Part 5: Family Ties

Man in the Iron Mask Part 5: Family Ties



“I often dream of my mother, though her memory fades as the blaze of the setting sun, forever illuminating the darkest recesses of my soul...”

-Diary of Sarevok of the Iron Mask




The lone caravan drifted slowly through the open countryside, and two guards could be seen, one stationed at the front and the other at the rear.


“Easy prey,”the bandit hissed, pointing towards the carts, “full o’ iron.”

“Not just that, mind ye, we’ve got orders,” the other reminded, withdrawing a scroll from his leathers.

“Oh, I don’t give a rat’s rump about that lily-livered sod, Vilem” a third interjected, ripping the scroll out of the other’s hand and throwing it on the ground.

“Kefin! You son of a pox-ridden whore...”

“Hey!” the first bandit cried, “there’s nothing wrong with a pox-ridden whore!”

“Of course, Rilt, nothing at all...” Kefin sneered. “At least my mother didn’t have pox.”

“Silence fools!” a silky voice sibilated, and the three bandits cowered in fear as they scrambled to attention. A dark figure stepped from a shadow cast by a thick tree, his pale face illuminated in the blaze of the setting sun. His green eyes glowed menacingly as he approached his cowardly underlings, and he swiftly grabbed one by the collar and pulled him forward, thrusting a dagger against his throat.

“Our most generous friend, High Merchant Derman Jahladz, has expressed his interest in delivering this caravan and its guards without so much as a single blemish from your filthy hands, which I will with great pleasure remove at the slightest violation of my orders,” he hissed, his voice ominously soft.

“Y-y-yes s-sir,” Kefin stuttered, swallowing hard as he felt the dagger point press against his neck.

“I presume we understand each other now,” the shadowy man sneered, pulling back his dagger and throwing the man onto the grass beneath him.

“Of course, yes, mmhmm, yep, you got it,” the three stammered in unison, while Kefin scrambled to his feet and lurched forward to land out of his leader’s reach.

“Continue to track them, remain out of sight and give no indication of your presence. Attack at Larswood, your brethren should be of some aid, at the abandoned camp,”the man said, then turned to retreat to the trees.

“Right.”

“Yep.”

“Brethren...got it!”

He sighed softly and melted into the shadows of the forest, his agile legs swiftly carrying him across the mossy floor. They would be killed, there was no question of that. Now it was all a matter of timing...he would not fail again.



 




Sarevok glanced around the landscape, his weary eyes searching for any signs of life or other looted caravans. Something was wrong, the area felt ‘off’ for some reason...there had been no animals passing by, no deer darting through trees, nothing. Death had given him an uncanny ability to detect life, it was as if his soul reached out for it, craved it for lack of a better term...and this forest was devoid of all things living. There was something else, something he could barely sense, taunting him...he shook his head sharply. All of this wasted time spent in the endless drudgery of escorting this damned caravan, the idleness of it all was driving him mad. Even Shar-Teel seemed to suffer from the same malady, though she had not spoken and word to him since their previous conversation. Her ferocity in battle and sadistic delight as she savagely ripped off scalps spoke well enough for her state of mind. They had together killed seven more bandits, but that was hours ago, of course there had been no more once they passed into this strange, more heavily forested area. He gripped the reins tighter and spurred on the oxen, they would reach the Friendly Arm by nightfall...there would be no rest for him in such a place.


They continued their travel in silence, Shar-Teel found herself mesmerized by the burnished gold rays of the setting sun reflecting off of the warrior’s armor. She had seen a sign directing them to take the northern path to the Friendly Arm Inn, but it seemed as if the gated city would never peek out over the crests of the rolling hills. Although unbeknownst to Vorekas, she knew the path to the Friendly Arm well, at least coming from Baldur’s Gate...her father had many maps in his office, forbidden to her but of course she had managed to sneak her way in and bury herself in a pile of charts properly hidden beneath his desk. She remembered how her mother would tell her tales of a man, from the City of Coin, who made a great journey to Baldur’s Gate to save the city from the grip of a marauding group of vampires and other horrible creatures. The golden light flashed and glinted off of the armor as they bounced over stones and juts in the road, her mind slipped into an amber sea of memories.



Her mother held her in her arms, gently stroking her face with her cool hands. They were always so refreshing, especially in the stifling heat of the summer, and her softly curved nails tickled Shar-Teel’s cheeks. She giggled and batted at the offending hand, then turned to look up into her mother’s face.

“Will you tell me another story?”

“Shar, it is growing late, you know your father says you rest far too little for a child,” her mother warned gently, her steely blue eyes gazing down at her daughter.

Shar-Teel scanned over her mother’s face, hoping for some sign of weakness that she could capitalize on, she had not heard a story in so long. She just *knew* she could convince her mother that she absolutely had to be told a new tale, somehow...aha, she knew exactly how!

She looked up into her mother’s face, her dark eyes opened wide and her lips bowed in a small pout. “Oh please mother, Wilifred says I am much too old for any of my books about brave fighters and snarling monsters and all of that, I’m just dying to hear a story about more than torn lovers and weeping maidens!” Shar-Teel begged, “that William Quiverlance man is unbearable!”

Her mother laughed, a shimmering sound that seemed more like a rush of cool water than a laugh at all, and a wide smile slipped across her lovely face. She ran a long hand over Shar-Teel’s hairline, gently coaxing wild strands back into their proper place.

“You are a conniving one, Shar, maybe I should have disputed naming you after a dark goddess more vehemently...you bear more of the markings of one with each passing day.” Her pearly teeth glittered brightly in the glow of the setting sun barely peeking over the far sill. The light filtered through her flaxen hair and framed her face with a halo of spun gold, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Shar-Teel did not realize it at that time, but she would later come to know that her mother was a woman of widely renowned beauty and grace, held in high esteem by all the nobility of Baldur’s Gate.

“But...you are also convincing, and I will tell you a story only if you promise to breath no word of this to your father,” her mother warned, tapping a thin finger against Shar-Teel’s lips.

“Agreed,” she replied eagerly, grinning in both joy of victory and anticipation to hear her mother’s delightful tales.

“Well,” her mother began, gripping her delicate chin tightly as she often did when lost in thought, “what shall I tell...ah! I know, would you like to hear a story of man, a faithful follower of Torm who journeyed across dangerous...”

“Yes!” Shar-Teel interrupted, clapping her hands together in excitement, “I would!”

“Shhh child, you mustn’t let your father hear,” her mother scolded.

“Oops, sorry,” Shar-Teel whispered, covering her mouth with two small hands.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” her mother began again, slyly winking at Shar, “there is a city in the land of Amn, a city known across the realms for its abundant wealth and its host of rather shadowy figures, but we shan’t worry about them now. The City of Coin it is called, but most know it only as Athkatla, and never in the lands was there a more splendid place, the whole of it created as an immortal shrine to the goddess Waukeen.”

“Wow...” Shar-Teel gasped, “and father gets to go there all the time...”

Her mother smiled bitterly. “Yes...your father spends much time in Athkatla...” Her eyes stared at some unseen entity, distant and unfocused, then slowly turned to gaze at her daughter. She smiled strangely, scanning over Shar-Teel’s face, then hurriedly returned to her story.

“Within its sacred Temple District there lies a holy structure, held in the highest esteem even by the neighboring temples, a place revered by the lowliest of beggars and the wealthiest of merchants...the High Hall of the Radiant Heart. Within its glorious walls walk men who pledge their lives and sword to the cause of justice and goodness, followers of Helm and Torm whose unbending valor in battle and unwavering devotion to righteousness are a beacon of light in the murky depths of avarice and deceit. It is there that one certain man dwells, a strong man in both arm and faith, whose battle-hardened brow has now seen many winters...yet once he came to Baldur’s Gate, by the orders of his leader, called a Prelate, to rid the city of the unclean taint of a marauding band of vampires populating the darkness of the sewers...”

“We had vampires in our sewers? How marvelous!” Shar-Teel gushed excitedly, grasping her mother’s arm tightly.

“Shh child, of course not...this is but a story wrought by my own mind, you mustn’t confuse tale and truth,” she reprimanded gently, brushing a lock of hair from Shar’s face.

“So there wasn’t even a man strong in arm and faith?” Shar-Teel asked, disappointment ringing clearly in her voice.

Her mother’s eyes grew distant again, and she ran her fingers over Shar-Teel’s cheek dreamily. “Of course there was...he is–one among many...” she replied softly, then glanced down at her daughter.

“He set out, a mere squire facing the dangers of the wilderness with his small company of fellow knights...”







Shar-Teel smiled wanly, her mind slowly drifting back into reality with each jolt of the wagon. Suddenly she found herself back on the road to the Friendly Arm, seated at the rear of a caravan, faced by what else but the well-polished back of a suit of plate mail, the armor of choice for paladins. How she had idolized knights in her youth, her mother’s tales had made them seem so good, perfect men living in a world of imperfections...how wrong she had been. Her mother...oh how she missed her...she would be glad to see her once again. It had been years, too many years, but she could not help it, it was beyond her control. But now she was returning, and she could only wonder how her mother would welcome her, would she even recognize her? Much had changed...too much. Shar-Teel glanced up, surprised to see the shadow of the Friendly Arm Inn rising above the crest of the far hill, just as her mother had said it would.









They approached the gates of the small town, whose people mainly lived of the profits of the well-trafficked Friendly Arm Inn. Sarevok felt some measure of relief at leaving the strange forest without any interruption, but it still left a lingering feeling of unrest. The guards gazed up languidly from their reclining posts and waved mailed hands towards the caravan as it rolled through the open gates.

“Mind you, don’t be causing any problems!” one shouted, motioning towards Sarevok and Shar-Teel.

“Aye, we take visitors but we don’t take any criminals...we’ve got laws, and you’ve got to follow ‘em,” the other barked.

Sarevok nodded sharply in agreement and directed the oxen through the wide gates. He caught sight of a stable to the west of the Inn, and led his caravan to the stable hand standing before the tall structure.

“Ya’ll be needin’ to keep them here for a night?” he asked slowly, switching a piece of hay from the left side of his cheek to the right.

“Yes,” Sarevok answered, easily lifting himself from the seat and descending onto the ground. His tired legs felt strange against the hard ground, and his tense muscles cried out in opposition as he walked stiffly towards the boy.

“How much for a night?” he asked, reaching within his purse to withdrawn coin.

“12 gold for the oxen and 20 for the cargo,” the boy replied, sizing up the carts with a knowledgeable eye.

“Isn’t that rather high?” Sarevok replied suspiciously, “for only six oxen and three carts?”

“Well if you want three empty carts and six dead oxen, I’m sure I can oblige, sir...” the hand responded languidly, then shirked back a bit as Shar-Teel approached him menacingly.

“Give him the money Vorekas, I am tired,” she barked, glancing over the boy with her steely eyes.

“Fine,” Sarevok sighed, “here.” He handed the boy the thirty-two gold pieces and turned towards Shar-Teel as they walked back to the entrance of the Inn.




“Did those woods feel a bit...odd....to you?” Sarevok asked, watching her face for any sign of a reaction.

“No stranger than when I am forced to sit beside you for an extended period of time...which is why I moved,” Shar-Teel retorted sharply, her eyes still fixed on the Inn before her.

Ah yes, I am sure that is the only reason... Sarevok thought to himself, but decided it was the better judgment to remain silent.

“I see, it must have been the fatigue,” he replied, pushing through the doors of the Inn once they reached the top of the dark staircase. The sound of a busy tavern met their ears and they could see a dimly lit room filled with laughing patrons and rambling drunks. Sarevok and Shar-Teel wove their way through the densely arranged tables and chairs, finally reaching the smoothly polished bar.

“What’ll it be for ya?” the bartender asked, roughly wiping out the inside of a beer mug as he smiled warmly at the two new patrons.

“Whatever is your strongest,” Shar-Teel answered.

“And you sir?”

“Nothing,” Sarevok replied, deciding he would take a nice pitcher of water up to his room with him. “Two rooms though, for the night.”

The bartender shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid sir that we haven’t the accommodations...I have only one room left, we have a band from Amn here on their way to Waterdeep, and another from Luskan.”

Sarevok glanced nervously at Shar-Teel, who had finished her drink in a single long draught. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and slammed down the glass, motioning for the bartender to bring her another.

“I don’t care...I’m so tired I couldn’t care less if I was sharing a room with a friggin’ Flaming Fist...” Shar-Teel sighed, waving her hand dismissively.

“I will sleep on the floor,” Sarevok added, glancing at Shar-Teel curiously, he had expected a much more explosive reaction from her.

“Damn right you will,” Shar-Teel barked, finished the next mug in a single swig.

Sarevok sat at the bar, turning from Shar-Teel with a sigh and leaning his tired elbows onto the hardwood before him. He sat quietly until he saw a flash of bright green, and glanced to see a strange little man sitting beside him.

“Ah, I see I have finally caught your attention. I knew I would eventually, these bright colors don’t just protect me from enemies and emphasize my small stature, they also aid in attracting the eye of valuable men such as your fine self,” the gnome chattered pleasantly, a bright smile crossing his face.

“Excuse me?” Sarevok replied confusedly.

“Yes, pardon my manners, you see I am a highly esteemed purveyor of fine turnip goods, such as the dye that colored these magnificent robes, and also my own little mechanisms which I don’t have with me right now, they actually were confiscated by this pesky tax collector in Athkatla, what a mess that was let me tell you...” the gnome babbled happily and paused only for a sharp breath.

“Well, I can’t actually see your face so I’m not sure if you are a ‘you,’ or maybe you are nothing...jut an animated suit of metal, how fascinating! I should tell old Uncle Lotsastuff about that, he would overjoyed to see that his idea of animating plain old suits of field garb has been not only thought of, but implemented in this fine land, you must have been created by a gnome...”

“I am a man...not an ‘animated suit’ as you say...” Sarevok mumbled, barely able to understand the gnome’s rapid fire conversation.

“You see I must return to Baldur’s Gate to finish a very important transaction involving a turnip factory and a certain plot of land, it seems I have gotten quite the reputation in both Amn and Baldur’s Gate for being a bit on the ‘tricky’ side, can you imagine that? Me? I know, it is odd, but the point is I need to find myself some decent companions and I would be glad to devote my meager skills in magic and trickery to their cause...” The gnome paused and winked at Sarevok, the attempt almost as hilarious as the delivery. Sarevok found himself barely able to contain himself, fatigue had warped his mind and he found the gnome strangely entertaining...

“He wants to join ush? Fine, I shay...we need a third guard on our cara...cara...caravine...caravan...” Shar-Teel mumbled, her shaky hands holding a full mug of mead in one and a small glass in the other.

“I think you have had quite enough...” Sarevok replied, gently removing the glass from Shar-Teel’s grasp.

“Men are no fun...no fun at all I shay...kill them all, I will...with my big...bad...shword...” she answered sloppily, her elbow slipping out from under her and smacking her head against the hardwood bar.

“So what do you say, big guy, can I go with you to Baldur’s Gate?” the gnome questioned, his bright eyes twinkling mischeivously.

“What?! How did you...”

“I’m a sneaky one, I told you...I’m sure two painfully obvious people like yourself need a good rogue like me to help you out...”

“Fine,” Sarevok answered, resting him helm-covered head in his palm, “whatever, we need a third to journey with us.”

“Excellent, I cannot wait to tell old Uncle Polishman about this, to think I am traveling with two true warriors, with the plate mail and everything. He would be thrilled to hear about this...we should hurry up and get to Baldur’s Gate as soon as possible, as long as you keep her away from the bottle,” the gnome gushed, pointing towards Shar-Teel’s comatose form. “But I’ve got my own room, I’ll meet up with you guys when you wake up, I’m sure I’ll already be down here!” With that the gnome vanished into the sea of tavern patrons, and Sarevok turned back towards Shar-Teel, who was face-first on the bar.

He groaned and stood up, gripping Shar-Teel by the waist and pulling her to her feet.

“Come on, we must go to our room,” he coaxed, attempting to bring her to her feet.

“Okay...shure...our room...” Shar-Teel agreed, “you aren’t a man...you are jusht a...a thing...I don’t even know what you are...so it’s ok...”


I don’t even know what I am... Sarevok thought to himself, then grunted as Shar-Teel fell against him, a splashing sound coming from the area where her mouth met his plate mail.

“Shorry....” she moaned, and Sarevok’s stomach turned in disgust.

Don’t look down...just don’t...look down... He led Shar-Teel to the room the bartender had indicated they would be staying in, a humble merchant’s quarters, suitable enough for their purposes. He pushed open the door with his foot and was greeted by a frugal interior, comfortable but sparsely furnished. Shar-Teel muttered nonsense as he led her to the bed and picked her up into his arms, then gently laid her on the soft sheets.

“Mmm...thanks...” she murmured, “this is nice...” Her steely eyes gazed up languidly at him, her reddened skin shiny with sweat and dirt, and a gloved hand wiped at her vomit-crusted mouth clumsily.

Sarevok removed her helm for her and glanced at her... she will regret this night come morning, for more than one reason... He wondered if he should remove any of her armor, then decided that it would wisest to leave it alone...if he valued his health.

“This is so uncomfortable...ow...” she murmured feverishly, then began to awkwardly unstrap her breastplate. Sarevok protested in vain as it easily came off, revealing a lithe torso covered in a thin tunic. He lurched forward to stay her hand as it went to remove the plate covering her legs and other regions.

“Wait, until I am asleep...” he commanded, pushing her hand back towards the bed.

She smiled languidly and glanced up at him, throwing a thin hand into her wild hair as she snorted loudly and writhed around on the bed. “You are funny Vorekas...a funny...a funny big man...you know...to be honesht...,” she looked at him steadily, and for the first time he noticed how big her eyes were, “I like you.”

Sarevok stammered as he attempted to reply, but there was no need, Shar-Teel was already fast asleep. How strange it was, meeting Shar-Teel, journeying with her to Baldur’s Gate, now they had another companion made in just as odd of a manner.

To be equally as honest...the feeling is mutual.