Part 7: Uni-Turnips Abound

The Man in the Iron Mask Part 7: Uni-Turnips Abound


“I must admit I had no prior knowledge that a turnip could heal almost any illness. Maybe once retired I will plant my own garden, stranger things have happened...”

-Diary of Sarevok of the Iron Mask





The three companions rode on their respective carts, bouncing down the road to Baldur’s Gate. Sarevok felt some relief that they had made it through Larswood with relatively little trouble, except for that random ambush and the strange man, something about him had seemed quite odd. It disturbed him to some extent, but he shook it out of his mind and focused on the faint outline of the city in the distance.


“So, Shar, what brings you to the Gate? Seems a woman like you isn’t fit for the straight-laced life of the city,” Jan commented, gently smoothing his beard with a plump hand.

Shar-Teel snorted and gripped her reins tightly. “I have business to tend to.”

“How convenient, it seems we all have business in this town, even old tin-man up there!”

Shar-Teel fought to stifle a laugh, only cracking a slight smile as Sarevok turned around in his seat and pointed an ominous finger towards the gnome, who threw up his hands innocently.

“Gnome, I can easily leave you to the mercy of the Flaming Fist, do not test me,” the warrior snarled, then turned back to the road. Never again will I travel with a gnome. Or a woman for that matter...

“Oh, no sir, I didn’t intend to test you in any way, shape, or form, but speaking of that I once had a cousin, good old Mathematicus, he was a great gnome if there ever was, he and my uncle Pyghagorous made this wonderful theorem involving two turnips and a fence post...” Jan began cheerily.


“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Sarevok interrupted, not turning from his position facing the road.


Shar-Teel and Jan both jerked in surprise, then simultaneously nodded.


“Sure Vorekas, I’m sure you have some interesting ones, especially about the paladin who died from armor polish consumption,” Shar-Teel replied dryly, and Jan stifled a light chuckle.


“You see, my dear companions, there once was a wicked, malevolent, undead fallen paladin who was traveling to consummate his plans of death and destruction, alone , when he stumbled across a beautiful maiden who begged him, as a once-male, to bind her to him forever in a charge of servitude, complete obedience, and undying devotion–“ he began in a mockingly paladin-ish voice, moving his hands in wide, sweeping gestures common among the more flamboyant followers of Torm.


“I certainly hope this ‘story’ is a mere work of fiction,” Shar-Teel snarled, her face darkening ominously.


“Yes, as I was saying, he unwittingly performed this baneful deed, and they traveled together until they stumbled across a giant of mammoth proportions who spoke nary a word, and required entrance into a city, conveniently the same as the fair maiden and fallen paladin...”

“A giant? Marvelous! I have never seen a giant but I have seen close to that, once I met a griffon...”

“Cease your babbling you impudent fool!” Sarevok bellowed, his deep voice breaking through the false accent.


“Sorry, Master Vorekas.”


“But as fate would have it, the fallen paladin, a creature of purest darkness with acrid bile and vilest poison pouring through his stony veins, grew weary of his companions’ silence and found himself nearing the brink insanity, so...”

“Yes?” Jan asked eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.

“So..he swiftly impaled them both upon their own wheel spokes.” There was a long pause, as the two companions sat and absorbed his strange tale.



“Is that all?” Jan chirped. “Rather abrupt ending, if I say so myself...”

Shar-Teel snorted. “So I take it you aren’t a paladin?”


“Your powers of deduction are astonishing, woman...”


Shar-Teel smiled, then threw back her head and let out a loud peal of laughter. “If I weren’t so *fond* of you and your droll sense of humor I would rip your heart out with my bare hands...”


Sarevok sighed. “I will keep that in mind, if I ever am afflicted with any malady sprung from romantic roots...”


“Malady? Funny you speak of her, she was my great aunt on the Jansen side, although she always seemed to catch all the illnesses of the season. My, she even caught the Great Turnip Blight one year, and we though that was only for the vegetables...maybe she *was* one...she certainly was a woman of short words, rather expressionless too...” Jan chirruped happily.

“ENOUGH!” Sarevok bellowed, gripping his helm in his gloved hands. This headache would take days to go away.


“Headache, Master Vorekas?” Jan piped up from the back, “I know I’ve got a potion for that somewhere, the miraculous elixir made from the juicy pulp of the fabled Uni-turnip, found only when you place a young, unspoiled turnip out in the field on a moonless night...”





 






The three companions finally reached the gates of the city, the massive stone arches looming darkly against the burning skyline of the setting sun. The oxen’s hooves clamored against the bridge noisily, and the worn cart wheels creaked as if the whole thing would be rendered into bits of iron and wood. Two guards stood on duty before the final gates, and they glanced suspiciously at the nearing caravan. A pair of travelers sat in the front seat, a man covered fully in plate mail and a woman beside him, a rather threatening one at that.



“Well, you think that’s them?” the one hissed to the other, glancing back at the cart.

“I don’t know Jimbo, I thought he said there was a little guy with them too, I don’t see no little people on there...”

“Maybe they got rid of him? You know those damn gnomes, especially the Jansen’s,” Jimbo replied, nodding knowingly as his partner groaned.

“Not a Jansen...we’ve got orders to kill them on sight anyways, sneaky little bastids!”

“Here they come...hush.”

They both straightened up as the caravan approached, their backs as rigid as their ornate plate mail.


“Who goes there!” bellowed Jimbo, his pudgy face screwed up in an attempt to look threatening.

“An iron shipment from Beregost, under the care of the merchant Tenthir Gelvenstar,” Sarevok replied, “I am Vorekas and this is...”

“Leet-Rahs,” Shar-Teel interrupted, casting Sarevok a warning glance.


“Let’s get a look at yer face, we can’t be letting any strange creatures roam around the city,” Jimbo ordered, motioning towards Sarevok’s helm. Sarevok froze in fear, his tongue caught in his throat as his gaping mouth attempted to form words.

“He can’t,” Shar-Teel answered quickly, batting away the soldier’s hand as he reached towards Sarevok’s helm.


“You better explain yourself, woman! I don’t take kindly to being treated in such a crude manner by one of the weaker sex,” the guard bellowed, ripping back the offended hand.


Oh gods... Sarevok thought to himself with a groan.


You will die, scum, a terrible and painful death...I will rip your toenails out with a pair of rusty pliers then slice your neck open with a dull knife... “I am his sister, he is horribly disfigured and as a result cannot have the scars exposed to light, they will burn with incredible pain and he will be incapacitated for days,” she added hastily, glancing sharply over at Sarevok.

“I...er...well...alright, you can pass, I was just curious,” the guard replied, blushing with embarrassment. He quickly motioned for his partner to move out of their way, then waved them through.

Curiosity killed the male, Shar-Teel thought to herself, biting her lip viciously as they passed through the open gates.



Sarevok turned towards her and gripped her plated shoulder with a gloved hand.

“Excellent show of restraint, I see you have made progress in your time on this journey, Teel-Rahs ,” he said.

Shar-Teel hesitated for a moment, then ripped his hand off of her with a loud snarl. Her steely eyes narrowed menacingly as she glared at him, her cheeks darkened with a rush of blood.

“I am not here for your viewing pleasure, male, if you value your limbs then I suggest never bringing them near me again,” she spat, her thin lips pressed in anger.

Sarevok smiled beneath his helm, then turned back to guide the oxen to where they were to meet their contact, the Elfsong Inn.

He had seen her pause.




A light rustle in the cargo broke his thoughts, and a round little face soon popped out between the two fighters’ shoulders.

“You kids really are cute, let me tell you, almost remind me of old Mrs. Jansen and myself, I can’t wait to see her, you can be sure of that! We’ll be doing a good bit of “turnip-mashing” if you know what I mean,” Jan piped merrily, his bulbous nose shining brightly in the lights of the city.

Sarevok shook his head slowly, then turned to face Shar-Teel and the gnome.

“So, I have been transporting not only one, but two, criminals on this little journey?”

“I am not a criminal...” Shar-Teel replied, crossing her arms across her chest sullenly, “not that it is any of your business if I were.” She stared at the road, feeling the warrior’s burning stare on her sun-streaked face.

“Yeah, what was the Leet-Rahs deal? That’s a clever idea, the reverse thing, but so over-done, especially in stories of the fantasy/epic genre, there always seems to be at least one irredeemably evil character who at some point disguises himself, offers the protagonist a gift, then gives him/her a name that is the dyslexic equivalent of his own...” Jan babbled, interrupted only by a spasms of coughs from Shar-Teel.

“You alright, Shar?” Jan asked, concern flashing across his chubby face.

“I am fine, fine,” she grunted in reply, turning her head away from them and clearing her throat softly. It hurts...it always hurts...why so much more now. It wasn’t like a normal pain, it burned and felt like her whole chest was on fire, but soon she would know...

Sarevok glanced at her curiously, then caught the pale green of the tavern out of the corner of his eye.

“The Elfsong Inn,” he announced, motioning towards the attractive building, “we will stay our final night together here, a contact is waiting for the shipment and another arrives in the morning with our payments. Shar-Teel, do you have the scalps?” He turned back towards her, and was surprised to see her still wheezing for breath.

“Yes...in...bag...” she whispered, pounding her chest plate with a thick fist as she coughed. It sounded like something was tearing and rattling in her lungs, and Jan quickly dove into his bag of potions and scrolls.

“Here,” he ordered, shoving a small vial of blue liquid into her hand, “drink this.” He glanced at her sneering face and let out a shrill laugh, then uncorked the bottle for her. “It’s a simple potion on healing, one you can get from any temple around. Trust me.”

Shar-Teel guzzled the contents and felt a cool rush through her body, but the coughing did not subside. It burned, still, there was no stopping it, she needed to rest.

“I will lie down, and it will stop,” she sighed, then glanced up at Sarevok. “Don’t look at me like that, I can see it through the metal mask...I don’t need your pity,” she barked, then jumped down from the cart and threw her bag into his lap.

“They are all in there.”

“The potion didn’t work, how strange, I am sure my old friend Labrat could help you out, he’s a good sort, makes all kinds of things with his vegetable garden, I’ll have to ask him about it,” Jan said ponderously, his chubby hand stroking his bearded chin.


Sarevok stared at Shar-Teel, she was not one to show pain or discomfort in the least. “There is a temple of Ilmater near here,”he commented cooly, feeling a strange tinge of concern cross his mind as he scanned over her reddened face and heaving chest, “I am sure they can treat any illness.”

Shar-Teel’s face darkened and her thick eyebrows slanted angrily. “I don’t need...help...” she growled, blushing deeply as her voice was cracked by series of chest spasms. She turned away and walked towards the Inn portico, waiting for her companions in a silence racked with short coughs. It was growing unbearable, she could hide it before but the minute they stepped through the gates it seemed to get worse, what was wrong with her? She could go to a temple, and have them tell her it was hopeless, she could beg...it would be to no avail. She had to find him.





 




Sarevok sat on a simple wooden chair in the Elfsong Inn, his legs barely fitting beneath the plain wooden desk. He had a pen in his hand and had pulled a piece of parchment from a small drawer, then set to work on preparing the ink for writing. He gently uncorked the bottle and poured it into a small dish, making sure that the quill of the pen was sharp before dipping it gently into the bowl.





Dear Seline,


I regret that we have been unable to correspond as of late, my travels have taken me to many strange places and engaged me in the company of even stranger people.

I hope that you have found some amount of peace in Athkatla, how is Imoen faring with that wizard of hers? They should be marrying soon, according to the date given to me in your last letter, please give them my warmest regards and best wishes for their future together. The reunion should be a pleasant one, if all things remain as they are, I have not forgotten our agreement to meet at the Sphere within the next few months.

I am sure you are curious to know of my travels, as I am eager to hear of yours, and so I will relate to you, briefly, some of the more recent happenings.



Sarevok paused, cursing as a drop of ink splashed against the neatly written text. His sister was certainly used to his messy writing skills by now, a warrior rarely needed to write such lengthy correspondences as he maintained with his sister. Imoen of course read every letter he sent and would write a small note to the bottom of Seline’s, but he always addressed his only to the elder of the two...it drove Imoen mad. Of course, that was the whole purpose of doing so.




After the events in Kara-Tur, I journeyed north and returned to Amn, unsure of where my travels would lead me. Wanderlust filled my veins and I felt the need to be a vagabond for a time, if only to free my mind of her memories, and yet good fortune soon found its way into my life, of course while in a fully-covering guise. I can only imagine what havoc my return would create. Anyways, I came across a merchant who had broken a wheel of his cart, I mended it, and he offered me a lucrative position as a escort of his iron caravan to Baldur’s Gate. Of course I accepted, as I was running out of funds and was journeying that direction anyways, and so I continued with him to Beregost. Then the oddest thing happened, which I am quite embarrassed to inform you of, but you are my sister...a child came to me and asked me to find his dog, and in a temporary bought of insanity I agreed.

It was in the woods, searching for this mutt, that I came across the singularly most disturbed woman I have ever met. She was tied to a tree, held captive by the dog (which turned out to be some strange mutant and the child was something along those lines also, but that is beyond the point), and yet she dared to challenge me to a duel. She offered her arms to my cause if I was victorious, and 100 gold for her if victory was hers. As expected, she was defeated and pledged her arms to me, and I found her to be a vicious, cruel, man-hating, ferociously blood-thirsty killer who drank heavily and seems to have a whole host of psychological malfunctions.



Sarevok again stopped, glancing over the words he had already written and making a few corrections. What he had said about Shar-Teel was truth, and yet it seemed to do her no justice. She was a truly entertaining person, and their conversation was actually enjoyable...it was refreshing to be in her company, she reminded her greatly of the women he had traveled with while in Seline’s care.


She was gone now, off finishing whatever business she had to take care of in the city, for whatever purpose had brought her to the Gate. Her cough had subsided somewhat, but she refused to look into caring for it...Sarevok had to admit that he would do the same. Illness was a weakness to him, so to her it must be public humiliation to even let out a single cough. Bah, it did not matter, she would do as she wished, what did he care. It didn’t affect his life, thankfully. He frowned an scribbled down a continuation of the last paragraph.


That is unfair to only tell of her weaknesses, as I find her company quite enjoyable at times, her biting sarcasm is refreshing in the dull hum-drum of day to day traveling.


He nodded with satisfaction, that was better. He enjoyed her company, and that was all. Just like anyone else’s, she was just a different sort of woman, her confidence and strength was pleasing. Weak women were a nuisance. Even more so than gnomes.


Later, when at the Friendly Arm Inn, we came across an even odder sort, a gnome by the name of Jan Jansen. He begged to be in our caravan, and once he gave Shar-Teel (the man-hater) a potent anti-hangover medication, I knew I was doomed to his babbling for the next few days. We killed bandits, scalped them, and came across a shadowy figure...but that matters not, I have rambled enough. Write soon, I am eager to hear of your travels in the City of Coin, have you continued your business with the Shadow Thieves? I wonder if you won’t become one yourself, Aran would be thrilled I am sure.




Best regards,

Your Brother.






Sarevok folded up the paper and sealed it with a small insignia of the Elfsong, then placed it in the hands of a messenger waiting inside the door of his room.


“Be sure to tell her where I am staying, but speak no word of it until you reach Athkatla,” Sarevok whispered, then dropped a bag of coins into the man’s hands.

“Right you are sir, no sooner said than done,” he said cheerily, then sped down the stairs and into the tavern quicker than Sarevok could blink.


Sarevok returned to his room and locked his door, then began to remove his plate mail. Tomorrow morning the messenger would come with his gold, and Shar-Teel’s, and they would go their separate ways.


He stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging over a wide dresser before his bed. His skin had paled some, but was still a deep, golden beige, and even his eyes had cooled to a faintly glowing amber. They actually looked somewhat natural, although he knew not why, maybe the lack of sunlight was affecting him more than he had imagined. He ran a thick hand over his stubbly head and mangy chin, he needed to shave badly. He would do it the next night, paid for with his nice new piles of gold.


Why am I bothered by the thought of her...leaving? I do not care where she goes, have I been alone for so long that cling to any company I can find? Now she is ill, who knows if she has given it to me or the gnome, not that I have had any contact with her... Sarevok felt his face darken as he thought of her lying on the bed... her hair spread across the white sheets, her hands slipping across the bed and alongside her muscular torso... He shook the thoughts from his head, he must be going delusional from the lack of sleep and heat exposure...yes, that was it. Delusional.


An image of her face flashed across his mind, the frightened blank stare as she clutched at his arms, she looked so young...



Help me, please....