In The Cards

It should be noted that one of the primary duties of a little sister is to drive her older brother up the walls, as often and as intensely as possible, either in person or by proxy. I’ve always taken this particular duty very seriously. After all, it’s good for him. Sort of. In a roundabout way. And it’s pretty funny too.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Sarevok was annoyed. This wasn’t an uncommon emotion in the powerful warrior. As the blood of Bhaal kept increasing its hold on him it had become more and more rare for him to feel simple joy or sadness. Triumph was there occasionally, but most of all there was the anger. Quiet anger, simmering just beneath the surface. Sudden anger, like lightning striking the unwary. And most of all the roaring wrath, the bloodthirst that brought strength and made the blood run quicker through his veins. Yet right now he was merely annoyed, and with good reason.

For one thing, his diary still hadn’t been found. Winski kept scrying for it, but so far he had come up with nothing. “I will keep trying,” the wizard had said only the day before. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. The diary still exists, but beyond that I can see nothing except shadows.”

Then there was the ever-increasing need to involve himself in the affairs of the Grand Dukes. Sarevok knew perfectly well that he had to get on the good side of the Grand Dukes if he eventually wanted to become one of them and assume control of the City. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Politics made him impatient, with all the intrigue and maneuvering, the word games, the schemes and shifting alliances. It wasn’t that he lacked the intelligence to comprehend them, but he lacked the patience to truly excel at such games and frequently found himself wishing that he could simply settle the matter of becoming ruler with his sword.

Unfortunately that wasn’t a viable option. Tonight he would once again need to attend one of the innumerable parties arranged by the nobility of the Gate, and he would need to be more or less calm…and…and smile at the mincing fools. Fortunately Sarevok’s smile under such circumstances wasn’t one to encourage smalltalk. He’d leave that to Winski. The mage wasn’t exactly a party person either, but he had more of a flair for diplomacy than Sarevok did. Come to think of it, Winski had once said something about a raging bull being more diplomatic than Sarevok.

And now this. One of the servants had brought word that there were people wishing to speak to him, merchants or some such. Apparently none but Sarevok would do and he would no doubt have to suffer through some long and pompous speech. Possibly he would even have to endure a marriage proposal; there were plenty of people interested in making such an alliance now that he was moving upwards in society. Easily impressed fools. How he despised them all. Frowning darkly the warrior stalked through the halls of the Iron Throne building, his favorite armor making him resemble a demon rather than a man. Thinking himself prepared for anything he threw the door to the designated meeting room open – and stopped in his tracks, staring in surprise at the people awaiting him inside.

The ‘Mystra’ meeting room looked much the same as the others. It held a conference table, lots of uncomfortable chairs, and bright magical lights that hurt your eyes. Also an enchanted white sheet of glass for making notes on with a few special quills that always seemed to be mislaid. The three current occupants of the room were making good use of those quills.

A scruffy-looking halfling in battered leather armor was drawing a particularly nasty picture that involved a few Harpers, a hungry dragon and a lot of blood. Next to him a wild-eyed wizard was scribbling mystical symbols across the board. Or possibly deranged gibberish, Sarevok was no mage and it all looked the same to him. The man seemed to be so fond of it that he’d decided to decorate his face as well, and it was tattooed in a manner that made him appear as grotesque as a demon.

Finally, there was a very large and very smelly figure in a long cloak that covered its face. It was eating the red magic quill, the one that Reiltar preferred to use to underline his ‘pithy slogans’, and as Sarevok watched the creature it burped, making a cloud of red smoke emerge from beneath its hood.

“Oh goody!” the wizard said to his halfling companion. “Look at this, Monty! It’s the sign of the Eel, only I’ve drawn it backwards, turning it into the sign of the Lee.”

“So?” the halfling said, not sounding very impressed.

“Don’t you see? It’s a sign of good fortune; it will bring us success in our current endeavor. We’ll be KINGS, Monty! Kings and QUEENS!”

“Just as long as you won’t try to make me wear a dress. One of us is enough.”

“It’s not a dress, silly Monty. It’s a robe; you know that. It’s Traditional.”

“So is whipping yourself to drive out evil spirits. Doesn’t mean I want to do it.”

“Urrrgh!” the cloaked figure heartily agreed.

The wizard giggled, a silvery sound of pure madness. “Spirits…” he whispered. “I know about those. They’re everywhere, you know, curiouser and curiouser. Ah, the bouncing bears of the great city of Gum, they drink the fluids of their enemies to gain their eldritch power of bouncing, they might be watching us even now! So terrible and cruel, their beady little eyes, and they’ll bounce on you until you’re quite flat. And then there’s the ghost that keeps following me. Strange little thing claims he just wants to have a friend. But I showed him! Oh yes I did!” The wizard proudly patted a metal canister hanging around his neck. “Got him in here, he’ll make a nice component for a summoning spell I think.” More deranged giggles.

Sarevok cleared his throat loudly. “And who,” he remarked in a very cold voice, “are you? What do you want?”

The three strangers turned around. The halfling looked a little apprehensive, the wizard excited. The third one, the one in the cloak, simply burped again.

“Oh no!” the wizard exclaimed. “Only one of those questions allowed at a time. Rules of the Elder Races you know. And you should, you really should. The Iron Throne is our last, best hope for peace, isn’t it, Captain?”

“Yeeessss….,” Sarevok said as he tried to work his mind around this. “So it is, now that Amn threatens us. But that doesn’t tell me who you are.”

“I am Xzar,” the wizard proudly proclaimed, gesticulating so wildly with the magic quill he was holding that green ink spattered all over the floor. “This is my trusty steed, Monty.”

“Not steed, you crazy mage,” the halfling growled. “Thief! Not steed! Do I look like a horse to you?”

“Well, no, but you could still be one. The horses in the Underwater Empire of Srlswryya were said to walk on two legs and say ‘I am not a horse’ whenever you tried to ride them. Strange, isn’t it?”

Not if they weren’t in fact horses, Sarevok thought. Actually I don’t think I want to know what they were.

“And this is Abduh,” Xzar went on, patting the large and cloaked figure on the shoulder. “Not very talkative, but such a good boy. Abduh, take your hood down. You don’t want to insult the nice man.”

“Urrrrgh,” the cloaked figured said and obeyed, displaying a gray and rotting face that probably hadn’t been very attractive even in life.

I suppose that explains the smell, Sarevok thought. I swear I will never understand wizards. Winski might be interested though. “That,” he said in a flat voice, “is a zombie.”

“Yes, and a very clever one too. Abduh, show the nice man how clever you are. Go on, beg for Daddy Xzar!”

The zombie grinned, displaying a serious lack of tongue and a collection of black and broken teeth. “Urrrrgh!” he said, and then crouched down on the floor, hands pulled up in front of him, panting heavily in the manner of a dog begging for a sweet.

“I am supposed to be impressed by that thing?” Sarevok said, directing the full force of his burning golden eyes at the wizard. Xzar seemed entirely unaffected.

“Yes,” the mage readily responded, over the halfling’s loud protestations. “I sewed a heavy enchantment into his skin yesterday. You’re supposed to feel devotion and fierce admiration for his strength and battle prowess, strong enough to make you want to sacrifice your life for him.”

Sarevok stared at the zombie. The zombie stared back. Long moments passed. Sarevok stared at the zombie. The zombie stared at Sarevok. By now the silence in the room was thick enough that you could have cut it with a knife.

“Er…,” the halfling said nervously. “It’s not working, is it?”

“No,” Sarevok said, very slowly and deliberately drawing the Sword of Chaos. “It’s not.” He started advancing on the strange trio. For trying to make me fall in love with a zombie I will kill them slowly. Perhaps impaling them on my armor would be painful and humiliating enough. This is ten times as bad as merchants with a regular marriage proposal. Aaarrrgh! Now I keep imagining that zombie in a wedding dress!

“Thought not. Hey, wizard! Scram!”

“Urrrgh, urrrgh, URRRRGH!”

Xzar gulped and started casting a spell, a shimmering white portal springing into existence behind him. “Oh dear,” he muttered to himself. “Should have asked Pretty Redhead for more details when she told us where to go. Pretty Redhead is very tricky and sneaky after all, yes she is. Come on Monty. Abduh, heel!” All three strangers disappeared into the portal, inches away from getting skewered.

“DAMN!” Sarevok screamed as he saw his prey eluding him, striking the conference table with a mailed fist so that it cracked down the middle. It was several minutes before he could think clearly enough to take in the wizard’s final words. Pretty Redhead? What pretty red…

As the realization hit Sarevok his scream of rage could be heard throughout the Iron Throne, from the highest floor to the deepest cellars, a murderous cry for blood. My little sister again! Not only does she go around wrecking my mines, now she sends her little friends over to annoy me. I’ll kill her for this. Then it came to him that he had intended to do that anyway. Well, I’ll just have to kill her more painfully then. A lot more painfully. That will teach her to stop bothering me. She did this on purpose; I know it. How is it possible for one girl to be that annoying? She must practice daily to be able to get under my skin like this.

IS YOUR LITTLE SISTER TEASING YOU, SON? His Father’s voice sounded rather amused.

Yes! Make her stop!

YOU SHOULD DO THAT YOURSELF. YOU ARE THE NEXT LORD OF MURDER, AFTER ALL. AND YOU CERTAINLY HAVE THE STRENGTH TO DEAL WITH HER. UNLESS YOU’RE STARTING TO LOSE YOUR NERVE…

No! Of course not! I can deal with her, you’ll see.

EXCELLENT. AND NOW, LET US SPEAK OF THE GLORIES AWAITING YOU AFTER YOUR ASCENSION…

Lost as he was in pleasant thoughts, it was several hours before Sarevok realized that he’d entirely forgotten about finding out who the three strangers were. He told himself that it hardly was important. Whoever they were they didn’t exactly seem the sort to shake the Realms and become living legends. Annoying nobodies, but still nobodies. Losing himself in Tamoko’s welcoming embrace that night, Sarevok soon forgot all about the mad wizard, the little thief and their tame zombie.