little last night while you slept," Aphra revealed as she took the book from Imoen's outstretched hands and flipped immediately to the first page. She looked lost for a moment before she sighed, and requested of the room, "Does someone have charcoal? I'm not expecting an ink and quill but—"

"You may have one of mine, my lady," Garrick suddenly offered rather sweetly, and from his pack near his head he pulled a skinny length of charcoal bound with a braided leather grip and honed to a point. "I keep a supply of ink and quills, as well," he said as he handed her the piece.

"No need right now, thank you very much Garrick," Aphra said absently and turned to the page. Imoen watched as she began to turn the charcoal in her fingers, darkening the tips as she stared at the page, considering it. After taking a deep breath, she touched it to the page and started sketching out the delicate lines of a feminine face that Imoen did not recognize. Aphra spoke no more of her dream, or vision, and seemed wholly focused on the page in front of her. Imoen looked between Garrick and Neera; Neera for her part was undressing and re-dressing in her day-clothes, oblivious or uncaring of her nudity, while Garrick looked politely away, red-faced.

"Let's get breakfast," Imoen suggested with forced cheer. The details of her dream flashed by in her mind. She would not forget them.

"Yes! I'm sta-a-arving," Neera agreed as she pulled her tunic over her head.

Garrick agreed, staring at the wall determinedly as he uttered, "A wonderful idea!"

Imoen led them down the stairs, passed a few sleeping patrons on tables, and toward the exit. "I wouldn't want to bother the chef in the morning, after the late night he probably had," she explained quickly, "and besides, I've been to Beregost with Winthrop before, so I know all the good breakfast spots! We can bring something back for Aphra. Let's see what the carts have!"

"Who's Winthrop?" Garrick asked a little absently as he rubbed still-lingering sleep out of his eyes.

Imoen explained, "He's the only Innkeeper in Candlekeep, and he has to travel out himself for supplies. He took care of me growing up, him and Gorion. That's mine and Aphra's father. Well, foster-father," she found herself suddenly correcting, "I think. When our parents died when we were very young, he took us in. They were friends of his, I gather. Anyway, that happened about . . . A night ago, so you'll have to forgive us if things get a bit morbid from time to time. We've had fights to the death left and right ever since."

"Such is the lot of adventurers," Garrick agreed as he adjusted the strap of his crossbow across his chest. They'd had to wait on him back at the inn while he dressed himself in full armor and gear, as he wanted to be prepared for anything. He was, perhaps, the first bard Imoen had ever met who took his job quite so seriously. It was cute, and a little admirable. Neera had come armed with her staff from Silke that doubled as a walking stick, while Imoen had left her shortsword at the inn, not wanting to stand out in case she found someone with a heavy purse in need of lifting - but she wasn't about to tell anyone that.

"Well, we all need to make a living somehow," Imoen justified aloud, half-agreeing with Garrick and half-with herself.

The carts in the morning were a quiet bustle, full of people but with a low murmur as the sun had just barely begun to rise. It was the vendors that made it seem so full with their bright and sprightly demeanor; one even recognized Imoen as she approached her and greeted, "Pink-girl! Library-girl! So long it's been!" This one, Imoen made a point in her head to tell herself not to rob (she wondered honestly if it was compulsive, but this seemed to do the trick) as she reached in for a hug to the older woman.

Her name, if Imoen recalled correctly, was Jenassa, and underneath her sky-blue bonnet were the gently sloped ears of a half-elf. Her customers didn't always need to know that about her, so she kept it hidden for fear of any discrimination from either humans or elves. It had spun away in the wind one day and Imoen had retrieved it at Winthrop's insistence, for she had to be forced into doing nice things for people at that age and thought it truly bothersome. Thus, she had made her first adult friend outside of Candlekeep. Jenassa was quite tall and had lived for some time, past the age of a human's natural lifespan and was approaching one-hundred-two; she showed it like fine wine, with silvering strands tucked away underneath her hood and laugh lines and with the occasional wrinkle that spoke of a good and humor-filled life.

"Jen! How are the kids, how are you?" Imoen burst as she pulled away from the hug and prided herself on not robbing her only other 'adult' friend. Then she had to mentally correct herself - wasn't she technically an adult now? She side-eyed Neera and Garrick, and also had to remind herself that Aphra was technically younger than her.

"Gilly is wonderful, she's so smart and kind," Jenassa practically gushed with pride and glee as she clasped her hands, "And Nate has been flourishing in school! Although I do worry about some of his new friends," she commented in a concerned tone, "as they seem to have adventuring on the mind . . . As do you," she concluded with sad worry written across her features. It was the last thing Imoen needed, so she cringed as Jenassa went on, "Immy, why are you wearing armor? Where's Winthrop? Who are these friends?"

"I'm Neera!" Neera announced in a friendly tone. Imoen wondered if she had noticed Jenassa's half-elven heritage, but she also deduced that other than this, Jenassa and Neera had nothing in common. Jenassa had grown up in Beregost and was a staple of the town. Neera was a wandering wild mage. They could not be more different. "That's Garrick, he's our bard, and we've just started an adventuring troupe after some mild misadventure."

"Is that what you call it?" Imoen had to chuckle at Neera's phrasing, and then stopped when she recalled all the dead wizard's minions - and Aphra's blade, sliding out of said Red Wizard's body.

"We've yet to achieve our fame, and one of us is missing," spoke up Garrick. "Pleased to meet you, madam," he added politely. "I am Garrick, bard and thespian by trade."

Imoen wondered if he introduced himself to everyone this way. Imoen had no such profession she could cleave to, or identity as such, but Jenassa's worried frown had only increased and she knew she had to say or do something about it. Perhaps this was Imoen's profession - taking care of her friends and convincing them as best she could that things would be alright with the world. "Gorion's dead and I got banished from Candlekeep," she explained rapidly, "but Winthrop's still ol' Puffguts, and he's doing fine." She knew she'd have to get the unwelcome news across eventually, and decided to be blunt about it, and then soften the blow. "I'm wearing armor because it's a dangerous world, Jen, but I'm alive, and I'm happy to see you. Am I ever happy to see you!"

"Oh, Immy," Jen said and held open her arms again. Imoen gave her a longer hug, because she seemed to need it. "You know, if you ever need a place to stay, my house is open," she whispered in Imoen's ear.

Imoen appreciated the offer but couldn't ever imagine herself sitting down in front of a hearth with Jenassa's children and living a simple, easy life. Not after what she'd seen and done. The dream she'd had was ever in her mind's eye, of the wild-eyed man who hunted her down, and the wild-maned orc-girl snuffing his life out. Did these things have meanings? Or were they simple fevered imagination? "My life is pretty strange right now, I'm not going to lie, and I wouldn't want to bring that to your doorstep," she declined. "Besides, ol' Firebead has a place near here. I can always crash at his, and he's a wizard of some power so he could handle our special type of nonsense." It was hard to believe they'd already been kicked out of almost every inn in town for unintentional violence. Imoen was sure that it was some kind of adventuring omen.

Jen still looked worried, but she nodded. "Is there anything I can help you with at all?" She asked generously.

"Give us a discount on breakfast?" Imoen shrugged. "That's really what we came here for."

Jenassa smiled. "It's on me."

Imoen smiled back gratefully. Jenassa passed out to them over her cart small fruit-tarts made of an oatmeal mixture, a light yet deliciously sweet cake she mysteriously made without baking. It was easy enough to assemble a few more of them for her and she gave them extras to bring back to Aphra at the Jovial Juggler, along with cups of extra fruit and berries. It was a pleasant and hearty way to start the day, and Imoen was immensely grateful. She passed the food in her hands over to Garrick and Neera to carry so she could almost 'bump' into someone on the way out of the market area, who happened to be the most flamboyantly rich of the bunch in his silken tunic and trousers and furred cloak. She made a point to only brush shoulders, as she wasn't totally certain of her mark's value, but when she quickly and deftly slit the strings holding his coinpurse with a small knife she concealed in her hand, she was pleased with its weight and tucked it into one of her pouches with nary a word. If either Garrick or Neera saw her, they said nothing as she led them around a corner and down a more circuitous path to the Jovial Juggler, on the other side of town.

That was, at least, until she spotted ol' Firebead Elvenhair, the half-elven scholar of Candlekeep, wandering up the next street. "Firebead!" she called out and motioned to Neera and Garrick behind her to hurry up. "Come on, buffleheads, you're gonna meet a wizard! Firebead!" She ran up the street and dodged in-between a few carts quickly to catch up to him, though he had only just now turned his white head to glance her way.

Firebead's green eyes lit up in surprise and then delight as he extended out his arms to Imoen, who nearly crashed into him. It had been only a few days since she'd last seen him leave Candlekeep shortly before Gorion and Aphra had, and her heart twisted in confusion over a roiling mass of feelings she felt at the sight of one of her oldest friends and childhood tutors. Firebead had even taught her a few spell memorization methods that had made more sense to her than Gorion's more instinctive, sorcerous way of going about things. "Imoen! I never expected to see you here! Is Winthrop with you?"

"Oh," she made a sound of realization and pulled away. Then, Imoen internally reprimanded herself - because of course the old man wouldn't have heard of something that was still a secret. Only Aphra and Imoen knew the truth about Gorion's death. "No, Firebead. I'm with Aphra. We're alone. Gorion's dead," she explained shortly. Firebead's eyes widened in sympathy as he stepped away from the cart of scrolls he'd been examining in the street from a seller. He paid for something that he then tucked in his pockets and motioned Imoen away, just as Garrick and Neera caught up with them. "These are our friends Neera and Garrick," she introduced. "Folks, this is Firebead Elvenhair. He's a scholar from Candlekeep!"

"I have a house just down the street, let's talk more there," Firebead offered.

The building was indeed just a few doors down, and Imoen couldn't have asked for a better hiding place as a few Flaming Fist began to march down the street, making her nervous. She adjusted the pouch in her pocket as she stepped inside the eaves of Firebead's home and followed Neera inside who stepped in first with a bright smile on her face. It was a comfortable house that reminded Imoen of Winthrop's Inn, with furnishings designed for comfort more than style, and a few tapestries and carpets for decoration. Most of the house was dedicated to shelves and shelves of books and several scroll-cases that were kept under careful lock and key. Neera found a comfortable spot to sit and fiddle with her staff while Garrick examined the books with interest.

Imoen resisted the urge to start planning out a burglary, after all Firebead was a friend, just as the old man disappeared into a sitting room and emerged with an embossed text that looked vaguely familiar.

"Do you know this story?" He asked of Imoen, and she found it strange that instead of expressing sympathy or even conveying understanding of Gorion's passing, he chose to point this out. Imoen took the text from his hands and eyed the cover, not finding a title on it and chose to open it to its first pages.

"The Dead Three," she read aloud as her brow furrowed. "Myrkul, Bane, and Bhaal . . . Knucklebones . . . No, I don't think I've read this one, but I remember the old story, I think," she distantly recalled, though Imoen could not recall where or from whom she had heard it from. "The story of the death gods dividing the Bone Throne, right? Or have I?" She wondered aloud, puzzled. "Why does this sound so familiar to me?"

"Maybe it will come to you, if you think on it," he explained delicately. "In the meantime, how about you keep an eye out for me for a book I'm looking for in exchange? It's called History of the Fateful Coin. That way, you'll come back to see me. Bring your sister next time as well," he said with a smile. "And give her my regards. Are you hungry?"

"We just ate," Imoen explained and clutched the book to her chest, feeling ill in the stomach for some reason and like some weight was pressing on her brow. "We actually should get back to her soon, we promised we'd bring back breakfast."

"Show her that book, see what she says," he explained. "I think you'll both find the contents fascinating."

Imoen nodded and promised she'd come back with the right book. She stuffed the text he'd handed her in her satchel. "Come on, let's make sure Aphra doesn't starve," she said to Neera and Garrick, who nodded and followed her out. She left Firebead's home with an uneasy feeling and a friendly wave.

She led the way back to the Jovial Juggler near the south end of town, and entered the sleepy, quiet inn. Imoen's green eyes swept in a swift survey over the room as she marched the three of them back upstairs, and the book somehow felt heavy in her backpack. She knocked on the door to their room a few times before opening and entering, declaring, "Don't care if you're naked Aph but we're coming in."

Aphra was so intent on her now detailed sketch that she didn't make anything beyond a vague grunt in acknowledgment of Imoen's entry. She hadn't even combed her hair, her hyper-focus unable to deter her almost unblinkingly from her drawing. Imoen glanced down at the sketch in interest - it was of a stern but beautiful face, locked in an expression of arch defiance at its viewer from the face of a half-elven woman whose hair was bound back in various braids. Her age was indeterminate, but her near-frown was so hypnotic to Imoen in that moment - and it was such a mood - that she couldn't help but stare.

"You recognize her?" Aphra looked up and wondered suddenly, drawing Imoen's attention away from the sketch.

"No, but she's interesting," Imoen commented. "Should I?"

"Her name's Jaheira," Aphra said, "and she's Gorion's friend. One of the ones I think he wanted me to meet, but we will. In Nashkel, she said."

"She said that? When you were dreaming?" Imoen wondered.

Aphra's brows narrowed nearly in anger but settled on frustration. "No, you don't understand! I was in the future, I was there Imoen, like I am with you right now. Only in the future! It was a year from now, and you were kidnapped. I think I'm back here because I'm supposed to find a way to stop that, and stop . . . Stop her husband from . . . So many people died, Imoen," she sighed and buried her face in her charcoal-stained hands. "Oh, and somehow I'm supposed to find a priest or something, maybe a Sharran. Something's happened to my memories," she added as she looked over her fingers. She left behind streaks of charcoal that matched her hair.

"That's not the worst idea you've had," Imoen consented, "and we can stop by the Lathanderites on the way to Nashkel. If Jaheira shows up, and she glares the same way as she does in this image, then I promise I won't doubt you. But you gotta realize how that sounds, Aphra!" She couldn't help herself, and just wanted Aphra to be a little reasonable. It was tiring, being the reasonable one when all she wanted to do was be the silly one. "Also, you need a bath. Let's see the Innkeep about running one, and then we can go to the temple. Oh, I ran into Firebead, he said hello," she added, hoping the mention would distract Aphra.

Her slightly younger, but unfairly taller sister let Imoen lead her by the arm gently as she remarked, surprised, "Ol' Firebead? That's right, he has a place nearby," Aphra recalled. "How is he?"

"He gave me a weird book that he wanted us to have, but other than that he's fine. I'm looking out for a book for him, we'll have to stop by the next time we're in town and have some tea," Imoen rambled.

Aphra didn't protest Imoen's attempts to wrangle her to the Jovial Juggler's baths courtesy of the tired Innkeeper, but the water was unfortunately cold. Imoen did manage to find her a mirror so she could wash her face, but Aphra almost dropped the mirror when she stared at her reflection for a moment. She seemed uneasy with the sight of it, but didn't offer an explanation, and Imoen didn't ask. Garrick rambled on a tale while he tuned a small lute and Neera occasionally asked him a question. Imoen joined them and listened to Garrick as they waited for Aphra to finish, and once she had re-dressed in her armor and braided her hair back to one side in a fishtail and belted her sword to her side. Her bright gray eyes were still troubled, and she was silent.

"Let's go to the temple," Imoen offered and pointed her hooded head toward the entrance.

"Oh! Food! It should still be good," Neera remembered and handed Aphra two small cakes and a cup of berries and fruit. Aphra took it gratefully and stuffed her face as Imoen rolled her eyes at her sister's lack of manners.

"Is all well, my lady?" Garrick asked after Aphra was finished, and her expression hadn't changed much.

"I'm just troubled about this whole situation. I'll feel better after we get to Nashkel, and I talk to Jaheira," Aphra stated.

Aphra immediately seemed more at ease once they were out of the bustling town, which had woken up since breakfast and was full of shouting and working people. She seemed to remember the way to the temple and found their way to the road easily enough, and only had to be reminded by Imoen once to slow down and keep pace with the rest of them.

The priestess in red who was stationed outside, Rashel, greeted them with familiarity and told them that Kelddath was inside and free to speak to them should they have need. Imoen thanked her and followed Aphra into the domed temple interior, which was once more resplendent with golden suns and gilded statuary. The haunting echo of sirines' songs permeated the room, calling to them from the main chamber. High Priest Ormlyr stepped around a column and passed a poised and singing sirine where he caught sight of them, and Imoen waved as they all approached.

"If you came to ask after Miss Silke—" he began, but Aphra cut him off.

Rather rudely, she interjected, "No don't much care for her at all, frankly rather not see her again, just need to know if any spells have been cast on my mind is all. Some strange things have been happening and I'd feel better if some priests or wizards could let me know what's going on."

"Describe the situation," Kelddath requested, and Imoen braced herself.

Nonetheless, Aphra smoothly said in a moment of uncharacteristic calm, "I'd rather not go into details. I just need an augury, to see if a wizard might have messed with my mind and when. Can I pay you for it? What's the charge for that?"

The High Priest looked concerned, but nodded and answered, "Fifteen gold." Aphra nodded to Imoen to hand the gold over and Imoen took it out of her newly ill-begotten funds, hoping internally that Lathander wouldn't judge where the gold came from. None of it had been acquired 'honestly.'

Kelddath Ormlyr murmured a prayer to Lathander under his breath and closed his eyes, hovering his hand near Aphra's mind. "Hold still," he instructed when he was finished and she started to fidget restlessly. There was a flash of light from his hands that was the color of white sunlight, and then he was done and pulled away, looking troubled. He looked to Imoen next. "I request you allow me to perform one upon you as well," he asked of her. "I believe it is extended over both of you, whatever this is."

Imoen frowned. The book about the Dead Three still felt strangely heavy in her pack. She agreed, nodded, and let Kelddath do his wave and magic trick.

"So you think someone put an enchantment on both of you that may have messed with your memories about something?" Neera summarized. Aphra turned to look at her and nodded. "What do you think it's about?"

"Well I obviously don't know, but a priest of Ilmater in Athkatla told me that a Sharran might be able to help, and I wanted to verify whether it had happened before I left for Amn," Aphra explained in the sort of way that didn't explain anything. "I just thought it was a good place to start."

As the light from Kelddath's hand flashed, a strange series of images popped up into Imoen's mind's eye. It was like remembering something she had long forgotten, along with a sense memory of the scent of Oghmite incense mingled with dust from ancient books. She had been very small, and a boy that was her senior by several years sat with her among the stacks and read to her the book she carried in her pack. She remembered his hair that fell past his ears in soft brown waves, his animated brown eyes lighting up as he read to her, the feeling of her hands upon the book's spine, and the sound of his voice as he intoned in, "The trio then journeyed into the Gray Waste and sought out the Castle of Bone. Through armies of skeletons, legions of zombies, hordes of noncorporeal undead, and a gauntlet of liches they battled. Eventually they reached the object of their lifelong quest - the Bone Throne . . ." And then she remembered riding on his back as he carried her up the stairs, depositing her half-awake and sleepy small self into a bed before closing the door. The wind, outside the window of her tower room in Candlekeep, the wind she'd always known. The feeling of warmth, of security, was so sure. It took her breath away for a moment as tears unexpectedly came to her eyes. Why was she sad? Why did she feel like crying?

"I cannot divine the nature of this particular enchantment," the High Priest announced after he was done with Imoen, and the pink-haired thief frowned at the images that had flown through her mind as she composed herself. "I do know that some manner of spell has been cast upon you both, but I am unsure if I have the power to break it. I hesitate to admit so, but the Ilmateri you spoke to may have been correct. If it is a memory enchantment, a worshiper of Shar would know more than I on this matter."

"I don't know where on Toril we'll find one of those," Aphra lamented aloud. "Well, thanks anyway Kelddath. Don't tell Silke we came by, she's probably still mad at us for robbing her and such, but to be fair, she did try to set us up for murder," she concluded with a shrug, and turned on her heel to head out the door.

"Yeah, thanks," Imoen murmured and listened to the fading song of the sirines as they left out of the eastern exit of the temple and back toward the south road.

"I don't think I've ever met a Sharran before," Neera commented. "They've always sounded scary to me."

"It might be my only lead, aside from the Horned Man," Aphra muttered.

"Who's that?" Neera wondered.

Aphra explained for Neera and Garrick's benefit as they walked down the road back to town, "He's the man who killed Gorion, our foster-father. I think his name is Sarevok."

This was news to Imoen, who stopped in her tracks to look at her sister. "Sarevok? What makes you say that?" The name struck her as familiar for reasons she couldn't identify.

"Jaheira said that was the name of him, and that I should, well, I guess it doesn't matter," Aphra concluded as she rubbed the back of her neck in an uncharacteristic bout of anxiety. "You're safe enough with me here, so that's what does matter. I just have to keep that wizard from finding us and doing stuff to you."

Her eyes narrowed. "What stuff?"

Aphra shrugged and looked away, uncomfortable. "I don't remember any of it, but you said you did. In Athkatla, I mean, when I talked to you - you said I hadn't forgotten exactly, but I wasn't sure what that meant. I thought that might mean that the wizard did something to my mind. Irenicus, I mean. That's his name."

"Sarevok, Irenicus," Imoen repeated. "Do you think they're the same?"

Aphra shook her head emphatically. "No. Jaheira said Sarevok died at some point, so I assume that means that I'm supposed to find and defeat him. He's the guy who killed Gorion. I'm not sure who Irenicus is beyond his name and that he wants something from us and uses you to get to me."

Imoen tried to process this but was having difficulty understanding. Just how was it possible that her sister could have been in the future while she slept? Was it while she was dreaming? Was it a vision? She didn't want to doubt Aphra, but it was too incredible. "Let's stop here for a moment. I need to write this down," Imoen declared. "Maybe we can eat some of the road rations for lunch."

"I'm not hungry, but my sword could use sharpening," Aphra conceded.

Imoen nodded and plopped down onto her butt on the grass right there, pulling out her journal and the book about the Dead Three. Aphra sat down next to her and eyed the book with a strange look, but did not ask questions. Imoen wasn't sure what to do about her memory of the book she'd regained, or what it could possibly mean that some sort of enchantment had been cast on her mind. It was all a bit much to process right then, so she wrote down the names that Aphra had said to her and jotted down a brief explanation about them while Aphra decided to draw, using Garrick's back as he ate for an easel after little coaxing.

"Thanks for this," her sister said as she rapidly worked on a sketch of yet another face Imoen didn't recognize but felt like she should. Aphra had just finished up a bald head with a strange marking or tattoo upon it when Imoen did, and Imoen decided to take some time to eat herself since they likely wouldn't be able to before setting up camp in the wilderness. It was at least a whole day's worth of traveling alone from Beregost to Nashkel, so they would need to find some place to set up a camp before sundown.

"Who's this one?" Garrick wondered as Aphra pulled away from his back and finished up a few details on her leg. He peered at the drawing over her shoulder curiously after she had ceased using his back as a table.

"Minsc," she said, causing Imoen's ears to perk up.

"What's he holding?"

"That's Boo," she pointed to a small rodent in the image's hands. When Imoen came over to examine it more closely, it seemed like a little squirrel, or perhaps a hamster. "Minsc would be lost without Boo," Aphra said, sounding sad. "He and Jaheira were close, and they were nice to me. They seemed to care a lot about you too, Imoen."

"Were we in the future too?" Neera wondered in-between a mouthful of jerky.

"Strangely, no," Aphra told her with a frown. "I didn't get the chance to find out where you both were. I'm sure if I had been there longer, I would've found you. Maybe it's for the best," she reasoned, "since being around us seems to endanger lives."

"Being a wild mage endangers my life," Neera said with an eye-roll up to the sky and stuffed the rest of the jerky away, wrapped in linen in their packs. Imoen had found field rations, or what food seemed like it would last the longest in their packs, in a hurry before leaving Beregost. Nuts and dried goods largely. She was hoping that she'd be able to set up a few snares once they set up camp and potentially catch something, or at the least try and go hunting - Winthrop had shown her how, when he taught her to use the bow. He'd preferred a crossbow, but his instruction had been invaluable.

"That's a fair point," Aphra conceded with an odd smile she only seemed to wear when she was looking at Neera. Imoen had pretended not to notice so far, but she'd seen Aphra look at Watcher Jocelin in a similar way, and wondered if Aphra even knew herself what she felt.

"Alright, we've got about ten to twelve hours of walking ahead of us, so we should get moving," Imoen announced, forcing cheer into her voice. "With luck we won't run into bandits! Again!"

"You ran into bandits?" Garrick said with interest as he tied his pack around his back.

"Tried to rob us and everything," said Imoen, and she couldn't suppress a chuckle at the irony of the thought. She couldn't help but think that in another life, she and Aphra might have become not too different from those bandits, taking what they could from whom they could. They could probably make a good try of it, if they could stomach disappointing Gorion's ghost that much. "That's why we were covered in bloodstains when you met us, remember?"

"I assumed that was how adventurers always looked," Garrick admitted a little sheepishly. "Whenever they stroll into the city, that's how they always appear - war-torn and battle-hardened! You were very inspiring," he added.

"How comforting," Aphra said with heavy sarcasm, judging by her tone. "I should get covered in blood more often. Maybe I should take baths in the stuff, that'll be extra inspiring!"

Imoen played along. "Sure, we'll just line up all the bounty hunters, slit their throats over a tub, and you can just hop right in. Fresh blood just for you."

"What am I, a vampire?" Aphra laughed a little. Aphra took the bulk of their goods, not minding the extra weight while the rest of them carried their camping supplies split between them. She led the way, ostensibly carrying a map in her head while Imoen followed close behind with the actual map tucked into her belt.

"Wait, isn't that one of the things you have to do in order to become a lich?" Neera piped up.

"It probably is," Imoen agreed with a grin. "They don't have those sorts of texts at Candlekeep though - or if they do, they keep them in the catacombs."

"There's catacombs there?" Neera said with interest. "Ooooh! I hope I can see them one day, I bet they're extra spooky. Do you think a lich is down there?"

"Don't tell me you're excited to meet a lich," Garrick seemed dubious.

"Maybe," Imoen agreed. "But there are wards keeping things in and out. I sneaked down there once, but I didn't get very far before an angry skeleton chased me out," Imoen confided. "I was maybe seven."

"You should've told me, I would've beaten up the skeleton," Aphra added.

"There's nothing much down there that isn't trapped or guarded by undead, I bet," Imoen told her sister. "Anyway, it's moot, since we can't get back into Candlekeep without some ancient Illefarn relic or Netherese tome."

"Strict entry rules?" Neera guessed.

"You have to bring a text of immense value to get back in once you've left, and I doubt they'd help us anyway now that our father is dead," Aphra answered. "He was the only reason we were tolerated there. Ulraunt was always an excuse away from kicking me out. The head librarian hates us."

"For no good reason," Imoen grumbled at the mere memory of Ulraunt.

"'Libraries are for the studious,'" Aphra mocked in an impression of Ulraunt that made Imoen giggle. "'This is not a boarding house for children!'"

Imoen and Aphra entertained themselves for some time throwing Ulraunt impressions back at each other. As they walked toward Nashkel, tthe sun crawled up into the sky and started to hide behind thick clouds. When Aphra and Imoen had fallen silent, Aphra took out Gorion's walking stick and placed it in the ground, seeming frustrated.

"I can't tell the time without the fucking sun," Aphra grumbled.

"I bet it's noon," Imoen estimated. "Either way, we'll start hunting for camp in a few hours. We should—"

Imoen cut herself off as a loud, high-pitched scream resounded in the distance.

All four of their attentions became arrested on the horizon when they heard a piercing, feminine scream from the north. Imoen started to move toward it before cursing under her breath and giving her sister a pointed look. Neera looked between them in curiosity while Garrick looked on obliviously. "We'll meet you further on up the road," Imoen told their new friends with a smile.

Aphra, obligingly, got down on a knee so her smaller sister could clamber onto her back and brace herself against Aphra's chainmail-armored back. Once settled, the girl straightened and took off through the woods at the speed of a ballista firing from a siege wall, if a ballista could slow down to avoid striking tree trunks and maneuver around them. Garrick let out a very startled shout from behind them while Neera whooped excitedly.

Imoen's hood fell back as her face became tangled in Aphra's hair. She threw a suggestion about it into the wind that didn't reach Aphra's ears and felt relieved when her sister glided to a stop on the edge of the woods near the old road north. She let go of Aphra's shoulders and fell to the ground only to drag Aphra's head backward with her with a yelp of surprise; Imoen pulled her head away from the mass of black locks, spluttering and swatting at bits that had wound themselves around her face. "Ergh! Why — can't you — that's IT!" Imoen roared. "I'm re-braiding this ungodly mess next time we stop, this is RIDICULOUS!Just cut it off already! It's impractical! You're supposed to be the practical one - how come I'm the irrational one with short hair?!"

"Sorry," Aphra muttered unapologetically and endured the disentangling treatment unflinchingly. "I didn't think about it!"

Her eyes were on the source of the scream; two men, one halfling and one seemingly human were facing three of what looked like knights. The halfling was dressed in sized leathers and looked vicious, his hand never straying far from the shortsword at his side. The man next to him was . . . Something else entirely, with strange facial markings that Imoen could not tell were tattoos or paint, which seemed to be designed to make his face look like a permanent mask of cheer but ended up coming across as incredibly unsettling. He wore robes of many clashing colors, and between the two didn't seem to understand the situation that he was in. The scream had undoubtedly come from this one, judging by the manic grin on his face at the sight of the sisters emerging from the woods.

It appeared they were being targeted or attacked by three men of similar builds with drawn swords of steel pointed down and plate armor, each of them wearing a red tabard with an orange fist surrounded by yellow flames. Absently, like remembering a dream, Imoen recalled that the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate were all members of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company. The company who acted as the enforcers of law in the city. Their jurisdiction typically did not extend outside of Baldur's Gate, she remembered her father saying, but they were often seen patrolling the Sword Coast and were available as a private army for hire. A feeling of unease settled in her gut.

Imoen, finally untangled, stood to Aphra's side and surveyed their discovery. "What's this nonsense, now?" Imoen questioned as Aphra's dark brow furrowed in interest. "Are the Flaming Fist attacking the circus?"

The halfling seemed like he wanted to object but looked up at his companion as the knights exchanged glances amongst each other. "Well, I can see how you'd think that," the halfling admitted begrudgingly, "but - and I swears I'm not usually the one to say this first - we're honestly innocent of, er, wrongdoing here. Really."

Aphra began to approach with a disarming smile, belied by her sword and armor. "Nice to meet everyone, I'm Aphra of Candlekeep," she greeted in a chipper voice. At a certain point after their father died, Imoen was surprised to discover that she did not really care about swords being pointed at her sister or herself anymore. It hadn't scared Aphra at all in Candlekeep, having trained for years under Watcher Jocelin how to sword-fight; it was the killing itself - or the sight of the broken bodies, rather, that seemed to bother her the most. Imoen used to hack at her with random weapons for fun, which is how they learned Aphra's skin could deflect most of them in the first place. Only certain enchanted things or strong enough metals seemed to be any threat to her. The monks had chucked stars and knives at her to teach her how to dodge and block in the mornings. The ones she hadn't deflected, her skin had mostly blunted. A group of armed knights pointing their swords at a group of smaller, fewer people however - that seemed to stir something different in Aphra, a kind of cold and even anger that was new on her face. Imoen wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed her sister had grown a fierce protective urge.

One of the Fist mercenaries stepped forward and pointed his sword at the tangled-sable-haired Aphra, who halted in her approach to stare down the end of the implement like it was a pointed salad fork. "Halt!" The mercenary barked in a tinny voice from his winged helm. "This is a matter of justice!"

"NO! It wasn't me!" The one in the colorful robes crowed to the sky. "It was the one-armed man! I told him - and I tried to stop him! Oh, but he never listens to me!" He suddenly dropped to his knees and crawled forward, disarming the Fist in confusion for a moment who scrambled back from the suddenly-crawling man - but for Aphra, whom he approached and placed his forehead on her muddy boot and pressed his face into it. This was not a reaction Imoen was prepared for. "Oh you believe me, don't you goddess?" The madman - or jester, maybe, it wasn't clear what he was - plead into Aphra's leathered toe.

She blinked while Imoen made a distasteful clucking noise. Imoen began to notice details about him that she had missed before - that it was paint on the madman's face that changed his face into the unsettling mask, his ashen hair looking like it had not been washed in over a week, and that his shoulder bones stuck out nearly as much as his wrists. Aphra went through a series of emotions that were written across her features before settling on pity.

"Uh," was all Imoen could say at first. "Weird. Can you not do that to my sister, please? Kick him off or something, come on, he's drooling on your shoe," she objected. "That's unsanitary!"

"Don't be rude," Aphra chided as she knelt down to the man's level and grabbed his hands firmly that had clenched around her calf. She pulled him up forcefully back onto his feet like he weighed as much as a squirrel and looked him in the eyes. "What's your name?" Aphra asked.

The halfling, sensing a distraction, began to inch toward them and away from the Flaming Fist, who were steadily becoming more agitated by the moment judging from their postures. They seemed to be unsure of who they should be pointing their swords at.

"I am Xzar!" Xzar's eyes, a bright and inquisitive hazel, widened as they took in the sight of her. "Xzar the powerificent! Xzar the magniful!" He went on, and then looked over at the irritated halfling. "Oh, and that's my beloved sidekick Montaron. He's not much for conversation, are you Monty?"

Aphra's jaw dropped in recognition while Imoen looked on in total confusion.

"Don't you move!" The same Fist guard barked, and the other two had stepped forward on an unspoken command. Montaron let his hand fall away from a shortsword strapped to his hip slowly as a glare twisted his pockmark-scarred face, and his hands raised into the air in caution. A glare on Montaron's face was a bit of a feat, since it appeared to already be set in a permanent, powerful sulk.

"Not movin'," Montaron gritted, holding carefully still. "Not yet."

Aphra released Xzar and faster than anyone's eyes could judge moved in front of the halfling, positioning her body between the two travelers and the Fist mercenaries. It seemed to everyone but Imoen's trained eyes that she had simply appeared there, by magic. The force of the action on the resisting air had fluffed a lot of her black locks into her face, though, which she had to beat down and spit out of her mouth with an agitated hand. "Now hang on—" Aphra began to splutter, pushing falling strands out of her face, but stopped when the mercenaries began to turn on her with a startled shout.

"I'm warning you once girl, get out of the way if you want to live," the Fist mercenary who seemed to be in charge spoke for all of them. All three had pointed their swords at her now, just as Montaron did his best to hide himself behind her comparatively large leg.

Aphra glared, her gray eyes boring into them in anger. "I said, 'hang on,' and if you'll let me finish - mind telling me just what you're doing hasslin' innocent circus-folk on the road?"

"These two are spies from Zhentil Keep!" He shouted, sword flailing. "And we arethe law! For the last time, if you don't want to be hurt you will stand aside, impudent child!"

"Oi!" Imoen shouted from behind them. She tossed a few rocks at the helmets of two of them, making them clang. Xzar clapped giddily at her side. "Don't be tits, she's just asking you questions!" This did not de-escalate the situation in any way and seemed to make them even angrier.

Aphra finally managed to get the last bit of hair out of her face, and placed her hands on her hips as she regarded the angry mercenaries. "Now how do you knowthey're spies? Even if they are Zhents, do you have proof of what you say?" Aphra inquired politely, seemingly oblivious to the danger she was in - or just not really caring because she didn't regard it as real danger, even if it was the first time the law had swung swords in her face. It was technically not Imoen's first run-in with the Fist, outside of being caught stealing in Beregost as a child, but it was definitely the first time they had pointed swords at her.

The mercenaries began to laugh, which didn't really bode well. "You can't arrest people without evidence," Aphra defended over their growing laughter. "That's as much a crime, surely."

"Standing in the way of Fist justice IS a crime!" Their leader insisted. Despite her attempts, the situation escalated very quickly from there. Imoen chucked rocks at them from the road with fair accuracy and tried to distract them as best as possible as they drew their swords and advanced toward the Zhents. Xzar, despite appearing incompetent, was a fairly proficient spell-caster and managed to confuse one of them with a few words and a gesture that vibrated the air for a moment, just as the first mercenary's sword went flying toward Aphra's person.

The first one - the leader, who attacked Aphra first was treated to an express trip into Cloakwood courtesy of a bodily toss. It happened so quickly that no one was really sure if it had actually happened or not: one moment, he swung his sword at her - which she deflected with her chainmail-covered arm, ripping the fabric beneath by her wrist and shaving some hair but drawing no blood. The sword had been swung with such force that its deflected momentum ripped it right out of the mercenary's hands, sending it involuntarily flying over ten feet away. He stared at the sword that had left his stinging hand in confusion, and in the next moment he disappeared completely from sight. Only Imoen's eyes caught him as Aphra blurred in place for a moment, and then he was gone - flying himself into the forest with a faint and distant cry that cut off as he impacted the ground some distance away.

Aphra breathed in sharply, in and out.

Montaron whistled. The magically confused one had begun attacking his frustrated ally, who also found himself facing the angry halfling he'd been harassing. The Fist faced an assault on two fronts and managed to kick his ally away, whom Imoen busied by lobbing whatever rocks were near her feet at. It seemed to mostly annoy him. The confusion wore off momentarily as he charged at Xzar, who up and screamed like a little girl and ran to hide behind Imoen's back. Imoen found herself laughing hysterically and doubled over while Aphra rushed to take care of that one, sending him after his boss into the woods, high into the air to collide with some distant treetops with nary a 'meep.'

The last, seeing what happened but not really believing it, spluttered and turned tail to run away back up the road to the North. Imoen tossed a rock after his retreating form in the vague direction of the Gate with a victorious cry of 'HA!'

Just as quickly as it had started, the encounter was over. It took Imoen a while to calm down from her laughter, and it took Xzar just as long to snap out of his funk. Aphra kicked absently at the sword that she'd deflected and plucked at her newly cut sleeve with a frown. Her ears picked up Montaron's approach on padded feet through the grass, and she turned to face him at ten paces . . . And wrinkled her nose as she stared at Montaron's unclothed feet.

The halfling held up his hands in a similar cautious gesture to the one before but did not gaze at her with the same irritation as he had before. Instead, an expression that was somewhere between surprise and recognition crossed his scarred face. "That was, er, something," the gruff halfling began, lowering his hands when he realized Aphra wasn't about to try anything. His arms crossed over his chest, rather than stray toward his sword. Aphra had never seen anyone other than Imoen react so casually toward a feat of strength from her (the monks had been very put out about the broken walls), so she stood there dumbfounded at her circumstances for a short while. She seemed to realize in that moment what she'd done and had dumbfounded herself.

A part of her faintly realized that a few Fist had just been slain by her sister, and Imoen largely felt nothing about it. Another part of her felt bad for not feeling anything.

Aphra looked down to the halfling for reassurance. "Are you really spies?" She wondered. "I'm not going to hurt you or turn you in or anything if you are," she assured him, "They attacked me, you see."

"I saw," Montaron began slowly. He scratched at the scruff on his chin contemplatively. "Would it matter if we were?" He reasoned. "Sure, we're out of the Keep, but we'd be bad at being spies if we just kept paperwork on us all the time proving it to anyone that looked at it. Wouldn't we?"

Aphra nodded but didn't look sure. She glanced back to Xzar, and back to Montaron. "Then . . . Can I call you Monty?" She asked politely.

Montaron glared as Imoen and Xzar approached them from the road. "Oi!" Imoen called, getting her attention. Xzar had attached himself to her arm, to her discomfort. "Mind telling him to mind his own business?" She pointed with her free hand at the wizard.

Seeing Aphra, Xzar's eyes lit up again and he left Imoen's side to prostrate himself once again at Aphra's feet and call her a goddess and mumble compliments. Irritated, Aphra dragged him up by the shoulders and placed him near the glaring halfling. "Please stop that," she insisted politely. He didn't seem affronted by the handling, but Monty was. She looked between the two of them. "What's your business around here, if you don't mind me asking?" She wondered.

"Does it matter—" was going to be Monty's reply, cut off by Xzar's enthusiastic, "We're on a mission!" Monty turned to glare up at his mad human counterpart.

"What mission?" Aphra queried, Imoen stepping closer to her side to regard them both.

"There's an iron shortage in the region," Montaron admitted slowly, begrudgingly. "Corrupted iron coming out of Nashkel, and we've been hired to investigate it. On behalf of an interested party."

Aphra's eyebrow raised as she regarded Xzar, and due to the lack of a filter ever being installed between her mouth and brain asked aloud, "Who would hire you two to investigate something like that?" As, with a sharp intake of air, Imoen started ransacking through her pack on the ground and pulled out the note they'd taken from Gorion. The sight of it was a cutting, intimate reminder of their current situation that Imoen neither wanted, nor asked for in that moment. The reality of her dead father back in the woods loomed over her for a few seconds before she remembered the wizard and the halfling they'd just saved. As Imoen poured over the note's few words, muttering under her breath, Aphra was left to deal with the two Zhents by herself.

"Doesn't matter who," Monty spoke up. "They pay well, and that's all that matters to me."

"I guess that's fair," Aphra decided.

"You know, the Fist who got away will be looking for you," the halfling pointed out. "And us. We shouldn't stay on the road long."

Reluctantly, Aphra nodded and turned to leave, calling Imoen behind her. It was Xzar who caught up with her, though, clinging to her torn sleeve. "Wait!" he insisted. "Goddess, I implore you for your aid. Without you, we will surely die on our quest!"

Tears began to well in Aphra's eyes against her will and ran down her face. "Who talks like that?" She sniffled, and rubbed angrily at her eyes with her other sleeve.

"Aph!" Imoen shouted, causing the girl to turn back to her sister still sitting down on the open road with her pack torn open in front of her, holding the note. "I think we should help them," the pink-haired girl announced.

A dark eyebrow crawled up Aphra's forehead. She rubbed her face again. "Why?" She asked.

Imoen stood up, still clutching the note in her hand. Her expression was fierce, her voice determined. "Because it's what Gorion would want us to do. Face it, if they're Zhents wandering the Sword Coast, they're either secretly orchestrating the iron shortage or going to get accused of it, one way or the other," Imoen rationalized. "With politics, it doesn't matter which, because they're still being paid to investigate it and presumably put an end to the cause of it. And maybe you haven't thought about this because you're not as focused on the bigger picture as I am right now, but do you have any idea what a shortage of iron will do to the economy of this region? Bandits, plagues, jesters ahoy," she snarked, jabbing finger in Xzar's direction. "Plus it's good to travel in numbers!" She added with false cheer, glancing between the wizard and the rogue uneasily.

Aphra considered this for all of a moment before finding tears stinging her eyelids again. She sniffled.

Imoen's expression sobered immediately. "Right." She looked down at her feet for a moment as her face twisted in grief as she clutched the note in her hands and was reminded of all they'd been through since yesterday. She composed herself momentarily and turned to look at Monty and Xzar. "Okay, so say we agree to help you investigate this in Nashkel - would you mind helping us in exchange?"

Monty rolled his eyes. "We're not exactly in the best bargaining position here. I'd rather let your friend deal with the Fist than trouble myself."

"She's not my friend, she's my sister, and our friends down the road still have to catch up with us," Imoen refuted mechanically. "We just need to take a detour to the Fair to . . . ask some friends of our dead father for help with, uh, a problem we have."

"Oh." Xzar was thankfully, speechless, and that was really all Monty could awkwardly say - a noise in acknowledgments with the lack of understanding of how to react to such news apparent in his bearing. "Uh."

"WAAAAAAAAAAIT!" Came a wail from up the road. Slowly, tortuously, they watched as Garrick caught up with them, his lute banging against his back as he came to a screeching and panting halt at Imoen's feet. "Never - hah! Seen anyone - hah - move that fast!" He took a few deep gulping breaths and took in the scene around them.

Neera caught up a moment later, clearly in better shape than Garrick from spending a life on the run and not at all winded from her light jog. "That was brisk! We heard screams, and then nothing! What's up, everybody? Did we make new friends or . . . ?" A peach-pink eyebrow crawled up her forehead as the implications of her trailing off statement sank in. She twirled her staff in her hands and seemed ready for anything.

Aphra tied the fallen Fist sword to her belt while Imoen did her best to help Garrick stand up. "Er, sorry we just left like that," Imoen offered half-heartedly. "We found some innocent circus-folk being hassled by the law!" She explained quickly.

Neera looked at them and nodded immediately. "I see what you mean," she commented.

"Oh no!" Garrick gushed. "I wish I'd caught up sooner - this would make a great verse in your ongoing ballad!"

"Oh great," Montaron grumbled, "a bloody bard."

"He's not all that bad," Aphra assured the little grumpy halfling. Montaron glared up at her. "Ithink he's talented," she defended.

"You do?" Garrick preened, eminently pleased. "That is most noble praise, Aphra!"

"By a broad definition of the term 'talent,'" Imoen couldn't resist adding with a chuckle, causing the bard to deflate. "Aw, I didn't mean it, Garry, I'm just bein' funny. Relax. You're the one I'm letting write the song of Imoen the Quick, after all!"

"We ain't circus folk," Montaron glowered. "And that'll be the last time I make that correction!"

Imoen wasn't terribly excited about their new friends, but she had meant what she had said about there being strength in numbers, and Aphra had already defended them from the Fist. Imoen had been throwing rocks at their foes with enthusiasm, but she hadn't expected her sister to simply toss them away like they were dolls - and with so many witnesses. It was a bizarre and horrifying way to die, and she knew at some point whenever the escaped Flaming Fist guard decided to stop running, it would probably come back to bite them. The rough halfling eyed Imoen's sister askance when Aphra wasn't looking - and Aphra for her part seemed preoccupied with the strange mad wizard.

Imoen decided for them that stopping there to regroup wasn't the best idea, due to the possibility of the Fist coming back with reinforcements, so they veered off the road for a ways and sat down to reorganize their packs and take a break for a late lunch with a few of their road rations. Neera distributed what they had and shared it with their new friends, even sitting down with them and asking them curious questions while Imoen wrote down what had happened in her travelogue. Aphra used Garrick's back as an easel again and mumbled under her breath as she worked on another portrait and finished up her previous one.

As Imoen finished up her journaling, she walked up to Garrick and Aphra and caught the tail end of their conversation. Garrick was saying, "You should keep track of the names, so you don't forget."

"There's only two I need to keep in mind," Aphra uttered. "Irenicus, and Sarevok."

"Who's Irenicus? What's he to us?" Imoen asked, causing Aphra's attention to become scattered between her drawing, Imoen, and Garrick.

Eventually Aphra settled on her drawing and briefly explained, "Mad wizard who captured us. And I'm not sure. Far as I can tell, they both want something from us."

"Weird name," Imoen said as something in her mind felt as though it were pressing on the back of her eyelids. She rubbed at them tiredly. "Where do you think it's from?"

"Jaheira told it to me, in Athkatla," Aphra answered.

"And we're supposed to meet her in Nashkel?" Imoen confirmed, a little dubiously but also nervously. The implications of Aphra telling the truth were not something Imoen was prepared to face.

"At the fair," Aphra corrected.

"What happened in Athkatla?" Garrick asked. Imoen wasn't brave enough to ask that question, but he seemed endlessly curious about the events of Aphra's 'dream.'

"I . . . There was the wizard and the dungeon and . . . People died," was all that Aphra would say on the matter, however, and she closed her sketchbook. "We should keep going to the fair, or until we find a spot for the night," Aphra insisted and stood to stretch her legs. She offered a hand to Garrick to stand and turned her back to Imoen so Imoen could put their journals in her backpack.

Imoen contributed, "I think if we pick up the pace a bit, we can make the fair by nightfall. It's supposed to be just outside of Nashkel."

"Let's hurry then," Aphra agreed, "because I've people to meet."

They stuck to the road and as Imoen predicted, they ran into bandits. They were an unusual sort, in that hobgoblins rarely take to raiding travelers as common bandits on the road and typically stuck to the fringes of the wilderness in un-unified and often warring tribes. Each of them was at least as tall as Aphra, and there were six of them in total, three archers and two warriors.

Aphra charged ahead without thinking or warning, letting loose a little of her less-than-hidden speed and strength. Now that she had essentially revealed her capabilities to their companions, Imoen suspected she had given up on trying to hide who or what she was. Imoen nocked back an arrow and shouted, "Get 'em!" to her friends and new companions.

A spell sailed out of the top of Neera's staff as she pointed it at the hobgoblins with an arcane phrase that dazed them momentarily, and Xzar pulled something out of his robes' pockets from the corner of Imoen's eye, blew it into the air and began to chant. At his finger-point, one of the hobgoblins that Aphra had charged turned on his fellow archers, and another archer fled in fear into the wilderness just as Imoen got him in the back of the leg with a small arrow. Yelping and limping, this hobgoblin took off and was never seen again. The archer who had been attacked by his fellow took out a spear on his back and began to defend himself, his attention diverted from Imoen who began to fire arrows at him. A few hit, but most missed since he kept moving. Montaron was suddenly behind this hobgoblin stabbing up and hitting vital areas, downing him just as the confused or dominated hobgoblin pierced him through the chest with his spear.

"Nice one, Monty! Very sporting!" Xzar called out encouragingly. Montaron gave him a rude gesture, spun his knives in his hands and attacked the one that Aphra wasn't occupied with. He had to dodge the spear-point from this hobgoblin and had trouble getting close.

She wasted very little time literally defending herself, and instead let herself be struck several times by the hobgoblin ineffectually who only tore at some of her armor and clothes. Once there was an opening, Aphra sent Hull's sword through his head and this one went down, spluttering blood out of the gash in the side of his head. She jerked her sword out and ran the other one that charged her through, just as Montaron finished off the other one with a twisting maneuver that disarmed and opened his throat to Monty's knives in the same movement. The spell-confused one made a noise in horror as the spell he was under wore off, and Neera whacked him over the head so hard he fell to the ground with her staff while Montaron went for this one's throat. He bled out onto the ground and stopped twitching after a few moments. Then, the battle was over.

Imoen's heart kept pounding in her ears after, so she almost had trouble hearing Garrick comment, "Huh! I didn't even get a shot off! That was truly epic."

"Not really," Aphra disagreed, flicking blood off her sword distastefully. "They weren't prepared for a full force. They probably expected unarmored travelers, or merchants en route to the fair, I suspect. Not armed adventurers."

"Either way, they're no one's problem now," Imoen tried to encourage her, but her sister's black mood seemed down and determined to stay there.

They reached the fair by nightfall, when the events were in full-swing and Nashkel's working population came out of the woodwork to peruse the panoply of entertainments. Aphra heard the fair before anyone saw any evidence beyond foot-traffic that Montaron and Imoen had pointed out and claimed that a whole 'heap' of people were up ahead. She sniffed at the air too, and her nose wrinkled but she said nothing. The trees gradually became increasingly sparse as they gave way to scrub-oak shrubbery, until these too began to become more sparse as the hallmarks of manual removal were present in the form of chopped down trees and stumps.

The fair was situated in a natural clearing. They walked upon trampled down yellowed grass and were illuminated by floating wizard's lights situated in the air like wild chandeliers, freely roving slowly over the mingling populace whose crowd thickened as they approached. Aphra seemed reticent to step forward but peered through the crowd, looking for something. Neera stared up and poked one of the lights with her fingers, giggling. "I've never been to this fair," she commented. "I went to one outside of Waterdeep once, though, and it was biiiiiig! Every kind of person imaginable all mingling together and having an exciting time. I had to leave early, though, and didn't get to do the gnomish rides."

"And let me guess, you had to flee from the Red Wizards who caught up to you, so you crashed the whole fair, turned everyone into chickens, and ran away into the wind?" Aphra wondered, taking the words right out of Imoen's mouth. Imoen snorted back laughter, knowing how similar her and her sister were in some ways - and yet so different in others.

"They were multicolored pheasants, and it was only temporary! But, yes," Neera agreed with a grin that Imoen wasn't sure if she could take seriously. However, it got Aphra to laugh and smile which wasn't something she'd done very much of since she'd awoken from her nightmare dream of the future, so Imoen didn't mind it at all.

Imoen was in her element and popped and stretched her fingers, knowing there would be a few drunken gamblers about that wouldn't miss the contents of their coinpurses - and coin was better off in her hands than the hands of the dealers. Aphra gradually started pressing through the crowd, which parted like butter before her. Once people got a look at the tall and long-haired, still-slightly-bloodstained, armed and armored woman, they started walking around her and giving her way. It made Imoen's job a little more difficult so she kept some pace behind her sister with Xzar and Montaron who attracted less attention. Imoen wondered if that was because people thought Xzar was a part of the fair, with his fading-painted face.

"Best you keep those quick fingers to yourself," Montaron growled out, looking up at her askance as she walked by his side.

"I would never," Imoen mocked, pretending to be taken aback. "Monty, we're friends, but we're also comrades in arms now! And comrades don't pick each other's pockets. Naturally, I expect the same courtesy from you."

"Everyone's fair game to Monty," Xzar confided.

"I'll give the lass no trouble if I'm given no trouble," Montaron conceded, carefully keeping his hands in his pockets.

Imoen grinned and walked on the other side of them, putting Xzar in-between her and Montaron. She carefully brushed shoulders with the right marks as they made their way through the fair following Aphra, until she came to a full-stop in front of a table where three people were playing cards together and looking rather grumpy about it.

One of them Imoen immediately recognized from Aphra's drawing of her, even though her hair was loose and unbraided, which set her heart aflutter in an unpleasant way. What it fully meant wasn't something that Imoen was mentally prepared to confront at that moment, so she took a place at Aphra's side and did her best not to think about it when Aphra blurted, "Jaheira! And . . . And Khalid," she added in a strangled whisper. There was a strange, pained look in her eyes as she alighted on the second of the two-half-elven warriors, this one a red-headed and freckled man who blinked in surprise at Aphra's appearance.

"Do we know you, girl?" The woman named Jaheira demanded, arching an eyebrow and looking very much like the drawing of the stern-faced woman that Aphra had made. Imoen felt a shiver run up her spine as she closed her hand of cards and held them face-down on the table.

"You're stalling, taking advantage of distraction," the man across from them at the table accused in a growling voice. A sinister looking half-orc in black armor with a wicked sword belted to his side, he clearly had no patience for any delays in their game.

"In a hurry to l-lose?" The one Aphra had addressed as Khalid stuttered slightly, seeming amused.

"You are shrewd opponents," the half-orc conceded somewhat grudgingly, "but the game is about odds, not skill. Draw, fold, or bet," he demanded.

Jaheira glared at him and looked at her cards and folded them down onto the table in a gesture of forfeit. The half-orc made a noise of annoyance and looked at his own cards and performed the same gesture.

"I g-guess this means I win," Khalid assumed and moved a pile of fake coins into his arms and away from the center of the table.

"Gorion's dead," Aphra blurted. Khalid paused in his coin-collecting as Jaheira stared up at Aphra blankly, processing her words. When Jaheira said nothing initially, Aphra went on (despite Imoen stomping on her foot to get her to stop), "Gorion was killed in the woods by a man with a horned helmet and we've met before but of course you wouldn't realize that, but you told me to meet you here at the Fair, and here we are?" She finished in a questioning tone. She looked, flustered, to Imoen.

"What my sister meant to say is, nice to meet you, Jaheira, Khalid, strange man," Imoen addressed properly. The half-orc narrowed his eyes at his description but said nothing. Imoen turned to Jaheira and stuck out her hand for shaking. "Awfully nice to meet you, Gorion told us all about you. Well, not all about you, but he told us to find you, and we're sorry it took so long. Fancy running into you here!"

"But we knew they'd be here," Garrick felt the need to add, confused. "Aphra said—"

Imoen stomped on his foot as well, and he definitely felt it more than Aphra did and shut up properly to hold his foot and wince.

"Hails and greetings to you all!" Xzar felt the need to pipe up from the back of their group with a light wave. His makeup had started to run and he was passively scaring children that wandered by who mistook him for a clown. Montaron was nowhere to be seen, most likely robbing someone nearby - hopefully not at knife-point, but Imoen wouldn't have been surprised to learn as such about him.

"We have not met, but Gorion had told us much about you both," Jaheira finally spoke, addressing the two of them. She stood from her seat at the table to regard them with stern eyes. "I am unimpressed."

"I knew you'd say something like that," Aphra began with a wry grin. "Very 'you.'"

"Wench," growled the half-orc, "for interrupting my game, I expect you to bring ale!"

Aphra stared down at the drunken, angry man for all of a moment before holding back, and then erupting into laughter. She took a few coins from her pocket and put them on the table for him, passing them his way. "Is that enough for a drink? You've earned it, if you have the audacity to mistake me for a serving wench. At least you're not Elminster this time."

The man looked confused, then a little put out by her charity. "You need a drink more than I," he insisted suddenly, and then pointed to the bloodstains that still remained on Aphra's armor from their last battle. "Did you wade in hobgoblin blood?"

"Something like that," Aphra agreed.

"They were bandits," Neera supplied, trying to be helpful. "We made short work of them! But now we're here to, what is it, investigate the iron?"

"The iron from the mines is brittle and we're here to figure out why," Imoen agreed, inwardly thanking Neera for bringing the conversation around to where it needed to be. "We're—"

"In need of privacy," Jaheira suddenly interrupted, and grabbed Imoen and Aphra by the arm and pulled the two of them some distance away from the table toward a secluded spot near an unoccupied tent. Aphra waved at the others and made a halting motion for them to stay put while Jaheira dragged them away for a quiet conversation.

Imoen shot her sister an annoyed look. In no way had she expected to be dragged off by an acerbic druid and berated for not being 'impressive' enough. Aphra shot her a wide-eyed, pleading look as if she could persuade Imoen to be patient merely with her expression. Imoen rolled her eyes and let the dragging-off happen, and yanked her hand out of Jaheira's grip when they reached a stop in front of the empty fair tent.

Jaheira and Khalid looked at each other while Imoen and Aphra waited patiently (in Imoen's case very impatiently) for them to say something. Khalid spoke tentatively at first, "D-dear, p-p-perhaps we sh-should—" he began, stuttering.

Jaheira nodded once in understanding and looked to the two girls. "How did he die?"

"Always to the point," Aphra nodded admiringly. "You don't like to waste any time. Big man in a horned helmet, shiny sword killed him. I didn't see it happen completely, I was too busy running away. Found his body afterward, put it in a cairn near an Illefarn structure just north of Beregost. I can take you to him, if you want."

Jaheira's nostrils flared as she breathed sharply, almost in irritation. "You speak as if you know me. I tell you once more, we have not met, child," the druid told Aphra.

"It's a long story," Imoen tried to summarize. "We should find an Inn maybe and talk there about it more, but that should suffice for now. Gorion had a letter on his person when he died, addressed to someone he called 'K.' We think it was Uncle Khelben and thought maybe you might know more?" She offered, and slung her pack around that carried her journal, the letter, and bounty notice.

She opened to the page she'd closed the letter in, the same page as the bounty notice, and Aphra picked the latter up off the ground and read it again as Imoen handed over Gorion's letter to Jaheira. As Jaheira's eyes scanned the letter, Khalid approached Aphra and reached out with his hand to request she hand the paper over, which she did obligingly. Jaheira, when she was finished, read the notice over his shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Aphra. "Where did you recover this notice?" She interrogated.

"On the dead body of a bounty hunter," Aphra informed her flippantly. "I'm sure the price has gone up since. I swear I didn't do anything to warrant it. I think the man who killed Gorion is trying to kill me too. Gorion said something about my family that night, coming after me. Maybe my mother's family?"

"Could it be Halruaans? Or Gorion's folks?" Imoen wondered aloud.

"No," Jaheira corrected curtly. "It is your father's family he speaks of. I know nothing about them, save that Gorion took you away from them, and that was all he would say to us on the matter."

"H-he did not l-like to speak of the p-past," Khalid said. "This b-bounty notice w-worries me."

"We made some friends along the road, and safety in numbers, yeah?" Imoen justified. She wasn't sure how much of Aphra's abilities that Gorion had told Jaheira and Khalid about, but she didn't want to out her sister without her sister's consent. Aphra was more than capable of defending herself alone from any number of bounty hunters or bandits, even though Garrick had technically killed the dwarven one, that they'd taken the notice from. "What do you make of the note?" She asked Jaheira, realigning the subject.

"This note was penned by the Blackstaff," Jaheira confirmed. "I recognize his handwriting."

"Told you," Aphra bragged.

"He is referencing the iron shortage," Jaheira went on, "which I imagine the effects of have now reached Waterdeep and beyond. It will ultimately destabilize the entire region if we cannot find the source of this, and the increased bandit activity. It is no ordinary rust, he has confirmed, but a strange pollutant affecting the ore itself, making it brittle. We have spoken to Taerom, in Beregost, who agreed to assist us find the cure if we can bring him samples of the tainted ore directly from the mine."

Imoen nodded and rubbed her chin consideringly. "Well, I wanted to investigate it. It'd be even better if there's some sort of reward for doing so . . ."

"We have been hired by the Mayor of Nashkel to assist with this matter," Jaheira told her. "If you wish to accompany us, you may keep the reward he has offered to us and share it between yourselves."

Imoen glanced aside at Aphra, who looked eager to stay with Jaheira and Khalid despite Jaheira's obvious disliking to them and her discomfort. "A-and if m-m-more b-bounty hunters come, you'll w-want our h-help—" Khalid was starting to explain, when Xzar suddenly showed up in his periphery.

"There they are!" The mad wizard announced and trounced up to them. Neera came shortly after him, followed by Montaron and Garrick.

"Have you no idea how hard it is to keep this one on a leash?" Montaron complained, gesturing wildly. "And you set him loose at a fair! Every passing child thinks he's a clown, and he sees it as his mission to terrify them into tears!"

"Okay, but that last trick was pretty funny, with the floating skull that chased him off," Neera snickered. "The way his stubby little legs ran was too cute!"

Aphra glanced at Imoen, who sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't have left Xzar unsupervised," Imoen's sister conceded.

"I care not for this present company of yours," Jaheira criticized quite openly, and glared at Xzar, and Montaron in particular.

"Well, I couldn't care less, druidess," Montaron threw back with an apathetic expression. "You're not in charge of this band of lunatics."

"I don't know who's in charge here," said Aphra, and she received several incredulous looks from their entire combined party for saying this. After interpreting the looks, she guffawed, "What, you all think I'm in charge?"

Imoen laughed. "Everyone knows you're the one who makes the big decisions," she told her sister.

"You're the one with the map!" Aphra pointed out. "You decided we were going to investigate the iron."

"Only 'cause I thought it's what Gorion would want, and so did you!" Imoen pointed out right back. "And now it turns out there's profit in it, so—"

"Profit?" Montaron perked up. "Hey, that reminds me, we haven't discussed party share yet, or the splitting of the loot."

"Well that's your own fault," Aphra scoffed. "We can discuss details later. We're going to Nashkel, to an inn to talk more."

"Oi!" The half-orc from earlier piped up, having followed the group.

It was at that moment that a group of shining-armor-plated Flaming Fist arrived to ruin things. There were three of them, one holding a piece of paper and two with their swords drawn. The one with the paper clutched in his gloves pointed directly at Aphra, shouted predictably, "That's her!" and the other two adopted battle stances quite suddenly as one of them bellowed out, "Stand aside, miss! You are under arrest for suspicion of murder!"

Imoen mentally cursed that her sister had been foolish enough to let one of those Flaming Fist who had hassled Xzar and Montaron get away alive. If you're to commit murder, thoroughly commit! She thought.

Aphra backed away from Jaheira and Khalid and toward the Flaming Fist Mercenaries. Neera was suddenly at her shoulder and put a hand on Aphra, stopping the girl from approaching with no effort at all. "How about you let me and Mr. Creepy handle these guys this time?" She offered cheekily.

"No, allow me," the drunken half-orc gambler said and suddenly drew his sword, which was easily the most unsettling object Imoen had ever lain eyes on. Still, she drew her bow for good measure, not nocking back an arrow but had it at the ready just in case.

Aphra stared at his black-and-gray sword with its strange, spiked pommel and narrowed her eyes. "Just who are you, anyway?" She demanded to know.

"Dorn Il-Khan," the half-orc answered and pointed his sword at one of the Flaming Fist, "and I'll not have my game interrupted further! I intend to win my money back from that redhead!"

Aphra looked back at Jaheira and Khalid, noted that Khalid had red hair and looked embarrassed about it for some reason, and then back to Dorn and Neera. Neera shrugged and the Fist looked ready to fight. "Maybe I'll just turn myself in," Aphra offered.

Imoen drew an arrow and said firmly, "That isn't happening, Aph! Not on my watch!" She declared, determined.

"Get the circus folk with her!" the Fist said, heedlessly.

"Now I know he's not talking about us," Montaron muttered after a few seconds of raging silence.

"If this is about that incident earlier, I warned the Fist off before you lot attacked!" Aphra defended. "Look, arrest me if you want, but—"

"No one is arresting anybody," Jaheira announced and pushed her way through Aphra's group with her sharp armored shoulders and in front of Aphra, drawing her quarterstaff. Vines began to crawl under the earth and roots grew and moved, stirring the ground beneath them as they crept toward the Flaming Fist. "You fools are outmatched," she informed the Flaming Fist. "Return with an official writ, or not at all."

They chose to run instead and Neera, Imoen, and Xzar laughed and whooped as they did so. Jaheira looked at Aphra and the roots and vines stopped growing, settling. Jaheira's expression was a mixture of confusion, disappointment, and determination. It seemed to unsettle Aphra. "We will speak more of this incident later," Jaheira promised. "Suffice it now to say that there is good reason the Flaming Fist have no sway here. We are too near the territory for Amn."

Aphra perked up. "We are? How close are we to Athkatla?" she wondered.

"A week or so journey by horse," Jaheira answered uncertainly. "Why?"

"Just curious, thinking about what I can change," Aphra demurred. "It's an interesting town."

"You speak as though you have been, but never left Candlekeep," said Jaheira.

"Before I mean, yeah," Aphra conceded, "but it's a long story better told at the Inn."

"What about my card game?" Dorn lamented aloud, a little drunkenly.

"We'll have to r-r-resume another t-time," said Khalid, probably trying to sound comforting but this just annoyed Dorn who wandered off in a huff vaguely in a seemingly random direction.

"I hope that is the last we have seen of him, but I doubt it," Jaheira said with a sigh.

"Maybe he'll f-forget," Khalid tried to comfort her.

Neera piped up between Jaheira and Khalid with a wild grin and said, "So you're adventurers too! We just recently got into the field as of a few days ago when we needed a quick way to make money, although we haven't gone on any adventures yet. Had a few battles, though. And you're a druid?"

Jaheira seemed affronted by the question while Khalid a little flustered at the attention. Neera and Garrick peppered them with questions about their adventures that Khalid stuttered and Jaheira glared through, as though she were reticent to reveal too much about herself. She kept obliquely pointing her glare at Xzar and Montaron who didn't seem very bothered by the attention, as though their mere presence itself were offensive.

It didn't help that Montaron had commented, inappropriately pleased, that he was, "happy to be helped by do-gooders for a change," and gloated for a bit about it.

Jaheira and Khalid led the way into town, about a mile away from the fairgrounds, and Neera seemed to have exhausted most of her questions along with Garrick and lapsed into silence in the latter portion of their journey. Aphra kept her gaze fixed ahead while Imoen couldn't help but sneak glances at her sister and wonder how she was doing. She clearly wanted to talk about her dream of the future, but Imoen wondered how well such a talk would be received by the acerbic Jaheira. Khalid seemed kind, and at-odds personality-wise with his wife.

The only inn (but second best tavern, according to Imoen) in Nashkel was named for the town and situated near its northern entrance, which Jaheira and Khalid had led them to. Khalid opened the doors for them and Aphra entered first, and then as she stepped through the door commented off-handedly, "Let's hope this town is different from the last, the less taverns I'm kicked out of and the less people try to kill me, the happier I'll be." Aphra was completely oblivious to the woman that had crept up behind her and attempted to stab her in the neck with a knife.

It happened so suddenly that Imoen was genuinely surprised at her own reaction - of pulling out her bow and firing a shot into the Nashkel Inn's interior, which glanced off of the enemy woman's armor and clattered against a nearby table's legs, but nonetheless got her attention. What had more of their attention however was the knife that had been used on Aphra - shattering into shards, from a combination of the hardness of Aphra's skin and the mediocre quality of the ore from Nashkel's mines. The woman stared at her hand for all of a moment before grunting and tossing aside the dagger and pulling out a mace and started chanting under her breath. Imoen could hear the arcane mutters from inside the woman's helmet.

She didn't get off a single blow though before Aphra lifted the woman by the neck and dangled her in the air by her chin, causing her to start gasping for breath and clinging to Aphra's arm, letting her weapon drop. "I surrender, I surrender!" She declared between a stiffened jaw, panicking.

"What's your name?" Aphra requested, a little too politely for talking to someone that had just tried to murder her on the spot.

"Neira!" She hissed out in-between labored breaths. "I-I-I don't want to—I was just doing my job!" She started gurgling, finding it difficult to breathe.

"Hey, that's too close to my name!" Neera objected. "Plus, she tried to kill you."

"It's more like Leira, you know? Neira? Than Nee-rah," Aphra sounded out as she dropped the woman on the ground. She kicked Neira's weapon away which skittered across the floor under a startled inn patron's table, and took off Neira's helmet with one hand, which helped her assassin breathe a little easier. Sometimes, Imoen didn't understand her sister at all. She kept her bow clenched tightly in her hands.

"You should run," Imoen quietly told the woman named Neira, who took off around the group immediately out of the main door of the Naskhel Inn. Imoen hoped they'd never see her again and retrieved the deflected arrow from the ground where it lay to put quietly back in her quiver.

"The ore out of this town is really shitty, if it breaks on my skull like that," Aphra joked after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Let me see your neck," Neera offered, and Aphra pushed her hair aside and revealed an undamaged surface. "Looks good! Nice to know your skull beats most swords," she joked.

"Can I rhyme that?" Garrick wondered. "What rhymes well with sword?" The bard's priorities, as ever, were fixated around his next performance.

"Ward, gourd, ford, bored," Neera rambled off various rhymes. "Toward, reward . . ."

A strangely familiar newcomer approached the group - this one significantly taller, balder, and odder. His head was adorned with a blue tattoo in the shape of a misaligned halo, and in his hand he held a small rodent that at first glance seemed to be a hamster, but at second glance the hamster stared pointedly at Imoen and she couldn't help but stare back. He really was terribly cute despite being held by such a scarred and callused palm.

"Minsc knew heroes would abound if he just waited!" Announced the large man and Aphra gasped and suddenly engulfed the man in an unexpected hug.

Imoen nearly pulled her back, but figured her sister could fight this battle on her own for a change. She watched with amusement as Aphra pulled away from the hug she'd instinctively and unexpectedly initiated. "Minsc!" Aphra cried out with familiarity, second-guessed herself, and backed off of the hug. "Oh wait, we haven't met yet. Shit, this is confusing!"

"Heroes are truly those who greet each other with such friendliness!" Minsc declared and hugged her again right back, this time nearly picking up Aphra off of the floor in the process. The breath fled from her lungs with an 'oof.'

"You know this . . . Person?" Jaheira wondered delicately.

"Minsc is a Rashemaar berserker. Like you, I knew we'd meet in Nashkel, but I wasn't sure exactly where or when," Aphra struggled to explain. "Sorry, Minsc, I'm Aphra. You haven't met me even though I've met you," she told the already-confused berserker.

"You have arrived because of Minsc's cry for help! Fair Dynaheir has been abducted!" Minsc announced to the ceiling.

"Oi, you're here to help him?" The rotund innkeeper called from over the bar. "Get him outta here, he's been harassing customers for days!"

"Maybe we should talk outside," Aphra conceded.

"We came all this way just to go to the inn, a-and n-now . . ." Khalid trailed off.

Imoen half-paid attention to the ensuing conversation that Aphra had with the warrior named Minsc, but she was largely paying attention to the hamster that kept staring right back at her. She understood that a friend of Minsc's had been abducted by gnoll bandits and was being held in a stronghold somewhere to the south, when Minsc caught her staring and guardedly drew Boo back out of her eyesight.

"Oh, I-I was just looking," Imoen promised. She wondered if she asked very nicely, if he'd let her hold Boo.

"You were admiring Boo!" Minsc decided and held up his hamster to be admired. Boo started cleaning his face with his little paws, and Imoen finally got a good look at him - a handsome creature, small with a sweet little round belly and golden fur the color of sunshine, he made quite a striking little beast. "There is much to be admired about Boo, he is quite the hamster," Minsc confided in her, but was suddenly cut off by Jaheira.

"We have much to do in the morn, and the mines to investigate," Jaheira reminded Aphra. "We have no time for detours. The fate of the region is at stake."

"A woman's life is at stake," Aphra argued. "I haven't met Dynaheir yet, and I want to try and save her . . . If I can. Minsc, where did you say she's being held? How can we help?"

"It is a day and a half hike, Minsc has scouted the area but has not the strength to take on the stronghold on his own! With help of fellow heroes, perhaps that can change," Minsc answered in his unusual way.

"Then we can be back in three days, and investigate the mines then," Aphra decided. She turned to Jaheira. "Can you wait that long? Or will you come with us?"

Jaheira's eyes narrowed in consideration, and she shared a long look with Khalid. Jaheira spoke for both of them after this tense silence, "We will wait for you here in town, after three days. On the fourth day if you have not arrived, we will investigate the mines ourselves," Jaheira decided. "I do not trust all of your present company," she felt the need to add with a pointed look at Montaron and Xzar.

Xzar giggled and Montaron yawned. "Can it wait until morning? We've been walking all bloody day," the halfling complained.

"Minsc?" Aphra deferred.

Minsc held up Boo to his ear, who chittered gently. "Boo says Dynaheir can wait an evening, but Minsc is unsure! A dear friend and companion's safety is at risk!"

"Well, we can leave now," Aphra murmured, "but traveling by night is dangerous. I think Monty has the right of it, we'll march into the wilderness in the morning and rescue Dynaheir. Then, after we get back from the trip, we can talk about Gorion and investigate the mines, Jaheira. How does that sound?"

Minsc clapped Aphra's back in a happy gesture and though his strength was mighty, Aphra barely moved under the pressure. "Onward, then! To sleep, and then victory!"

Imoen followed her sister and their friends into the inn interior, and shared a look with Jaheira as they parted and went into separate rooms. Jaheira and Khalid shut their door - and Imoen wondered just what it was the druid and her warrior husband saw in them that made them so cautious. Was it only the company they kept? And why did that book still feel so heavy in her bag?

She read from it as she went to sleep in a cot in the traveler's hostel, wondering what old Firebead would say. She could almost hear a familiar voice narrating as she read on, stirred by the memories that had awoken in Lathander's temple and the scent of the turning pages . . .

In ages past there was but one god of strife, death, and the dead, and he was known as Jergal, Lord of the End of Everything. Jergal fomented and fed on the discord among mortals and powers alike. When beings slew each other in their quest for power or in their hatred, he welcomed them into his shadowy kingdom of eternal gloom. As all things died, everything came to him eventually . . .

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All hail and thanks unto the mighty Trisa_Slyne!