Sorry for taking ages with this, work has me hard pressed this autumn. Also, it needed to be on the long side for the proper flow.
Throne Of Cards 76 – Mopping It Up
While on some important, world changing quest or other, more minor errands like lost dogs, haunted houses or rampaging kobolds may seem a waste of time, but they’re not. Take the time if you can, and not just for the loot, friends among the locals can’t hurt to have, and it’s funny how often you’ll stumble across something truly useful if only you take the time to look in odd places.
Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’
“So…the temple of Waukeen, is it?” Zaerini said, feeling a slightly fixed smile on her face. “That’s nice.” Except it would have been better to gain the favour of a priest worshipping an active and present deity, rather than one that’s been missing for ages and may be dead. But better than nothing, I guess.
The elderly priest whom she had rescued from Balthazars monks along with Minsc and Edwin nodded eagerly. “Yes, Lady Hero,” He said. “This is the Temple of the Golden Lady, and I am sure she is as grateful as I for your aid, wherever she may be. What can I do for you? Anything within my power.”
“Information would be useful. Anything you can tell us about Balthazar, and if it happens to be a hidden weakness or a secret entrance to his lair, then so much the better.”
The priest blinked. “The Monastery?” He said. “It is, as far as I am aware, an impregnable fortress, guarded by dozens of deadly fighters, monks said to be able to slay a man in a heart’s whisper.”
“Ha!” Edwin scoffed. “As if those posturing peasants would be able to so much as tie their sandals before they lie dead and decomposing at my feet. (And I suppose I may allow some of the others to get a few kills in as well, if I am feeling generous.)”
“Minsc will help as well, his sword a sweeping arc of crimson death as he wades through the hordes of undulating acolytes, blood to his shapely thighs, improving their badly shaven heads with a SWORD TO THE FACE!”
“Yes, fine, gentlemen,” Rini said, glaring at each of the two men in turn. “You’re both very deadly and I know it, but we’re not aiming for a full frontal assault remember, at least not yet.” She turned to the priest again. “Sorry about that, they get carried away sometimes. Now, about Balthazar. What is he like? How did he come to power here? The monastery looks like it’s been here for quite some time, has he lived here for very long?”
The priest shook his head. “No, not so very long at all. The monastic order is an old one, as you say, but Balthazar became their leader but recently, rising very quickly to power. I am no good judge of such things, but he is said to be very highly skilled among his kind. Not only that, but he has a commanding presence as well, and as he assumed the highest position in the monastery he soon made that known. The Bhaalspawn war, you are aware of it yet? How they ravage these lands and those beyond, drenching all in blood?”
“Um.” Rini said, biting her lip. “Kind of. Some of them, yes. Did Yaga-Shura pass by here too, then?”
“No, not him, though I have heard tales of his cruelties. But there are others, closer by. The one called Sendai and the one called Abazigal. They have killed many, laid waste to entire towns. Balthazar swore to protect us, to keep Amkethran safe from them as long as we followed his lead and allowed his monks and his mercenaries free reign in the defense of the city.” The priest frowned. “I may not like the man, but I must admit he has kept his word about that. Their armies have not touched us.”
“How convenient,” Edwin said with a small sneer. “I can see no possible downsides to this arrangement. (Much like chickens hiring a fox to guard their coop in return for a daily supper.)”
“What else can you tell us about him?” Zaerini asked. “Other than him being a stickler for rules, that is.”
“He is very set in the ways,” The priest said. “He follows his daily routine with very few deviations, even more so than the other monks. Likewise, his mind is not easily swayed. Once he has made his mind up, it is unheard of for him to change it.” He paused in thought. “What else? He does not go out amongst the villagers much, he mostly keeps inside the monastery. However, when he does go out he enjoys making speeches. I am ashamed to say my sermons sometimes run a bit on the long side, but Balthazar is something else. That man truly loves the sound of his own voice, to the exclusion of all else, I believe. I am afraid this is all I can think of, I am sorry it is not more.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Rini reassured him. “Anything might help, after all.” She said her farewells, and then left the temple along with her friends. As soon as they stepped into the street, they were nearly bowled over by ten or so big and brawny mean wearing baggy trousers, red sashes and golden chainmail. A slim figure in a hooded light grey cloak darted before them and disappeared around the nearest street corner, leaving a small cloud of dust behind. The angry men followed, shouting curses as they ran.
“Balthazar’s mercenaries, I bet!” Rini said. “Let’s follow them.”
“Whatever for?” Edwin protested. “For once, it is not us being menaced by every single thug in sight, and I see no reason to disapprove of this arrangement.”
“Exactly. It’s not us, or our friends, and that means somebody else has just made Balthazar’s men very mad. I think any such person would be worth getting to know, don’t you? Now let’s hurry before we lose them.”
Edwin sighed quietly, but he didn’t argue, and so they set off at a rapid pace into the narrow streets of Amkethran, following the sounds of mayhem.
-*-
“These…things,” Viconia said, surveying the slowly hopping Al-mi’raj. “They are related to unicorns?”
Imoen peered at the strange creatures, trying to decide just how high they rated on her list of ‘odd things I’ve seen, heard or done so far’. Slightly above tasting Minsc’s cooking, she decided, but below Demogorgon. “Don’t think so,” She said. “I mean, yes, they’ve both got horns, but that’s about it. These are basically just giant bunnies with horns. And fangs. I don’t think they’re related at all.”
“A pity. As I understand it, unicorns can be made docile by a person as yet inexperienced in the ways of the flesh, and I was thinking…”
“Woah!” Imoen squeaked, both hands held up defensively. “Can you please not go there? I mean, it’s not as if I’m…and if I were, which I’m totally not saying I am, it probably wouldn’t even work anyway and I’d end up skewered! Not that it would, since I’m not…ergh, can we just change the subject?”
“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Imoen,” The priestess said, with a slight smile. “Peculiar, in the eyes of a Drow, but you surfacers do have so many odd notions about it. Should you require instruction, I could offer you some useful suggestions.”
“I don’t!” Imoen suspected her cheeks were bright red by now. They definitely felt about to catch on fire. “Thanks! But. You know. I’ll..um…manage.” Did she mean she would…I’m afraid to ask, I’ll make a total butt of myself either way.
“As you wish,” Viconia said, casually flicking her white hair back across her shoulder, entirely unperturbed. “Do you have a plan of your own then, regarding these not-unicorns?”
“Right,” Imoen said, grateful for a change of subject. “Um. I don’t think it’d be a good idea for us to just go down there and fight them unless we really have to. Those horns look pretty sharp, and there are lots of them.”
“Agreed, and while fetching our companions would increase our chances greatly, it would also take time, time we may not have.”
“Mm, and we don’t know exactly where they are either. These beasties look like they could be meat-eaters…I guess we could throw some poisoned bait at them and make them all croak that way.”
“And do you happen to carry any deadly poison on your person?” Viconia asked in an entirely too reasonable voice. “Or, indeed, some spare meat?”
“Er…no,” Imoen admitted, feeling a little sheepish. “No meat, no.” As for poisons, Vadrak had told her that he could teach her about using them if she truly wanted it, but it was the sort of thing that required time and careful study and not something she should just reach for impulsively in the middle of a pitched battle without knowing precisely what she was doing. She had to admit that sounded about right. She wouldn’t want to accidentally nick herself and have her hand fall off, after all. She squinted at the Al-mi’raj again, shading her eyes against the sun with her hand, and hoped she looked as if she was just about to come up with a cunning and brilliant plan and as if she knew precisely what she was doing, while really she was just having random thoughts about bunnies. Bunnies she and Rini had fed back in Candlekeep when they were little, bunnies hopping about in the woods, bunnies she’d eaten on the road, half-eaten bunnies she’d felt sad for after she saw them when they’d been mostly consumed by…
And then it hit her, as a bolt of bright lightning straight into her brain. She felt her eyes light up too with sudden glee, and felt her mouth stretch into a wide smile. “I’ve got it!” She exclaimed. “I’ve got a cunning plan, a plan that can’t fail, really it can’t!” She paused. “Unless I’m wrong about how these beasts work, but it can’t hurt to try. Or unless I’m wrong about what you can do? Vic, can you make shade?”
Viconia looked somewhat puzzled. “A summoned shadow creature, you mean? I hardly think that would be enough to counter the entire herd.”
“No, no, not like that. I just mean a shadow. A normal, flat, one. Can you make one of those?”
“Shar is the Mistress of the Night, Cloaked in Eternal Shadow, and I am her disciple.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Imoen said with a wink. “Now, here’s what we’ll try…”
-*-
“This,” Marlowe said, as he wrung his hands, “Is Malla. My dear daughter, my only child, the moon in the dark heavens, the flower in the desert, the…”
“Enough,” Sarevok interrupted before the former merchant could progress to comparing his offspring to a melancholy doe, a plump strawberry, a fallen star or something similarly sappy. “What is wrong with her?” Marlowe’s home was small, really only a single room, dark apart from a couple of oil lamps. It wasn’t very clean either, and had only the bare minimum of furniture. On a narrow cot against the wall lay a young woman, deeply asleep, or so it seemed at first. At a second glance, it became obvious that she was a little too still, her breathing barely perceptible, her cheeks too pale and her long black hair listless. Her face looked oddly lifeless as well, as if she were a doll rather than living person.
“Alas, it is the doing of my enemy,” Marlowe sad with a deep sigh. “Vongoethe the Lich.”
“A lich, you say,” said Dekaras who was leaning against the wall, studying the dismayed merchant and the comatose girl with an expressionless face. “And how did this come to pass?”
“Well…he…he is my enemy, you see.” Marlowe winced, a spasm of regret crossing his face. “It was really me he was after, but when I…when he couldn’t get to me, he decided to try to get at me through my poor daughter instead. If her soul is not restored to her, she will die, I swear this is the truth!” The man fell to his knees, holding out his hands. “I beg of you, good sirs, go to the Cave of the Dead and deal with Vongoethe. Save my daughter’s soul!”
“The Cave of the Dead?” Sarevok said. That had rung a definite bell, and reminded him of Balthazar’s list of infinite rules. Did it not say that place was prohibited? If so, it seems like an excellent place to go exploring.
“Do tell us more,” Dekaras said, cocking his head slightly to one side. “How would we gain entry to this no doubt cheerful, welcoming and ultimately beneficial place?”
Marlowe cleared his throat, a look of new hope in his eyes. “Ah. Well, it is normally forbidden to enter the cave. I have a permit however, given to me by…I will lend it to you, and the guards will allow you entry.”
“How convenient. I see you have thought this through most carefully.” The assassin turned his head and nodded to Sarevok. “I am inclined to take this honest merchant up on his suggestion and make a social call. What say you?”
“Why not,” Sarevok agreed. Their outing had so far yielded nothing of great interest, and the thought of returning to the others with nothing useful to share was intolerable. “It does sound like a potentially enlightening experience.” He grabbed hold of the collar of Marlowe’s robe and yanked the trembling man to his feet. “You. Stay here. We will return shortly and we have no desire to be kept waiting.” Then he marched out of the building, ignoring the merchant’s assurances that yes, he would of course stay put and not inconvenience the ‘Noble Heroes’. Sarevok rather thought he saw the normally unflappable assassin twitch at that, and felt himself make a face as if he’d just bitten into an unexpected lemon. If the man goes blabbing about heroes in front of my sister I swear I’ll throttle him.
“He was lying, of course,” Dekaras said in a conversational tone once they had walked a short distance away from the merchant’s house.
“Of course,” Sarevok said. “He reminded me of an incredibly stupid and incompetent minion trying to say what he thought I wanted to hear in order to keep his head attached to his shoulders. But I think it wasn’t all lies, parts of it sounded more genuine.”
“Yes, it was part truth, I agree. That is how the best lies are made, but he wasn’t a very good liar. I must admit, I am curious to learn more about this lich of his.”
Darkness had fallen by now, and the streets were empty, the citizens of Amkethran obediently following the curfew. Sarevok could as yet see no patrolling monks, but he didn’t doubt that they’d be prowling about hoping to catch anybody who broke the law. “I suppose Balthazar would heartily disapprove of us being out past curfew,” He mused. “Not to mention entering the absolutely forbidden cave.” He was silent for a moment as he felt sudden hope soar within his chest. “Do you think we’ll run into trouble?”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Oh.”
“The monks on the other hand, I rather suspect might run into trouble tonight, should they choose to wander down the wrong street. Do you not agree?”
Sarevok grinned. “I could do with the exercise.”
-*-
There was an extraordinarily distressed camel roaming about in the middle of the narrow street, jostling anybody trying to get past it, treading on feet, and making certain every human within reach knew how upset it was by spitting, kicking and making angry ‘Blart’ noises. The reason for the animal’s tantrum was the quick and nimble figure in the grey cloak, who had just darted under its belly in order to make its escape. This had taken the camel by surprise, but what really made it lose what little sense and decorum it had was when the ten angry mercenaries chasing after the fugitive utterly failed their own dodge and simply rammed into the camel. By now the animal was taking all of its frustrations out on the mercenaries and three were down and out on the ground already. Zaerini watched in fascination as the swiftly running person jumped a few crates, ran across a series of barrels which promptly were kicked backwards and made a few more guards take a tumble, skipped across a spice merchant’s cart and then slipped into a nearby building.
That could be a bad move, unless there’s a second exit or a good hiding spot in there. Let’s see what we can do to help.
“Oh Gods!” She shouted as she stepped into the street, in front of the pursuing guards. “It’s terrible, so terrible! You must help me catch them!”
A couple of the men ignored her pleas, but the others paused.
“What?” One of them snarled, quite red in the face. His mustache was quivering so fast it reminded Rini of a hovering hummingbird. “Get out of the way!”
“But the robbers! Forty of them, all dangerous and dastardly, and they stole my magic camel.” The way their faces went rigid at the word ‘camel’ told her she was on the right track. “Yes, noble sirs,” She continued. “That beast, right there, though I was lucky in that as the robbers saw you approach, they were frightened into fleeing by your bulging muscles and overwhelming masculinity.” Behind her, she rather heard she could hear Edwin make a choking sound, but she was on the roll now and it was no time to stop. “You see, they took the antidote with them?”
“A-antidote?” One of the mercenaries asked.
“Well, yes. It’s a magic camel, as I said, and his spit will make your skin turn black and your flesh rot and slough off within a day unless you rub yourself down properly with the antidote. He also produces pure gold though, as long as you dry his droppings out properly for the nuggets, so it’s a fair tradeoff I think, and…”
“That beast spit on me!” The leader snarled, grasping her by the arms and shaking her. “Which way did these robbers go?”
“Oh, over that way!” She pointed to a different street than the one the fleeing person had gone down.
“We’re going after them! And that beast…gold, you say? That beast is coming with us! Men, seize the animal! I want it alive!”
The scene that followed involved a great deal of kicking, spitting, and in the case of one unfortunate mercenary a severed and partially eaten ear. Rini would have loved to stay and watch it all, but she thought it prudent to depart at that point and see where the fleeing person had ended up, so she carefully slipped away.
“Camel droppings?” Edwin asked in a carefully neutral voice.
“Spur of the moment,” She replied with a quick grin. “Oh, I do hope they spend a few days on a quest to collect camel dung, that’d be perfect. Aha, look!” She pointed at the building next to the one the escaping person had run into, just in time to see them leap across from one flat roof to the other, the angry shouts of what guards were still chasing clearly audible. For a moment it looked as if the runner was trapped, but then they grabbed hold of a cloth tarpaulin put up to provide some shade, and took a flying leap off the roof. It wasn’t the safest way of descent, and the cloth didn’t exactly seem to slow it down much. At least the person knew how to take a tumble. They curled up and rolled, landing right next to Rini and her friends and when they got to their feet they seemed a little unsteady but mostly unharmed.
“Ow,” The person muttered, in a low but unmistakably feminine voice. “Note to self, don’t try to fly again. At least not without a proper flying carpet.” Then she spotted the adventurers and lowered herself into a wary crouch, prepared for attack.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Rini assured her. “We’re not friends of Balthazar or his men. We’d like to help if possible.”
“If we absolutely must,” Edwin said with a weary sigh. “Really, must we interject ourselves into the humdrum existences of every single peasant we encounter? (Also, obviously a tarpaulin wouldn’t work. At the age of six I knew enough to try it with a proper carpet, and I still maintain that the lectures afterwards were entirely unwarranted.)”
The girl raised the hood of her grey cloak, giving the trio a curious look. She was younger than Rini had guessed at first, probably only sixteen or so, and pretty with a round face, dark hair and eyes. “I am Asana,” She said. “Asana Haraad, and I thank you. This is not a good place to stay though, they want to kill me simply for stealing a loaf of bread. They’d rather let the people starve.”
“Well, most of them are chasing camel dung by now, but you’re right.” Rini nodded at the younger girl. “Let’s get out of here, and then we can chat some more about Balthazar and his monks and mercenaries, and we’ll see what we can do for each other.”
-*-
“You see,” Imoen explained, “When we were little, Rini used to make shadow puppets on the wall when she was telling me stories. I wasn’t as good at it as she was, but I did learn how to do Weird Bunny and Angry Bird. I think this’ll work.”
“Quite,” Viconia said with a brief nod. “It is a good plan.” She was focusing intently on the herd of slowly moving Al-mi’raj. “Now hold, and let me focus.” She closed her eyes, and for a moment nothing at all seemed to be happening. Then, there was a chill in the air, a sharp contrast against the desert air like the edge of a knife slicing through warm flesh. Ripples of shadow started twisting between the priestess’ outstretched hands, slender tendrils at first, then thickeninwg ropes and tentacles, and finally a writing mass of pure blackness. It grew steadily, as strands of Viconia’s white hair lifted and flickered in a wind Imoen couldn’t feel. She could feel delicious shivers down her spine though. Wow. That’s really impressive. The shadow was taking on more of a shape now, and as it grew further it also flattened and became thinner, more like a normal shadow. Well, I say normal, if there ever was anything normal about the shadow of a bird larger than a house. As big as a battleship! The wingspan was vast, and now she could make out the head with its sharp beak as well as the grasping claws. There was a cry, shrill yet powerful, which seemed to come from an impossible height. The Al-mi’raj stirred, their ears twitching nervously. As the shadow floated across the ground towards them Imoen could hear their anxiously bubbling squeaks. One of them beat its hind foot rapidly against the ground, the drumbeat of a heart in full panic mode. Then the herd was off, running for their lives from the huge bird of prey the shadow was warning them of. In but a few moments, all that remained was a cloud of dust hanging in the air by the water.
“The shadow of a Roc.” The Marid hovering in the air next to the two women sounded impressed against his own will. “That would set them a flight. Well done. For a pair of mortal lumps of clay.”
“Careful you don’t choke on that praise,” Viconia said with a small sneer. “We did as you asked. Now, we will conclude our negotiations. You offered information.”
“And can you make it so that Balthazar won’t notice the bunnies are gone, but the villagers can still get water here?” Imoen asked. “It’d probably be a good idea, or he’d make you summon them back again, or something even worse.”
Small clouds of steam rolled off the Marid’s back as he clenched watery fists. “It will be done,” He said. “I will arrange for an illusion, and it will seem as though the creatures are still present. I have no desire for further commands from my ‘Master’ if I can avoid them, and the day when he is no longer my Master cannot come soon enough. And now, in order to advance the approach of that happy day…” He made a pass with his hand in a circle, and water dripped from it, then streamed down, forming a clear pool on the ground that somehow remained a neat and perfect circle rather than sinking into the dry sand. Its surface was shiny, smooth, without a single ripple, a clear mirror. “Behold.”
The two women leaned forward, to look down into the mirror, and before long shapes appeared inside, become gradually crystal clear. The view was of a fairly large room, with walls and floor of reddish stone, and sparsely furnished. There was a bare wooden table with a few plain chairs around it, several bookshelves and a writing desk. There was no carpet on the floor, no curtains decorating the few windows, no cushions on the chairs or knickknacks on the table. It didn’t look very pleasant to Imoen at all, and as the vision cleared further and gained sound, it became apparent that somebody else shared her opinion.
“Gods Balthazar, this is such a hole,” Melissan scoffed. The red-haired woman was pacing back and forth, hands tightly folded in front of her, and her voice sounded a little different than Imoen remembered it, somehow harsher, less ingratiating. “Would it kill you to spruce the place up a little? And you made me sleep in a cell.”
“It is the same accommodations I offer all my guests, Melissan,” The head of the monastic order replied, not raising his own voice in return. He was seated at the desk, putting the final touches to a letter Imoen couldn’t read from this distance. “And the same accommodations my acolytes get, as you well know. I have little need for mundane pleasures and fripperies.”
“Hmpf,” Melissan said. She stopped her pacing to glare at her companion. “A strange point of view from one in your position. Sometimes I wonder about your motivations.”
“They are as they ever were. Now, I assume there was something you wanted rather than to insult my taste in interior decorating?”
“Obviously. I am making the rounds, as it were, and it is your turn. How are things progressing on your end? Everything under control?”
Balthazar nodded. “The steady stream of rumors about the atrocities committed by the Bhaalspawn armies have provided an equally steady stream of recruits, and the demand for a strong leader to protect the city. I have everything well in hand.”
“Ever the benevolent leader, are you?”
“I prefer ‘righteous’. It is more dependable. As for your request, I did as you asked and provided these pet Bhaalspawn of yours with the directions they needed.” Balthazar fell silent again, critically eyeing his letter before signing it.
“That is all? You have no questions about it?”
“Why would I? As regrettable as wasted lives always are, I have the utmost faith that your aims and mine are firmly aligned, at least for now. If the garden of the Children requires some pruning, then so be it.”
“Good,” Melissan said, though she still sounded suspicious. “I am glad there is no discord between us. Particularly since when you do argue, it always seems to turn into a lengthy monologue. How are your studies going?”
Balthazar didn’t reply. He simply stood up, raised his hand – and then he wasn’t there anymore. The air rippled, and he appeared behind Melissan, his fists glowing with pale light and his eyes cold. Then there was a sharp crack, and the table creaked and toppled, cloven in two. “Had you initiated an attack against me,” Balthazar said, “That would have been your head. I can slip through the cracks of time, and pluck a man’s living heart from his chest so he may take three paces before understanding he is dead already. None can face me and live. I fear no challenger, just or unjust.”
“How reassuring,” Melissan said in a cool voice. “Well, I will take my leave of you now, I think. I have much to do, as I am sure you do as well.”
She walked out the door, and Balthazar gave a quiet sigh, before returning to his letters. The vision faded, and the shimmering pool on the ground evaporated.
“Wow,” Imoen said. “That was really something, wasn’t it?”
“Interesting,” Viconia agreed. “Now, I believe it would be a good time to return to the others.”
“Good idea.” Imoen grinned. “Wanna bet that we’ll be the ones with the weirdest story of all?”
-*-
“How about a nice cup of tea while we speak?” The lich Vongoethe politely asked, turning its head towards Sarevok and Dekaras with a slight creaking sound of ancient joints. “I cannot partake myself, no functional stomach, but I should still remember how to make some.”
Sarevok looked at the creature, weighing his options. It was fairly small, and so wisened it almost resembled a mummified monkey, with leathery skin stretched tight and patches of yellow bone shining through here and there. In its dark eye sockets, little sparks of light shone steadily. Claw-like fingers emerged from the sleeves of a very fine purple mage robe, and they were indeed holding a delicate porcelain cup containing tea leaves and what Sarevok suspected was more than a few flakes of crumbling brown skin. While he didn’t consider himself squeamish, he still had his limits. “No thank you,” He said as politely as he could manage.
“Regrettably, we are somewhat pressed for time,” Dekaras interjected. “I’m sure you will understand this.”
“Hm, mortals always are in such a hurry, are you not? I suppose it is understandable.” The lich sat down in a comfy-looking red armchair nestled against the back wall of the cave, and eyed them both expectantly. “Well, business before pleasure it is then. I expect this is about Marlowe, though I’m surprised he actually found somebody willing to come here on his behalf.” He gave a small cackle. “Don’t tell me, you are a wandering knight and his trusty squire out to defeat the evil lich and save the day. Am I right?”
“No,” Sarevok said, his jaws so tightly clenched it hurt. A pitched battle between the two of them and a powerful lich would not be ideal, but by the gods, it was getting more tempting by the second. “I am no knight.”
“And if he were, I still wouldn’t be dressing him in the morning,” Dekaras added. “But our occupations are immaterial. Marlowe did send us here, yes, as you are already aware.”
“But I take it you saw him for the lying little weasel that he is, or we would be having an entirely different conversation right now, involving sharp weapons and rains of meteors. Unusual. Most people would take the word of the living over that of the dead.” ¨
“All men die eventually, one way or another. I see no reason why it would necessarily turn them into liars.”
“I’ve passed beyond the veil and returned,” Sarevok added, ignoring the slight chill he still felt as he thought about that time. “I was still myself. Death returned me to myself, in fact.”
“Hm. Very well then.” Vongoethe idly caressed the tea cup and put it on a small table covered with a frilly doily that looked very out of place in the dark and rather musty cave. “I am, first and foremost, a businessman, much like Marlowe. When I met him, 20 years ago, he and I entered into a business arrangement. Through my arcane arts, I would arrange for 20 years of prosperity for him. After those years had passed, his soul would be mine. I am a necromancer, and such a thing is very valuable for certain rituals. I fulfilled my part of the bargain, but once the time came to pay, he tried to cheat me, and ran away.” He sighed, a soft sound as of wind blowing through dead grass. “Yes, I could have killed him of course, but a soul extracted by that kind of force would be worth less to me. So, I attempted to convince him otherwise. After all, the man had a wife, and a child as well. I assumed some carefully applied pressure would be enough.” He snorted. “Marlowe watched as his wife wasted away, and it was not enough. She died, and he wept – for fear for himself. He ran again, to this place, and I followed once again. That dour leader of the monks in the castle was pleased to have me here, you know. Saves him putting out guards around this place. At any rate, I found Marlowe, and I found this.” He held up an oblong gem, about the size of a man’s thumb, shimmering with a pale blue light. “The child’s soul gem. A poor consolation prize for me, but I will make do with it if I must. Of course, Marlowe need simply give me what he promised and I will give this up, and gladly. So far, he hasn’t, can you believe it?. If you can convince him otherwise, I would certainly appreciate it. I would much prefer Marlowe’s soul to this one, freely given.” The lich chuckled, a sound as of wind through dry leaves. “Well, more or less freely would do.”
The darkness in the Temple. The mother willing to spill my blood for power. Bhaal himself, creating all of us for the sole purpose of our eternal destruction. Reiltar, and the things he would do. “Yes,” Sarevok said in a low growl, feeling his hands clenching into fists and the taste of blood in his mouth. “Yes, I can believe it. Easily.”
“Likewise,” Dekaras said in an oddly monotone voice. “I also believe I would like a…further conversation with Marlowe. About his…parental choices.”
“Er, good?” Vongoethe said. The lich looked oddly unnerved for some reason as it looked between the two of them. “So…I need him alive, remember? And to come to me willingly. If you can manage that, I’ll let you have this soul gem, and gladly. A…a reward as well perhaps? Oof!”
“I require no reward,” Sarevok stated as he brusquely pushed past the lich. “Now get out of my way and stop wasting our time.”
“It will be our pleasure,” Dekaras said. He looked a little paler than normal, Sarevok thought. “Truly. I will enjoy it.”
“Good luck then!” The lich shouted after the both of them as they left the Cave of the Dead. “Are you sure you’re not a knight and squire? This is all very charitable and…”
“No!”
“NO!”
Approximately twenty minutes later….
“Grlgrlgrlguuuh!” Marlowe the merchant gurgled, his feet beating frenetically against the wall as his face turned gradually deep purple.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sarevok said, feeling a rather malevolent grin stretching across his face. “You’ll have to speak up, I have some difficulty hearing you. Were you saying something about sacrificing your child’s soul?”
“I think you’ll have to let him down for a moment,” Dekaras said, sounding truly regretful. “That is a good move, by the way.”
“Thank you. I could demonstrate the finer points, if you wish. You see, you lift them like this, and then you throttle the throat like so….”
“Regrettably, we want him alive for the moment, if you recall.”
“Oh. Yes.” With some reluctance, Sarevok slightly loosened his grip on the choking man’s throat, letting him breathe.
“I have my own ways of making my point, of course,” The assassin added, the tip of a very sharp dagger gently tickling the sweating and trembling Marlowe’s chin. “Now, my normal techniques wouldn’t apply either, but I do have a passing acquaintance with human anatomy.” His voice became softer, almost silky. “It is truly amazing how much extraneous tissue you can potentially cut away from a human body while still leaving the person in question alive and breathing. A theory I have never felt the need to put into practice, but I am prepared to make an exception, just for you.”
“Not that it will be necessary,” Sarevok said. “Because Marlowe is truly sorry and wants to make amends for his daughter.” He tightened his grip again. “Aren’t you, Marlowe? Or do you need further persuading?”
“GRLGRLGRLGRUUUK!”
“Oh. Right.”
“You…you win,” Marlowe gasped. “I will come. I will. I tried to avoid this fate, but better the lich than…”
“Excellent,” Sarevok said, dragging the man out the door by the scruff of his neck. “And I will enjoy telling my sister about this. Wading through the blood of your enemies is refreshing, but successful diplomacy is exhilarating in its own way, is it not?”
“I certainly always thought so,” Dekaras agreed. “Shall we?”
The process, once they had returned to the lich, was remarkably brief, and looked more or less painless, Sarevok thought. He felt almost disappointed. Once it was done, Vongoethe handed over the soulgem. The lich seemed a little rushed, as if it was eager to be rid of them. “All done, yes?” He said. “If you wish to restore the girl, rather than keep the gem for its enchantment…” He broke off, looking between the two of them and twitched a little. “I mean, of course you wish to restore the girl, what am I saying? At any rate, just lay it on her forehead, the process will be quite automatic and she will be as good as new. Now, if you will excuse me…”
“Hold on a moment,” Dekaras interrupted. “This cave is very interesting, and Balthazar being so eager for you to stay here makes it even more so. I would merely like to make a small request – for you to remain here for a while, and for you not to mention our visit, or any further visit to anyone. Would this be agreeable?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so. Will…the two of you be coming back soon, do you think?”
“Probably not for some time yet, and then only briefly.”
Oddly enough, Sarevok thought the lich looked very relieved at that.
-*-
“So,” Zaerini said, looking around at her friends. “We kind of killed a few of Balthazar’s monks and sent some others on a wild goose chase. And made contact with some people rebelling against him. We promised to get in touch later. And Immy and Vic, you two sorted out the town’s water supply, well done! And made friends with Balthazar’s pet djinn too.”
“Marid,” Imoen corrected her. “And you should have seen Vic’s shadow, it was amazing! And I don’t know what Melissan is up to exactly, but no good.”
“And you two…convinced some complete bastard who’d let a lich take his daughter’s soul to give himself up for her? How did you pull that off?”
“Diplomacy,” Sarevok said with a smug smile on his face. “The firm hand of diplomacy, oh ignorant younger sibling.”
“Diplomacy,” Dekaras agreed with a brief nod. “Keenly wielded diplomacy.”
“Wasn’t the girl upset though?” Imoen asked. “I mean, I know he was a complete…you know what, but he was the only father she had.”
“Not exactly,” The assassin said. “Her soul was bound to the gem, yes, but her body could still hear every word spoken in that room. She knew what he’d done and…while it was hard on her, she was still free of him. Also, we made some provisions for her, until she can find her own way in life. We had the gold to spare, after all.”
“Good,” Rini agreed. She grinned quickly at the two of them. “Positively heroic. And I guess getting in that cave could be useful somehow later on?”
“Mmm, perhaps. Give me some time to think on it and I will see what I can come up with.”
There was a loud, banging on the door to the room in the inn where the party had gathered to share the tales of their exploits. It was repeated again, and again, and followed by what sounded like boots trying to kick the boots in.
“I think,” Viconia said, “We may have overstayed our welcome in this town, for now. Next time, bury the bodies deeper.”
“Eh, I was getting fed up with all the sand anyway.” She gathered the power of Bhaal, feeling it folding space and time. “And now I know the way, we’ll go visit somebody else.” The portal opened, and just as the door splintered, they were gone.
Edited by Laufey, 24 October 2018 - 03:47 PM.
