Gorion looks into the room of his foster daughter. Sweat glistens on his forehead. Her bed is made with perfect corners, the plain sheets as firmly set as if they had been ironed into place. Two red monk robes lay carefully folded on the end of her polished wooden chest. She has been taking in sewing again. Gorion resists the urge to pick up one of the robes and look at her needlework, because he knows he will not be able to fold the robes again. His hands shake. It is not fear, but deep, dull dread, curled up in his stomach.
The parchments on her desk have been divided into two piles laying next to a heavily bookmarked tome on the study of life forces. Phoenix herself is laying cheek down on her open spell book, where she had been studying her newest spell, Larlock’s minor drain. Her hair has fallen over her face like a black and gray rag. Her breathing is steady and controlled, and her closed eyelids twitch from time to time. She is too young. He pulls the offending clump of hair from her face.
He dreads telling her the truth of her parentage more than he dreads facing those that are coming to murder her. He is afraid for her life, yes, but he is afraid for her soul more. She already walks the line between good and evil. What will she do when she finds out that she is a daughter of the dead god of murder? Will she embrace that heritage, as fully as she has the study of necromancy, or will she reject it? If she rejects it, will she try to kill herself? When he tells her, she is likely to have a very bad reaction, and he had better tell her when he has a full day or so to explain. She is too stubborn. He can’t tell her until they are safely hidden again. If he tells her here, she will refuse to do anything until she knows everything. That means they will be caught in Candlekeep. This is the place where most of Faerun’s knowledge rests on dry wooden bookshelves. It’s not a place for battle. Gorion reaches out and shakes her shoulder gently.
*
Phoenix opens her eyes. The last thing she remembers is laying her head down because the symbols in her spell book were blurring and dancing on the insides of her eyelids. She remembers the cold page against her hot cheek. She must have fallen asleep.
She is now looking up into the face of her father, Gorion. There is a smile on his lips but not his eyes. Suspicious.
“You really should use the bed, it’s better for your neck.” He says, almost naturally. Her eyes trace the perspiration on his face, the way his hands disappear into pockets in his robes, and last but not least, the way he’s holding his breath. Whatever it is, it is serious.
“What can I do for you, father?” She asks. She is certain that she hasn’t done anything wrong lately. Perhaps Rebos has written him a letter and he has something more to add to their ongoing discussion about what is best for her future. That would make him this apprehensive. She’s really quite tired, but if it’s bothering him this much, he’d best get it off his chest. It’s not good for a man his age to worry so much.
“I have just received a letter from an old friend of mine. It seems some of my old traveling companions have been staying at the Friendly Arms Inn, hoping to meet with me and you before they leave.” His eyes rest gently on her eyes, waiting to judge her response. She knows her father well. Again, this is far too much concern for her feelings on the matter for it to be a natural situation. There is a catch somewhere in this.
“Are they necromancers?” She asks, raising an eyebrow. She thinks she knows where this is going. He’s trying to apprentice her off to another profession.
“No. One is a druid, one is a warrior, but their professions pale in comparison to who they are. They are old friends.” He says, and watches her face.
Her lips tighten. “Have I been relegated to being a small child again, that you hold back so much explanation? We’ve never left Candlekeep since I arrived when I was six years old, and now all the sudden, we’re off to meet old friends?” If she didn’t notice the tell tale signs of his hands, his sweat and the way his eyes are watching cautiously, as if she may burst into flames or flee at any moment, she’d have assumed that this was just a normal situation…but she can feel that it isn’t. She just can’t justify the feeling.
“You are old enough to travel now.” He says, looking at the open spell book on the table, perhaps realizing his worried eyes are giving him away. “I would like you to accompany me this time.” Her mind fills in the very few times that Gorion had left and she’d been left in the care of Winthrop, Firebead Elevenhair and even one time, Tethtoril. “Though not without a little bit of preparation.” He adds. “I know that you will not approve, but travel is dangerous, so I have asked a few friends to help train you on the basics of defense.”
“Fair enough.” She says slowly, watching the perspiration continue to bead on his forehead. Perhaps all he is worried about is her response to being told not only that they are leaving to visit old friends of his, but that she must hurry and learn to defend herself, lest her virtue be endangered. She didn’t know which virtue they could be talking about. The only virtue she had in any abundance was patience and that had been endangered on more than one occasion already. When questioned about why they worried about bandit’s endangering her patience, every adult she had brought this up with had become non responsive and fled the subject, no matter how vigorously she pursued it. But patience she did have, and it was only a matter of time before she solved that mystery. If that was all that was bothering him, she could solve that little problem right now. She wanted some combat training in case she ever ran out of spells, or inadvertently walked into a magic dead zone. “Defense is something I could use a little training on. Not that I expect to be attacked at every turn…I’m pretty sure the soldiers are exaggerating the bandit problem to have something to talk about. Besides, if I wear my most ragged robe and you walk bent over a bit in your most ragged robe, and we’ll look like a couple of beggars. Bandits aren’t likely to attack someone who has nothing to steal.” She smiles comfortingly. “But I won’t turn down training if it makes you stop sweating at me.”
Gorion laughs into his beard, but his eyes don’t smile or connect. He seems very distracted. “I’ll be happier when we are sitting in the Friendly Arms Inn talking with my friends over a warm cider.” He answers. This sent a shiver down her spine. Why hadn’t he calmed down? Perhaps he really was worried about bandits. Then again, why would a mage of his power be worried about bandits? Anyone he couldn’t take on and win within a few minutes would be someone who would never need to be a bandit in the first place. So, it couldn’t be the bandits he was worried about…there was something related to her that he was worried about…perhaps her response to bandits? Perhaps her response to possibly killing bandits? Maybe he was worried that if she killed a bandit she’d want to pickle it and keep it around for later experimentation? Surely he knew that there was no shortage of dead bodies and that she wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures… People always had such crazy ideas about necromancy. She loved her father, but he certainly worried about good and evil too much. Being a necromancer didn’t make her a murderer. Having killed Mae made her a murderer. Being a necromancer meant that perhaps one day…she’d be able to fix that.
Bhaal's Youngest: Chapter 3
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, Apr 26 2005 03:35 AM
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#2
Guest_Kulyok_*
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Posted 26 April 2005 - 06:12 AM
Gorion looks into the room of his foster daughter. Sweat glistens on his forehead. Her bed is made with perfect corners, the plain sheets as firmly set as if they had been ironed into place. Two red monk robes lay carefully folded on the end of her polished wooden chest. She has been taking in sewing again. Gorion resists the urge to pick up one of the robes and look at her needlework, because he knows he will not be able to fold the robes again. His hands shake. It is not fear, but deep, dull dread, curled up in his stomach.
Poor girl... her room looks much like a chamber in a hospital...
The parchments on her desk have been divided into two piles laying next to a heavily bookmarked tome on the study of life forces. Phoenix herself is laying cheek down on her open spell book, where she had been studying her newest spell, Larlock’s minor drain. Her hair has fallen over her face like a black and gray rag. Her breathing is steady and controlled, and her closed eyelids twitch from time to time. She is too young. He pulls the offending clump of hair from her face.
So, she's not pretty, then? Then again, meddling with necromancy can lead to a certain drop in charms... take Xzar.
He dreads telling her the truth of her parentage more than he dreads facing those that are coming to murder her. He is afraid for her life, yes, but he is afraid for her soul more.
Ala: Really, what's the business with the soul? It's not as we can expect different afterlife on the outcome of our actions. Dust is always dust. *frowns*
She already walks the line between good and evil. What will she do when she finds out that she is a daughter of the dead god of murder? Will she embrace that heritage, as fully as she has the study of necromancy, or will she reject it? If she rejects it, will she try to kill herself? When he tells her, she is likely to have a very bad reaction, and he had better tell her when he has a full day or so to explain. She is too stubborn. He can’t tell her until they are safely hidden again. If he tells her here, she will refuse to do anything until she knows everything. That means they will be caught in Candlekeep. This is the place where most of Faerun’s knowledge rests on dry wooden bookshelves. It’s not a place for battle. Gorion reaches out and shakes her shoulder gently.
Er, *timidly*, Gorion, perhaps you'd wait with telling till she's a little bit older?
Phoenix opens her eyes. The last thing she remembers is laying her head down because the symbols in her spell book were blurring and dancing on the insides of her eyelids. She remembers the cold page against her hot cheek. She must have fallen asleep.
She is now looking up into the face of her father, Gorion. There is a smile on his lips but not his eyes. Suspicious.
“You really should use the bed, it’s better for your neck.” He says, almost naturally. Her eyes trace the perspiration on his face, the way his hands disappear into pockets in his robes, and last but not least, the way he’s holding his breath. Whatever it is, it is serious.
Quite paranoid for one so young. Then again, she's got a good reason, he *is* hiding something...
“I have just received a letter from an old friend of mine. It seems some of my old traveling companions have been staying at the Friendly Arms Inn, hoping to meet with me and you before they leave.” His eyes rest gently on her eyes, waiting to judge her response. She knows her father well. Again, this is far too much concern for her feelings on the matter for it to be a natural situation. There is a catch somewhere in this.
“Are they necromancers?” She asks, raising an eyebrow. She thinks she knows where this is going. He’s trying to apprentice her off to another profession.
*chuckles, imagining Jaheira at the cemetery, hosting the skeleton army*
Her lips tighten. “Have I been relegated to being a small child again, that you hold back so much explanation? We’ve never left Candlekeep since I arrived when I was six years old, and now all the sudden, we’re off to meet old friends?” If she didn’t notice the tell tale signs of his hands, his sweat and the way his eyes are watching cautiously, as if she may burst into flames or flee at any moment, she’d have assumed that this was just a normal situation…but she can feel that it isn’t. She just can’t justify the feeling.
“You are old enough to travel now.” He says, looking at the open spell book on the table, perhaps realizing his worried eyes are giving him away. “I would like you to accompany me this time.” Her mind fills in the very few times that Gorion had left and she’d been left in the care of Winthrop, Firebead Elevenhair and even one time, Tethtoril. “Though not without a little bit of preparation.” He adds. “I know that you will not approve, but travel is dangerous, so I have asked a few friends to help train you on the basics of defense.”
Why wouldn't she approve of learning defense? (*sighs* But Gorion is a bit harsh, allowing child to fight.)
“Fair enough.” She says slowly, watching the perspiration continue to bead on his forehead. Perhaps all he is worried about is her response to being told not only that they are leaving to visit old friends of his, but that she must hurry and learn to defend herself, lest her virtue be endangered. She didn’t know which virtue they could be talking about. The only virtue she had in any abundance was patience and that had been endangered on more than one occasion already. When questioned about why they worried about bandit’s endangering her patience, every adult she had brought this up with had become non responsive and fled the subject, no matter how vigorously she pursued it. But patience she did have, and it was only a matter of time before she solved that mystery. If that was all that was bothering him, she could solve that little problem right now. She wanted some combat training in case she ever ran out of spells, or inadvertently walked into a magic dead zone. “Defense is something I could use a little training on. Not that I expect to be attacked at every turn…I’m pretty sure the soldiers are exaggerating the bandit problem to have something to talk about. Besides, if I wear my most ragged robe and you walk bent over a bit in your most ragged robe, and we’ll look like a couple of beggars. Bandits aren’t likely to attack someone who has nothing to steal.” She smiles comfortingly. “But I won’t turn down training if it makes you stop sweating at me.”
Ala: That idea with rags is pure genius, sister. I have the same concept in mind for my... work.
Gorion laughs into his beard, but his eyes don’t smile or connect. He seems very distracted. “I’ll be happier when we are sitting in the Friendly Arms Inn talking with my friends over a warm cider.” He answers. This sent a shiver down her spine. Why hadn’t he calmed down? Perhaps he really was worried about bandits. Then again, why would a mage of his power be worried about bandits? Anyone he couldn’t take on and win within a few minutes would be someone who would never need to be a bandit in the first place. So, it couldn’t be the bandits he was worried about…there was something related to her that he was worried about…perhaps her response to bandits? Perhaps her response to possibly killing bandits? Maybe he was worried that if she killed a bandit she’d want to pickle it and keep it around for later experimentation? Surely he knew that there was no shortage of dead bodies and that she wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures… People always had such crazy ideas about necromancy. She loved her father, but he certainly worried about good and evil too much. Being a necromancer didn’t make her a murderer. Having killed Mae made her a murderer. Being a necromancer meant that perhaps one day…she’d be able to fix that.
Er, I doubt she'd be able to find Mae's corpse, anyway. So, the famous ride starts?
#3
Guest_Daie_*
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Posted 26 April 2005 - 08:40 PM
Heya!
Daie: I know what he's worried about. *sings* Sarry's gonna get ya, Sarry's gonna get ya!
Sounds like me when I'm working. Blah blah, Rise of the labour *spit* party. *snore*
Daie: Same here. Mine's a pint!
Actually, I could use a pint now. *groans*
Can;t wait til your next one. Laters!
Gorion looks into the room of his foster daughter. Sweat glistens on his forehead. Her bed is made with perfect corners, the plain sheets as firmly set as if they had been ironed into place. Two red monk robes lay carefully folded on the end of her polished wooden chest. She has been taking in sewing again. Gorion resists the urge to pick up one of the robes and look at her needlework, because he knows he will not be able to fold the robes again. His hands shake. It is not fear, but deep, dull dread, curled up in his stomach.
Daie: I know what he's worried about. *sings* Sarry's gonna get ya, Sarry's gonna get ya!
Phoenix opens her eyes. The last thing she remembers is laying her head down because the symbols in her spell book were blurring and dancing on the insides of her eyelids. She remembers the cold page against her hot cheek. She must have fallen asleep.
“You really should use the bed, it’s better for your neck.” He says, almost naturally.
Sounds like me when I'm working. Blah blah, Rise of the labour *spit* party. *snore*
Gorion laughs into his beard, but his eyes don’t smile or connect. He seems very distracted. “I’ll be happier when we are sitting in the Friendly Arms Inn talking with my friends over a warm cider.”
Daie: Same here. Mine's a pint!
Actually, I could use a pint now. *groans*
Can;t wait til your next one. Laters!
#4
Guest_Dadri_*
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Posted 26 April 2005 - 09:47 PM
Poor girl... her room looks much like a chamber in a hospital...
The monks can say anything they want about her choice of reading materials or profession. They cannot, however, call her sloppy. She makes sure that no one has anything to say about that.
So, she's not pretty, then? Then again, meddling with necromancy can lead to a certain drop in charms... take Xzar.
She isn't pretty so she's developed an alternative strategy for life. Imoen can dream about being a beautiful princess being rescued by a handsome wizard, dashing prince and sassy rogue. Phoenix knows that no one would want to kidnap her and no one would want to rescue her. She wants to make sure that no one wants to cross her as well.
Ala: Really, what's the business with the soul? It's not as we can expect different afterlife on the outcome of our actions. Dust is always dust. *frowns*
Perhaps Gorion believes that after all is said and done, the gods will step in for the souls of the Bhaalspawn.
Er, *timidly*, Gorion, perhaps you'd wait with telling till she's a little bit older?
But the hammer is coming down now. He really doesn't want to tell her...but he really doesn't want anyone else to tell her before he does.
Quite paranoid for one so young. Then again, she's got a good reason, he *is* hiding something...
Phoenix can be pretty observant. She knows what he does when there is something bothering him. I imagine she would be a very hard child to raise.
*chuckles, imagining Jaheira at the cemetery, hosting the skeleton army*
Lol!
Why wouldn't she approve of learning defense? (*sighs* But Gorion is a bit harsh, allowing child to fight.)
Perhaps Gorion thinks that she will view it as another attempt to distract her from her true goals in life. He doesn't realize that it is already on her to do list. Gorion is however well aware that all the other Bhaalspawn are older than her and that it won't be long before she finds herself facing them...he wants to make sure that she doesn't find herself defenseless.
Ala: That idea with rags is pure genius, sister. I have the same concept in mind for my... work.
She's a child with black and gray hair and beady black eyes. All she has to do is put on rags and scowl and she'll look like an old woman. If someone looks closely enough they'll notice that her skin is smooth and young, not wrinkled, but usually people don't look that close. (She also doesn't know that the assassins have a description of her and are looking for her specifically...she has yet to be attacked)
Er, I doubt she'd be able to find Mae's corpse, anyway.
True, but that doesn't stop her from making it her goal. If she can't find the corpse, she'll probably drop fifteen years into developing a find corpse spell as well. Of course, this is before she learns a few things about bringing the dead back...she still thinks it's a matter of setting things right. She still thinks she can just raise the girl from the dead and hand her back to her parents and that they will be totally happy to have their seven year old back from the dead.
So, the famous ride starts?
Yes. It starts
Let the games begin! As you can probably guess having an unattractive young woman protagonist will mean a little alteration to the game... for one thing, the normal characters will not be hitting on her. Imoen is not the younger sister...ect. Oh, and Bhaal will be a character in this story, as you could probably imagine after his appearance in chapter one.
#5
Guest_Dadri_*
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Posted 26 April 2005 - 09:52 PM
Heya!
Hi!
Daie: I know what he's worried about. *sings* Sarry's gonna get ya, Sarry's gonna get ya!
Yup. That too.
Sounds like me when I'm working. Blah blah, Rise of the labour *spit* party. *snore*
Yeah. I wanted to make sure everyone knew that the slave driver drives herself just as hard.
Lol!
Thanks! And thanks for commenting! It helps to know someone is reading these things!
Hi!
Daie: I know what he's worried about. *sings* Sarry's gonna get ya, Sarry's gonna get ya!
Yup. That too.
Sounds like me when I'm working. Blah blah, Rise of the labour *spit* party. *snore*
Yeah. I wanted to make sure everyone knew that the slave driver drives herself just as hard.
Daie: Same here. Mine's a pint!
Actually, I could use a pint now. *groans*
Lol!
Can;t wait til your next one. Laters
Thanks! And thanks for commenting! It helps to know someone is reading these things!
#6
Guest_Wyvern_*
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Posted 28 April 2005 - 04:17 AM
Nice passage here, I hadn't thought of how a necromancer might actually like being a child of murder. It will be interesting to see just how Phoenix takes the news later.He dreads telling her the truth of her parentage more than he dreads facing those that are coming to murder her. He is afraid for her life, yes, but he is afraid for her soul more. She already walks the line between good and evil. What will she do when she finds out that she is a daughter of the dead god of murder? Will she embrace that heritage, as fully as she has the study of necromancy, or will she reject it? If she rejects it, will she try to kill herself? When he tells her, she is likely to have a very bad reaction, and he had better tell her when he has a full day or so to explain. She is too stubborn. He can’t tell her until they are safely hidden again. If he tells her here, she will refuse to do anything until she knows everything. That means they will be caught in Candlekeep. This is the place where most of Faerun’s knowledge rests on dry wooden bookshelves. It’s not a place for battle. Gorion reaches out and shakes her shoulder gently.
Rebos again, sounds like he might show up in the story again.“What can I do for you, father?” She asks. She is certain that she hasn’t done anything wrong lately. Perhaps Rebos has written him a letter and he has something more to add to their ongoing discussion about what is best for her future. That would make him this apprehensive. She’s really quite tired, but if it’s bothering him this much, he’d best get it off his chest. It’s not good for a man his age to worry so much.
Poor Gorion, all this preparation, and he's still going to die.
#7
Guest_Dadri_*
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Posted 28 April 2005 - 07:02 PM
Nice passage here, I hadn't thought of how a necromancer might actually like being a child of murder. It will be interesting to see just how Phoenix takes the news later.
Whichever way she takes it, Gorion knows his adopted daughter well enough to know that it's not going to be taken lightly.
Rebos again, sounds like he might show up in the story again.
The attempt to take Phoenix as an apprentice only happened last week. Besides, it's not like Phoenix is going to forget Rebos, the only necromancer she's met so far.
Poor Gorion, all this preparation, and he's still going to die.
Yes, sadly so. Unfortunatly, Gorion always has to die for plot reasons... but I'm going to be using my dead Gorion for a big plot reason. After all, everyone needs a carrot on a stick to work for.
#8
Laufey
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Transcendant
Posted 29 April 2005 - 05:34 PM
Gorion looks into the room of his foster daughter. Sweat glistens on his forehead. Her bed is made with perfect corners, the plain sheets as firmly set as if they had been ironed into place. Two red monk robes lay carefully folded on the end of her polished wooden chest. She has been taking in sewing again. Gorion resists the urge to pick up one of the robes and look at her needlework, because he knows he will not be able to fold the robes again. His hands shake. It is not fear, but deep, dull dread, curled up in his stomach.
I think you did a fine job of capturing Gorion's dread, very much a father fearing for his child's life and sanity.
Phoenix opens her eyes. The last thing she remembers is laying her head down because the symbols in her spell book were blurring and dancing on the insides of her eyelids. She remembers the cold page against her hot cheek. She must have fallen asleep.
Been there, done that.
“You really should use the bed, it’s better for your neck.” He says, almost naturally. Her eyes trace the perspiration on his face, the way his hands disappear into pockets in his robes, and last but not least, the way he’s holding his breath. Whatever it is, it is serious.
She's very observant, that's for sure.
Gorion laughs into his beard, but his eyes don’t smile or connect. He seems very distracted. “I’ll be happier when we are sitting in the Friendly Arms Inn talking with my friends over a warm cider.” He answers. This sent a shiver down her spine. Why hadn’t he calmed down? Perhaps he really was worried about bandits. Then again, why would a mage of his power be worried about bandits? Anyone he couldn’t take on and win within a few minutes would be someone who would never need to be a bandit in the first place. So, it couldn’t be the bandits he was worried about…there was something related to her that he was worried about…perhaps her response to bandits? Perhaps her response to possibly killing bandits? Maybe he was worried that if she killed a bandit she’d want to pickle it and keep it around for later experimentation? Surely he knew that there was no shortage of dead bodies and that she wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures… People always had such crazy ideas about necromancy. She loved her father, but he certainly worried about good and evil too much. Being a necromancer didn’t make her a murderer. Having killed Mae made her a murderer. Being a necromancer meant that perhaps one day…she’d be able to fix that.
And thinks a lot as well, something that I suspect comes from her being a mage.
Rogues do it from behind.
#9
Guest_Dadri_*
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Posted 30 April 2005 - 02:55 AM
I think you did a fine job of capturing Gorion's dread, very much a father fearing for his child's life and sanity.
Thank you! I know that Phoenix is a hard one to like, but I'm pretty sure Gorion, sweetheart that he is could love her, in spite of a fear that she may turn evil.
Been there, done that.
Haven't we all?
She's very observant, that's for sure.
I'm translating wisdom in her age as observance of how things work. After all, how can you develop wisdom without watching the world work to learn the rules? (necromancers have to have high wisdom) I imagine that she knows Gorion's tells quite well by now. She may not know everything about him, but she certainly knows when something is wrong or upsetting him.
And thinks a lot as well, something that I suspect comes from her being a mage.
True. Translating the world into symbols and the symbols into a force in the world probably takes some mental aerobics. I imagine that some mages only use that for spellcasting and stay empty headed the other half of the time to take a break from it, but she doesn't. She's always trying to solve the puzzle, even if she doesn't have all the pieces.
Thanks for reading! Thanks for Commenting!
#10
Guest_IriaZenn_*
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Posted 25 November 2006 - 08:03 PM
Gee I wonder why?Gorion looks into the room of his foster daughter. Sweat glistens on his forehead. Her bed is made with perfect corners, the plain sheets as firmly set as if they had been ironed into place. Two red monk robes lay carefully folded on the end of her polished wooden chest. She has been taking in sewing again. Gorion resists the urge to pick up one of the robes and look at her needlework, because he knows he will not be able to fold the robes again. His hands shake. It is not fear, but deep, dull dread, curled up in his stomach.
She just need some hair dye and a little conditioner and she'll look great.The parchments on her desk have been divided into two piles laying next to a heavily bookmarked tome on the study of life forces. Phoenix herself is laying cheek down on her open spell book, where she had been studying her newest spell, Larlock’s minor drain. Her hair has fallen over her face like a black and gray rag. Her breathing is steady and controlled, and her closed eyelids twitch from time to time. She is too young. He pulls the offending clump of hair from her face.
I have a feeling they would have been safer in Candlekeep, after all it's a fortress.He dreads telling her the truth of her parentage more than he dreads facing those that are coming to murder her. He is afraid for her life, yes, but he is afraid for her soul more. She already walks the line between good and evil. What will she do when she finds out that she is a daughter of the dead god of murder? Will she embrace that heritage, as fully as she has the study of necromancy, or will she reject it? If she rejects it, will she try to kill herself? When he tells her, she is likely to have a very bad reaction, and he had better tell her when he has a full day or so to explain. She is too stubborn. He can’t tell her until they are safely hidden again. If he tells her here, she will refuse to do anything until she knows everything. That means they will be caught in Candlekeep. This is the place where most of Faerun’s knowledge rests on dry wooden bookshelves. It’s not a place for battle. Gorion reaches out and shakes her shoulder gently.
Gorion laughs into his beard, but his eyes don’t smile or connect. He seems very distracted. “I’ll be happier when we are sitting in the Friendly Arms Inn talking with my friends over a warm cider.” He answers. This sent a shiver down her spine. Why hadn’t he calmed down? Perhaps he really was worried about bandits. Then again, why would a mage of his power be worried about bandits? Anyone he couldn’t take on and win within a few minutes would be someone who would never need to be a bandit in the first place. So, it couldn’t be the bandits he was worried about…there was something related to her that he was worried about…perhaps her response to bandits? Perhaps her response to possibly killing bandits? Maybe he was worried that if she killed a bandit she’d want to pickle it and keep it around for later experimentation? Surely he knew that there was no shortage of dead bodies and that she wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures… People always had such crazy ideas about necromancy. She loved her father, but he certainly worried about good and evil too much. Being a necromancer didn’t make her a murderer. Having killed Mae made her a murderer. Being a necromancer meant that perhaps one day…she’d be able to fix that.
Mae probably would have winded up in jail anyhow in life so don't feel too bad kiddo.
#11
Guest_Dadri_*
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Posted 28 November 2006 - 10:01 PM
Gee I wonder why?
He knows her rather well.
She just need some hair dye and a little conditioner and she'll look great.
Well, it would help, in any event.
I have a feeling they would have been safer in Candlekeep, after all it's a fortress.
They would have... until it was too late. (Damned shape changing assassins!)
Mae probably would have winded up in jail anyhow in life so don't feel too bad kiddo.
True, but Phoenix wouldn't have felt responsible for that, and she does feel responsible for killing her. To her, she lost control of herself and screwed up the world and she owes Mae's parents to right that wrong. I know she shouldn't feel that way...but she does.
Thanks for reading it!
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