"The world is beautiful, but has a disease called 'man.'"
—Friedrich Nietzsche
IMOEN
Imoen noticed etchings on Neera's staff in the light of dawn and recognized a few from her studies under Gorion's tutelage. One was for protection, and one for power. She didn't know the nature of the others and reminded herself to ask Neera on the road to the Friendly Arm's Inn. They would certainly have the time and would need to pass it somehow. Neera leaned her pilfered silvered staff on her shoulder against her toe while she held open the scroll of Stone-to-Flesh in front of her, and her brow furrowed. "Alright!" She announced after a moment, spoke a few words of arcane incantation, and rolled up the scroll as the words written in green ink on the page dissolved into the air.
There was a flash of light on the statue-woman's skin before it cleared up and suddenly she was human again, flesh and bone, blood and sinew and all. She fell forward onto her knees, and as Aphra went to help her up instinctively the woman instead stood up abruptly and struck Aphra on the nose. It hurt the both of them, though Aphra significantly less. Imoen snorted her laughter back.
"Sorry!" Aphra apologized instinctively. "Just trying to, um, hello! I'm Aphra, you were petrified. Do you know your name? Where you are?"
"By Tempus, that hurt!" the woman cried out. "Augh! Girl, your skull is as thick as a Norheim shield!" She sounded almost impressed and rubbed at her head as she stood to her full height, which was shoulder-to-shoulder with Aphra. Aphra seemed just as surprised by this as the woman was. "I am Branwen, a warrior and priest of Tempus," she introduced more formally with a nod and a wince. "And you, Aphra, have the hardest head in all the realms."
"You're not the first person to tell me that," Aphra admitted, and Imoen did indeed recall Gorion saying much the same, but for different reasons.
"Her skull beats swords!" Minsc announced for perhaps his own benefit, even though he clearly thought it was for Branwen's.
"I believe it," Branwen said. "What day is it? And year?"
"Year?" Imoen blurted but gave her the date. How long Branwen had been there was anyone's guess, as her face was about as expressive as stone when she heard the date.
After a few moments, Branwen looked away and breathed in relief. "Only a few months, then," she revealed and declared, "Tranzig will pay for this outrage!"
Imoen made a mental note of the name. Jaheira, standing next to her husband several feet away from the Zhents, stepped forward and offered a warm cloak in her arms to Branwen. "We will see you situated and armed again. Come, this way. I am Jaheira, a druid of Tethyr. This is my husband Khalid," she introduced.
Aphra watched them walk away, looking like she felt left out. Imoen knew that Aphra expected to bond with Jaheira from the way she'd spoken of the druid in Athkatla, and Aphra didn't seem to understand Jaheira's reticence and attitude. Still, Imoen did not understand why Aphra was trying to impress an obviously un-impressible person. Aphra's energy would be better redirected elsewhere.
As the others prepared their packs for travel back at the Inn, Jaheira escorted Branwen in ahead of them and got her a hot meal. Neera stuck around for a little while since Branwen seemed particularly grateful to the young mage, but Neera brushed it off as something 'anyone would have done' and sat by the fire to carve more things into her staff. Imoen watched her for a while before sitting opposite Neera and pulling out her journal to give it an update on certain events.
Gotta take a vial of stuff to Thalantyr in Beregost now, because we kicked the ass of those mines! We also met a few new friends on the way to the mines! Dynaheir was a captive of gnolls and I rescued her in a daring adventure, and Branwen is a priest who was turned to stone that Neera freed. Also, after meeting with Gorion's old friends, Jaheira and Khalid, Aphra indicated these were indeed the people she had met in her time in Athkatla. Still don't know what to do about that, we're taking it day by day. Aphra's getting less sleep these days. Jaheira doesn't like us very much, I think. The party seems divided along Xzar and Monty lines.
Garrick's going to be writing our epic tale as we unfold the nefarious forces at work in the Sword Coast, or something along those lines, I'm sure he'll properly bard up the tale of Imoen the Quick! FOR IT WAS I who uncovered the plot that linked the banditry in the north to the mine's troubles in the south. And kobolds of all things were what was killing the miners - while an evil Cyricist named Mulahey, whom we took prisoner for the mayor, was behind the shenaniganery! What sort of evil wrongdoers leave such a paper trail behind? It's as if they don't care if they're discovered.
It's suspicious. As are the dreams I've been having of late. Aphra's got her share of weird sleep problems, and I seem to have mine. I dreamt I died the other night—
"What'cha writing?" Neera wondered, a little annoyingly, from Imoen's side.
Imoen sheltered her quill and almost spilled the ink she'd borrowed from Garrick all over the floor, were it not for Neera's quick hand to steady the black bottle. "Oops! Thanks," Imoen grinned and tucked the quill behind her ear for a moment, not minding the ink staining her fingers or neck, or even her hair. She had a soap that would take care of it. "I'm just keeping track of things."
"What for? Posterity?" Neera quirked up an interested eyebrow. "Or for your legions of fan-followers who tremble in the wake of Imoen the Quick?"
"The latter, hopefully. I'd be a terrible parent," Imoen chuckled. "Always getting into trouble and danger, and—yeah, I can't imagine bringing a kid into this sort of life."
"People do it all the time! You'd be surprised," Neera rambled. "I have a friend up north whose parents are adventurers, although they retired once they had a kid. Maybe it's not in your cards right now, but you never know what the future holds, right?"
Imoen thought of her dream, and the wild-eyed man that had stabbed her through with the shining sword. "No, I suppose you don't, unless you're Aphra," she mused.
"We've all got our weirdness," Neera reasoned with a shrug as she paused in her carving. She then mused, "Do you think Xzar paints in front of a mirror each morning?"
Imoen nodded. "I like to picture he re-paints that black grin meticulously in front of a mirror every day. But I guess we'll never know because we're not that curious," she added.
"I feel like the more I know about him, the less I want to," Neera agreed.
Aphra marched over to them on creaking floorboards with half of the party's gear strapped to her back. Imoen stuffed her journal in her own pack - she insisted on at least carrying her own things - and there was a shiny new sword strapped to Aphra's waist, with a jewel encrusted pommel. "Gift from the mayor," she explained, tapping the pommel with her fingers. "Too afraid to use it though, I might just destroy it. Thinking of selling it."
"You are pretty rough on your things," Imoen agreed with a smile and slung her backpack around onto her back. She was planning on getting better armor from Taerom in Beregost while they were there - and more arrows for the bandits they'd surely encounter the entire way. She wanted to ask if he would dye it a shade of pink for her with enough coin.
Neera stood up and put away her knife in her boot that she was using for her etchings and tapped the staff on the ground once. A blue glow settled into the markings that slowly faded, and Neera seemed satisfied with her work. "I think we are all ready!" She announced as she adjusted part of her recently purchased corset. It seemed to help with some back problems she'd been low-key complaining about, and Aphra didn't mind carrying her stuff given she was basically at Neera's disposal without either of them realizing it.
Aphra motioned toward Garrick, Xzar, and the others. Jaheira, as usual, put as much distance between herself and her husband from the Zhents as possible. "We're heading north, to the Friendly Arm's Inn past Beregost, and I thought we could stop by Gorion's cairn along the way so you know where he's resting," Aphra explained as she looked to Jaheira and Khalid for confirmation.
Jaheira considered this for a moment before nodding, her curly hair bunching. She swatted the length of it away in irritation. "Very well, we will travel this far together, but then we must go our separate ways. Our duty is to investigate Cloakwood."
Aphra seemed torn and looked to Imoen, and Imoen shrugged. Since her sister didn't seem to know what to say, Imoen offered, "We can figure it out at the Friendly Arm."
"That sounds fair," Aphra agreed. "Are you leaving now?"
"We must get Branwen situated, and then we will join you on the road," Jaheira agreed curtly.
"W-wait for us in B-beregost, we sh-shouldn't be long," Khalid offered more diplomatically.
"We'll see about Thalantyr and that vial of weird stuff while we're waiting for you," Imoen offered, and her sister nodded.
The road to Beregost was more fraught with banditry than Imoen had been anticipating. Their party was still sizeable even without the addition of Jaheira and Khalid, and the others that had chosen to remain behind - Dynaheir, Minsc, and now Branwen traveled with the druid and the warrior. Xzar, Montaron, Garrick and Neera traveled with the sisters. En-route they encountered a party of seven ambushers that Aphra heard in advance through the thicket, so they were able to surprise-attack them instead.
"Garrick keep playing your song, but everyone stop for a moment," Aphra suddenly instructed.
Imoen stared up at her sister. "What do you hear?" She asked after a moment.
"I can't count but there's probably more than five of them. Bandits, I think," Aphra reported. "Living in the woods a while, by the smell of them."
"They'll hit us if we keep walking forward. We should go through the trees, maybe catch them from behind," Montaron suggested.
Neera frowned. "Wouldn't they be suspicious if we didn't keep going forward? Maybe just some of us should go into the woods while the rest pretend to get ambushed, but really, we'll set some spells off! I have a few imbued in this staff right now. One is a fireball, maybe!"
"Maybe?" Xzar did not like this at all judging from his tone, but he then giggled which changed the mood entirely.
"It's not like your spells don't go splooey sometimes too, I'm sure," Neera defended quickly. "Mine just do so spectacularly! Anyway, Xzar and I can set spells off at the first bandits who appear, while you guys go and sneak up behind them! Then Aphra can sword them until the rest die. It makes the most sense."
Imoen wished she had a few potions of invisibility and made a point to remember to buy some from Thalantyr, should he have them, when they got to Beregost. "It's you and me, Montaron!" She indicated toward the woods and Monty nodded with a frown. Imoen dropped her pack on the ground, since it would be hassle to sneak with it. She looked to her sister, who slung the big beast over her shoulder with the others and nodded at Imoen. Xzar, Garrick, Neera, and Aphra walked forward once Imoen and Montaron were in the trees.
They made hardly a sound and avoided every snapping twig by Tymora's grace. She didn't lose sight of Montaron and even took his direction in this, when he pointed to a specific enemy he suggested she nail with her bow, while he sneaked behind another who was hiding behind a tree and eying the road with determination. As Aphra's form came into sight along the road, laden with packs, Imoen let loose her arrow at her target and Montaron sank his knives into the back of his.
There were five more that responded to Aphra's presence, firing arrows that struck only their packs on her back and bounced off of her form. A cackling skull appeared in the air made out of red light and flew from Xzar's direction some distance into the woods where three of the bandit ambush party were caught in its blast, exploding outward with force but no fire.
Aphra dropped her backpacks on the ground and flew into the opposite trees, causing a few to sway in place as she moved too rapidly for Imoen's eyes to follow. Imoen loosed more arrows into the trees and when one bandit caught sight of her and sent an arrow back with a more powerful longbow, she retreated through the trees and toward the road, keeping low to the ground to make a smaller target of herself.
"Wish I had a potion of haste or boots of the cheetah - oof!" Imoen commented aloud as she tripped over a root and an arrow sailed right over where her head had just been. Grinning, she cried out her thanks to Tymora and turned around and distilled her focus into the arrow point, loosing the arrow and hoping it would strike true. It might have been her imagination that made the point of the arrow glow in the dappled sunlight, but it hit her pursuing enemy in the knee and downed him immediately, causing her smile to widen. "And thanks, Mask!" She added, not sure which of the gods was helping her, but grateful nonetheless. Another arrow sailed from Imoen's bow into the head of the downed bandit, and she didn't look back at his still form as she fled from the trees and toward the edge of the cleared line for the road.
There was ostensibly a bandit leader now in the road, a more heavily armored figure than the others she had seen. Two bandits were by his side and Imoen shot arrow after arrow at them as the three of them attacked Aphra together, but she managed to fend them off. Not without taking a few blows of course, but the weapons glanced off of her armor and skin. Her hair had come loose in the battle and was highly distracting to Aphra, and Imoen sighed at her sister, hoping she could convince the girl to just cut the length off at some point.
Neera was behind Aphra and pointed a spell from her staff at the leader that struck true and caused him to stumble back unexpectedly. An enraged look crossed his face as he raised his sword to charge at Neera who was entirely unfazed. Abruptly, the bandit leader popped out of existence and in his place was a small pixie that fluttered and floated erratically, as if she were unsure how to use her wings. A tiny voice erupted from her form that screamed in outrage and tried to charge Neera again.
"Oops! Uh, wild surge! Watch out!" Neera cried out, a little belated and lazily as she stepped back from the charging pixie.
In its place was suddenly an ogre with a loud pop of air. The ogre blinked, looked down at himself and his arms and form, and screamed in horror just as it transformed for what Imoen hoped was the last time . . . Into something that towered over the trees and dwarfed the road in all its translucent, jiggly horror - a giant cuboid slime.
"What the fu—" Aphra shouted, pointing up at the slime, just as it engulfed her in one swallow by extending its jelly to her and wrapping her so suddenly she didn't even think to struggle.
Imoen, Neera, and Xzar stared at the giant slime that towered over the trees as Aphra floated through its visible insides, blinking in surprise and holding her breath as she floated in its digestive system, suspended. The bandits stared with them, and the battle suddenly ceased for a moment.
"Uh," was all Neera could say, "Aphra? If you can hear me, try to cut your way out! You don't wanna be digested by a slime! Trust me!" She shouted between her cupped hands as loud as she could.
Aphra started struggling in place, flailing her sword around as best as she could while she was moving through living jelly. The slime started to shudder and shake, and after a few moments, Aphra began to move more fiercely and the slime couldn't take it anymore. Aphra was projected suddenly out of the top of the giant olive-colored slime and sent flying through the air and over the nearby trees. She landed before the bandits a moment later, covered in goo and slightly shaking the ground when she hit it hard. She coughed up some jelly she'd accidentally swallowed or inhaled a moment later all over her own armor, continuing to gag and splutter for several moments.
The slime, continuing to shudder, wandered off through the woods and left. Imoen didn't even know what Volo's manual said about killing slimes, or if it was even possible without a great deal of magic, and she didn't want Neera to cast another spell at the thing just in case it backfired and turned them all into slimes instead. Being suddenly a pixie would be disorienting enough, let alone finding oneself an ogre a few seconds later. Becoming a giant slime would be incomprehensible.
The bandits stared down at Aphra's slimed form and started to back away with panicked expressions. Imoen fired an arrow at one that hit her in the shoulder, and she sheltered her wound even as she ran off toward the trees, abandoning her companion without even a cry aloud. The other bandit followed her after a moment, dropping his weapons in front of the coughing Aphra in the process.
"You better run!" Imoen called out, cackling. Montaron stepped out of the woods then, his knives dripping with blood. Any remaining enemies saw their fellows in the road fleeing and followed suit, leaving three dead, and one transformed slime running into the woods as someone else's problem.
Imoen ran up to Aphra after the conflict was over. Aphra stood with Imoen's grunting help and Xzar cast a cantrip of prestidigitation over her without asking. Aphra blinked and was suddenly cleaned of slime in the process. "Oh! Thank you, Xzar," she looked down at her slime-less form and smiled up at the necromancer.
"'Tis nothing!" said Xzar. "I too, have known what it is to have slime in . . . Crevices," he commented, giving away entirely too much information about himself as usual and it was nothing Imoen wasn't used to at this point.
"It was everywhere," Aphra agreed. "And it tastes revolting!"
"Indeed," Xzar concluded in solemn agreement.
Garrick offered her his water-skein - he had remained behind the group and continued his bardic song in support, the magic of it settling over them like confidence. Now that the battle was over, he had stopped and Imoen felt a little deflated. Aphra took the water from him gratefully and used it to wash out her mouth, and Imoen walked around and retrieved her arrows. She left the one that was in the one bandit's head, though, simply because she wasn't able to remove it without asking for help and didn't want to have to clean it anyway.
Montaron and Neera saw to looting the valuables of the enemy, but only found a few gold. Imoen didn't make it an issue and let them keep it since as Montaron had pointed out, they hadn't discussed a party-sharing system yet. Other than what gold the bandits had already stolen, there was nothing of serious value on their persons. They dragged the bodies off to the side of the road at Aphra's insistence (or rather she did most of the dragging while Montaron smoked a cigar, and everyone else pretended to look busy) to make way for carts and continued on the way to Beregost. Imoen wondered what Jaheira's group of older adventurers might think of the bodies that Aphra's group tended to leave in their wake. Imoen made the executive decision for them not to tell Jaheira about the giant slime they'd just released into nature.
Imoen asked Neera about her surges and her staff carvings - the staff she seemed happy to talk about, but the surges she always found a way to change the subject around. Imoen let her, not minding her reticence - understanding it all too well in fact, for Imoen had a share of secrets she'd kept to herself as well, even from Aphra. It seemed that Neera was used to making do with very little, and in fact was perfectly content to continue quietly enchanting Silke's staff ever-further until it resembled something useful to Neera. The wild mage could already store various magics in it for contingencies, and it was still very useful as a blunt weapon. Currently, Neera explained, she was trying to make it more durable and more powerful so it could, say, deflect a sword without taking damage - like Aphra.
It was interesting, but when Neera talked about Aphra with admiration, she could swear that Aphra's ears burned red up ahead. It amused Imoen to see her sister so blatantly crushing on someone who didn't seem to notice - or was that admiration mutual? Imoen had a tough time telling, since Neera tended to change the subject a lot regardless of whether it was about her wild magic or not.
They made it to Beregost without further incident about six hours later, and immediately went to the Jovial Juggler in the south of town to purchase rooms. Their feet were tired from the journey but with so much walking done lately and wilderness trekking, Imoen felt better about it and less tired than she had before. With the fair still going on in Nashkel, quite a few travelers and other adventurers were about the place, so Aphra's group did not draw any wanton stares. The Innkeeper was happy enough to see them, having remembered Imoen from before. He even gave them a discount since he had somehow already heard through rumors that they had been the ones to help liberate the Nashkel mines.
"Our reputation precedes us," Imoen announced, "like Minsc said, we're great big heroes!"
"I miss the big guy," Aphra mourned.
"I miss Boo," Neera empathized.
"We'll see them soon," Imoen shrugged. "In the meantime, who wants to come with me to see a high wizard?!"
"Ooh, ooh, me!" Garrick volunteered and sidled up to Imoen with a smile. "I've longed to peruse Thalantyr's wares!"
"A high wizard? Or a HIGH wizard?" Neera's eyebrows waggled in amusement. "Yeah, I'll come."
"I'm out, no more shenanigans for me today," Monty shook his head and grumpily marched upstairs to go, presumably, to bed.
Xzar looked between Montaron's retreating form and Aphra's, looking torn. "If you're tired, you don't have to come," Aphra offered him, and Xzar shouted a loud approval as he ran up the stairs with the last bits of energy he had in his lanky, bird-like body. "I guess it's just the four of us again," Aphra smiled, looking between Imoen, Garrick, and Neera.
"Just like old times!" Neera gushed and hooked Aphra's arm under her own, and Garrick's on her other side. Imoen linked on the other side of Garrick and they marched together toward the doors. "We're off to see a wizard, the wizard of High Hedge!" Neera sang.
"Maybe on the way back or before we leave, we can see Firebead," said Aphra.
Imoen thought about the book that was still in her pack, the one she read each night now while everyone was asleep. Over and over she read it, trying to remember why, and what it meant, and what Firebead wanted to tell her with it. She wanted to face the old man again and ask him what he knew, and why. "Yeah, let's do that!" Imoen agreed, forcing a happy tone to her voice. "He wanted me to keep an eye out for a book for him. Maybe we can go book shopping tomorrow and see if someone has it!"
"It's a date, then," Neera chuckled as they walked down the streets, arm-in-arm.
"Where are we going?" Garrick wondered, and they all stopped suddenly.
"To High Hedge, to see Thalantyr?" Imoen questioned the air, herself, and their direction.
"Oh. Well, it's that way," Garrick pointed in the opposite direction they'd been walking.
"Thank you," said Imoen as she redirected them, and they walked in the same manner in the right direction this time.
It was nightfall by the time they reached High Hedge, which was through a small but tended path through the woods to the east of town. There were stirrings of wildlife in the bushes, but nothing attacked or ambushed them so close to town and to the wizard's abode. It loomed like a hexagonal castle, with a high hedge-wall that gave it its namesake. The hedges, if it wasn't Imoen's imagination, seemed to move on their own internally, with dark branches and vines slithering like snakes to give it its perpetual shape. What sort of enchantment or defense system it was, Imoen couldn't imagine, but she was immediately jealous of it and wanted a wizard keep of her own one day. "Imagine it guys: me with a tower this big! A little crusty old potion lady with critters!" Imoen said even as she pictured it all in her mind, retiring one day from adventuring to be an old witch in the woods. It was the dream, really.
"You? A wizard?" Aphra scoffed.
Imoen felt a little hurt by that reaction. "Or a witch! I know a few cantrips!" The pink-haired girl bragged, though she really only knew how to summon magelight and float a few small things. "I haven't gotten a spell book yet, but I will one day. You wait! I bet I'll be an arch-wizard when I retire!"
"Alright, Imoen," Aphra cajoled, annoyingly. "Whatever you say."
Imoen made a 'harrumph' noise and decided to ignore her unsupportive sister. She led the way toward the hedges, which did not move - much - at her presence. There was a path in-between the hedge wall that led to the inside of the fortress and a large wooden door with brass knockers. Just as Imoen was about to raise one of the knockers, it was pulled from her hands by the door swinging inward at her touch with a loud and slow creaking that echoed into the night. Inside was a dimly lit corridor by firelight.
"Eerie, but for a wizard abode that checks out," Neera reported, tapping her staff on the ground.
"Should I draw my sword? I feel like I should, but would that make the wizard mad?" Aphra wondered, and Imoen felt like slapping herself in the forehead in response.
"Well Aphra, how mad would you be if someone wandered into your house with an oversized knife, pointy-end-first?" Neera, thankfully, pointed out so that Imoen didn't have to.
"It's just—the last two—but, wizards!" Aphra said with a surprisingly shy voice. "If things go tits up, don't say I didn't warn us."
"Don't be such a bufflehead," Imoen told her and walked in through the open door. "Thalantyr?" She called out into the hall but heard nothing. Imoen continued walking forward, keeping an eye out for anything unusual since they were at the wizard's mercy at that time.
A sudden 'foom' noise from up ahead rocked the ground beneath their feet for a moment. "This also tracks for a wizard's abode," Neera felt the need to add, and Imoen chuckled, remembering a time she'd heard a similar sound followed by much cursing from Gorion's lab. There was no cursing this time, however, so Imoen followed the noise down a winding hall toward a central chamber that opened up into the wizard's laboratory.
It was a wizard's sanctum - and the place where they were at their most powerful. Shelves of potions and magical items lined every inch of wall, and altars and worktables cluttered every inch of floor with a small path between them. Imoen felt comforted and intimidated by the size of the space, so much larger than Gorion's more humble chambers in Candlekeep given to him by the monks. This, surely Thalantyr had crafted for himself. She wondered what Khelben's lab must look like, and it briefly boggled Imoen's imagination.
Thalantyr was a human mage and a conjurer and alchemist of no small power, judging by the array of harvested components from various creatures, plants, and fungi all around him in various shelves of secured jars. He wore a viridian robe of splendid fabric that was doubtlessly enchanted by his own hand, and though there was gray in his hair the look in his eyes was as sharp as Aphra's sword. "I don't have much patience for strangers on my property," Thalantyr spoke first as they all took in the sights around them. "Do us both a favor and move along . . . Unless, of course, you have magic for sale. From the looks of you, you couldn't afford the items in my shop."
"There you are!" Imoen found the courage to pipe up. "No, that's not why we're here. We're here because Nashkel needs your help in identifying this substance," she explained, and pulled the vial of strange corrosive liquid in her pocket out. It was yellow and sickly colored. Thalantyr examined it in her fingers for a moment before taking it from her and looking at it before a mage-light he summoned with a wave of his hand more closely.
"Where did you find this?" He asked, turning back to Imoen.
"From a Cyricist in the mines, apparently it's what's been applied to the ore in the mines which is what's making the iron so brittle," Imoen blathered, happy to talk to someone educated who could help them fix this problem. "We think the bandits are involved, but that's beside the point. If you'd be willing to help out, I'm sure the mayor of Nashkel would reward you however he could."
Thalantyr stared at the vial in his hands, considering its murky contents. Finally he turned his back to them and brought the container over to a table full of clean glass phials and beakers. "Return tomorrow evening," he said over his shoulder, and waved dismissively at the four of them, instructing, "Run along now."
"You sir, are a wizard of few words," Garrick chimed in, "but might I pique your interest in a few scrolls I've acquired on our adventure? Some from the aforementioned Cyricist's horde?"
If Garrick had any such scrolls, he'd been holding out on Imoen and was sneakier than she credited him with. Thalantyr glanced over his shoulder at Garrick and said, "Not now! I'm working, boy. Be on your way and return tomorrow. We'll talk about scrolls then."
Garrick's eyes gleamed with excitement as they walked out. "Did you hear him talk to me? Imagine all the spells in his book! I can't wait to meet him again!" He gushed as they walked out of the hedges, and the door slammed shut behind them of its own accord.
"Maybe we were hearing different conversations?" was Neera's guess when Imoen looked to her for some kind of clarification, when it was clear Garrick wasn't going to offer any.
"Well, he wasn't half as bad as Elminster," Aphra muttered under her breath and marched on back to town as Imoen and the others trailed behind her.
Imoen, as they returned to the Jovial Juggler and saw Xzar giggling over his spell-book and Montaron drunkenly sleeping and loudly snoring, knew she and Aphra would likely be getting little sleep that night. Were it not for the excitement of the past few days alone, it was for the fear of what the night may bring. Imoen returned to her journal as Aphra described the latest events in Athkatla, as she had found herself returned there before her last rest.
Aphra says she went back there, to Athkatla, to the future where there were drow priestesses and genies and planar prisons.
Aphra seems pretty resigned to her fate even though we still don't know the what and the how and the why of it all. If she's really living out the future, and I'm gone there . . . Maybe she was sent back by the gods to stop that from happening and change things for the better.
Sarevok. Irenicus. Tazok. Mulahey. So many names to keep track of - I have a feeling there will be more, the further we investigate. The man named Sarevok killed Gorion, Aphra says. The name seems so familiar to me and I can't figure why! Sarevok. Sarevok. Sarevok.
I think figuring out who he is must be the key to it all.
Also, there's something Aphra's not telling me about her time in Athkatla. She hesitated when I asked her about the others, Jaheira, Xzar, and the rest. She said it's not in stone yet, but I disagree. If she's already lived it, seen it, and breathed it, how could it not be more set in stone? I confuse myself when I think on this. The future is the future, but if it can be somehow altered from its course, would the rest of us even know it? Unless Aphra told us, how would we know if she really changed things for the better? I trust her with my life, but not with everyone's life.
When I think that the gods must have done this, sometimes I question myself. What god would be so cruel as to make a fate unchangeable no matter how one lived it? Who would do that?
Sarevok. Sarevok. SAREVOK. Something about that name. He's the key, somehow. Maybe he did this too, if he had the power to kill Gorion - what else can he do?
"I'm going to draw the Sharran I met, Viconia," Aphra announced, and pulled out the charcoal she'd permanently borrowed from Garrick, and the journal she'd been drawing profiles in next to all her tiny, tiny scrawling handwriting.
Imoen paused in her own writing. "The one that almost got burned by Beshabans?" She recalled from Aphra's story.
"She's sassy," Aphra reported. "You'd like her quite a lot, I think."
"No Garrick or Neera though?" Imoen questioned, wondering what happened to her friends in the future that they weren't at their side in Aphra's account.
"Not yet, anyway," Aphra shrugged. Garrick and Neera were both asleep, and so Aphra felt comfortable continuing, as she glanced over their sleeping forms and spoke softly: "That might be better for them both eventually, considering all the danger we're constantly in. Jaheira didn't seem to think they were dead when I asked."
Imoen folded her book up and bottled up her ink, wiping her quill on a black cloth Garrick carried for that purpose and put it away amongst the bard's things. He didn't seem to mind that they were using the tools of his trade.
Imoen didn't want to think about the danger, or the things Aphra didn't tell her. She didn't want to think - or dream - at all, but neither did she want to continue the conversation or continue writing her thoughts down when they became bleak. So, Imoen slung her legs around in her cot and curled up on her side, announcing, "M'tired, goodnight Aph," informally.
Aphra grunted a reply and seemed focused on her drawing by the candlelight. It was too dim for anyone else to probably properly see, but Aphra had never seemed to have a problem with seeing in the near-dark or working by low light, courtesy of years of scholarship and being blessed with enhanced senses. Imoen turned away and pointed her attention at the dim red space behind her eyelids.
Though Imoen had been certain that her mind was too restless for rest, she nonetheless fell asleep and found herself in another strange dream. This one she at least didn't die in - but there was death everywhere. It was the same golden-eyed man as before, driving arrows into skulls with a mighty bow even as others all around her cut down their enemies. Her hands felt like lead. She dropped the weapon in them, her bow, and felt useless. Orcs and men and undead fought each other in a senseless slaughter. Aphra screamed her name but she barely heard it - barely caught sight of her sister in the chaos, in gleaming, black-scaled armor with a shining silver sword, just as someone shoved Imoen down to the ground because she'd just been standing there watching all the death in the war that erupted all around her and whimpering at the bloodshed.
A roar from the air all around them, rumbling the ground and thundered in her bones. She looked up and saw Aphra, with much shorter hair down to her shoulders as if it all had been recklessly hacked off at some point, staring down at her as she hovered for a startling moment in the clutches of a massive red dragon. She blinked and said nothing, lying there in the claws of the great beast, visibly resigned as she was carted away by the great beating of his wings that sent tufts of air and even people flying. Imoen had fallen to the ground with the roar, but the beating of his wings pressed her into it, making it hard to move. Aphra's sword clanged to the ground next to her.
The angry man who had killed her in the other dream had pushed her, had saved her, and stared her down with those sharp lupine eyes. He was a hunter, she realized. Her hunter. Something in her bones knew him, and she couldn't look away. Neither could he.
She awoke with a start and was breathing heavily, only for Aphra to suddenly appear at her shoulder asking her if she needed water. Imoen nodded and took the waterskin from her sister, composing herself by inches. To her credit Aphra didn't pry despite her curiosity, but her attention did seem divided between Imoen and the window in front of her. Imoen quirked up an eyebrow as Aphra left her side to go peep out the window in the pre-dawn light at something down the southern road that she squinted at.
"I think Jaheira's group is almost here and traveled through the night. Maybe they got ambushed on the road like we did," Aphra murmured.
Imoen yawned. "Those darn good-for-nothin' bandits, at it again," she said, and swung her legs off the cot. She'd fallen asleep in her armor and felt stiff and a little chafed, determined to leave it off for the day if they were to stay in Beregost. It made the most sense, since Jaheira and her group would want a rest from such a long trek. "Wait," Imoen added with some amusement, and turned to face her sister just as she was about to walk downstairs, "Don't tell me you can hear her at this distance."
"Her sarcasm is palpable even from this distance," Aphra nodded quite seriously. "Did you have a nightmare?" She inquired faintly.
"I get them sometimes," Imoen shrugged it off.
"Me too," Aphra murmured.
Imoen paid it no mind. She nearly left before she remembered she was still in her armor - and then remembered just how many Inns within the city they'd been kicked out of, and decided to take her bow with her as she left the room for the baths of the Jovial Juggler, hoping the water was still at least a little warm.
It wasn't and had yet to be refilled from the previous night, so she left it to the attendants and exited the Inn to go find Jenassa or perhaps bother old Firebead for some breakfast. She'd let Jaheira, Khalid and the others settle in and hope Aphra didn't make a mess of things by the time she returned with food.
She spied neither Jenassa nor Firebead but did see several Flaming Fist patrols that morning that she pointedly dodged. She managed to - honestly - acquire a basket of fruits and pastries, though it hurt her to part with so much of their preciously acquired coin. Still, Imoen wanted to start the day off on the good side of the law, particularly because they were out in force. She walked by a nearby bookshop and noticed it was still closed, and since she was unsure of the time in relation to the store hours, she went back to the Jovial Juggler with her food.
Jaheira and Khalid's group was all downstairs, seated at different tables and speaking with Garrick and Neera who had made their way down when hearing the commotion. Aphra had yet to emerge, likely finishing up the details on her drawing, so Imoen deposited the basket of goods into Minsc's lap and told him to "have at it!" while she swiftly made her way up the steps toward their shared room.
Montaron was still asleep, and Imoen felt that was just as well. Xzar was poking Aphra in the back as she finished her drawing, and she kept telling him quietly to, "quit it," but he did not.
"Aphra," Imoen said and clapped her hands. "Jaheira's here," she told her sister.
"I can hear that," Aphra reported mildly. "Almost done. Seriously Xzar, what is it? Stop poking me, 'tis annoying," she grumbled.
"When are you going to draw me?" He complained, surprising Imoen a bit who chuckled.
"I'll do your profile after Viconia's," she offered, and closed her book on her hand, turning her attention to Imoen. "Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming," she announced and stood, brushing her long hair over one shoulder and right into Xzar's face.
He coughed and spat her hair that had accidentally flown into his mouth and stood up to follow her out despite this, and together the three of them made their way down the stairs, still in their garb from yesterday.
"Aphra, Imoen, l-lovely to see you," Khalid greeted politely with a big smile. Aphra winced and Imoen grinned back despite her alarm at her sister's expression. If she didn't think Aphra was hiding something before, it was certainly noticeable now.
"Hello, Khalid," Aphra greeted back politely, and met his eyes cautiously. "How was—"
The doors to the Inn suddenly swung open and in walked a familiar, if sinister figure all in black armor with a wicked sword strapped to his waist. It was the half-orc warrior Dorn Il-Khan that they had met in Nashkel, who glanced over at Jaheira and Khalid and nodded once, before giving them all a wide berth and making his way to the Innkeep to speak in quiet tones. Aphra watched him a little curiously before looking questioningly to Jaheira.
"We were all traveling to the Friendly Arm's Inn, it made sense to go together," Jaheira summarized with a sigh. "I think this is where we shall part ways, and for the better. I do not appreciate his demeanor."
"He's v-very talented," Khalid complimented, perhaps diplomatically in contrast to Jaheira who seemed to be full of criticism for the world around her. "A-and useful against b-b-bandits."
"I don't have a problem with him," Aphra shrugged. "Safety in numbers, is what everyone keeps saying."
"Too large or too small of a party, and you will make different sized targets for your enemies. Some will be prepared for that," Jaheira cautioned. "I intend to investigate the iron mine in Cloakwood after leaving Beregost. Should you part ways with the Zhents, you are welcome to accompany us."
"I-I don't know where we're going, but I can show you where we buried Gorion," Aphra blurted out in lieu of an answer. Xzar hovered nearby, oblivious, over the basket of foods. Imoen had only just noticed, but Aphra had been holding onto her sketching book the entire time. "Let's all travel that far together at least."
Jaheira looked between Khalid and Imoen, and then back at Aphra. "Very well," she agreed. "Minsc and Dynaheir, you have business in the direction of Candlekeep, yes?" She verified, looking over to the Rashemi witch and her boisterous companion.
Dynaheir nodded. She looked much healthier than when they had found her, with good food in her system and sunshine on her reddish hair, and clean, repaired purple robes. "If it is in our direction, we shall accompany thee."
"It's between the road to the Friendly Arm's Inn and Candlekeep," Imoen reported. "It's not very far out of the way, really. I'm sure we can find it again."
"I remember," Aphra stated confidently.
"We dropped off the vial to Thalantyr, he said he'd take a look at it for us," Imoen added. "We have some shopping to do in town that we can take care of while you lot rest up from your trip! I want to see the Thunderhammer just as he opens!" She determined, clapping her hands together and rubbing them against each other.
"We will join you then, and rest after. There is much we require for our journey north," Jaheira said.
Imoen thumbed the sample of ore in one of her belt-pouches, something Jaheira and their group had acquired as they'd ventured through the mines. She wondered if the man they called the Thunderhammer would be able to find a way to work around it, with Thalantyr's alchemical genius to aid.
Jaheira explained the situation to the smith once they arrived at his shop, just as it was opening, and Imoen handed over the sample of ore for Taerom to examine. He spent some time bent over his anvil by the firelight with a glass scope that looked gnomish in design, and then handed it off to an assistant and returned to business. He promised nothing, only that he'd look into it, and focused on their orders. Minsc needed better armor, which Jaheira paid for, and Khalid needed repairs to his and his shield as well as a new bastard sword since his had shattered. However, Aphra offered hers that she'd gotten as a reward from the mayor, and he was happy enough with its balance that he kept it and Aphra purchased a sturdy longsword instead, to replace the one she had borrowed from Hull which had many nicks and warps in it now and needed to likely be repurposed. Taerom was happy to take it off her hands, in any case.
The smith didn't have the means to dye the armor pink, but he had a dark shade of sturdy studded leather armor that Imoen was able to purchase the pieces of that she needed - some parts weren't quite the right size, and he was quick to customize and adjust things on the spot for her with pieces from other sets. It seemed the armor was mainly designed for the comfort of men, but Imoen eventually found a chest-piece that fit her comfortably and kept her protected. She purchased more arrows and left the shop to the others to get some sunshine outside.
Garrick and Neera had stayed behind to eat more food and work on their own projects, while Xzar went back to bed and Montaron was still asleep. Dorn was nowhere to be seen or found, and everyone else had left to go to the smithy to get some early shopping done.
Imoen pointed her face up to the risen sun, and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth. It was good to be alive; it was good that she could still appreciate being alive. Khalid joined her wordlessly after a while, and they nodded at each other, both enjoying the pleasant and quiet part of the morning. Jaheira joined them before long, followed by Minsc and Dynaheir, and Imoen had to cajole Aphra out of the smithy when it became clear she had no intention of joining them.
"Aw, but what else am I going to do today? Just let me stay," she complained. "I'm sure they don't mind. They could use the help!"
"Come on, Aph, they have a business to run, quotas to meet and such," Imoen reminded her and redirected Aphra outside.
"I just want to man the bellows, that's all! You can come and get me in a few hours," Aphra whined even as she let Imoen push her out the door.
"Come on! Let the smiths do the smithing!"
"But I—"
"Nope!"
Khalid chuckled at Aphra on the way out and she gave him a surprisingly abashed look. "It's i-interesting to s-see how d-d-different you are from G-Gorion," he commented with a shake of his head. "And h-how alike in other ways."
"How do you mean?" Imoen wondered, frowning. She had known the old man's habits inside and out, had seen him for hours a day every day along with most of the other monks over the years that assisted with her tutoring. Those tutors were mostly Tethtoril, for he had a well of infinite patience that the others certainly lacked for Imoen's tomfoolery, despite their scholarly fortitude. Imoen knew what temperature Gorion took his favorite flavor of tea at, the consistency of his preferred blanket for when he got cold in the tower in the late night while he poured over ancient scrolls, the precise smell of the metallic ink he used to write his letters, and the feeling of his quill on her cheek from when he tickled her with it as a child. She did not, however, know these people who claimed to know him well and from the hidden past. Growing up in a stuffy library had a different effect on Aphra, who had soaked up all the knowledge like an extremely absorbent sponge. Physically, however, she was far from scholarly. Between Aphra's appearance and Imoen's nature, they were stark contrasts to Gorion.
"Just try to pry the old man from a scroll shop," Jaheira grumbled, and seemed to forget for a moment that Gorion was dead, as her expression quickly soured. Imoen's breath caught in her chest, and tears threatened her eyes for a moment before she was able to swallow them.
Khalid took this another way and laughed. "We had to s-s-stop at e-every magical sh-shop in Calimport," he recalled fondly.
"Eventually we abandoned him, and made our way to our Inn," Jaheira continued the story, seeing Aphra and Imoen's interest. "The following morning, he was in the library, having studied all night a Netherese scroll he'd somehow acquired. I know not how."
"He had scrolls from Netheril? How come he never told us about this?" Aphra asked the air, rather than Jaheira.
"There's probably a lot he didn't tell us on account of all that Harper paraphernalia he had in his closet," Imoen blabbed, earning a stern look from Jaheira and Khalid who quickly looked over to Dynaheir and Minsc. Minsc was listening to Boo very intently, and Dynaheir was quietly overhearing them with a raised eyebrow.
"Imoen, it is best you do not mention this aloud, and in such a public place," Jaheira warned sternly.
"It's not exactly a secret, it's clearly how you all met. I found his pin and all sorts of letters from Uncle K—" She cut herself off when Jaheira's glare intensified and cleared her throat. "Alright, no Harper nonsense. At least, that's the last of it! Promises."
"Wait, Gorion was a Harper? Since when?" Aphra stated, blinking at Imoen like she had just told her Abeir-Toril was flat and laid on the back of a tortoise. Jaheira and Imoen both sighed.
"Since always, Aphra - you just didn't notice, and I never told you because I assumed everyone knew," Imoen informed her.
"By Silvanus, he never could keep a secret well," Jaheira sighed. "Even you he was meant to keep secret, and surely that backfired."
"Secret? Me? I lived in Candlekeep, it's small but everyone knows everyone," Aphra stated, sounding and looking confused. "And bounty hunters have been attacking me everywhere we go."
Jaheira sighed again. Imoen smiled.
Thalantyr promised he'd look into the matter, and let it never be said that wizards are lazy or that they do not deliver on their promises. Elminster notwithstanding. Garrick apparently played the mighty red-capped brigand (as Aphra would put it) in a play as part of Silke's troupe, hence his fascination with Thalantyr and the wizard's mannerisms. Garrick spent some time annoying him after we returned to the lab, until he was finally asked to leave courtesy of a summoned air elemental that picked Garrick up and dropped him off outside with the rest of us.
We spent the rest of the day in Beregost, so Jaheira and the others could rest and stock up properly. Aphra finally told me what had been bothering her, after I pestered her a bit. We sisters know how to push each other's buttons.
She said that in Athkatla, Jaheira and the others had explained to Aphra that her birth father was Bhaal, the deceased god of murder. She'd been having dreams, in-between her visits to the future, dreams of blood and bones and death. It sounds terrifying. It must be true, for she would not lie about such a thing.
I don't know what any of this means. Gorion always said he took us in. He never said who our fathers were. Is mine . . . ? Where do we come from? Why didn't he tell us before he died? I cannot blame him for failing to predict his own death, but to take no precautions for it? Leave no inheritance? What happened to his library at Candlekeep - did Ulraunt seize it? His letters, his room, his inks? How could they just shut us out forever? I have to believe that we'll go back one day, and hopefully then find answers.
For now, we make our way to his grave. Aphra remembers where it is, so she says. Hopefully, she doesn't lead us in circles. I've been the one with the map all this time.
Jaheira's hand trembled as it touched the cairn and brushed off a few of the dead flowers. After a time, she closed her eyes, and listened to the wind. Then she spoke, "You girls did well to honor him. This place is sacred."
"We thought it was nice, even if he died here," Aphra said as she wrung her hands in anxiety. "I-I only wanted—a nice place to visit him. To remember him." Neera patted Aphra on the arm after a moment, and then linked her arm into Aphra's with a smile that seemed to put Aphra at ease.
"I think it's a nice memorial," Neera commented, and Garrick beside her nodded.
Xzar started to pick flowers to Jaheira's consternation, but she did not stop him. After a little while, Imoen watched him and realized what he was doing and joined him for a moment to help him gather an armful. Together they approached the cairn and Xzar, with his strange painted grimace, smiled as he and Imoen started to stick flowers in-between the rocks and decorated the grave-site.
Imoen stopped after a moment to give Jaheira and Khalid some space with Gorion's grave. Branwen, Minsc, and Dynaheir kept their distance and observed quietly at the edge of the clearing, pausing for a moment to break out some rations and eat as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Boo slept in Minsc's hands contentedly as Minsc gently pet him with one finger. Xzar continued, in her periphery, to hum to himself and stick random flowers that he had found into the cairn. As odd as it was, the sight of it warmed Imoen's heart a little bit.
Monty finally finished his cigar and approached to ask, "When will we be leaving?"
"Well, we're going to the Friendly Arm's Inn just up the road," Imoen supplied. "So, unless we run into more bandits on the road, it shouldn't be long now."
Monty glanced at his companion, who had stopped stuffing flowers to closely examine the standing stones with wide, curious eyes and was muttering to himself. "If there's to be ale, I'll not object," he admitted. "I could do for a pint."
Imoen grinned. "Spoken like a true halfling." Imoen retreated back for a moment to pat the cairn. Xzar approached it with more flowers and seemed to whisper something to it, but whatever it was became lost on the wind. As Imoen trilled off after taking one of the daisies from the grave with her, Aphra touched the stones of Gorion's cairn with fondness for a moment before leaving the clearing for good and walking back to Jaheira, who had already had her moment with the grave-site. Jaheira did not speak to her, but Aphra still followed the woman around like a puppy looking for approval.
Imoen stared at the flower in Xzar's hands contemplatively. "They were my father's favorite. Also makes a good tea for the croup." She plucked the daisy from his fingers and put it on top of the cairn. "We should go catch up before we get lost."
"Yes, we should," Xzar agreed and nodded enthusiastically. "To the Arms of those most Friendly, we flee! May they not squeeze us too tightly."
They eventually made their way back to the road. Towards where they had met the Fist that tried arresting the two Zhents (or circus performers, that still wasn't clear - maybe it was both?), Monty and Aphra were waiting and appeared to be comparing stories of things they had killed or stolen, though Aphra was hardly the thief that Imoen was. Though Montaron was clearly older and had a great deal more experience than Imoen, she doubted that the halfling had ever successfully pick-pocketed the Blackstaff. Imoen alone had that claim.
"Nice to see you getting along," Imoen greeted, Xzar trailing after her and still mumbling about daisies.
"He's a dirty rotten bastard," Aphra cheerfully admitted. "But he's got one thing on me - I'd never be crazy enough to rob a caravan on my own. The worst thing I stole was a necklace, and only because you goaded me into it." Imoen grinned, remembering Aphra's sole heist fondly.
"Lily-liver," Montaron criticized. "You stick with me when we get to Baldur's Gate, I'll show you the ropes."
"What? What ropes?" Aphra seemed confused. Imoen smiled behind her hand, unable to contain a chuckle.
The party headed north up the road, sticking to the tracks and twice diving into the underbrush to avoid a horseback courier. The wizard and halfling trailed behind as Imoen and Aphra led the way, closely followed by Garrick and Neera. Jaheira's group had left a little earlier than they and would likely make it to the Inn an hour or so before them. It was a relatively short journey with no incident, and they made it to the Friendly Arm's Inn before nightfall.
The assassin, who had the gall to introduce himself and announce his intention, pointed a finger at Aphra and cast a spell that struck her between the brows. Aphra went cross-eyed for a moment and then fell to the ground with a fervor and started shoveling dirt into her mouth.
Imoen wanted to react and help her sister, but her instincts told her to aim her bow at the assassin and start firing. Aphra would have to get her help later - eating dirt wouldn't kill her, and even the assassin - judging from his expression - didn't quite know what to do with his dirt-eating target. He was soon dodging arrows and bolts from her and Garrick, and even impressively managed to knock an arrow out of the air with his staff.
He didn't see Jaheira and Khalid descending from the steps of the Inn behind him, to see what the commotion was about as battle erupted and he started spell-casting again. Khalid's sword swung through him, impaling him, and Jaheira's staff pushed him off Khalid's blade and sent his bloodied body tumbling down the steps. The battle was over in seconds.
Aphra continued to shovel dirt into her mouth like it was delicious and Montaron started laughing at her predicament uproariously, even as Neera approached and tried to gently redirect her efforts to no avail. She dug her hands down further into the dirt and started to hit clay, smearing it all over her face, hair, and mouth. Xzar shot a counter spell at her after a few moments that seemed to snap her out of her confusion, and she started retching, trying to wash out her mouth with Garrick and Neera and Imoen's waterskins combined. It was still not enough and she continued to complain of tasting dirt all the way into the Inn, where Jaheira took her to the baths first thing. "Why do these things keep happening to me?" Aphra lamented to the ceiling as she was led away.
Imoen followed Jaheira and Aphra for a moment into the Inn, before doubling back and looting the body of the assassin with Montaron and Garrick's help. She found Tarnesh's spell-book, the assassin had tucked in and strapped to his body and let Montaron keep the rest of the loot. She quickly cut the straps and perused it as she walked inside, leaving the body behind. The guards that had greeted them upon their entry to the Friendly Arm's Inn and warned them not to draw their weapons against others approached, not to arrest them or ask them to leave but to decide what to do with the corpse of the assassin. Tarnesh had clearly attacked them first and violated the rules, even announced his intention to kill them out loud. Imoen felt relieved that they weren't kicked out of yet another Inn as the guards waved them away and gathered, hauling up the body by the legs to cart it somewhere outside the walls, presumably letting the elements have it.
Imoen tossed her coinpurse at Garrick and asked him to talk to the Innkeeper about rooms while she continued to poke through the wizard's spell-book. Neera sat down next to her and looked over her shoulder. Imoen didn't mind. "Interesting. I've never gotten much from writing down spells," Neera revealed. "We wild mages tend to be more instinctive about magic. Oh, but I do like carving runes into objects, and enchanting things can be a lot of work, but a lot of fun! Are you interested in learning spell-casting?" She asked Imoen, looking eager.
Imoen nodded absently, recognizing one of the spells in the beginning of the book as a cantrip of prestidigitation. She looked over at Neera briefly, noting that the mud from the road and the blood of their enemies was staining almost every inch of Neera, and Imoen performed the gesture and incantation according to her memory of Gorion, as precisely as she could manage. The spell leapt from her fingers with a flash of light, and once the light appeared, it zoomed over to Neera's form and hit the hem of her robe, causing it to briefly glow. A second later, it was clean.
"Hey! It worked!" Imoen cheered and clapped.
Neera clapped with her. "My robes! Ah! Now I don't have to launder them. Thank you! Can you do that all the time now?"
Imoen looked down at the spell-book, where the cantrip had disappeared from its page. "Maybe," Imoen said, unsure. "I have to figure out how this all works first. But I think I can keep learning. I learned a little from Gorion when I was young, about how to inscribe scrolls and how to read from them. But I've never had a grimoire to look through before! This will be fun."
"Imoen, are you going to take over the Sword Coast one day?" Neera laughed, half-serious.
Imoen shrugged, grinning. "Only if there's profit in it," she said.
Aphra eventually returned in Branwen and Jaheira's company, though she parted from them once she saw the bar in the Inn and made a beeline for it, immediately demanding a glass of mead. Imoen was surprised - her sister had never struck her as someone who desired alcohol, but Aphra drank it like it was water, and Montaron joined her a moment later doing much the same. Jaheira frowned at the halfling and Aphra's backs and approached Imoen.
"We will be leaving for Cloakwood shortly," Jaheira said in lieu of a greeting, and folded her arms across her chest. "I will reiterate that you and your sister are welcome with us, should you part ways with the Zhents."
Imoen frowned. So far, Xzar and Montaron had only helped them despite their reputation as supposed spies from Zhentil Keep. She had no doubt Montaron was one, but Xzar seemed more like a necromancer who had spent too long in a cave surrounded by dead servants. They weren't the best of road companions, but there was strength in numbers, and Imoen was more concerned with the banditry to the east in the woods than she was with the production of the second iron mine in the region - if Thalantyr had found the cure with Taerom's help, then the biggest problem was solved. Xzar and Montaron had proven reliable allies in this regard. Imoen also knew from reputation that Cloakwood was plagued by spiders and wyverns and all manner of beasties and had no desire to go traipsing through even more dangerous wilderness unprepared.
"I have no doubt you'll find what you're looking for, and should we conclude investigating this banditry problem soon, we'll hopefully find each other in Cloakwood," Imoen answered Jaheira after thinking about it for a few moments. She grinned. "Who knows, maybe Xzar and Monty will have been eaten by a dragon by then, and your worries would be all for nothing!"
"Surely you understand my reasoning," said Jaheira. Branwen looked between the two of them, seeming confused.
Imoen shrugged. As Harpers, she supposed that Xzar and Montaron must have stood for something they inherently disagreed with. In Imoen's eyes - and Aphra's - they were just people that they'd met along the same road, traveling to the same place. Companions who had fought alongside them and proved themselves not to be thieves (well, except Montaron) or mindless murderers. Jaheira was determined, however, and Imoen respected and understood it even if Aphra probably didn't.
"Will you be going back to Candlekeep by chance?" Imoen asked instead, looking into the crowd of the Inn and finding Minsc's head above them all as the mighty Rashemenite towered over nearly everyone on the Sword Coast with his great stature. He created a rift in the crowd with his presence for Dynaheir to travel through to the bar, and he clapped Aphra on the back in greeting. She hugged him unexpectedly - again.
"We will deliver Dynaheir and Minsc to the gates, and travel north through the woods," Jaheira summarized.
Imoen hoped Dynaheir had a rare book that would allow her entry. The Readers' of Candlekeep's rules were stringent. It wasn't her business, however, if Dynaheir and Minsc wanted to travel that way. Perhaps they would meet again, down the road - for now, Imoen asked Dynaheir to deliver the book of Dawn Priest Blaise's to Sister Sapientia on the inside, since Dynaheir didn't seem to have any doubt about her ability to enter the famed library fortress. Imoen would miss Minsc a great deal, but figured it was for the best - Jaheira had been right about too large a group attracting the wrong sort of attention.
They stayed at the Inn that night, the lot of them. Aphra did not sleep however and drank mead throughout the night, drawing in her notebook and writing in it, and could not be convinced to do much of anything but that. "Too energized," she said. "I'll be alright," she assured her sister.
That night, Imoen dreamed.
Last night I had another strange dream. This one was different from the others. I could at least control myself - or felt like myself in it. I don't know how or why but it felt different from the others. I was back in Candlekeep, but everything was shadowed. Dark. A world of night.
Puffguts was there, as was the old man, and Ulraunt, and everyone. Even the cows were there, but all was still. Everything held its breath in silence and couldn't move, even when I tried to push them over. It was like everything was frozen in time. The gates were wide open, and I was able to walk through them outside to the woods that seemed to beckon to me.
A path appeared beneath my feet, cobbled and ready. In the way that only dreams can be, it was not suspicious in the least but seemed perfectly natural. I didn't look back and remembered little else before waking. There were voices in the woods, that much I remember, with words I couldn't recognize. Maybe I didn't want to.
I have decided not to tell Aphra about these strange nightmares. She has enough of her own to worry about.
We will depart for the Peldvale woods in the morning, toward where these rumors of bandits seem to be coming from. Jaheira and Khalid will take their company to the walls of Candlekeep to deliver Minsc and Dynaheir to its walls, and from there will be venturing into Cloakwood. Perhaps we will meet again, perhaps not. Aphra seems to believe so, and I believe her.
Aphra, Imoen and their friends had set out northbound from the Friendly Arm's Inn in the pale pre-dawn light at the same time as Jaheira's crew set out for Candlekeep on the road west. As they walked along the trodden path, a shrill scream pierced the cool morning air, coming from beyond the treeline of the Peldvale woods. Aphra perked up immediately, and a strange smile crossed her face as she said suddenly, "Why, I'd know the tone of that scream anywhere!" And dropped all her packs on the road right there and took off into the woods with nary another word.
"I suppose that bodes well, rather than ill?" Garrick presumed and tried to pick up her pack to no avail.
"We're leaving that right where it is," Imoen insisted, pointing at the packs their resident pack-mule had left behind. "She can come back and get them if they're so important to her. Let's go make sure no one gets murdered! That scream sounded ominous!"
"Aye, rescuing damsels in distress sounds about right for this crew," Montaron grumbled, but nonetheless followed Imoen who chased after Aphra, along with Xzar, Neera, and Garrick.
It was far too late to prevent murder, at least apparently. Two members of the Flaming Fist were already dead, and a third one held up at Aphra's bloodied sword-point as a drow woman in simple clothes crouched behind Aphra, glaring at the Fist. She was unmistakable even if not for her obsidian skin and white-gold hair, for Aphra had drawn an exact likeness of her naught but a day prior. This had to be Viconia, of whom Aphra had spoken of fondly during her experience in Athkatla. This version of Viconia however had far more twigs in her hair than Imoen suspected she normally had, and an imperiously furious expression on her face.
At the arrival of their group, the drow woman stood with poise despite the twigs in her hair and grass stains on her hands and knees. Her ragged boots had holes in them told of a long and arduous journey, and judging from the state of the two Fist members who were quite dead nearby, she hadn't exactly been traveling willingly.
"We're saving drow now? I'm not complaining, just asking," Montaron asked, seeking clarification. Aphra simply stared at him challengingly as he nodded toward the Fist member she had at her mercy, who was presently blubbering in desperation for his life. Imoen was trying not to hear him. She wanted to childishly cover her ears, as if that would stop the Flaming Fist man from pleading in broken, stuttering Common not to be killed. "Best kill him, girl, or he'll tell tall tales of this misadventure," Montaron advised, as he took in the scene with aplomb. "If you've not the stomach, I'll see the deed done."
Aphra glanced back at the halfling, and then toward the Flaming Fist. Her eyes were wide and she glanced around her at the chaos and blood staining her sword, as if surprised to see it there. Imoen drew back an arrow in her bow and pointed at the Flaming Fist she held at her mercy, ready to deliver the blow herself, but Aphra surprised her and ran her sword through his neck quickly. He fell to the ground and died in moments, clutching at his throat. Imoen looked away, reminding herself that this was life beyond Candlekeep - brutal and too often short.
The drow woman stepped out from behind Aphra and seemed to feel a little more at ease, judging from her posture alone. Her features were carved of stern stone, and her eyes hard like garnets. Though she was as small as Imoen herself in stature she carried herself as though ten feet taller, and her clear and faintly accented voice commanded respect as she addressed Aphra, "Vendui. It seems I owe my life."
"You don't owe me anything, Viconia," Aphra said as if she had just seen Viconia yesterday, which by her reckoning was true. This only confused the drow and a suspicious glint came to her eyes as she examined the seemingly human girl.
"Who are you? How do you know me?" Viconia demanded, drawing back slightly.
Aphra put away her sword, thinking this might help her seem more reasonable and less suspicious. Her clothes and armor had been sprayed with the blood of her enemies once more, despite just being cleaned in Beregost. Imoen wanted to slap her sister on the back of the head, and approached to try and ameliorate the situation. "Heya!" She greeted the drow woman, not at all putting Viconia at ease despite her attempt. Imoen tried not to let it get her down as she interjected, "It's a long story, but we can explain. Maybe the explanation might not make a lot of sense, but we're not enemies. Aphra's just trying to help. I'm her sister, Imoen. That over there is Montaron, the one with the wild makeup is Xzar, the guy with the crossbow is Garrick and the other pink haired girl with the staff is Neera."
Aphra took her cue and nodded along, and said, "Don't worry about the Fist with us. We'll protect you."
This seemed to put Viconia a little more at ease, but she had not forgotten that Aphra had addressed her by name before she had introduced herself and maintained suspicious glances while the others puttered about and set up camp. Aphra tried to explain what she understood as the truth - that they would meet in Athkatla at some point in the future, and she had already lived that future.
Viconia, strangely, seemed to accept this explanation as fact, but Imoen wasn't sure if she really believed Aphra. She was a suspicious woman and had a right to be - and was apparently just the Sharran that Aphra had been looking for, no matter her reticent present attitude. Viconia eyed the rest of them with arch suspicion except perhaps Imoen, whom she seemed marginally less suspicious of after graciously accepting a spare pair of boots from. She ate their food from around their small campfire once it became apparent that Aphra had no intention of moving them further into the woods. There was no spare armor that would fit the small dark elven woman, but she was a priestess of no small power and promised to stick to the back of the group should combat find them. She accepted their explanation of events and their intention of discovering the source of banditry and seemed sincere about owing Aphra her life - and wanted to repay that debt by any means necessary.
If she carried suspicions about Aphra after her explanation, Viconia kept them to herself, and addressed Aphra as 'jabbress' in a respectful tone. The others she maintained a distance from, save Imoen, whom she consented to walking alongside. She even answered some of Imoen's mindless questions about the Underdark and what Imoen had read of it in Candlekeep with tired, short, and clipped answers.
Imoen made a mental note to ask Viconia, after she had gotten to know her a little better perhaps, to help her with her little 'memory' problem. She still wasn't sure what to make of what Kelddath had uncovered, but she needed to know.
They had yet to encounter any enemies in the woods save the Flaming Fist chasing Viconia, when suddenly a few arrows sailed over their heads and nearly hit Aphra. They were either poorly or well-aimed, and everyone went on the alert the moment they whizzed through the air. Aphra stopped in her tracks immediately and put her hand on her sword. She did not draw it as an elven man emerged from the woods, hooded and painted with wood elven markings on his forehead and cheeks, armored in camouflaged gear that made it seem as if he emerged straight from the underbrush. He had his bow out and an arrow nocked, but it was not pointed at them as he stepped out of hiding.
He addressed them first. "You are no bandits," his voice emerged as a rasp. "Yet you carry a viper in your midst," he added, pointing his arrow at Viconia's head just as Aphra stepped in the way and glared at him.
"Point that somewhere else, she's with me," Aphra warned.
The elf lowered his bow with a glare. "You are aware of the bandits," he concluded. "They are my prey, not dhaerow. In another life, I would have ended her before you could draw your blade. But by the Black Arrow, I will see my vengeance fulfilled. You will not interfere."
"Prey?" Aphra raised an eyebrow, taking her hand off her sword as the elven warrior put away his bow. Imoen glanced around their group - Xzar had even drawn a spell in his fingers that he let dissipate into the air with a wave of his hand, and started to innocently whistle. Everyone else looked confused, and Viconia looked furious.
The elven warrior said, "The bandit leader is a half-ogre. I would see him dead."
"Then we have a common enemy, I would think," Aphra suggested.
The warrior paused, turning his head to the side as he listened to something in the woods. He pulled back his hood, revealing a scarred, lean, and sharp visage as he tilted one of his pointed ears toward the woods. His dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed in hatred and suspicion as he drew his bow and pulled back an arrow, aiming it at the trees and cursing under his breath something in elven.
Aphra pushed Viconia further behind her and the others gathered in close as a group of perhaps twelve bandits stepped out of the woods around them, half armed with bows and the others with spears and swords. "I didn't hear them," Aphra said, panicked. "How did I miss—"
"Aphra of Candlekeep!" A bandit who carried himself like a leader stepped forward and lowered his weapon, smirking at her. "We've learned a little about you from the boss. Namely, how a good silence spell can do more than just shut up a mage."
"It will not stop animals from fleeing at your approach, or the birds from taking flight," the elven warrior stated angrily and let an arrow sail from his bow toward the bandit, who dodged it just in time by ducking. Arrows went sailing through the air toward their group, and everyone scattered without a battle plan in mind for such an ambush.
Aphra covered who she could with her body, which caused at least three arrows to bounce off of her armored form and clatter right at Imoen's feet. She picked up one, noting it had an enchanted tip that radiated frost, and started firing them back at the bandits. She managed to hit one in the shoulder and caused the ice to lock up his armor, making him cry out in pain, and cheered for herself. "Yeah! Go Imoen the Quick!" She cheered herself on and picked up another ice-arrow that had fallen to the ground, firing it at the bandit leader, but he fled just in time once more. He seemed to be hastened by something, perhaps boots or a potion, and easily dodged all of the elven warrior's arrows despite his unerring aim.
Aphra launched herself at some of the spear men and seemed intent on drawing as many enemies toward her as possible, but they were wise to her tactic and started charging at Neera and Xzar. Xzar screamed like a surprised schoolgirl and ran away from one, who was baffled by this behavior but nonetheless gave chase. Montaron eventually chased down the enemy that was pursuing Xzar and stabbed him repeatedly in the shins and back, downing this bandit permanently with a slash across his throat that Montaron didn't even stop to examine before moving on fluidly to the next enemy in his sight - the bandit leader, who gave him a chase that Montaron seemed to enjoy, judging from the sound of his cackling.
Viconia cast a spell in her drow language that gave her the appearance of divinely resplendent armor just in time for that armor to deflect a few arrows for Imoen's new collection, and cast another spell at the bandit leader that appeared to slow him down to a near-crawling speed. This made him a nice target for the elven warrior's arrows, three of which pierced his chest in succession with no small amount of force and drove him into the ground, dead.
Aphra battled the two other warriors with spears while Imoen went running for new angles and shots, along with the elven warrior and Garrick, to try and get rid of the archers in the trees. They were evasive however, and one switched to melee when Imoen sent an arrow whizzing over his head which meant she had to be on the run. She ran past the elven warrior who had joined their fight (perhaps unwillingly) and he switched to his blades in one fluid motion, slinging his bow over his shoulders and charging swords-first at the warrior in a dual-wielding stance. The archer who had been pursuing Imoen with a short-sword wasn't prepared for this assault and tried to attack a few times only to be repeatedly repelled and then eventually repeatedly stabbed by the elven man.
Imoen cheered him on, grateful for his help, and aimed her bow with her last icy arrow that she'd picked up at the final archer and narrowed her gaze. She'd been reading the spell-book and knew peripherally that spells did exist which could enhance one's physical abilities - even aim - but knew not the incantation. She wondered if the others would teach her, perhaps Neera or Xzar, and simply prayed to Lady Tymora for luck as her arrow buzzed through the air and struck true, hitting the last archer in the chest.
Aphra made quick work of her enemies per usual, this time at least having the sense not to showcase her entire true speed and strength to their new 'ally.' She relied on sword-work alone and this sufficed, for the bandits - though fierce and fighting for their lives - simply weren't made of what she was and had not trained as Aphra had.
Imoen clapped as the battle ended, and Neera and Xzar picked up on her infectious enthusiasm and clapped along, as they were highly susceptible to her mood. She and Montaron made a beeline separately to the bandit leader's corpse and began to ransack it, and Imoen admired the make of the arrows that pierced him through - sleek and elven, far superior to her own. She found a coinpurse that Monty claimed as his, but she argued they should split it and they agreed to disagree on the matter when Aphra simply took it from them and tossed it to their new elven ally. He caught it in one hand and wrinkled his nose, nonetheless tying it to his belt. Imoen found a letter on the bandit's body written in Common, however, that changed some matters for them.
"What's it say?" Aphra asked her.
Imoen perused it and felt annoyed. "They're up further encamped in Larswood. There's quite a few tribes mentioned here, hobgoblin, gnoll . . . Orc. They seem to be pretty large. We might have to change how we approach this matter. Also, not for nothing because it benefits us right now, but why are these bandits so literate and leaving behind such a large paper trail? Does that seem odd to anyone? They're bad at being criminals. I'm just saying, even I could do much better, and my handwriting is lousy!"
"You could run a criminal enterprise if you put your mind to it, I bet," Aphra said with a smirk. She turned to their new elven 'friend' who was busily taking his arrows out of corpses and gathering more. He stopped in his task to regard her with a stern expression. "We want to help you take down the bandits," Aphra stated, changing her tone to a friendly one. "And I think maybe if we go back to the Friendly Arm's Inn, we might be able to recruit some more allies, if we agree to split the loot from the bandit camp."
"I do not care about the loot," the elven warrior stated.
"Well that simplifies things then, give me that bloody gold," Montaron griped.
The elven warrior untied the gold he'd been given and simply tossed it back to the halfling, who gave him a baffled expression as if he didn't understand how such a person could exist. "What's your name?" Imoen wondered.
"Kivan," he answered.
"Kivan," Imoen repeated, and tucked the note from the bandit corpse in her pack. It was as bloodstained as just about everything else was inside. "Do we have a deal? We agree you don't try and kill us, especially not Viconia, and in exchange we get you to the bandit camp to fight the bandit leader fella."
He glared at Viconia, who stared back with such vehemence that it was no wonder she was a former follower of Lolth. "Were I a follower of the Spider Goddess, I have no doubt we would have killed each other the moment we laid eyes upon one another," Viconia said, quite careful to keep her tone civil. "However, I worship Shar alone, and she does not bid me destroy every elf I see. Unless they are particularly pretentious. Are you?"
"Shevarash demands the destruction of all dhaerow and their evil ways. But I will stay my hand, and part ways after we have concluded our business," Kivan answered her, also careful to keep his tone civil in light of the fact that Aphra was still standing about waving her bloodied sword around all the dead bodies beneath her feet. "Should we cross paths after that . . ." He trailed off threateningly.
Imoen gripped her bow a little more tightly. She didn't think they would be able to fight Kivan without taking some losses themselves, but should he catch them unawares, he would doubtlessly cause irreparable damage. Still, he seemed civil and deadly enough, and she was glad to have another fierce warrior on their side. It would make killing bandits that much easier.
Back at the Friendly Arm's Inn, about a day's journey back from where they were in Peldvale, they were quickly recognized and greeted by the owners as friends of Jaheira's and given a discount given their trouble the previous time. Imoen waited for the baths to heat up and read from her new spell-book as Aphra attended to her sketch book, and Kivan chose to retire to a room by himself while the rest of their companions mingled in the tavern area chatting to travelers and getting drunk on mead and ale, in the case of Neera and Montaron (respectively).
Xzar was perched nearby staring at her intently as she studied, and she fidgeted under his gaze for a while. "Have you made any progress?" Xzar eventually inquired, and Imoen felt relieved.
It was, at least, a fairly normal question. "A little, I think!" Imoen answered. "Though this stuff is kinda complicated," she lamented and stared daggers at the designs that whorled in front of her eyes if she looked too long.
"Complicated?" Xzar scoffed and made a high pitched laugh. He had taken his makeup off for the evening and seemed relatively normal, for a bird-boned, slightly emaciated necromancer. "Nonsense, 'tis clear as a stream of the purest lymphatic fluid, but why concern yourself with such matters when there are experts such as I to attend to them, child?"
"Well, I guess I want to learn!" Imoen defended.
"Guess? You must wait until you are certain," Xzar chided. "The Art requires severe and ceaseless self-discipline!" He was impassioned about the matter, as magic was one of the only things Xzar seemed to take semi-seriously.
"I'm serious," Imoen assured him and clutched the book to her chest.
"I am pleased," Xzar said with a slightly pleasant smile that still looked a little wrong in his face. Perhaps it was that his features were too large, or too often they were concealed by clownish makeup, but it did not fit his features. "Where's Monty?" He looked about for his halfling companion, and then shrugged and said, "Oh well, I suppose you've pawed it thoroughly enough that you would have triggered any extant wards by now.
Imoen gulped and said, "Wards?" And stared down at the grim looking spell-book in her hands, feeling foolish.
"All prudent mages trap their spell-books against intrusion by undesired hands, and many imprudent mages as well!" Xzar informed her happily. "Such lovely sparkly colors," he fondly recalled, staring into the distance. "And the remains sometimes contain items worth the bother of picking them out of the goo."
"Uh, thanks I think," Imoen said, trying not to think about how she had almost become a pile of goo. "I think I do have one spell that I've figured out! Hold on, Aphra, come over here! This will be fun," she said with a smile as her sister approached with a raised eyebrow. Imoen chanted, "Hex-o! Prest-o! Uh, shabadoo? Oops," she concluded as the spell fizzled out into the air and seemingly did nothing, before a loud pop happened that garnered the attention of the rest of the room as a strange box appeared in her hands that looked to be made of interlocking pieces of wood. Xzar clapped enthusiastically as did Aphra, but everyone else - noticing that nothing dangerous or violent had happened - quickly became disinterested and went back to their business.
"Erm," Imoen made nervous noises and rolled the dark wooden box in her hands around, wondering how to open it or how it worked. "I guess it did something."
"Try not to cast any spells you don't know the nature of," Aphra cautioned tiredly, patting Imoen on the head, and heading back to the bar.
"Poo," Imoen concluded and stuffed the box in her bag until Xzar made a pouty noise, so she handed it over to him. "Maybe you can figure it out," she decided, giving it to Xzar.
He gleefully treated it like a fascinating puzzle box and it kept him occupied for a few hours, while Aphra and Imoen went around the room and tried to talk every dangerous-looking person they could into raiding the bandit camp with them.
Dorn Il-Khan was still staying at the Inn, and agreed with a laugh when Aphra asked him if he wanted to kill bandits. He claimed to owe her one, at least, and pledged his sword to their effort. With one more ally, they went about searching for others, but very few wanted to contend with such a fate. Another elf showed up late into the night, this one a bit more portly but apparently good with a bow and seeking allies himself for a wyvern hunt in Cloakwood. Aphra offered to help if he agreed to assist them with the bandit camp, and upon meeting Kivan who came marching down the stairs at that exact moment seeking the baths, he - and he introduced himself as Coran - decided to join their "war-effort." Xan, the other elf they had saved from Mulahey in the mines, descended down the stairs hearing the commotion, looking far cleaner in his crisp purple robes and healthy pallor having recovered from his ordeal. He was still in piss-poor spirits judging from the greeting he gave Aphra of, "Oh no, it's you again. Don't tell me it's time to collect on my life debt already."
Viconia had been hiding upstairs during the whole endeavor under a cloak that Imoen had loaned her, and both Xan and Kivan took issues with her presence that Aphra immediately shut down. Xan for his part at least took it as well as could be expected, "Well, perhaps she'll kill us all in our sleep and we will suffer a kinder fate than that we would suffer at the hands of the bandits." Coran didn't mind, apparently quite the ladies' man, and attempted multiple times to unsuccessfully compliment and flirt with Viconia to absolutely no avail.
They had all the allies they could muster, and Aphra led the bulk of them to the largest table at the Inn, where she put forth the idea of raiding the bandit camp. This was a foolish idea on the surface, but Dorn suggested that they go about a different route - of joining the bandits to infiltrate them, and then attack them from inside and outside with two different forces. Kivan did not like the idea of dividing their forces, but insisted on joining the infiltration team, as did Aphra. Imoen wanted to accompany her sister but Aphra told Imoen that she would be trusted to lead the other group - the back-up team that would be responsible for attacking the bandit camp from the outside, and drawing their fire while Aphra's group would attack them from the inside and cause as much chaos as possible.
It was as good a plan as any, and as they worked out the details on a map and started to talk about scouting missions, Imoen started to feel a little sleepy and retired to the baths. Leading a whole group without her sister frightened her. She hadn't been parted from Aphra's side since Gorion died, and it was a big responsibility. She only hoped she could live up to it.
