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III. Sneaky Thieving and Ocean Oration


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#1 Guest_Oryx_*

Posted 12 November 2002 - 05:38 PM

III. Sneaky Thieving and Ocean Oration

In the caged arena in Ust Natha, two pit fighter slaves, a human with a sword and shield and a drow with a spear and net, were theoretically fighting to the death, but were actually too frightened to really attack each other. Some spectators, evil and drunk every one, were watching impatiently.

“BELCH Five more minutes and you both die! Behead that foul darkie already, man!” Sarevok roared at the human from the stands nearby.

“Gut that thar tallish oaf, elfie!” Korgan growled. “URP No wait, I hates drow more – hack apart tha elf, big guy! URP Wait, I hates ‘umans more…”

“HICCUP Kill!!!!!” Xzar screamed while scribbling madly on a scroll. “Kill maim HICCUP destroy dismember yes HICCUP yes yes!!!! HICCUP Its power is dual tree’s is HICCUP fountain is the dual HICCUP must destroy together to steal power HICCUP leatherfaced fool didn’t see that no wonder failed and banished yes yes HICCUP!!!””

“With mere physical weapons it’s no wonder they’re so incompetent (now a pit fight between human and drow wizards, that I’d pay to see),” Edwin muttered. “BURP (BURP).”

“War’s tha bleedin’ cheerleaders?” Montaron inquired, licking his lips.

As if on cue, a shapely elf maiden came running into the chamber and stood before them. Sarevok snapped his fingers and Edwin cast an alteration spell which reverted Safana to her natural human features.

“That be more like it!” Montaron grinned. “Gimme an S! Gimme..”

“Shut up, hobbit!” Sarevok growled. “What news, Safana?”

“My lord, Queen Ellisime has learned of your plan – Drizzt Do’Urden spied upon us here, no less. She plans to raise a mythal over Suldanesellar.”

Xzar clapped his hands over his ears and cried at the news.

Edwin scratched his beard. “I had thought those elves had lost that power (brood on this I must).”

“She claims it can be raised or lowered with two statuettes,” Safana explained. “She will create the mythal and then keep one guarded in Suldanesellar’s vault, and send the other to the Ducal Palace at Baldur’s Gate.”

“Thank you, dear Safana,” Sarevok nodded as his scheming mind set to work. “Return to Suldanesellar and steal it! And Montaron, you’re taking a trip to Baldur’s Gate. But first, both of you go to the Zhentarim Thieves’ Guild here, they will have intelligence on the vault and the palace. Dismissed.”

“It be a delight to see the Gate again,” Montaron grinned and left.

“After a year of putting food and wine under that old witch’s nose, it shall be a pleasure to swipe something out from under it,” Safana smiled and departed.

***

In Ellisime’s spelltower in Suldanesellar, Aerie and Xan were standing with the queen around a rune-engraved circular stone table, on which were set the two statuettes. One was a small sculpture of a tree with a city around its base, the other was of a small step pyramid with a fountain spurting out the apex. The three elven mages outstretched their fingers toward the table and began chanting in an ancient tongue. The air came alive with powerful but somehow soothing magical energy and the statuettes began to glow a soft greenish-white. A column of this light shot up from the table, out the green crystal roof of the spelltower and into the air above the city. The beam fanned out and began to spread in an expanding circle, which folded over the city of Suldanesellar, forming a warding hemisphere in the air over the city.

The column disappeared and the mages looked up. The sky overhead twinkled with the glimmer of the mythal and they smiled. Drizzt, outfitted and geared up for travel, came into the room and secured one of the statuettes in his backpack carefully, then departed.

***

The Bounty, the ship of Captain Yoshimo, was slicing through the ocean, sails full on a high wind. A company of Helmite priest, young Order knights, and sea rangers was aboard. The missionary expedition to Maztica could not have gone better so far. Yoshimo was playing cards and making a quite a bit of coin, Imoen was leaping gleefully about the rigging like a gymnast, and Minsc was arm wrestling all comers, usually in pairs.

Anomen was at the helm, gazing at the calm sea and clear sky ahead. He held open a copy of Cordell’s journal and had been poring over it, fascinated by Maztica and trying to learn all that he could. “Hey Onyx,” he called to the paladin behind him who was absentmindedly shadow-dueling and not really listening, “Apparently there’s a tale of a fountain in the New World…a ‘Fountain of Youth’…they say it has the power to preserve and grant youth and even restore life. Hey, doesn’t that sound like that tree the elves have?”

Not getting a response, he turned around to see Onyx daydreaming and casually practicing with his favorite two longswords, Argurvadal and Blackrazor.

"Bah, how can you flash that vile blade about?" Anomen grumbled as Blackrazor swooshed by and he felt the tingling of its vampiric energy.

"Wielding evil against evil, letting it destroy itself, my friend," Onyx remarked, finally paying attention.

"But you're of the Order! You can’t wield such an evil blade! Have you no shame? The Radiant Heart was practically up in arms for years over that! Your stubborn refusal to yield the foul sword was bad enough, but then you had to go about waving it as you spoke before them! The gall!"

"Ah, but most have now seen the wisdom in it. They have seen how I have learned to control it without being overcome by its dark temptations. Thus I have emboldened them to do such themselves! Remember when we cleverly set those two orc tribes against each other? The means were underhanded indeed, but we destroyed 'em both without a single knight so much as scratching his armor."

"But you're a paladin, and it's a vampiric weapon! You might as well have a vampiric wife...."

"SHUT UP!" roared Onyx, suddenly in Anomen's face. The priest clenched his jaw, having to suppress the flinching reflex he rarely felt after decades of combat.

"I'm...sorry Onyx...I forgot about what Bodhi did to Aerie...I wasn't referring to that at all, I swear,” Anomen apologized sincerely.

Onyx backed away and took a deep breath. The one time he'd failed to protect her. He'd brought her back from vampirism, unharmed in the end, but it still tormented him when he thought about it. His failure. The unimaginable nightmare it must have been for her. Not crippling like the loss of her wings, but probably more emotionally horrible at the time....

"So you see," Anomen interrupted his thoughts, "perhaps you don't quite control the evil as you think you do."

"That was all me, that wasn't Blackrazor," Onyx scowled as he sheathed it. "Maybe if you actually loved someone, Delryn, you'd understand. Let me guess – you don’t even remember that waitress’s name,” he smirked.

“Why of course! It was…um, it was Marin, er, Maria…”

“Didn’t think so. Handkerchief?”

“Of course! I have it right…that’s funny, I could have sworn…”

“Take your time, I’m not exactly holding my breath.”

Anomen bit his lip and thought quietly. He envied Onyx. Not for Aerie in particular, and not for any lack of exposure to women, but rather for that he hadn't known any that really fulfilled him. Not the way Onyx seemed totally devoted to Aerie, obviously thinking about her all the time, not even glancing at women the way every other man did, not seeming the least bit worried about being apart for a few months. The completeness. That'd what Anomen envied. The knight scolded himself for envy but couldn’t choke it down.

"What about all that wealth of yours, tithing paladin?" Anomen sneered, changing the subject. Or so he thought.

Onyx grinned. "What wealth? Technically, it's all in Aerie's name!” He laughed at the stupefied look on Anomen’s face. “C’mon, it’s on old trick. Even pious old Keldorn, rest his soul, used to do that.”

“It’s not that which amazes me,” Anomen exclaimed. “It’s the faith! The trust!” He felt the stab of envy again.

“Seriously though, I wouldn’t do without the comfortable lifestyle. Nothing but the best for my bride," Onyx smiled dreamily.

"I can't believe Torm lets you get away with it all," Anomen changed the subject again amidst his envy of his friend’s singular devotion.

"Mind your own business, Helmite. What do you care? Your god's a neutral. Just like you used to be. Neutral's halfway to evil, so you should appreciate Blackrazor more than I. Ah, but of course you wouldn't understand, if the Order doesn't like it, oh my, if it causes controversy, boo hoo, if it's a little outside the old rules. That's all Helm is, lawful but not good, that's not a creed, that's just a bunch of rules."

"You blasphemer!" Anomen was truly shocked. He looked up at the sky, half expecting lightning to strike down. "Helm keeps order. He is the Watcher. His rules establish a framework for good and justice to flourish."

"Like when he killed Mystra?" Onyx spat. "Bane and Myrkul steal the tablets, and she gets slain as a result? Some justice."

"You blaspheme Ao! The Overfather!" Anomen shrieked, shielding himself from the sky above. "Helm was merely carrying out His will. She tried to sneak back to the pantheon, as He forbade."

"Sometimes I wonder whose side He is really on," Onyx sighed, looking up. Had the sky just gotten darker?

***

Midnight. A new moon. Blackest hour of the month. The Ducal palace was guarded like a fortress. Guards stood around the base, and even in the sewers below. Archers stood inside every window and on the roof.

But Montaron had a cunning plan. He was running through the dark city, toward its tallest structure, a red pagoda-like tower, which had belonged the mage Razamith before Onyx and party had slain him to rescue a captive nymph long ago. Montaron scaled the side of the tower and stood on the roof. The Ducal Palace was not far away in the city, down below him. He withdrew a compactly folded wyvern-wing handglider from his backpack and unfolded it. Strapping it on and downing a potion of invisibility, he took a running leap off the edge of the tower. He had planned for the wind perfectly. It was carrying the small, winged halfling easily through the air. In fact, without careful aim he would have overshot the Ducal Palace.

Wearing soft boots, he landed on its roof with a barely audible crunch. An archer turned, but seeing nothing, looked back over the city again. Montaron folded his handglider into his backpack with painstakingly slow and silent care. He crept along the roof, to the wall halfway between the two archers at the corners. He tied a stone-colored rope around one of the teeth between the arrow slits and lowered it down over the edge. Having already cut it to the perfect length, he shimmied down it. It hung just above a top floor window and out of sight of the archer within. Invisible himself, he hung down from the end with one hand while holding a hand crossbow in the other. He raised it to the archer's neck and fired. The guard died wordlessly with a poison bolt through his throat. Montaron, no longer invisible, quickly scurried through the window and held the dead guard upright. He hoisted the guard's arms through the window so as to keep him standing and seemingly at worst asleep. He drew a second hand crossbow and loaded a long, poisoned, hooked bolt into each. Keeping to the shadows, Montaron crept down the hallway, and knelt near the door to the saferoom. He carefully aimed and fired his crossbows simultaneously into the necks of the guards on either side of the door. The bolts stuck out the backs of their necks and hooked through the tapestries behind them, keeping them standing. Montaron had to rush to grab their halberds before they fell, and carefully leaned them against the wall with the guards' hands seemingly still gripping them. Then Montaron disarmed the door’s traps and picked its lock.

As the halfling quietly opened and shut the door behind him, he looked around. With the last glimpses of light from the shutting door, he had caught the sight of the statuette on the pedestal in the middle of the room. Then he detected a fragrance on the air. He'd recognize it anywhere - halfling female! He looked around but, even with his infravision, could see no one. Expecting a surprise, he walked out into the middle of the room, noticing that many of the tiles on the floor had had traps already disarmed. Then he heard the anticipated twang of a short bow and expectantly feigned aside as the arrow flew past him and harmlessly ricocheted off the pedestal. In an instant, he'd run toward the short reddish glow he could now see and had the short lady against the wall, his shortswords at her belly and throat.

"This is MY catch! Scream and you die!" he hissed. Then he peered closer. "Alora?" he asked, recognizing the fellow halfling thief he'd crossed paths a few times with in Baldur's Gate - usually in similar circumstances. "My," he smirked, "THIS is my catch too!"

"Monty?" she whispered. "They said you were..."

"Dead?" he growled. "Perhaps I was. But I have powerful friends, my petite sweet, and I see that I say stay useful to them. Perhaps, lovely Alora, it is time for you to reconsider some of my business offers? Or..." he pressed himself against her as she squirmed, afraid to scream, "some of my other offers, mm?"

"Noo! Never!" she gasped and plunged a dagger between his ribs. He grunted and pushed his shortsword into her belly and twisted it. He pushed his other shortsword through her throat as she began to scream, but she got a dying yelp out and Montaron cursed as he heard the unmistakable clanking of running guards.

He sheathed his shortswords and tossed the statuette in his backpack, then drew out his hand crossbows again as he ran for the door. Kicking it open, he ran out into the hall with his arms crossed and the crossbows pointed out to either side. Montaron’s eyes quickly darted left and right and then he fired the crossbows and the two guards coming down the hallway in either direction each dropped to the floor with a poison bolt in his belly. Montaron pulled out his handglider as he threw the crossbows in his pack. He scurried through the window and unfolded the glider as he started falling. It opened and carried him away from the palace, a few arrows whizzing through the air behind him. He landed in a nearby alley, quickly packed his glider again, and then disappeared into the shadows of the dark city.

***

Safana crept silently along the rafters of Suldanesellar’s vault, ever wary of traps. She had detected several even up here in the rafters and disarmed them. She looked down at the floor, and the tiles. Surely many of them would spring something at the slightest touch. It was too far down to tell. As she came to the rafter just over the pedestal and statuette, she withdrew a rope, dagger, and lead weight from her backpack. Eyeing the distance to the floor, she cut off a length of rope and tied one end around the rafter she crouched on. She tied the other end around the lead weight and slowly lowered it. It stopped just before hitting the floor, the weight keeping the rope taught, almost like a pole. She slid down it, twisting around. She tightened her thighs just as they reached the height of the statuette. She looked back over her shoulder at it, then gracefully curved her spine and her torso fell away form the rope, and she arched backwards and put one hand on the statuette, looking at it upside down. In her other hand she held a bag of sand, which she slowly emptied onto the pedestal as she put more of the weight of the statuette in her fingers, carefully keeping the weight constant lest the pedestal itself have a trap. At last, as the pedestal's top had a full layer of sand, she lifted the statuette off. The weight seemed perfect, but then the sand overflowed and spilled over the edge onto the floor. She heard one of the tiles on the floor creak at the mere weight of a spoonful of sand. She quickly whipped her body up to climb the rope, but nets had flown out of the walls and wrapped themselves around her, the bola weights spinning around and closing the nets. She fell to the floor in a heap.

Coran came walking up. The fighter-thief crouched and peered at the captive holding the statue he'd been assigned to guard. "Gotcha!.....Safana?" he gawked.

"Oh, Coran, I'm sooo glad to see you!" she smiled at her onetime lover. "Please help me! Oh dear!"

Coran was quite hesitant. The last time he'd been with Safana, she'd gotten them both killed attempted to sick werewolves on Onyx's adventuring party, not far outside this very city. The townspeople had mercifully found and resurrected their fellow elf, and he'd been doing odd jobs like this since and built up enough trust in Ellisime's court to land this important guard duty. Seeing Safana after their last unfortunate encounter, especially in a thieving capacity like this, he certainly wasn't about to trust her again.

"I'm sorry, dear Safana, but I have to turn you in."

"Oh no, Cory! I - I was just hired to do this by some guy in a tavern - if I'd known you were guarding it I never would have - it's not something important is it?" she feigned ignorance.

Coran mused that it didn't really matter what she knew. He had his orders. "I'm sure they'll just hold you for a day or two - maybe when you get out we can meet up?" he suggested eagerly, looking down at her. He though he was telling the truth. He didn't know about Ellisime's promising Valygar turn such captives over to him for interrogation.

"Oh no! I can't wait that long!" She artfully twisted her shoulders around and let the straps of her leather top fall to her elbows. "No one knows yet; just lemme go and we can meet up whenever your guard shift is up. I missed you sooo much." She leaned forward and looked at him hungrily.

"I....I...I can't..." Coran stammered.

"Aww...well, just one kiss then? Please?" She pursed her lips.

"I suppose that can't hurt," he sighed and kissed her awkwardly. Safana wiped her lips over Coran's and then drew back, giggling wickedly. Anticipating such a situation, she'd applied a charming ointment to her lips.

"Now, Coran dear, untie my and let's be off. Your new master shouldn't be kept waiting," she commanded.

"Yes....love...." Coran droned and untied her. She climbed up the rope and left the way she came, with him following mindlessly all the way.




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