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Part 2: Bards and Beds


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#1 Guest_C'est Nedra_*

Posted 20 April 2004 - 09:41 PM

“Sometimes even the hint of a familiar scent can be sufficient to summon recollections of past events, favorable or otherwise, the experience often amazes me…”

-Diary of Sarevok of the Iron Mask




Shar-Teel glanced at the massive warrior marching alongside of her, then back at the long road stretching before them. She considered asking him about his background, but in reality she didn’t much care, and if she began questioning him, he would invariably expect the same answers from her. More importantly, men didn’t wear full plate mail and a fully covering helm for no reason…she did not imagine she would glean much information from him anyhow. She continued walking, until they came across a large sign posted at a crossroad.


Beregost 
8 miles


The warrior paid no notice to it, but turned to the north and continued at the same furious pace he had set beginning in the forest. Shar-Teel opened her mouth to protest, but shut it sharply. She was not about to let this man know her weakness, if he could last to Beregost then should could as well!

“Will you be able to continue until we reach the town?” the warrior asked suddenly, as if reading Shar-Teel’s thoughts.

“Of course!” she spat, “what do I look like? Some sniveling girl unable to carry my own weight?”

“Well, you are a w-...” Sarevok began, but on second thought decided to keep silent.

“I am a what?!” Shar-Teel barked, “I certainly hope you were going to say ‘warrior,’ or I may only be lending my sword to your gut!”

Sarevok glanced over at the woman, surveying her scowling face and tightened fists. This fighter had spirit, much alike to his as a youth, it was refreshing to see such fire again. Her eyes were narrowed and her thick brows furrowed, and a long red slash on her cheek stood out in the glow of the burnished sun. He considered asking her about her past, but he was not inclined to be the overly intrusive type, nor did he really care…anyways, he imagined she would not reveal much that she had not already offered.


They marched in silence, and continued along until they could see a figure near in the distance. It was alone, and seemed to be a tall man, dressed in full military gear, with a large red plume spouting from the top of his helm. A Flaming Fist, of course, this is their territory, Sarevok thought to himself. Soldiers and guards were an annoyance on most occasions, but nothing that couldn’t be bribed with a few well-put words…or coins.

“You there!” the soldier called out, “halt!” Sarevok and Shar-Teel stopped, and waited for the soldier to approach them. He was tall, but also quite large…and his corpulent cheeks oozed out of his tight helm as he spoke to them.

“What is your business here?” he demanded, fumbling at his left side for the sword strapped to his right.

“It is none of yours,” Shar-Teel growled, her hand rising menacingly for her sword.

Sarevok hastily reached a hand out to halt the soldier’s charged reply. “What she means—he held out his other hand to silence the woman’s protests—is that we are travelers from Nashkel, on our way to Beregost,” he said calmly, pointing to the town far off in the distance.

“I don’t think I believe you,” the guard replied dubiously, “do you have any identification?” He glanced over Sarevok’s full-plate disapprovingly, “I don’t know if Beregost wants any visitors like you two.”

Shar-Teel’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Dare you to judge us?! You will be drinking your food through a straw soon enough, Flaming Fist scum!” she hissed, pulling her sword from her back.

“That is against the law lady, punishable with death!” the guard bellowed, drawing his weapon clumsily and stumbling towards Shar-Teel.

Sarevok glanced in alarm at the guard fumbling to draw his weapon. “She has broken no law, I am sure we can settle this with some other means…” he objected, reaching for his full coin purse.

The guard grinned widely and pointed his sword threateningly towards Sarevok. “I am the law!” he cried, swinging his sword back towards the woman.

“Ahhh! Another Fist to spit on my sword!” Shar-Teel snarled, a vicious smile crossing her painted face. She ran forward to meet the guard in a loud clash of metal, then raised her sword viciously, sending it crashing down on the man over and over. His sword finally struck a blow on her arm, and she glanced at the blood disinterestedly and plunged her sword into a split section of his chain mail. The guard reeled back and fell to the ground, the great sword protruding from his abdominal area. She stood over him and placed a foot on his chest, keeping the body down as she ripped her blade from the corpse. Sarevok watched in surprise as she placed the blood-spattered blade back into its scabbard and disdainfully spat on the carcass before stepping away.

“Mmmm,” she purred, “nothing like blood before bed. How much further until Beregost?” she added perkily. She glanced up at him with steely eyes, and he was glad his shocked face was hidden by the visor of his helm.

“Uh, yes, I would guess no more than an hour…” he murmured, then shook the daze from his mind.

“Come now, enough of these childish games, and clean your blade before we get to town—he glanced disdainfully at her back, sprinkled with drops of bright red blood—that would not look well for us, especially once they find the body,” he commanded, authority returning to his voice, then began marching back down the long road.

Shar-Teel sighed and walked over to the grass, sullenly cleaning her sharp blade against the thick brush. I can’t even have a decently decorated blade? Damn self-righteous pig-headed snot-nosed little paladin fops… She quickly ran to catch back up with Sarevok, and held it out before him. “Suitable, master?” she asked mockingly, then slid the blade back into its scabbard.

“Yes…would you care to explain what just happened?” Sarevok demanded, his gaze returning to the shadow of the town centering the setting sun.

“I hate the Flaming Fist,” Shar-Teel replied matter-of-factly, brushing a tangled knot of hair from her dirt-streaked face.

Sarevok looked down at her, strangely not surprised. “I can see that, but regardless you cannot run through the countryside killing all the Flaming Fists you meet, Beregost will be crawling with them.”

“If it bleeds, then I can kill it.”

“Not while you are under my leadership, you can’t. Remember that well,” Sarevok warned, “my business depends on a somewhat decent relationship with the Fists, and you skewering them on your sword might not be well-received.”

Shar-Teel sighed loudly and shook her head, her light brown braids flipping wildly across her shoulders. “You know, Vorekas, I am regretting this ‘partnership’ more with every step! At least tied to a tree I could have killed an ant crawling on my arm, but I imagine you would discourage that…you probably have a ‘relationship’ with the ants, like some bloody druid!”

“And I am regretting every having cut you from that tree in the first place! I should have left you for dead, ungrateful hag!” Sarevok snapped, his head turning viciously towards the woman.

Shar-Teel glanced at him in surprise, then a smile began to creep across her face, revealing a row of shiny, sharp teeth. “So, my leader does indeed have a spine, it is good to see, even if he does not have a face! I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t been rescued by a lucky coward.”

“At this point I would not consider myself ‘lucky.’”

Shar-Teel grinned again. “Regardless,” she added sharply, “call me a hag again and I will gut you in your sleep.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only if you call me a hag.” Her steely eyes sparkled mischievously and she turned back to face the road, her long legs making wide strides across the gravel. They walked in silence, and Sarevok glanced over the woman beside him approvingly. She was fierce, strong, and had a big enough chip on her shoulder that he was surprised she could walk straight…perfect for the difficult journey to Baldur’s Gate.



After a few more hours of marching, they thankfully reached Beregost without any further interruptions. Sarevok lead Shar-Teel towards the Feldepost Inn, past the few drunks and vagrants lying about the streets.

“Ugh,” Shar-Teel remarked, sneering at the inn as they approached its garish violet façade, “what blind man decided to paint a building such a pathetic color?”

Sarevok glanced sideways at the woman, especially at the purple diamond decorating her right eye. “I would assume the same who painted that mark on your face,” he replied shortly, smirking at her dark scowl and furrowed brows.

“War paint and house paint are two entirely different matters,” she scoffed, her thin lips pursed tightly.

“I am surprised one as war-hardened as you finds time in their brimming tactical schedule to contemplate the properness of paint colors,” Sarevok commented, stifling a laugh as the woman huffed loudly and pushed through the heavy oak door of the inn. Gentle music flowed from the inside of the inn, and she glanced around the room cautiously. He followed her into the now-empty tavern and swiftly approached Bardein, who was from the looks of his wrinkled shirt and reddened eyes was quite more relaxed than when Sarevok had previously spoken with him.

“Yesh, what ish it I can do for ye?” he sputtered, wiping a string of drool from his lower lip. Sarevok looked in disgust at the drunken man, already fat and slovenly enough before he had even taken one drink.

“I have need of another room, under Gelvenstar’s name,” Sarevok demanded, watching as the man wavered precariously in his standing position.

The bartender let out a loud belch and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Come to—hic—think of it…I’ve got a another room right nesht to yoursh, if you’re intreshted. Numbersh eight and nine, here’sh your keysh…hic…”

Sarevok nodded his head sharply and grabbed the key from the man’s grasp, stepping back as the man’s obese body collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. Filth… he thought to himself disdainfully, glancing around the back of the tavern for the cook or any of the remaining bus boys. A sudden thought hit his mind…where was the woman? He wheeled around and glanced around the room quickly, spotting a stage in the far corner and the fighter standing, watching the performing bard. Actually, she didn’t seem to be watching him…she was walking towards him…and she wasn’t smiling…she was drawing her sword… “Shar-Teel!” he bellowed, lurching towards the other end of the tavern. Damn insufferable woman! Must she attack everything male?!




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The handsome bard was soft-skinned and fair, with a strong dimpled chin and gently curved blonde hair. His bright smile was wide and smooth, and he languidly stroked the strings of a small yarting. His high tenor voice was well-tuned and flowed gently over his lyrics. A tall woman stood before him, her tanned arms exposed by her plate mail, her light brown hair cascading over her shoulders like a shower of purest gold and copper. Ah, Garrick my boy, he thought to himself, you will not be sleeping alone this night! He smiled brightly and looked towards the woman, plucking the notes of a song he had especially written for an occasion such as this.


Who is this woman, of the gentle breed
what race is she, what status or creed?


He saw the woman stifle a laugh, her dirt-stained hand raised to still her quivering lips. Yes! Already my charming words do work magic on her feminine heart…


It does not matter, I harbor no greed,
only the intention of spreading my seed!


Her face began to darken, obviously with embarrassment for the carnal desires buried deep within her mind, as in all women’s, now drawn to the surface by his poetic genius…


So come hither my girl and let me lead
you to my room, to ply you with mead
and then we will perform the tender deed
if only my supplications, you will heed.


He felt his heart brimming with joy as the woman began to approach him…well…maybe it wasn’t his heart…but one thing was for sure, Garrick, you master bard, yet another falls victim to your intoxicating words!

“Yes my love, come to me!” he cried out dramatically, opening his arms widely, awaiting her embrace. “Yes love! Get rid of that nasty sword, I have a weapon all of my own I would like to ‘duel’ you with…love?”

“That’s it, time for you to die,” Shar-Teel hissed, pulling her sword before her as she moved towards the man.



Sarevok groaned inwardly, very much realizing exactly why Shar-Teel was about the run the young fool through with her sword. The terrified bard also seemed to recognize that his words had not been received nearly as well as he had planned, and began to back into the wall with his instrument held defensively before his tightly-clothed body.

“Please! I’m sorry…I didn’t mean any offense my lady, I assure you that I meant only to compliment your fine form and beauty…” the bard stammered, his eyes widening with fear as the woman raised her great sword over her head threateningly.

“Compliment this, chauvinistic swine!” she roared, preparing to bring the sword crashing down on the young bard’s tender head. Luckily, Sarevok had come up behind her and grabbed the hilt of the sword, folding his large hands over Shar-Teel’s smaller ones and pulling it out of her grasp.

“Sweet Ohgma!” the youth cried, then grabbed his chair and fled from the tavern, gone before Shar-Teel could regain her sword from Sarevok’s hands.

“What was that for?! I was about to run his pitiful ‘poetic’ hide through with my blade!” Shar-Teel sputtered angrily, spinning around and glaring at the tall warrior. Her tanned cheeks were flushed a deep red, and a thin vein bulged through the skin of her forehead.

“If you cannot obey my simple orders to refrain from general bloodshed and chaos while in my company, then find your way back to whatever hell you came from, I have tasks which must be completed without further disruption!” Sarevok growled menacingly, still clutching the woman’s sword in his hand. Shar-Teel snatched it from his grasp and returned it to her back, her blue eyes flashing dark in the dim light reflecting off of his plate mail.

“I gave my word, I will lend my sword to your cause! I will…refrain…from killing…” she muttered, thoroughly annoyed by her leader’s lack of bloodlust. She nodded sharply in final agreement and bowed her head towards the floor, disappointed by the lost opportunity for running another foolish man through.

“Here,” Sarevok barked, holding a gold key towards the fighter, “your room is number eight. It is beside mine, I would encourage you to get some rest tonight, we will be rising early in the morning and gathering supplies.” He shook his head and clutched the side of his helmet with a tired hand, “good night!”

“Good riddance! Finally, some privacy…I fully expect that even though our rooms are next to each other you will be leaving me alone for the night?” she questioned, glaring at Sarevok threateningly.

Sarevok sighed and rubbed a thick palm across the front of his helm, wishing it could touch his sore eyes and hot forehead. “Trust me, woman, that thought has never, and will never cross my mind. Now, good night!” he growled, turning away from the fighter and walking back towards the kitchen of the inn, stepping lightly over the sleeping form of the bartender. His hungry stomach rumbled as he gazed around the tiled room, his greedy eyes focusing on a turkey lying innocently on a platter.

Prepare to be eviscerated, poultry…







Shar-Teel stormed up the stairs of the inn, her plate mail rattling loudly with every heavy step.

I can’t believe this…I can’t kill men?! I’m following a man?! At least his face is covered, I don’t have to look at him… she fumed, her fist clenched tightly around the gold key held in her hand. She trod down the long hallways, dim with candlelight reflecting off the muted scarlet walls highlighted with gold detail. She looked to the left and saw a golden ‘8’ painted delicately on the dark cherry wood of the room’s door. The key fit in easily, and she turned it roughly and pushed through the heavy door.

Wow. she thought, her eyes overwhelmed with the décor of the room. The thick carpet was a deep vermilion, covered with rugs from Calimsham, and two large couches were spread before a lit fireplace. Past the couches was her bed, a huge construct brimming with brocaded pillows and satin sheets, and beyond was a window covered with thick velvet drapes and sheer golden fabrics. The room was the finest she had seen in years…since her childhood.

She removed her boots and set them beside the door, her tired feet sinking blissfully into the thick carpet. She languidly walked towards the bed, slowly removing her plate mail and setting it on one of the couches as she passed by. Her long arms stretched above her head, and she groaned loudly as her whole body tensed, then relaxed and brought them back to her sides. She ran a dirt-smudged hand over the satin covered bed, the feeling bringing back memories…



You little slut! I know what you did, I know how you are!” her father screamed at her, shoving her down onto the soft bed.

“No! Father, I nev—“ she cried, hot tears streaming down her burning face.

“Silence!” he roared, slapping her roughly across the face, “I knew I should have never left you two alone…I told your mother, but no! She will pay dearly for this…”

“No!” she gasped, clutching her smarting cheek, “mother had no part in this!”

Her father grinned cruelly, his dark eyes glinting with malice. “She had plenty enough to do with it…but it does not matter, we are dicussing you. So what has gone on in this bed, Shar? Have you been whoring around with the entire town or just the nobility?” he sneered, standing over her body sprawled on the bed.

She felt more tears trailing down her burning face. “Father…I have done nothing! He forced me…I…I didn’t…” she moaned, violent sobs interrupting her pleas.

“No more Shar, I will tolerate no more of this behavior. Look at you, you are no better than the courtesans on the street corners, look at your hair, your painted face, this dress!” he screamed, ripping at her satin and lace dress with rough hands. Shreds of cloth flew around the room, and she clutched her half-naked body desperately. Tears clung to her smooth skin as her father smacked her again. “No more tears, tears are for children! Now go to sleep, you little harlot!” he growled, shoving her rising shoulders down to the bed.

“Yes…father…” she whispered, pulling up a shaking hand to dry her cheeks. She watched as he left the room, his tall frame disappearing as he slammed her door behind him.

She felt the emotions rush from her body as she held quivering arms over her half-torn dress. She was so ashamed…she was dirty, she hated him so much. The anger built within her breast, and she felt as if she would explode, how could her father not believe her over him?! She stood up slowly and walked towards a mirror, gazing at her swollen and red reflection. She wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks and stared at her eyes—so cold—and a look of disgust swept over her face.


No more tears. Ever.





Shar-Teel gazed at her reflection in the mirror, her dirt-stained face and paint-covered eye. Her skin was a deep tan now, marred with a few scars and reminders of her more difficult battles. The hair that had once been so long and renowned for its beauty was now chopped and braided carelessly, clumped with mud and sweat. Her eyebrows were thick, her eyelashes bleached by months of sunlight…she would not recognize herself if it were not for her eyes. Steely blue, just like her mother’s.


She glanced at the bed warily and walked towards the couch. She laid down and stretched herself across the thick pillows, quickly drifting into deep sleep.






Sarevok lay in his bed, still covered with his full-plate. He feared that if he removed his plate someone would manage to barge into his room and reveal his identity to the whole town…he would never make it out of there alive. Still, plate mail had to be more comfortable in bed than on the unforgiving ground, as he had rested on during the past few days. Ok maybe not… he groaned, throwing himself around the bed attempting to find a comfortable position. His full stomach did not help matters any, he had eaten almost the entire bird…he felt like his gut was going to rupture, but it had been almost three days since his last meal. After he had settled in a somewhat tolerable spot, his thoughts began to drift away.

He had left Seline after defeating Melissan, she had offered to travel with him but he refused…this journey was for him alone, to carry the ashes of his dead lover. So they had parted, promising one another that they would meet again after a year, and had agreed on the location of the Five Flagons Inn, in the Bridge District of Athkatla. That would be in a few months…he was eager to see his sister again, and to see what mayhem she had been causing in the planes.

He had not written her in almost three tendays, he would have to do that soon…she had instructed him to send his letters to the Shadow Thieves guild hall, as they would know how to contact her. Seline a thief, bah…she is about as graceful and dexterous as a I am. Sarevok shifted uncomfortably in his armor, barely able to move his arms without making a huge racket.

He closed his eyes, and soon fell asleep, exhausted from his long days of trudging through the Amnish countryside.




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