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Friendly Arms
Pray to Mystra it is not necessary, son, but should we ever become separated, it is imperative you make your way to the Friendly Arm Inn. There you will meet Khalid and Jaheira; they have long been my friends, and you can trust them.
No two hours later, Digitalis had truly become an orphan. The only thing he and Imoen had been able to do for the poor, broken body that had once been Gorion was dig a quick grave in the clearing’s mossy ground and rob him of the money he carried.
The thugs had not caught up with them, which was a small miracle considering the mental state of Digitalis’s companions and his own physical one. The ogre bodyguard of Gorion’s murderer had dealt him a glancing blow with its club, and a sword –possibly his own- had left a deep gash next to his right eye that was likely to leave a scar. As another tangible reminder of the fateful encounter the magical acid arrow the woman had cast at his fleeing back gave him a burning sensation between his shoulderblades.
That considered he should have been glad to reach the keep’s relative safety; the fascinated, eager way the instable necromancer Xzar examined his injuries and discoloring bruises made him feel like something floating in a big, labeled glass jar. The wizard’s grubby halfling ‘friend’ Montaron, with his love of spilling blood and hateful jokes did not make things better.
The large common room of the Friendly Arm tavern smelled of wood, spices and the logs crackling in the hearts. They made memories of the inn back in Candlekeep come flooding in like a rushing river and filled Digitalis’s eyes with tears.
Before Montaron could snap in one of his hateful remarks, Digitalis felt a comforting warm hand on his shoulder.
“Kinda reminds you of Winthrop’s, huh?” Imoen said with a wistful smile. “Only bigger.”
He nodded. In the background, Montaron seemed to be casing other guests with potentially loaded purses while Xzar was folding a napkin into some unidentifiable shape, oblivious to the world.
“Ahem! Er, excuse me?”
Digitalis turned his head. Carefully. The speaker was in his early forties and surrounded by a permanent aura of nervousness. He was slight of build, with a barely noticeable curve in his ears that marked him as a half-elf. Both his rather pronounced nose and the accent in his soft-spoken voice hinted at an Amnian –or, looking at the man’s reddish hair- possibly Calimshite descent.
“Yes?”
“Er, yes, well, I c-could not help but overhear you. You come from Candlekeep, I t-take it?”
Montaron’s dark eyes slowly settled on the stranger and the halfling’s lips parted in a cruel grin.
“Me word, ye hear that, ye idiotic wizard? Found ourselves a fool with a sp-p-peech impediment, we have!”
The newcomer’s ears turned slightly red. Xzar stopped making creases in his napkin.
Digitalis sighed. “Yes, I am from Candlekeep. Now if you have come to kill me, please step outside and get in line. I won’t come out until next morning.”
This caused the other man’s words to come out even more mangled than before. Digitalis could not help but wonder if the poor stranger had to untie his tongue every evening.
“K-kill you? Oh no, on the contrary. I b-believe your foster father wanted us to p-protect you.”
Montaron’s eyes were now reduced to slits. “Us?” he growled.
“Y-yes. My wife, Jaheira. And m-me. I’m Khalid.”
Digitalis followed his nervous glance across the room. There sat a woman alone at a table, but if the bone-hilted scimitar by her side was any judge, there was no doubt she could take care of herself. He followed Khalid towards her, the others close in his footsteps.
Jaheira was a half-elf as well, though apparently she’d got the better side of the deal. Where Khalid seemed to have had at least a decent haircut, some of the strands simply didn’t plan to settle down just yet; his wife’s blonde hair had the color of dark honey and flowed down past ears as fine and delicately pointed as those of a fullblood elf. There was a frown between her bright green eyes however.
“Ÿou resemble your mother,” she stated matter-of-factly as Digitalis approached her table. “But she rarely got herself so foolishly wounded… and tended to choose better company.”
Xzar managed to look offended. Montaron spat on the floor, which earned him a warning from the gnome inkeep. Jaheira seemed unaffected. If anything, it proved her point.
“You should let me take a look at you; apart from a warrior, I’m also a druid.”
Digitalis suddenly felt very tired. “Good. If I need some nice fertile soil and watering I’ll ask you.”
Jaheira raised an eyebrow. “Gorion should have taught you more respect, though apparently he was right in naming you after a poisonous plant.”
Digitalis chose to ignore the retort, although he vaguely remembered that the foxglove his name was derived from was also a medicine. “You’re not exactly the flowery type either, are you?”
Before Jaheira could open her mouth for another barbed reply, Khalid raised his arms. “C-calm yourself, dear,” he sputtered. “Let us f-first straighten things out.”
He gave Digitalis a contemplative look. The weary half-elf was suddenly aware of the sorrow behind the older man’s brownish-green eyes. He must already know.
“If Gorion has p-passed, we share your loss.”
“We assumed the worst once we saw he was not with you,” Jaheira added more quietly. “It was his wish that if anything would happen to him on your journey, Khalid and I were to become your guardians. I do think the choice ultimately ought to be your own though.”
Digitalis gave this some thought.
Xzar stopped messing with the folds of his robe in mid-fumble. He tossed back his wild blonde curls, eyes bulging in his tattooed face. “Am I to understand,” he asked coldly, “that we are to cooperate with these unsavory characters?”
* * *
“…ish him. Hurry, Monty. I hate waiting!”
Digitalis tossed and turned in his sore, restless half-sleep.
“Alright, alright, keep yer robes on. First we see what this feller keeps in his pouch, aye?”
There was a stirring noise, a curse and then the whispering sound of a dagger drawn. The veil of waking dreams parted and Digitalis could see an anxious Xzar in the opposite room. Montaron stood near the mortified guest’s head, ready to slit the man’s throat.
Digitalis tried a warning, an order to leave the man alone but couldn’t find his voice. Silently he reached down for his bow, but he knew he would be too late. It had to be somewhere near; now why in the Nine Hells didn’t he see or feel it?
With a clang a sword met the dagger before it could strike true.
Khalid had always been a light sleeper. “I am s-sorry,” he said in his usual timid voice, but with a firm undertone this time. “I cannot let you d-do that.”
With a snarl Montaron pulled free his weapon and lunged. Xzar jumped aside and started humming the initial words of an incantation. Meanwhile, the unlucky merchant rolled off his near-deathbed and fled.
Montaron was smaller than Khalid, but he had learned to use that to every dirty street-fighting advantage. Aside from that he was wearing his sturdy leather armor while Khalid’s only protection was formed by a pair of cotton trousers.
Then from the neighboring room Jaheira and Imoen burst in and suddenly the small thug found himself hard-pressed. The halfling’s eyes darted to the open window on the east side of the chamber.
Xzar’s spell trailed off.
Imoen was the first to notice. “That would be stupid! We’re on the bloody second floor! That’s rock down there, not a fish pond!”
It must have been an oft-rehearsed routine, because before anyone could react the sinister pair did indeed take their chances and escaped into through the window, into the shelter of the dark night.
Jaheira leaned over the windowsill and cursed. “There are bales of straw down here. They must have been prepared for a quick getaway.”
Khalid lowered his sword. He smiled apologetically, as if he somehow awaited reproof for his actions.
Digitalis disentangled himself from his bedsheets. “A timely intervention,” he said softly. “I didn’t even hear you coming, but it is very fortunate you did.”
A small fraction of Khalid’s uneasy tension flowed away. “Well, yes, p-people do say I fade well into a background,” he jested mildly.
“Whatever people might say,” Digitalis said forcefully, “there is no doubt you are a true friend of my father’s, and I would much rather have a friend at my side than in the background.”
For a moment, this left Khalid at a loss for words. He exchanged glances with Jaheira. Digitalis looked at the druid as well. He would make sure to get his own back at Imoen for the way she sniggered at his embarrasment, but that was of later concern.
He cleared his throat. “And as for what I said yesterday- you may officially smack me over the head for it.”
Jaheira barely concealed an amused smirk. “Hmm. How about if you just let me take a look at that head of yours instead? I can only too easily imagine how Gorion would glare at me for leaving his only son to his pain.”
