Everyone has underestimated Imoen, even me, from that first day after Candlekeep. She never talks about Spellhold, but we can see it in her eyes, sometimes...but only her eyes. Her irrepressible high spirits are an example
to us all.
Of course, I'm also thrilled that she's turned her prankster's ways to someone else...and honestly, Elminster deserved every one. Even the exploding hat.
-Excerpt from Of The Children of Murder
The sky was overcast over the wind-swept island of Brynnlaw...but Imoen saw it not. Her sky was the ancient stones of Spellhold, her horizons were stone walls and iron bars, her sun a flickering torch, and she marked each passing day only by the waxing and waning of pain, of knife and spell biting at her, body and soul.
She paced around her cell restlessly. So...alone. None of these loonies will talk to me, there's nowhere to explore, and I can't even cast any spells! And Irenicus... She shuddered, and shied away from her memories. That way lay only anguish. She began to speak quietly, to something only she could see, if anyone at all could.
"Where are all my friends? Where's Dallan? He tried to save me, then, will he try to save me now? Khalid? Jaheira? Dynaheir? Minsc?"
She paused. Silence was the only reply to her impassioned question, so often repeated in the weeks past, and she continued, choking back sobs.
"They're gone...dead, aren't they...wouldn't they come, if they weren't? He would have...elves always do, for their real friends...he told me that, once...so, he's dead, and soon, I will be too."
Despair seized her in its black grip. "Irenicus...he said he was planning something for us both...something awful. Could anyone save me..would anyone save me, if Dallan couldn't?"
The only reply was the creak of the cell door. Only one person opened the cell doors here, since...She shrank back in terror, cowering against the corner of her cell. The door opened, and standing in the doorway was the one she knew it had to be, feared it would be. Irenicus' tall, slender, well-muscled form towered over her, eyes of ice shining through the leather mask, as always carrying an almost palpable aura of menace.
"Come, child. We are to have visitors, and we must make ready. It is only polite, after all, to prepare gifts for the arrival of such...dearly beloved siblings." He smiled, then, but his eyes held nothing but the same deadness as always.
Fear stabbed Imoen's heart like a dagger of ice from his eyes, and a Voice, small but dark, hidden, buried deep within her, exulted as if knowing what was to come.
'Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer.' Good advice, that. We weren't nearly strong enough to oppose her yet, so we had to work for her. That hardly meant I had to like it.
-Excerpt from Of the Children of Murder.
It was just before dawn. The city of Athkatla was beginning to awaken. The previous night's rain had faded, leaving only the fresh, clean smell of the morning air, and the cries of gulls echoing over the city docks. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, though it was still early as the clocks reckoned things. It was the middle of Kythorn, and Midsummer was drawing nearer every day.
Shutters and doors were pulled open as groggy fishers, merchants, and other denizens of the capital awakened to the new day, and the lucky ones caught a glimpse of a quite unusual company winding their way down the street to the docks. Flurries of whispering sprang up in their wakes.
A slender, pale woman in black leather. "Aye, she leads the new thieves guild...what with the Shadow Thieves losing Mr. Big last night."
A tall, slim, blue-haired elf clad in green chainmail and black cape. "'Ey! That's the bloke that stopped the war with the Gate last year, no fooling!"
"You sure, Jamon?"
"Ain't too many point-ears with hair and eyes like that. Wonder what he's doing working for that one, though?"
"Hear he's some sort of godling, that he nearly blew up the Promenade a month ago. Or maybe she just fancies him."
"Nah, he hardly looks like he could take on a whorehouse, let alone a force of Shadow Thieves. Bloody pansy elves."
"That other man could, though, the giant with the tattoo. I hear tell he's a madman, that he'd cut your head off as soon as blink!"
"Go ask him, then."
"Nah, I'd sooner ask that girl in green. Ain't she a looker?"
"Sure, Cip. She looks like she'd hit you in the cods with that staff if you even looked at her sidewise."
Dallan chuckled in silent agreement with the unknown Jamon. Though she isn't nearly so bad once you get to know her.
I assume you refer to your lady-love, rather than your current employer, remarked Milei, taking wing for her morning hunt.
No, Bodhi will always be as bad as she is when you meet her.
I still don't know why you're working for her.
She was charging less.
The Thieves might have lowered their price.
I didn't trust the Thieves to get me to Imoen.
If you trust Bodhi, you're a greater fool than even I thought.
We're on our way, aren't we? She's certainly less annoying than Bayle was.
Coo! I'm insulted! I've always taken that prize!
All right, dear. You get your crown back. Just don't start doing that...I thought I was rid of him.
And a tiara? I've always wanted a tiara. Milei's 'voice' became giddy and girlish, and Dallan laughed.
"I think, Dallan, that this is the first time I have seen you genuinely happy since we left Baldur's Gate." remarked Jaheira, watching.
"Call it anticipation. We seem so close to getting Imoen back, settling with Irenicus. I'm almost beginning to hope that we can get on with our lives."
"And how do you envision your future?"
With you, thought the elf, but he settled for the more prudent course. "Find some quiet glade somewhere. I've certainly cultivated a fearsome enough reputation to get some peace and quiet, and I can do some research...I would have loved to go back to Candlekeep, but there are...too many memories there."
"And a wife, a family? Or would you waste yourself, take yourself out of nature's cycle like those monks at Candlekeep?"
"Gods, who would marry me, of all people? Dysfunctional family, pessimism, cynicism, voices in my head..."
"...modesty, kindness, strength of character, sense of humor, intelligence...handsome eyes. No, you are not nearly as undesirable as you think, and there is no need to talk yourself down." Jaheira interupted fiercely.
Both flushed noticeably as the words hung in the air, and an awkward silence came over them. They were, however, spared the indignity of response when a steely baritone voice sounded from behind them. Bodhi, leading, stopped, and barely suppressed a hiss of irritation. The others stopped with some curiosity.
"While I do adore a good love story, Jaheira, I must warn you that this one cannot but have a sad ending."
They turned to behold the familiar face of Dermin Courtierdale, Jaheira's old mentor. On his advice she had turned herself in to her former compatriots within the Harpers to be tried for her supposed treachery, only to be held prisoner as bait for a trap, from which she had been extracted only the previous night.
"Your threats mean nothing to me, Dermin. I know you are no true Harper," replied Jaheira.
"Ah, but I am still a Harper, where you have been outcast for your crimes. What has your "truth" gotten you?", asked Dermin, smirking.
"It has earned me the only good opinions that mean anything anymore...my own, and those of my compatriots and those I...care for."
"Then why do you run from justice? Oh, yes, don't think your intentions are a secret. We have eyes, you know."
"There are still good works to be done, or have you forgotten that in your scheming?"
"Believe what you want, Jaheira...but know this for truth. If you return, you will die. And then Dallan will die. You cannot avoid us forever." The Harper turned to depart.
"Live within whatever delusions you wish, Dermin," Jaheira replied to Dermin's receding back. The man gave no indication of hearing the threat. Bodhi, annoyed, turned to continue on her way.
"If there are no other interruptions? The ship awaits." And she stalked southward towards the piers.
Dallan and Jaheira exchanged a familiar look saying Later., and followed. The others came in their wake...last was Yoshimo, walking like a man condemned.
The shouting of sailors anxious to leave with the morning tide was pervasive as the party reached the docks. Bodhi led them towards a ship, a three-masted galley with the name 'Galante' etched on its nameplate. The evidence of many previous monikers sat beneath it.
The gangway was lowered, and at its foot stood a flamboyantly-dressed man of medium height who Dallan assumed to be the captain. He wore a rapier with a gem-studded hilt at his hip, and a charming smile lit upon his face at the sight of Bodhi, Jaheira, and Aerie approaching...one quickly dispatched by the druidess' glare.
Bodhi stopped at the foot of the gangway and pointed upward, speaking to the party. "This is to be your transport. I trust you will try to get along with captain and crew, though that may prove...difficult from time to time."
"My lady, you wound me," answered the captain, affecting an air of innocence. "You speak of our relations as if they have been unkind to you."
"Hardly unkind, though you can be a trial. Dallan, this is Saemon Havarian, the captain of the Galante. He is an unredeemed rogue, though a sailor of some competence."
"Again with your cutting words, Mistress Bodhi! I must seriously reconsider the manner in which I conduct myself."
"The day I see you change your ways will be the day I finally die, Saemon."
Dallan, stifling a chuckle, spoke up. "While this reunion of old comrades is...amusing, to say the least, surely you can cut into each other just as easily at sea? I would prefer to leave without delay."
"Very well, though I had always thought you long-lived would have more patience," answered Havarian, chuckling.
"Not when urgent tasks await. To the point, please?"
"Fine, fine. With Umberlee's blessing, the voyage will be short and swift, that you may not even notice its passing. Especially not you, Mistress Bodhi...I imagine you will be spending your time below decks, the sun and the running water being so irritable to your alabaster skin."
"That will be enough on that, Saemon. Continue, please?" Bodhi interjected.
Dallan smirked, and thought to himself, Does she really think I don't know what she is? We are allies only for expedience.
The captain continued. "We may, however, encounter reefs and rocks, though a greater danger where we sail is pirates of ill repute."
Valygar laughed at that. "Present company excepted, I am sure."
"You, too, Lord Corthala? Ah, you are all against me. Let us go, then, before I lose any goodwill I have left. Seven days' time will see us to Brynnlaw."
And they proceeded up the gangway, each step bringing them closer to the long-awaited end of their quest.
One way or another.
Of all the legions of enemies, rivals, and general annoyances I have accumulated and/or dispatched during my travels, none are so utterly perplexing and unpredictable as Saemon Havarian. I almost like the man. He certainly keeps me on my toes whenever I see him.
-Excerpt from Of the Children of Murder.
