In The Cards

There are plenty of wonderful magical objects in the world, the kind that bring you power and glory. And then there is the other kind. How to tell the difference, you ask? Well, there is no 100% accurate way, but if the object starts talking to you you're probably in trouble.

Excerpt from 'Ruminations Of A Master Bard'

"A hale and hearty hello, mine friends! A fine day, is it not?" Zaerini gave the young man standing on the Firewine Bridge a long look. A gloomy evening on a crumbling bridge with swarms of undead crawling beneath her wasn't exactly what she'd call a 'fine day'. The young man who had expressed this strange sentiment was standing by the railing of the Firewine Bridge, beaming earnestly at the five travelers. He seemed to be examining some sort of scroll.

"Yes," Rini said in a cautious voice. "A really fine day. The skeletons are glowing such a lovely white in the dark like you wouldn't believe. Who are you anyway?"

"My name is Poe," the young man said, oblivious to the sarcasm, "and it was not always so serene in these parts though, as you can no doubt discern from the ruins about us all. Tragic loss to the area it was, some 300 years past. I've tales though; tales of heroes and villains that have come and gone amidst these stones since that prosperous time. Could I entreat your ears to hear one? It is an epic I have been working on for some time, based on the rumors I hear and the strange things I see in my dreams at night. Would you care for a story this eve?"

"Oh certainly," Edwin said. "After a brush with death the first thing we long for is always a little poetry reading. ( Do us all a favor and swallow some flaming knives, why don't you? If you can make yourself disappear as well I'd be truly ecstatic.)"

"Aw, come on," Imoen pleaded. "I like stories. Let's hear it! Right, Rini?"

"Well," Zaerini said. She was tired, but she was always interested in listening to the works of a fellow bard. "All right. As long as it doesn't take too long."

"Wonderful! Stand relaxed and I shall relate it to you! It is a poetic treatise I should like to call "The Knights of Days Hence." Ehh...I know the title needs work, but the soul of the piece is right and true!" He then proceeded to recite an incredibly long and rather melodramatic poem about a group of knights that had entered the Firewine ruins to fight against evil. Apparently one of them had betrayed his friends, slaying them all as they slept, but had been killed himself before he could make his escape.

"When one for all turns all for one
the injured souls take solace none in death's release so stand they will,
til honor's need someone dost fill.

Together enter, together fall.
Tis as the vow agreed by all and all must stand and wait in time
for one that ran to face the crime.

I have not been, but have been told
of Knights of days gone past so bold to warrant heartfelt prayers from thee,
that rogue's return might set them free."

Poe bowed after reciting the final three verses and eagerly awaited the comments of his audience.

"Interesting," Zaerini said and handed him some coins. "Is there any truth to it?"

"Ahh, but there is some truth in everything, is there not? I cannot attest to the validity of the tale itself, as I have only culled from hearsay. I only know for certain that it makes for good patronage when I pass my hat. Strikes a chord with many, it does." He waved and walked off.

"That was so sad," Imoen sad. "I wonder if he regretted it?"

"If who regretted what?" Edwin asked.

"The knight. The one who betrayed his friends. They must have been really close and all, or they wouldn't have promised to die for each other. And then he killed them all. I just wondered…no matter how good reasons he thought he had, don't you think he felt just a little bit sorry afterward?"

"Who knows?" the Red Wizard said. "I believe the part about how they 'wait with unbelieving rage' though. (And if they should ever catch hold of him I don't doubt they'd make him feel sorry. Very sorry indeed.)"

"But that's not what I meant. I just think that even if he hadn't been killed he'd have found it really hard to live with having done a thing like that."

"Perhaps. Yes, perhaps." The wizard looked grim. "Breaking an oath…betraying a trust. Such things always bring misery. One way or another." He shook his head. "Are we going to stand about here much longer, or are we going to get going before I start growing moss?"

"Right," Rini said. "Let's go."

Hardly had the adventurers got off the bridge before the next stranger came upon them. A woman this time, a mage in red robes. They were torn and dirty, and her face was haggard. Her eyes stared ahead of her as if she was looking into another world entirely. In her arms she clutched a large black jar as tenderly as if it were her own firstborn child. "He's driving me.......mad!" she sobbed. "Oh please make it stop, make him stop his screaming. AAAHhhhhhh.......Shut it up!"

"Is she a Red Wizard?" Zaerini whispered to Edwin.

"Hardly. The woman is obviously deranged. And besides, her robes are the wrong color, almost orange. Still, she'd better not wear anything even resembling Homeland colors should she ever travel to Thay, or she'll find herself meeting with some unfortunate accident before long."

"What…what are you whispering about over there?" the strange woman asked suspiciously. "He…he's driving me mad, you know."

"What's wrong?" Rini asked. "What is driving you to madness? Lady, if you want help, you're going to have to calm down."

"He..it's in my head. It won't be quiet, just keeps on whispering, and whispering. You see this jar. Do you SEE it?!!!"

"Lovely," Edwin muttered. "Another lunatic. What is it about the Sword Coast that draws them here like flies to honey, I wonder? Certainly can't be the climate. Next she'll probably tell us she's got the head of Elminster inside that thing and that she'll show it to us for a highly reasonable sum. (Come to think of it, I would pay to see that.)"

Zaerini shot him an annoyed glance. "Don't prod the poor woman," she said. "She's obviously unstable." Then she addressed the stranger again. "We see the jar lady, now just calm down and tell us what's happening."

The woman smiled, a brittle smile fraught with pain. "My companions and I.....we explored the Firewine ruins.....and we found....we found, this jar. It....it drove them all mad. They hacked and they cut, and.....the blood, so much blood. They're all dead now, and only I'm left. The voice....it tells me to say the name. If I say the name, it promises great rewards. But....I won't.....I won't."

Right, Zaerini thought and made herself give the woman her calmest, most reassuring smile. She's completely out of her head. Let's just hope she's not dangerous as well. "What do you want us to do lady?" she asked. "How can we help you?"

The woman patted the jar, then gave a brief scream and clawed at her own eyes, drawing blood. "Poor Carsa cannot be helped. You can't help Carsa! You must run, and run fast. Soon Carsa will not be able to resist.....soon Carsa will say its name. Then it will come....and there will be blood....my blood, your blood."

"Ah, yes," Edwin said, "Blood. How charming. This sounds like an excellent time for us to walk away quietly."

"We can't," Rini hissed. "If she's telling the truth I don't dare leave her behind with that thing. Who knows what she might do with it? We could have a demon or something on our trail if she decides to use it." The bard slowly approached the madwoman, reaching out her hand towards her. "Just give us the jar Carsa. We'll know what to do with it. Don't worry."

"NO!" Carsa screamed and clutched the jar tighter to her chest. "Carsa will not give the jar. The jar is Carsa's and hers alone. Get away....get away or Carsa will say the name.....and we will all die."

"Come on, Carsa. Give us the jar. You know you want to."

"You not take the jar from Carsa. It's mine. MINE!! Stay away, or I say the name. Stay away."

"Oh, give it a rest," Edwin said, sounding rather annoyed. "All she needs is a little firmness." He cleared his throat and gave Carsa a threatening glare. "Listen to me. I don't really care whether that jar contains the ashes of your dead Grandmother, the brain you're obviously not using or simply a hangover cure for the drunken binge you seem to have been on for the last couple of decades. I just want you to shut up. We're taking the jar from you, whether you like it or not."

Carsa's crazed eyes nearly bulged from her face. Then she screamed. "NOOOoooo. KAHRK!! OH MIGHTY KAHRK!!!" She pulled the jar open as she spoke and as she uttered the final syllable she fell to the ground, quite dead.

"Great going, Eddie," Rini snapped. "You have such a wonderful flair for diplomacy. If I didn't know it started centuries ago I'd guess you created the entire Rashemani/Thay situation all by yourself." She paused in her scolding as she saw what was happening to the jar. Some sort of gas was leaking out of it, forming a rapidly expanding red cloud. This cloud was starting to assume a certain shape as well, a shape that was becoming more and more humanoid by the second. It was large too, towering above her. And now it resembled a dark-skinned man with a small beard and glowing red eyes. He was dressed in an exotic manner, with a large red turban, a satin vest that left his broad chest bare, baggy trousers and what seemed to be pointed slippers. "Uh-Oh…," the half-elf said.

"MUAHAHAHAHA!" the apparition laughed. "I am free....at last!" He picked the jar up and dashed it to pieces against his head, without so much as blinking.

"Uh…hi!" Imoen said. "Who are you?"

"Who am I? WHO AM I? Impudence! Mortals, before you die, know that you have pleased KAHRK, mightiest of the Dao Djinn. Your deaths shall feed my power, for now I am weak. MUAHAHAHAHA!"

Oh good, Zaerini thought. He may be a homicidal maniac, but at least he's a happy, cheerful one. That makes me feel so much better.

"That's not very grateful," Edwin protested. "Aren't you supposed to fulfill three of our wishes for letting you out of that thing? (And if I can get him to turn me into the mightiest wizard in the world I won't really need him anymore, will I?)"

"Three wishes?" the Dao laughed. "That's for feeble, pathetic weaklings like the Djinni. But I am a Dao, and I crave vengeance. And I will have it! MUAHAHAHAHA!"

"Ah, come on," Rini said, willing her voice not to shake. "The mightiest of the Dao Djinn? Don't make me laugh. You're nothing but a big, dumb, fraudulent puff of hot air. You probably couldn't even make a fabulous feast appear out of thin air."

"Child?" Jaheira hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "What are you doing?"

Zaerini ignored her and gave the Dao an impudent stare. "Like I said. One big fraud."

"How dare you!" Kahrk roared. "Watch my works and tremble at my might!" He waved a hand and in a puff of red smoke a fabulous meal appeared. The table was set with a snowy white linen cloth, the chairs had soft cushions of red velvet. Silver candelabra flickered brightly, and on the table was the food. Truly a meal to tempt a king, it had every sort of delicacy imaginable. Wonderful smells wafted through the air, making the mouths of the adventurers water. "HA!" Kahrk exclaimed. "What say you to THAT? Truly I am the mightiest! MUAHAHAHAHA!"

Zaerini inspected the table. "Not bad," she said. "Not bad at all." She pulled the cork out of a wine bottle and poured the wine into the silver goblets standing on the table. Then she sniffed at the cork and made a face. "Oh no!" she said. "This won't do at all. This wine has a distinct smell of armor-polish, rotten eggs and sweat."

"WHAT? IMPOSSIBLE?"

"Would I lie to you? Come here and taste it for yourself." The bard held out the half-empty wine bottle towards the Dao and felt a small surge of triumph as the creature puffed into smoke once more. The huge red cloud started trickling into the bottle. "Gotcha!" Rini cried and slammed the cork back in, making sure it stuck. Then she shook the bottle and heard the wine slosh about through the red mist in a very satisfying manner.

"What?" Kahrk cried out, now in a much smaller voice. "No! I…I… * hic * don't want to… * hic * Oooohhh…. Fat old Bob was a jolly old sod, a jolly old sod was he… * hic * He called for his ale, he called for his grog, he called for fat ladies three…" The song subsided into drunken ravings.

"That should keep him quiet," Zaerini said with a satisfied smirk. She placed the bottle on the table where it immediately started singing bawdy pirate sea chanteys. "Well, relatively quiet." She smiled at the somewhat shocked faces of her friends. "Anybody else feeling hungry? Looks like dinner has been served, and we sure could use it after a jarring experience like that. Though I should pass on the pickled djinn if I were you."