In The Cards

The Children of Bhaal are as different as the stars on the sky – and as similar. We are not bound by our blood, but we all share those urges, those dark temptations. And so, we also share a certain understanding, despite our many differences.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Commander Angelo Dosan of the Flaming Fist glittered in the torchlight. He had foregone the regular platemail armor in favor of one that was so gilded as to resemble the sparkling contents of a lady’s jewelry box, and it made a striking contrast to his scarlet cloak. The man himself was tall and broad shouldered, with a fairly handsome but hard face dominated by a thick mustache. He actually twirled the thing between his fingers as he sneered at Zaerini at her friends. Probably he was under the misconception that it made him look dastardly. In reality, it made him look as if he was itching.

“So,” Angelo said, “these are the infamous murderers, finally brought to justice. I am Angelo, commander of the Flaming Fist. I will be your judge, jury and executioner, please pardon the cliché.”

“How witty,” Edwin said with a contemptuous smirk. “How much time did you spend thinking up that little speech? A few days? Oh, and here’s a hint. When you raise your hand like that, I can tell that you’ve written the entire speech down on your palm. (Frankly, I’m amazed that he can write at all.)”

Angelo’s face stiffened visibly, but he wasn’t about to give up. “In the name of law and justice, I shall make certain that you…”

“Oh, give us a break!” Rini said with an impatient toss of her red curls. “You can skip the sermon, we know you’re working for Sarevok. Just get it over with.”

Angelo ground his teeth. “You will soon regret that remark,” he stiffly said. “Now that we are done with all of these pleasantries, I will make my decision. I had thought hard and long on what sentence I should give if you should be delivered into my hands. The choice is an obvious one. For the charges of murder, theft, arson, rape and many other assorted crimes I declare that each of you shall be taken to the Bazaar where you shall hang by the neck until you are dead.”

“Whoa!” Imoen exclaimed. “How did that list get so long all of a sudden? I mean, Ulraunt kept going on about Reiltar. But what are we supposed to have stolen? What’s wrong with stealing anyway? Um…I mean…”

“And what a-arson would this b-b-be?” Khalid asked, frowning. “We d-don’t go about setting fire to p-people. Well, apart f-from the time when Edwin…”

“That was your own fault,” the Red Wizard remarked in a haughty voice. “You should have got out of the way. (Really, I would have expected monkeys to be excellent at jumping. Soon he will tell me that he doesn’t groom his mate for fleas in public.)” He gave Angelo a malevolent look. “And as for rape, have a care how you throw about that word. You might give me ideas, the practical implementations of which you would not enjoy.” He lovingly stroked his fingers along his staff. “Observe how long this is, how sharp is the knob on the end. (I think ‘Edwin the Impaler’ sounds like a very impressive title myself.)”

“It sure does, Eddie,” Zaerini said while giving the wizard a fond look. “But don’t bother. He won’t listen to anything we say anyway.”

Angelo seemed a little disappointed as he waved his guards forward. Probably he had been hoping for a bloody fight. “Take them and put them in one of the cells,” he ordered. “We will deal with them after the coronation.”

What a foolish human, Softpaws remarked. If he had any sense, he would have killed you at once.

I’m sure you’re right, Softy. But please don’t go giving him any bright ideas…

The cell to which the adventurers were taken was fairly typical. Small, gloomy, and with furniture consisting of a pile of dirty straw and a bucket. “We seem to be spending altogether too much time in cells lately,” Jaheira remarked. “I cannot say that I approve of it.”

“I h-hope this will be the l-l-last,” Khalid said, shivering as he noticed the rack standing in a corner on the other side of the room outside the bars. “I d-don’t think I can t-t-take much more of this.”

“Well, I don’t think I can take sharing that filthy bucket with the rest of you,” Edwin said. “Some things are too horrible to contemplate. Can we please just get out of here now?”

“Oh sure,” Imoen said. “Just as soon as I figure out how to pick a lock from the inside. It’s trickier than it looks, you know.”

“Hey you!” a voice suddenly spoke from within a neighboring cell. “Yeah you, the loudmouthed ones. Murderers, aren’t you? Heh heh…my name is Neb.”

Zaerini turned to peer through the bars to the other cell. A small and very dirty gnome was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leering at her. “Neb, is it?” she said. “So why are you in here?”

The gnome giggled in a highly unsettling manner. “Heh heh…I’m a murderer too. I killed some street-urchins…such pretty little children. And they scream so sweetly too…”

The half-elf suddenly found herself gripping the bars very tightly, as if she was trying to break them with her bare hands in order to get at the gnome. She was snarling silently. He will die. I swear it, that one will die.

Behind her she was vaguely aware of her friends expressing similar noises of shock and disgust. Neb seemed oblivious to it all. “I can help you, you know!” he said. “Yes, I can, heh heh…”

“We don’t want your help!” Imoen cried out, her eyes filled with tears. “You’re…you’re a beast!”

“No,” Jaheira said, her voice icy. “Beasts do not kill for pleasure. Why would you wish to help us, child killer? And what makes you think we want your help?”

There was a mad light in Neb’s eyes, which he kept firmly focused on Rini. “I sense the murder in you, pretty one,” he said. “We are all siblings, are we not?”

“I am nothing like you!” the half-elf spat.

“You are…I tell you I can sense it, heh heh. You feel the pull, the dark tide. You hear the voice in your dreams…”

An icy shiver ran down Rini’s back as she stared at the evil gnome. A…another child of Bhaal? Can it be? I want nothing to do with him and his filth. But…I have to get out of here. “What do you want?” she asked between clenched teeth. “And if you have a way out, why are you still in here?”

“I was just leaving, heh heh,” Neb said. “I just wanted to see if they’d throw somebody…amusing…in here. Like one of the little children. Answer my riddle, and I shall set you free. I wish to know you better, heh heh. Your answer shall tell me much.” He cleared his throat, his eyes burning with a strange fire. “What can change the nature of a…no. Not that old chestnut. Something harder, I think.” He giggled quietly. “The Children are many, oh so many. They kill and are killed, all over the world. All the little Children…the sweet Children. They are everywhere, of every race, of every profession. What is the thing true of them all?”

He means the Children of Bhaal, Zaerini thought. I wonder…is that why he kills real children? Some sort of insane paranoia? The one thing true of them all…I don’t have anything in common with this…this disgusting madman, do I?

But you do, kitten, Softpaws said. Think about it. It is really very obvious.

And then she had an answer. “They share the same sire,” she said. “That is the one thing true of them all. But they are all individuals, not just Bhaalspawn. They don’t deserve to be lumped together like that. They…we…are our own people.”

Neb was silent for a moment, nodding to himself. “So,” he said. “I am satisfied. You would murder for freedom then, I think. Heh heh. Well, you shall have it. And I shall go back to my children…and the Children.” He raised a gnarled hand, touching the bars to his cell, and they hissed and melted at his touch, dissolving into a puddle of shiny goo. The gnome repeated the trick on the bars to the other cell, allowing Zaerini and her friends to step outside. Before they had got out of the cell, he twisted a ring on his finger, disappearing from sight. “Catch me if you can, little ones!” he giggled. “I know what you want…but you shan’t have old Neb this day!”

The giggles drifted away into the distance as Rini slammed her hand into the wall with a frustrated growl. Then she swore, trying to shake some life back into her numb fingers.

“Really,” Jaheira said. “Punching walls is what I would expect of Sarevok, not of you, child.”

The bard sighed. “I…I just got so angry! I would have killed him you know, for what he did to those children. And…and he just laughed about it. And now he’ll probably do those terrible things again…”

“Repulsive as the man was, we cannot find him now,” Edwin said, taking her unhurt hand gently into his own. It seemed that heat was creeping slowly up from her palm and all the way to the tips of her lightly pointed ears. “You must not blame yourself. (I would cheerfully string the gnome up with his own guts if I got the chance, for making her this upset. And for other reasons as well. Even I have my limits.)”

“Yes,” Imoen said. “He would have got out anyway. At least now we’re free to do what we came for.”

There were only a few guards up and about, easily bypassed with the aid of invisibility spells and potions. Upstairs, the adventurers found a very sickly Eltan, being not so tenderly taken care of by what turned out to be a powerful Doppelganger. However, they had all become more skilled fighters since their time in Durlag’s Tower, and were able to kill it with no major injuries on their part. Jaheira and Yeslick cast what healing spells they could, but it was clear that Eltan was still very weak, and in need of rest. He requested that they bring him to the Harbormaster down in the docks, an old and trusted friend of his. Even more importantly, he promised to back them up regarding the death of Reiltar, once he regained control of the Fist.

“I guess it’s back to the Undercellar then,” Rini said as the party exited into the streets once more. “To find those two assassins.”

“Undercellar…” Yeslick said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “But…”

“W-we do not have a ch-choice,” Khalid said. “If that is wh-where they are, then that is where we m-must go.”

Imoen was peering at a shadow figure standing at a street corner. “Look!” she said, nudging Rini. “It’s that woman again…Tamoko.”

And so it was. The Kara-Turan was standing there calmly, regarding the approaching adventurers. “I greet you once again,” she said. “My information about Eltan was good, no? You can see that I know much of what is happening to the city. With Eltan safe, now thoughts must turn to who is responsible.” She paused, and looked straight at Zaerini, dark and inscrutable eyes boring into golden ones. “I have things that must be said, things that are important to us both. I have but one condition to my discourse, and you must agree before I speak. A promise I seek, and I will accept no less.”

“Promises without conditions?” Edwin asked. “Do you take her for a fool?”

Tamoko answered calmly enough, not looking at him. “I take her for a woman who knows her own mind, and those of others. You may choose to accept or not, as you wish, but this is my condition.”

Rini thought about this. She didn’t exactly like it, but for some strange reason she thought she could trust the other woman to keep her word. It wasn’t based on any facts, it was just a feeling, but it felt right. “I agree,” she said. “As long as it is something I can do, and that won’t harm me, my friends or anybody else that I care about.”

Tamoko nodded. “It should not. I thank you. Here is my request, though it may seem quite odd. I charge you to defeat Sarevok, the man behind all your woes. You must destroy his plans and stop his scheme in its tracks. You must strip him of the belief that he can succeed in this path he follows. You must do this for me, and you must also leave him his life.” There was the smallest hint of tightness around her mouth that spoke of hidden emotions swirling beneath her calm façade. “I will...I will help him to live his life as a man, not as the god he thinks he can be.”

Peace, Rini thought. That poem…that is what she seeks. Both for herself, and for him. “I…think I understand,” she said. “I…I would see Bhaal cheated of my brother’s soul, if possible. But you must understand, I don’t know if it is possible. I will try, but he wants me dead, you know.”

“I know,” Tamoko said. “Sarevok seeks to destroy everyone, not just you. You are of particular interest because of your shared origins with him. You are a possible rival, one of the few that are worthy of his personal attention. Above all else, you are family. I see that this comes as no surprise to you. Yet, it is more than you think. You have many siblings, and Sarevok has slain many a one before this. Never has he been this passionate about it, this…personal. There is a strong tie between you, more so than between the other Children. I know not what it is, but Sarevok senses it. You do too, do you not?”

The bard nodded, almost unable to speak. “I…I do. I don’t know what it is, or why it is, but I cannot deny it.”

“Sarevok knows it too. But there are other influences in his life as well. You had Gorion to guide you, did you not? Sarevok had no one. He draws his strength from his hatred, from the thought of rising above those he knows to be inferior. His divine blood hungers for conquest, and that is why he must be defeated, but not killed. He serves another, but does not know it.”

Bhaal. “I know whom he serves,” Zaerini said, her eyes suddenly flaring as she thought of her sire. “He has whispered into my heart as well, lied, tricked, threatened, deceived. I know how easy it is to listen to him, how easy it would have been to give in. I might easily have become as my brother is.”

Tamoko’s black braid slithered across her back like a tail as she inclined her head slightly. “You are like him, and yet not. I wish…I hope…that you might succeed where I have failed, and help him break his chains. I would save the man within the beast he wishes to be. I do not believe he will survive his plan; it is all based on conjecture at best. He feels that he has been chosen, and that he will become...more than he is. I do not share this belief. Gods are not known for bequeathing their powers, especially if they have foreseen their deaths. Whatever he is, I would keep him here, grounded firmly among those of us that are all flesh.”

“Are you certain? He may resent you for it.”

Tamoko’s eyes were steady and calm when next she spoke. “Then that is what will be. I will do this for him, though he may hate me for it. It is my duty, and my pleasure.”

The half-elf nodded. “I understand. I promise that if I can, I will do as you ask.” She would accept his hatred, if only he is saved. I guess she must really love him.

There was an almost invisible relaxation in the Kara-Turan warrior. “I thank you. Sarevok can be redeemed, as could you should you one day pursue the same path. For now, I shall speak of secrets to aid you. Eltan may be saved, but Duke Entar Silvershield has been killed outright. The murderers have acted with anonymity, but I know who and where they are. You must go to the Undercellars; return if you have already been. There you will find Slythe and Krystin, two unsavory beings that revel in the violence Sarevok allows them to commit. They are no more than animals in human guise, even by the standards of the company they keep. Kill them and you shall know much of the plan. They carry important papers, papers that will allow you and your friends entrance to the Ducal Palace, where you may find Sarevok and put a halt to his plans. If you do not know where the Undercellars are located then go to the sewers, you will find an entrance there.” She turned to leave. “Remember your promise.”

Once Tamoko had left, Imoen stepped forward, her face very serious. “Sis, are you sure about this?” she asked. “Sarevok…he killed Gorion! You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

The bard shook her head. “Of course not. But…it was Bhaal acting through him, mostly. Sarevok is a slave, not a ruler, no matter what he thinks. And…if I can redeem him, then I think that would please Gorion far more than his death would have.” She smiled. “And also, I think that Sarevok’s death would please our common sire. I really don’t see any reason for accommodating him. I’d much rather get in his way…”