3 Mirtul, 1369 DR

If there was one point in my childhood on which the scribes and warriors agreed, it was this: concentration is everything. Without it, spells fail, the thread of the scholar’s argument is lost, and a blade slices your throat. I am so lost in the events of the past few days that I have no clarity left. Hence my resort to these scratchings, where perhaps I may be able to sort out this tangled skein of impressions and regain my focus.

My name is Patricia Contemplata. I was trained in the inner ways of battle by the warrior monks of the Order of the Hand at Candlekeep. Gorion and Winthrop between them raised both Imoen and me. Imoen is my foster-sister and my best friend since I was three, when she came to live with us. Winthrop & Delaine, his wife, taught us about the practical side of life in the afternoons, when we were put to all of the chores incidental to running an inn--- waiting tables (though never late at night, when the drinking got heavy), making beds, cooking, cleaning, even mucking out the stables once a week. When we were small, mornings were spent with the priests and monks, being crammed full of information by the great scholars that make their homes within Candlekeep’s walls. As we grew older, we began to spend more time with our chosen mentors, learning the crafts of war and magic. Imoen had a great gift (when she chose to use it) for the arts magical, and Gorion was pleased by the progress she made. I tried, but wizard magic just did not flow for me. At twelve, the Grand Master of the Order asked Gorion to let me train as a novice, and I never looked back. The mental discipline required seemed to be what I had always craved--- order and strength from within.

After the long struggle to find and defeat Sarevok, I spent some few days with my friends in Baldur’s Gate, resting and trying to chart a new course. Then one evening I went to sleep in the Ducal Palace and woke up in an underground Amnish torture chamber. Up to that point, my memories are clear, but how I got into that dungeon remains a blur. From what I can make out from the others, we were probably drugged, then abducted. I think Minsc must have been sleeping on Dynaheir’s floor in his role of bodyguard. They probably didn’t know that Dynaheir’s training included gradual exposure to various poisons to develop immunities, and she must have woken up. Her screams would be enough to rouse Minsc from almost anything, and as near as I can make out, they must have killed Dynaheir in the fight that followed. He feels horrible guilt. What I don’t understand is all his muttering about fangs and winged creatures and strange mists. Perhaps the effects of the drug?

The next impressions I have are of being mercilessly pounded by various blasts of magic while this strange man stood over me gloating--- no, not gloating, precisely, but projecting an aura of satisfaction, as with an exercise done well. From what Imoen has said, I believe my amnesia is merciful, that I would be forever tainted if I knew the full measure of his foulness. What frightened me most, however, was the utter lack of emotion on his part. He didn’t even enjoy the pain he was causing; it was more that the presence or absence of pain was completely irrelevant to his tests.

At any rate, my first recent bits of clarity came after Irenicus was called away from another round of experimental abuse by an attack of some kind. Imoen broke out of her own cell during the fighting and came to free me. I don’t even know how she knew I was still alive. I don’t think she was kept near me, but then again, I don’t remember seeing Minsc & Jaheira, and they were in the cages right behind mine.

I’d prefer to put as much of that flight as possible out of my memory, but there may be some clues to this tragedy there, so I shall force myself to the task. Minsc was able to free himself by working up into one of his berserker rages. I hate having anyone around me lose control like that, but I must say this time it served the purpose. Jaheira was locked in as well, but the three of us were able to find the key to let her out, as well as some basic weapons and armor. I presume that it was some sort of guardroom--- after all, what would a mage want with splint mail?

After we’d armed ourselves as best we could, we started winding our way out of that evil warren. The rooms where other casualties of Irenicus’ experiments were kept were horribly unnerving for all of us, but Imoen seemed to be worst off. I just plain don’t remember anything but the blasting, and Minsc & Jaheira were apparently mostly left alone, but poor Imoen recalled altogether too much. I honestly thought she was going to faint in that room where all the brains were kept floating in glass cases. I must admit that one got to me the most, too, but I don’t remember being there, though Immy said I was. I think I’d rather be a ghost than one of those bodiless brains!

We finally found ourselves in Irenicus’ private suite of rooms, and that’s where I stopped being scared and started being just plain furious. His own room wasn’t quite what I’d expected; it just looked like a reasonably neat and well-to-do person’s bedroom. Those poor dryads in the cave beyond, though! That--- that madman--- no, that is entirely the wrong word for Irenicus. He must be insane, but there’s no passion involved. I would admire his control, but I don’t think he’s got any emotions to control. He must be completely amoral. Even mind flayers might be easier to empathize with. Anyway, somehow or other Irenicus had managed to bring the entire trees of three dryads into this cavern and thus trap them underground. The poor things are terrified, and with good reason. If Irenicus has gone, the magic keeping their trees alive may not last long, and their trees can’t survive without light. I have agreed to take their acorns--- their only chance of escape--- to the Windspear Hills as soon as possible. I don’t even want to speculate on what he’s done to them… ugh!

The oddest place of all was what the dryads and the brains called the Mistress’ Room. Did her departure provoke his madness, or did the insanity precipitate her flight? Either way, her room was the one restful spot we encountered on the journey, and it was there that we found the key to the teleport portal. From there we crossed back through the mage’s room and stepped through the portal, praying that we were heading out of this mad laboratory, and not farther in. I’ve no idea how far we traveled in between the two places--- it could be miles. Near the portal on the other side we ran into a man named Yoshimo, a Kara-Turan by the look of him. He claimed to be a thief also captured by Irenicus, though his appearance did seem convenient. Still, he did prove helpful in killing all those blasted mephits, and I’m not sure Imoen was in any shape to disarm all those traps… especially after Khalid. Oh, my. Deneir, help me write what I must. Khalid was dead, his body mutilated. There. It does not look so horrible on the page as the sight was, but I don’t want to remember the details! [The ink blurs, evidently where tears have stained the manuscript.]

I don’t know who is feeling worse--- Imoen who had to watch Irenicus mutilate him, or Jaheira whose husband is dead. As for Khalid--- well, may the Five look kindly upon him; his was a gentle soul that did not receive as much honor in life as it deserved. I shall sing him out the Five Nights, just as I would a fellow Hand.

We had little more trouble after that, except for the hooded assassins that seemed to be the other half of the fray. I’ve learned now that they were Shadow Thieves, as the local guild styles itself. I probably should have known there was more disaster in store for us. We were no more than a few feet out of the tunnel entrance when it collapsed from an explosion, and then that twisted wizard appeared again. This time Irenicus seemed bent on abducting us in broad daylight! If the Cowled Wizards hadn’t interfered, then either he’d be dead, or we’d be locked up in some other cage. Apparently, using magic without a license is a major offense here in Athkatla. I’d no beef with them hauling Jon off, but I’m furious that they took Imoen too. I’ve asked around, and there’s no one to appeal to; even the location of the prison for mages is a mystery. I have to rescue her! She’s my best friend, my foster sister, and I’ll not see her fall victim again.

It grows late, and I must still perform the Torm Chant in Khalid’s memory. None of us had the energy to move far from Waukeen’s Promenade, so we have taken rooms at the Den of Seven Vales. By an odd chance, its proprietress is also named Patricia. If anyone looks for us here, perhaps that will prove sufficiently confusing. Tomorrow we shall explore this Athkatla. If I remember my geography correctly, the waterfront should be on the southwestern side of the city, which generally means the better side of town is in the opposite direction. Also, I think I will see if we may gently part company with Yoshimo. He’s amiable enough, but I caught him trying to pick a man’s pocket in the tavern, and I don’t wish to attract that kind of trouble.