Bethphel's Diary: Summertide

Once again we're weathering a night at this hunter's cabin. This time with the Cloakwood behind our shoulders. There is a life outside these rickety walls. A wild and unruly one, the wind and sighs of the forest from outside the windows.

And inside? The flames are casting long shadows upon us from the fireplace. A bard is singing...

Tongues of flame, licking wood.
Crackling loudly to be understood.
Have I heard already once
       your burning melody?

Not a-once, not a-twice.
But a-many, many times...
When the wind blows a fire,
       does it forget?

Eldoth Kron, the bard that the midsummer night brought me, is plucking the strings of his guitar to the beat of the raindrops in the window. Sometimes slowing, then picking up... and so does my heart.

What's the tune of raindrops' beat,
when they're sizzling in the heat?
How about a shower?
       A shower for the soul...

My eyes are upon the bard, but his are upon the fire. The flames are beating, fluttering in their struggle. But as the coals grow smaller, so does the fire...

They will fall once and twice.
You'd rather watch the flame's painful dance?
But if the fire consumes the coals,
       who will survive?

The last whiff of smoke... Who'd remember
the once burning melody's glowing embers?
I shall remember, to sing the shadows.
       My song and my guitar.

So burn if ye will! For the night is ending.
Unspoken lives who cares spending?
Tongues of flame, licking wood,
       what do you want to tell?

What are his eyes seeing, beyond the flames and strings of sounds? I want to look into their fiery reflections. To hold them in my eyes through the night. If only the burning coals would survive till the morning...

Aye! 'tis long past midnight already. After a long march through the woods, why no sleep? The wind is beating hard against the windows, but 'tis the cabin that's moaning... Wow! it must be a real tempest outside. How is our druid friend, Faldorn, doing? An escort of honor, to lead us the shortest route out of the Cloakwood. Her home... she'd not be persuaded to stay within the walls.

When she bid us good night, her eyes were filled with sadness. There... a wolf's howl! Was that the same one we heard today? The same one bringing joy and tears into Faldorn's eyes? It must've been... her wolven friend would not leave his druid even beyond the death's door.

What dreadful secret must be holding him to this unlife? She was both glad and sorry he had to fight for us today...

Day or night, light or fear.
I only care if you are near.
Tongues of flame, licking wood.
       What do you want to tell?

Hey, did I hear that?! I must be dreaming already...

The flowers were still blooming beneath the enchanted boughs of the Cloakwood. But as soon as we stepped out of the forest's protective embrace, the waves of heat washed over our heads. Inundating with a rush of blood, our hearts beating faster and faster...

The summertide was rising, rolling across the green fields and pastures. Walking along the road, one could easily tell which farm was alive and which lost its caretakers to the swords of the Coast, untended patches of stubble wilting away in the scorching heat.

Coran, that funny elf in the wood, is not left without a game for his hunt. I wish him well! There must be more wyvern caves waiting for a lucky hunter. One of those winged beasts attacked us at the forest edge. There was a still buzz of bees in the heat, and then... like a stone falling down from the sky, or an eagle upon its prey! When the wings flapped again, there were two living beings in the air...

...locked in a deathly struggle. The sting of the wyvern's tail is swift and sure, paralyzing the prey. But Shar-Teel would not agree to be an easy meal. For such a moment did her hand hold onto the Spider's Bane, and when the blade flashed with brilliant color, the immobile body stirred and we saw a swirl of light. The shining steel was aiming for the wings...

Two living beings fighting in the air. One beating awkwardly in the wyvern's clutches, and the other one... just as awkwardly descending, unable to hold both itself and its angry prey in the air. The Spider's Bane proved itself once again, just as on the spiders' isle, parting all webs and dulling poison that would've rendered its wielder immobile. But it was my arrow that ended the wyvern's flight.

The druids loaded us with a goodly supply of their berries to last us for months! Unless it takes the cool shadows of the Cloakwood to preserve their healing powers. Is that why they're called Shadow Druids? Even before the first chimneys of Beregost rose up on the horizon, Faldorn bid us farewell. For the first time I saw the grim druid smile. Her wolf must've been nearby, calling from the edge of the forest...

The town of Beregost is still the same... and not the same anymore. The same apple trees behind the Feldepost's Inn, but no blossoms. Still, I could almost hear that sweet aroma lingering in the air, shimmering on the waves of heat, drifting up to the window.

His window. How did I end up there? Walking in the apple shadows, breathing in the moist freshness of the earth. Wishing for the summertide rising, bringing up the same smells I've been waiting for. Where are they coming from? Would the deer catch a stranger's scent in the wind? Would the guard wake up in the hour before ambush?

I was half hoping so. Would the Song stream out, at last?.. With a sigh, a window opened, and he smiled into the wind. I know so little about Eldoth. A bard, he used to sing at the court of... the Palidinstars? The city of Waterdeep. Is that where he learnt that smile?

And before that? He's rather... interesting. The way he moves, or smiles, you never know if it's meant for you or not. But it makes you guess... The voice in which he sings. I wonder what might be the voice in which he'd...

Oh, no! For all the nonsense! I'd better go do something more sensible. Like shelving that green bug's shell and snuggling into something... more appropriate. I wonder if the tailors in this town might've heard of the latest Waterdeep fashions.

The worth of a wyvern head, in gold or in a gift of song? The ballad of glory and courage sung over our grisly trophy. What mesmerized the crowd more, the glassy red of dead eyes still glowing with malice, or the glitter of gold on the balancing scales?

The bard's inspiration was in the flight. The flight of an imaginary beast beneath the temple's vaulted dome. Woven well, with awe and fear. The melody unfolded in the flaps of its powerful wings, the harmony of strength and courage ringing through, and the broken chords... discordant screeching, stinging at the touch. Shar-Teel was hardly pleased...

It played well with Edwin, though. The Zhentarim as well barely objected to paying a homage to the wind-torn shores of the Sword Coast. Another delay, to walk the footsteps of yet another song, another golden glitter.

It flowed in with a nimble grace. With clothes the color of skin reluctantly concealed, and a smile to devour the hearts of men. With the name Safana. "When I'm good, I'm very very good. But when I'm bad... I'm better."

She appeared to know Eldoth, looking for him and him alone. She'd better be his sister or something! Lest her colors turn into the eagerly skinned... But her visit, the bard assured, was a strict matter of business. The new tune to the greedy ears was about the hidden Black Alaric's trove, the pirate treasures that both of them had long sought to discover.

Why, the lass must've been plying trade on pirate ships for quite a while! And Eldoth? Well, well... if the proud graduate of the musical college of New Olamn does not have a shady secret or two under his belt! It's getting interesting with every moment, and I want to know every bit of it. Our salt-maiden claims to have located the trove in a cave and under heavy guard. I won't miss my chance. To hell with the treasures, this hungry bunch can have 'em, for all I care. But the story'd better be worth it!

I just had to have this talk with Viconia. Had to let it out, open myself up, talk and listen. About Eldoth, Edwin, men... Surprising, isn't it? The only living being in the entire world, save Gorion, who understands me, and not understood herself. The irony! Sometimes I'm wondering if that is why we can understand each other.

I used to think the drow is sticking with us because we were the only surface dwellers she ever met who took her seriously, giving her a chance to prove herself. I guess there is more to it...

"I hate Edwin, he saw me weak. Pompous, arrogant, always on his mind. Typical male this side of the earth's crust. But... 'tis when he starts his senseless bickering that I see that zeal, the casual carelessness and quick temper that I have come to cherish in someone I used to hold dear..." What color is the teardrop of a drow? There must be light in darkness. I knew tomorrow would see much arguing...

Indeed, it will! What did Viconia tell me of that chic Safana? "She knows poison, but the power is yours if you know the time to strike. And whether to strike..." May the night bless the drow! Before the dawn descended upon the town, I saw them on my way back. Eldoth and Safana, whispering between themselves in a quiet corner. What did the damn girl mean when she winked about me to the bard?!

I'd better keep the plotters separate rather than endure their glances from behind. Let the pirate girl go looking for adventures on her ass far ahead of us. I'll stay near to Eldoth. When we're out in the wilderness, the party is mine. His song and his guitar...

Fine, fine! So if Edwin wanted to head straight for the coast, without losing any more time along the way. Too bad, for such happened to be Safana's desire, as well. Such a hurry! No more pleasure than watching her grimace of boredom, just the kind for Xzar with Montaron to be gaping at. Eldoth chose to pay a visit to the High Hedge, and I made sure everything came out to be just as he wanted. There!

And I must say it did pay out. Our bard succeeded where everyone failed before: obtaining Thalantyr's leave to stay. For once, we're gonna sleep in comfort tonight. If you can call the hermit wizard's abode comfortable. Every step here follows its own sound, and every glance finds a reflection you don't want to hear. If I lay my head here upon this pillow, will I sleep through the long nights of Netheril?

Netheril... who ventures there? The past is in the past, the magic lost in the crumbling ruins of the greatest empire of old will never shine again. Who dreams of its splendor? Only the crazed folks like Thalantyr. Makes me wonder if we might have more in common...

He found more back there, in his adventuring days, than he ever hoped for. Enslaved by some sort of horrible monster, he escaped only through sheer luck. And me? What monsters have I been running away from in my dreams? Will I succeed this time if I rest my head upon this pillow? Here, in this place of dreams? 'Tis dreamy here... aye, Thalantyr's spirit did not cease adventuring.

I'll need his kind of luck to set myself free. Or Eldoth's songs to fill my ears. His touch and kisses to drive away the voices of my sleepless nights. There, I said it. To myself... How do I let him know how I feel?

The way to the shore has been long, yet the pace brisk. Safana led us by the wild paths into this gully, open to the western winds. And if Montaron has been pinching a salty joke or two into the rear of our 'charming' guide, or Shar-Teel measuring Eldoth up in open dislike, they have fallen quiet now, at the edge of the twilight shadows.

The sea is present here. Tendrils of salty air are wafting in, rolling around eight dark shapes huddled around the fire, watchful... Sweat glistening, as Eldoth was carefully coating his arrows with deadly poison. Not a hush, and only the memory of a caught breath...

Yet if we're quiet, 'tis but the calm before a tempest. For the wind from the sea is calling again, rousing the spirit. The strings are plucked, with careless sound...

When the sea is rough, and rum is bitter,
and dull in shadows is the golden glitter,
they draw their daggers and start to sing.
       The pirates of Ruathym.

Of the eye of bliss past hurricane's rim,
of courage filling to the brim.
They sang their prayers to the wind.
       The daring of the Onslaught.

Luck be the wind. The hunters fought
To catch it, run without halt.
They never tried to make it back.
       The lucky of the Sulfaroth.

The space of song is wide here as the sea itself. Without limit. The flames are fluttering, and the curls of smoke are slowly taking shape... stinging.

What gold? What gems? We're always, brother,
in debt. The sea's a jealous lover.
They sold their lives for what it's worth.
       The greedy of the Lady Craze.

Yet living in eternal grace
those who smiled in her embrace.
The dolphins singing their names.
       The faithful of the Fates Portend.

I'm looking into Eldoth's eyes now. And he's looking back into mine. Why is that making my heart beat faster? My quill is slipping away from the weakened fingers. Melting away, like thin white candles cupping flame. For it's inside. And it is beating...

The loved ones that we leave onland
the winds will bring us to defend.
They knew their time to make a stand.
       The stout of the Flint.

When the sea is rough, they take the hint.
They listen, listen to the wind.
Learning the words of their final song.
       The pirates of Ruathym.

There is another pair of eyes measuring me up across the fire. Twin sparkles, a dagger blade turning to show the edges flowing with poison. Safana... I sense a daring spirit, a smile, and a challenge. I'm up for it! There is much in common between us, girl. You want the bard, but you won't get him. You follow the winds, I'll make them turn. But I'll have to move faster, if I'm to win the race...

The sea has always been kind to me. Again it greeted us with the longing cries of seagulls, happy to see the prodigal daughter come back.

There was a boy here, at the top of the abandoned lighthouse. With eyes dreamy upon the blue horizon, he barely noticed us at first. Was I looking ahead just as intensely back then, waiting atop the tallest tower of Candlekeep for the journey to start? This journey, without end...

The same salt is everywhere, strong and intense. Lingering on my lips. I close my eyes, here's the same lonely lullaby. And the same question, "Why?" It never ends...

Why am I here? Why do I have to kill? Yet it seems I did not have a choice. She started, reading my palm. Frozen in terror, as if perceiving something ahead that even I myself must never learn. Something that had to be killed, destroyed before even sprouting...

Why did she have to attack me? I did not want to kill her. Arkushule, the name so tender like a whisper in the ear. But I did not have a choice! And the voices in my head were laughing, LAUGHING!!! Who am I?!

Before the warmth could leave the dead, and the blood congeal, I felt seven pairs of eyes resting on the nape of my neck. Some with fear, some with astonishment. Suspicion was there, and stubborn care. And more... One pair of eyes I know of, looking with... a special, hardly concealed interest. So, that is what had to be done to attract his attention?

Eldoth, Eldoth... If that is what had to be done, I'll do it for you again. Shar-Teel was trying to talk to me last night, but what could she say that I do not already know? Back there, from the tallest tower at Candlekeep, I remember that ray of hope. A distant lake hidden within the green Cloakwood. And shining!.. The lake I did find. And the small, lonely statuette, a gift of love. Those emerald eyes just never lie.

The boy is gone. His mother must've been worrying silly about him already, somewhere in a village nearby. The worgs are about, we had to dispatch a few of them to get here. And the sirines, strange feminine creatures, with their charms to bind and enspell, to turn friends and lovers on each other. A tribe of them appears to have claimed the best part of the beach right next to the treasure cave. We've seen it well from this height, Safana didn't lead us here for naught but scouting.

Planning and calculating are they now. Edwin, frothing at his mouth and arguing with Eldoth. Our wizard must've forgotten what it's like not to have his advice followed. And then, who knows what terrible monsters might be guarding the cave inside? Safana could hear them rumble last time she was near.

Arguing and guessing, guessing and arguing... Why should I care? I know one thing, the most important one. The voices in my head know it: there is much killing to be done. I'd better take care not to spill any blood of our own.

Today, I came to fully appreciate the golem power. Unspoken at Thalantyr's abode, it was raging in full voice, raw and unabated, against the stark splendor of the stalagmite cave. Will beauty always be crushed by brute strength? I didn't have time for such philosophical questions. We were lucky that the golems were so stupid, and made of flesh, for that matter. Or that no things worse were guarding the treasure inside the cave. With Montaron playing his dangerous game of hide-n'seek, I had to keep shooting fast... The time to write came only later.

And what a day it was, indeed! A 'charming' day... What, you've never seen a sirine before?! Then look closely! For one might just be beneath your nose. Damn, the slimy charmers really can turn invisible...

And it started so well! Edwin must be gloating quietly over the failure of Eldoth's original plan. But who's to blame? Safana took the wizard's side again... of course, she'd rather hide behind someone's back than lead the point. Ha! the girl can't hide worth a damn. 'Tis like waving a flag, or better yet, a piece of her underwear, yelling, "Hi guys, I'm here!" But even with an invisibility spell upon her, she did such a lousy job of scouting...

The plan was calling for a a handy fireball dropped upon the sirines before they had a chance to react. Yeah, the girl found them all right. But who's to blame she failed to report a family of carrion crawlers sunbathing at the beach? She left it to Xzar and his falsetto... Of course, the giant centipedes ended up toasted to cinders, but the element of surprise was hopelessly lost.

"This is the land of Sil's tribe! You shall regret your trespass..." so softly, almost reproaching. The sirines can fight, but with the hands of others. With her boots of speed, Shar-Teel was quick to run and meet them... only to gape in stupor at the vanishing targets. There was no enemy to strike!

How long did it take her to find a new one? She turned, and I saw the enemy within her eyes. Staring straight into mine... Why did I think that the charmed eyes cease to see? The sirine spell was different. Shar-Teel saw me, and in that moment she wanted me to die. Craved for my blood. The boots of speed were quick to run, indeed...

...but so were Eldoth's arrows. Even before Viconia dispelled the charm, I saw the amazon stumble in her run, coming down with an arrow in her thigh. That saved her life. Another arrow like that, and we would not have been able to stop their poison.

The pirates know poisons well. Was that how Sil died? My eyes were straining hard to pick up faint traces of motion at the end of arrow's flight. The invisible enemies, they could only be guessed by the direction from which their attacks were coming. But suddenly, I saw another blur, another target coming out of invisibility. Safana, sinking her dagger of venom into a patch of shimmering air...

That moment of time... was stretched like a suspended, quivering thread. Should I have snapped it? My bow was pregnant with an arrow, a certain, almost ethereal sharpness. The voices in my head were raging possessed, laughing uproariously. Offering the taste of blood on my lips, it was already there. "Do it!.. You always wanted it! Do it NOW!" From far across the miles and mountains, from the strange new future I might never see, a single, sharp note, "NO!!!" I could not place the voice, but it was strangely familiar. Flew by, only leaving a faint residue in its wake. A desire to hear it again...

'Tis quiet now, and I have much time to write. Much time to think. The shadows are looming high on the stone walls of the cave, larger than life. Was that all about Eldoth trying to save my life? Yet 'twas when I listened to that other voice that I felt truly saved. A feeling not likely to come back...

Almost the entire night went by in dividing up the treasure. I'm surprised we didn't draw blood between ourselves. But the gold and gems were more than enough for everyone. More, indeed, than could have been carried on our backs. Nay, neither was the multi-colored glitter you'd come to expect from the pirate tales that blinded our eyes.

There was something else, something different. Why was Edwin eyeing the bard so suspiciously? He wouldn't offer his hand for a ritual handshake to seal the deal. Viconia said naught, nor would her face shine up with that eloquent light that so often led me to choose the rights and wrongs. Like looking into a blank mirror, without knowing what to do.

I remember Shar-Teel staring at the bard, from the point-blank range. Was that how I was looking at Safana myself? Probably, not. But I do remember the way I was looking at Eldoth... For the sound of his voice alone I was willing to forget all the petty grudges and unspoken stares of that night. He'd speak, and the layers of the past would chip off the stone of the cave, seep from the ancient relics like smoke. The shadow of Relair, a wolven shape rising from the cloak the mage created to transform himself. A nameless sorcerer, breathing his own life into an elixir of promised immortality. Something tells me he did not quite succeed, but the feeling was warmth and power.

Eldoth changed literally before my eyes. A head taller, and ever more handsome... How would I like to wrap myself in the Cloak of the Wolf and curl at his feet! To howl out a primal call of desire. To growl like a she-wolf guarding her cubs. Animals are so much easier to please...

Only Xzar with Montaron have been strangely complacent, the weird pair. And I'm calming down, listening to them talk. Strange, isn't it? Two reluctant companions... Who knows if there is a beauty in insanity, but an occasional warmth is just as touching.

"Tell us a story, Monty. Something about bears and gold."
"That mad wizard is off on one of his 'spells' again."
"C'mon, Montaron, lighten up. Must you be so moody all the time?"

Moody, indeed. What is he missing? Having wandered across the realms of gore and adventure, has his halfling soul finally come to crave for a point of rest, to stop and live happily ever after? Where is the village that saw his last tears of childhood? Alas, he'd never be able to rest while I'm around...

Today I had a taste of ogreish blood. Warm, bulbous blood pouring out of a ripped throat and down the bared fangs. My fangs... I donned the Cloak of the Wolf. It only takes to cover your eyes...

Only humans grovel on all fours. The wolves fight. And when your front paws touch the ground, 'tis not an awkward feeling of vulnerability, but a piercing sense of your own power. Raw, eager power in your muscles, all four on the ground, ready to push.

And suddenly you know what to do. Your pack is being attacked! Or your pack's attacking. The wolves can only see in two colors, black and white. Friend and foe... No more are truly needed. I knew my enemy by the faint stench of fear. The trailing smell that the longer you pursue it, the stronger it grows. Until you're overwhelmed by the screaming odor right next to your muzzle. Knocking off all your senses, just what is needed for a kill.

You no longer know what to do, you just do it. I was fast, and the half-ogre wasn't. And only blood, thick blood smelling sharp amid the earthen vapors. Black and white, I did not know it by color. Only by the sweet, juicy crunch of the enemy's throat, and by the sharp pain in my side from the enemy's sword.

The man we found nearby had no particular color either. He did not flinch at seeing a wounded beast spring to two feet. He was a healer. Beyond question. Shar-Teel had more grievous wounds than any of us, we dug her from beneath a pile of three ogreish bodies. And only after all healing was done there was time for any answers.

He did not give us his name. Only the name of his brother, and that was enough...

"He lives because I was too weak-hearted to kill him when I had a chance. He lives, and many have died at his hands, including... my own father." A long sigh, "My healing is the penance for what I have done in my past." Shar-Teel has laid his pain to rest. Davaeorn's brother can go back in peace...

But Montaron will never go back to his forgotten village. A kiss can slay... This time it was a nereid, her shawl in possession of an ogre Droth. A child of waters enslaved to kill people against her will.

"Far be it from me to turn down a kiss from a comely lass." Poor halfling... The ogre paralyzed by the Eldoth's wand, the poor Shoal toasted by Xzar in revenge... will it be payment enough? "Even here, in this desolate dry-land, I'm always dreaming of water... and love. Come..."

Their lips combined, in a long, deadly kiss the halfling will no longer have a chance to forget. There was a thin, piercing sound. It was everything. The abandoned pink flower dissipating in a pool of her own blood. The quiet crying of many girls, and the lonely, whispering song of a sword that knew the last of his tears. The distant, wailing dirge of his mother who alone of all women would never forget... and never kiss her child again.

A magic shawl... all it takes to make a woman do your bidding?

In the middle of the night, I awoke to the chilling touch of mist. The darkness was looking back at me with yellow, wolven eyes. I knew it was time to run...

The rotting carcass of the old pirate ship was crackling to the wind, in a waning hope for release. I left that wreckage of human ambition, wrapped in a cloak of my own hope. A she-wolf howled at the moon. Was anyone following her?

For a lone wolf, the space of night is woven of smells. The slow growth of grass, and the fearful tracks of a mouse. The lingering stench of old blood, and a faint trace of sorrow. That's how the night knows where a man died. Over blood, the senses are acute, the world sharpened...

I was running through the dreamy forest, with the wild torrent gushing out of the earth's open wounds. Courage coursing through my veins, a raw, animal rush of blood. From atop a hill, I saw a giant mirror shimmering with moonshine. I jumped, and ran...

...and smashed against the ocean's edge. Its sharp bite piercing my covers. The world regained color, and I was human again. I stood in the night, the waves licking off the white of my feet. Naked against the moon, my bare skin open to the touch.

He took me from behind, and the bowl of the night sky overturned. We loved each other in a brutal, animal passion. Our entire bodies, bite and claw. The skin was burning, and our hearts consumed. In the heat of the night, we knew the Song. Its beat was savage.

That night is still coursing through my blood. The bard is mine, and as a token of his love I have taken his eyes. Locked with mine in a private space all of our own. Throughout our journey back from upon the salty shores, I felt their steady gaze, returned their longing. Even when not looking, they were always before me. Through the gray haze of rain, calling out with fire...

How am I longing to be back in Beregost, with my love, alone! To lock ourselves in a private space all of our own. To dive into his fire, entire. Flesh and bones. Opening my skin up to the licking tongues of flame. Consumed to cinders... Ahhhh! The city of Baldur's Gate can wait. For at what other time was I not hearing the voices?

The bard is mine, and mine alone. I'm surprised that girl Safana gave him up that easily. When we walked back into the camp, she was consoling Xzar already. Poor, poor madman! He did have something in his heart for Montaron. Into his wound, Safana has been putting hope. Why is the wizard not sleeping tonight? But he is dreaming, dreaming with his eyes open...

When will the gray of the predawn sky be dissolved with a tide of blue? The eyes of the stranger we met along the way will still be dull, not sparkling. They lost their splendor the moment he knew the ogres to be dead. But I shall always remember their burning anger when he dived out of his cover, alone against two giant berserkers. His was a simple spear, theirs was death. We did not even have a chance to react...

Is it only against the ogre kind that his wrath was flaring? Yesterday, he fought alongside us against the marauding bands of gnolls, killing... with dull eyes. His secret I know not. Only his name, Kivan.

The minutes are stretching long here, like in the ruins of Netheril that Thalantyr is vainly trying to forget. "Wertle, wertle, wertle-wooooo..." Where does that melody come from? Flowing from the mists of the dawn that wrapped me around like a blanket. Down the shore, naked, hand in hand. Till we met the wertling man with face of a wizard and eyes of a child.

Disclaimer: The "wertling song" is taken directly from the game.

Down by the ocean, down by the sea,
there's a pirate ship,
    waiting for you and for me.

Bring me what's in it,
but don't ever wear it.
Or sure enough, soon enough,
    you'll wertle too...

Popple the Rock
    took stock of the lock
        and thought he was better off
            darning his sock.

Wertle, wertle, wertle-wooooo...
Wertle-woo, wertle, wertle, wertle-wooooo...

The fool's ring for the Mad Arcand. Down there, in the ship's hold. Why did he want to get it back? I'll never know... A single ring to bind your mind. A single ring to blind your feelings. Is that all it takes? I'm no fool. Then why is that melody still ringing into my ears?

There be pheasants and penguins and boobery trees,
between the greenest of the skies and the whitest of seas.
Wertle, wertle, wertle, woo, wertle-wooooo...

The High Hedge's battlements are standing tall and ominous in the window. Like ghosts... Xzar does not see them, his eyes locked onto something in the distance. Why should I?

'Tis not easy to rise from bed with love in your heart. I did not let him rise that early, either. Pushed him back, onto the burning sheets of desire. Wrapping around him, skin to skin. As only a woman can wrap around a man. To let him in, feel the throbbing pulse of his passion. Reaching to the heart...

Man, how quickly did this all happen! But I knew, I knew that love shall touch me, too. I could not, could not forever walk the path of swords alone! That was a gift, the wild fire of the emerald eyes that did not die with their unlucky sculptor. The gift of my dream...

Why then is everyone so surprised? The blink in Viconia's eyes, that was a strange smile. Almost... envious. Last night, Eldoth was singing of Balduran. The legendary sea captain who sailed past the elven homeland Evermeet in search of the rich, fabled isles of Anchoromé. The man who could lead with his eyes, shining like a beacon, tall like the figurehead on the prow of his ship.

He founded the city of Baldur's Gate before vanishing beyond the horizon to never return. The city of free people, subjects only to the Council of Four, the Dukes they choose from within their own ranks. The city of harbors, halls, and towers. Of bustling days and glamorous nights... The city of my destiny? The home to the Iron Throne.

Why did Eldoth have to remind me about Viconia during the night? I was hoping... No, he's right. A drow might survive the wilderness, keep sneaking away in an occasional small town we're visiting. But a large city bursting with crowds? Alas, he's right. I only wish he wasn't.

That was a difficult parting. Have I really grown that attached to Viconia? If so, I wasn't alone in my affliction. Edwin must've surprised everyone but me with his decision. I knew he would stay by her side. Whom else would she have to chide, then?

But Eldoth? The bard was smiling. A faint smile at seeing the drow leave together with her wizard. Xzar didn't care for anything but Safana's inviting glances. The girl is pulling strings out of him without even breaking a sweat! The poor man is as far away from her caresses as ever, but has already lost much weight in gold.

And Kivan... He wouldn't say goodbye to a drow, but I knew that standing there, in that clearing just outside the town, were two dark elves. Dark of their past, but only one was dark of thought. Dreaming of the past he never tells us about...

"You know where to find us!" she cried. In the Cloakwood, hunting spiders. Of course! Whatever pain they might've caused to Viconia in her past, now's their time to pay. Poor Edwin! He'll have to put up with much from the drow. But... shall I see them again? Deep inside myself, I know we will. All those nights, full of the stories of her hometown, the glittering Menzoberranzan, I saw us standing together at the tallest tower of Candlekeep, the crucible of my childhood. That much I have promised.

Even a difficult parting must come to an end. And in that instance, before turning back, I knew her smile for what it was. Sharing in my joy, and in my life. Before we turned away, our eyes met. I saw myself, like in a mirror...

Viconia with Edwin are gone... but we did not leave for Baldur's Gate yet. This morning, it was Eldoth pushing me back into bed. The pleasure to yield to his strength, to melt in his insistent embrace. A pleasure well returned...

The rest of the day was spent... just like it started. My skin is still burning from his kisses. Or am I blushing?! Someone else should've, instead. I've been told Shar-Teel was trying to reach me all day, but ended up in the Jovial Juggler tavern, binge drinking.

In the right mood, our amazon has got just enough strength to wreck and ruin the entire tavern. But if the Flaming Fist guards thought it'd take a dozen to subdue the debauching woman, in the end none were needed. Shar-Teel suddenly collapsed in the middle of all the ruckus.

She did well trashing the Juggler like that. If not for the attention she's got, she would not be immediately brought to Kelddath Ormlyr, Beregost's omnipotent mayor. And if the priest did not treat her at once... But 'tis up to the local justice to decide whether there was a real poison or merely an overabundance of spirit in the wine Shar-Teel was drinking. At least, I have a good idea of what was in her mind. The same sense of urgency must've been in Kivan's voice. He could bear sitting here idly no longer. He had a vengeance to quench...

Day after day, and I'm losing everyone I've gone through blood and fire!

Since her fateful duel with Kagain, I did not have to question Shar-Teel's allegiance. The stone-faced amazon was at my side wherever we'd go. Through the burning embers of Firewine and the eerie ruins of Ulcaster's school. Across the vast expanse of the Cloakwood, down the mines or through the webs. Without pain, without fear.

The more the bitterness. What did make her leave? Impatience... or maybe more than that? "I despise you, groveling after that man. Remember my words, you'll yet be hunting for him... With vengeance, if you're any hope." I do not trust you, Shar-Teel! Only my heart... and hope it finally came to know.

The irony of it all! The bitterness of Shar-Teel's desertion did not dissolve yet in his sweet embrace as Eldoth announced we're leaving on the morrow. My love! only him I follow. The path of the steadfast of heart. Kivan, with his vengeance, persevered. And the silent hunter had more reason than Shar-Teel to be impatient! Was that not Tazok whose band of brigands captured a pair of elven lovers in the woods? Was that not young Deheriana whose heart ruptured with the torture? Was that not young Kivan who survived the screams of his beloved? The memory he did not dream to bear through the world... or tell me in an hour of solitude.

How did it come to pass that his secret was revealed? Perhaps, 'twas the time to know who's for real and who's not. We share a common enemy. A common vengeance to fulfill. That kind of allegiance I can trust.

One day's flight, and we're at the Friendly Arm Inn. The same high walls and the heavy, black citadel in the center. Still black, twenty years since Bentley Mirrorshade, with the band of his fellow adventurers, took it from an evil cleric of Bhaal. Twenty summers past, just about the time I was born. A coincidence? Why then are these very walls crowding up on me, as if leaning on to whisper?

Maybe, they're only listening to the song? 'Tis interesting to watch how Eldoth's art quickly draws a crowd of faithful listeners. Not his art alone, but also the way he plucks a smile across the strings. Before anyone turns to face him, that sound is already floating across the hall suddenly aware of a magic beginning to unfold. His eyes are closed... but only when everyone's eyes are drawn to him, does he let out his dream.

How does he know that? How does he feel all those eyes, the peak of their anticipation? How did he know I was in love?

One pair of eyes is watching warily. Bentley, the curly-haired innkeeper, stopped his usual humming the moment he saw the bard enter. Silent through the entire evening, only scratching his large nose, the way he always does when thinking hard on something. Does he know Eldoth? Or is the "master anticipator" expecting something to happen? Whatever comes, I'll be always at his side. Or might the gnome know why these walls are crying?

The bard is singing of the Time of Troubles, when the powers of hell and heavens descended upon the Realms to walk amongst the mortals. To share their destiny. To live and to die... How can that be? The final laughter of the cleric of Bhaal still lives as an echo within these halls. Bhaal was gone... but can the Murder itself be truly killed?

The walls are gathering around me, dark, sinister thoughts. Whispers... In the midst of their shadows, I'm holding onto a patch of light. Eldoth's face... it isn't shining, but it is everything. Even that stubborn lock always falling upon his eyes. The way he smiles with one corner of his mouth...

"You are in love, child." I turn around to meet Gellana's eyes. So gentle... The quiet and true power behind the gnome who made it, as she's known throughout the Faerûn. She looks between me and Eldoth, with a sigh, "You must persevere..."

My question dies before it's out, as she reaches on tiptoes to touch my forehead with her fingers. A surprising feeling of ease washes over me, and I hear the echo of Nalin's words sprouting at her watering touch. Tonight, they're working together, in unison. Tonight, I want to trust them both...

If Nalin gave an answer, what was the question? It came back into my life suddenly when we wandered into a lone fishermen's dwelling. The air smelled of fish and danger. And something else, sickeningly sweet... try death. Something in the eyes of the fishermen made me remember that fateful night in an ancient tomb, where blood was spilling into the ground like water.

But Sonner and his sidekicks, Jebadoh with Telmen, did not speak gibberish in the languages long dead. Their words were clear and to the point. The lot of them have been suffering from an evil priestess of the Bitch Queen Umberlee, the power of the seas and open water. On what whim she'd keep them away from their trade, they'd not say a word. "Two of us were washed away just walking to the docks..." To listen to them, their nemesis was a queen of all bitches in the Realms, worthy of her heavenly patron. Surprisingly, 'twas their silence that was stinking.

The fishermen offered us a smidgeon of gold to go along with a magic weapon if we strongarm the bitch into leaving them alone. The pirate chick was clearly worried, and not only her! Eldoth assuaged out fears. A bitch is not a rare sight this side of the heavenly divide. But a queen! If anything, a song would come out of our meeting.

In any case, her shack is just next to the road leading to the city, and well on our way. The ankhegs are few now that the mating season is over. We're leaving soon, without having promised anything...

The "queen of all bitches" turned out to be a girl of barely twelve summers, Tenya. "Born after the Time of Troubles," something clicked in my head. A stubborn, too. She wouldn't hear a word from us, and a single mention of the fishermen provoked a full-scale attack... But we're not fighting children. And when she was subdued to the ground, 'twas a pain from within that shouted tears:

"Why are you doing this?! Don't you know what they have done? Sonner and the others, they are the evil ones! They killed my mother, and now you help them?! She only did her duty, collecting the offerings from those who would use the sea. They stole her elemental summoning bowl, and tortured her for the words that make it work. Now they misuse that gift of Umberlee to pillage the seas, and my mother's spirit can't rest until it is returned."

"I have more power than my mother had. Umberlee gave me her anger. I'll hurt them until they give it back or die. Or both... But I don't have my mother's will, and the goddess is so demanding. I'm so tired..."

There was a sudden noise in the air, as if snow-white wings beating before my face. Mother?..

The sobbing ball of tears we left lying on the ground. We came back with the elemental bowl in our hands. Whether under torture or charm, each of the fishermen told the same story. The tribute to Umberlee just kept climbing, and the sneaky ones decided to make "other arrangements" for their safe passage at sea. This time, the price was the elemental bowl to be delivered to the temple of Talos, the power of storms and mindless destruction.

Now I know what was assailing my senses back in the morning. The stench was growing ever more palpable with every new word of admission, with every whimper of groveling. Confessions don't work very well between the evil powers. I turned my back on them, walking away before they starting killing each other. From behind, I heard them screaming. Talos or Kozah... the same ancient doom, is it still alive?

The Chionthar river is flowing quietly past the little shack on the edge of the woods, the open waters. We're alone here. Tenya crossed for the city of Baldur's Gate, there must be a temple of Umberlee there. We're to follow on the morrow...

"I have no further need of vengeance. Umberlee is my mother now, and she is well pleased... You have been a most useful tool, and the Sea Queen shall reward you... in time."

So strange... so cold, even for a child priestess of an evil power. Why does it feel like I've been but a pawn in their "friendly" rivalry? Something tells me that was not the first nor the last time. The Mad Arcand's laughter... mocking.

There was not to be a song, after all.

This city has a way of closing in on you. At first, it is just the palaces, temples, and mansions poking their domes and towers over the walls. Then, the walls themselves are rushing to greet you as you make your way over the Wyrm Crossing. With every step, closer. Until the massive gates open their arms, and the city takes you in.

Like a fish in the water. Eldoth is swimming through the crowd, his element, this is where he truly lives. My! I want to wrap my arms around him, lips to lips, not letting go until he teaches me to hold my breath. From across the river, the city of Baldur's Gate was just an image, the namesake painting from the library of Candlekeep. Here, the tapestry is richer. You no longer get to see the Ducal Palace from within the slums by the Eastern Gate. And the urgent bustle at the docks doesn't let in the melodious cant from the temples. But here is a special kind of space, for those who knows to look between the city's warp and weft.

There is no horizon here, and even the smallest building looms larger than life. And the people... a strange excitement fills the air. You don't have to be at the Wide or hear the blare of its trumpets to feel its urgent call. If elsewhere the prospect of war with Amn is sowing despair into people's hearts, here it's bringing up sparkles in their eyes, an almost eager, invigorating anticipation. Why else would our self-appointed city guide, Quayle, be boasting about how "we're gonna kick some Amnish butt!" and why his skills and "unsurpassed intelligence" would win the war. A typical gnome if I've ever seen one!

What iron shortage? Not downcast anymore, the looks the word "iron" calls upon the faces are those of hope. From within the Old City or the Harbor, poor slums or rich mansions, invariably turning toward the dark citadel of the Iron Throne. This is where the beat is emanating from, and I have even seen its pulsing heart.

Sarevok. One look at the man, and you understand why the Iron Throne has come to be widely regarded as the city's would-be savior. If the merchant concern holds the promise of high-quality ore, Sarevok's is the spirit of resolve and leadership. A new commander of the Iron Throne's mercenary forces, he too looms larger than life. That swift, sure gait, and the air of confidence are drawing eyes from the crowd like a magnet pulling nails out of the doors to people's hearts. His broad back and that feral, feline grace bespeaking a warrior, what lady wouldn't fall to his gaze?

He found me. On the first floor of the Iron Throne headquarters, our eyes met from afar. There was a shocking jolt that left me desperately alone among the crowd filling the Grand Hall of Reception. Alone standing against him, like no one else mattered. I did not hear him speak, but only the quiet torment burning in his eyes. Strangely familiar... The moment stretched, and I thought I suddenly saw a sea of smiles suspended in disbelief, and a sweet stench of death wafting up from the south. The seed of a storm brewing up to smite the land.

He recognized me. For what? I did not wait to see, I turned and ran...

Here is my refuge. The lone candle is dripping soft wax, and the sheet of paper is growing crowded. I need nymph magic no longer, the cloak stays in the sacks for good. Eldoth is sleeping, happy and exhausted after the evening of song and love. My coals are slower to die out. But instead of smoothing out his hair or pressing my heart against his, I'm only watching the flickering light, a shifting smile across his face. Tonight, I want to feel like a child, but I'm only succeeding in remembering that one night before the Melting that orphaned my spirit.

Was it the chance meeting with Sarevok that brought it up? He's making my skin crawl... Tomorrow, we'll be investigating the citadel's defenses, as well as trying to find the Iron Throne's agent within the Seven Suns trading coster. For now, it appears frustratingly hard to infiltrate either. But do we have to? Perhaps, we need look no further...

Do we have to look at all? Sarevok's burning gaze still stands before me, day and night, but I'd rather look my love in the eyes. I'd rather forget everything and drown myself in their depths. He offers me a smile, takes my hand, and leads across the streets and hallways filled with music. His music. Up the ramps and through the gates. From atop the high walls, the city is opening wide, sprawling like a giant puzzle beneath me. I look down, and my heart gasps for it knows I cannot fly. Fly, little bird, fly! Over the houses and palaces, and where the children play. Show me where the people are, and where joy is fiercest. I want to learn this city, learn from his words. Here, where the wind is high, I want to stop, to look and listen...

The elven isle of Evermeet he hurried past.
    Its shining gleam
could not divert
    the eyes that dreamed
the fabled isles of Anchoromé.
But coming back, he kept apart
their riches
    from the song
        of dreaming heart.

Balduran's folk were called who flocked
    to learn that song.
On riches brought
    a city rose
that he would never call his home.
For when the builder's toil is done,
he dreams again.
    He sails.
        He's gone.

In vain the hearth, mortar and stone,
    awaited his return.
And maidens mourn.
    But sailors sing
that, sailing the eternal seas,
or sleeping deep beneath the foam,
he's in his dream.
    He's there.
        He's home.

The city takes much from its founder, the spirit of restlessness and adventure has always been in abundance here. Some wealthy merchants tried to raise a wall against it, to keep it out, soon after Balduran disappeared on a return voyage to the wondrous isles he had found. A hefty tax was levied upon the carts entering protection of the wall. Until the sea captains, the Balduran's folk, refused to pay for their livelihood and freedom. They took over the city, and chose four of them to rule. The Grand Dukes were not always called by that name, but even now 'tis the word of the people that raises one above the crowd.

Over time, the wall extended, taking the harbor and the Lower City within its embrace. How ironic! The very wall with which the merchants tried to keep its freewheeling spirit out is now passing through the middle of the city. And the people are passing right through the wide gates over which I'm standing now. A never-ending stream, of all speech and color.

Up there, the Ducal Palace raises its four spires. The Upper City is a place of rich mansions and temples. To the west is the High Hall of Wonder, where the monks of Gond, the deity of craft and invention, keep their precious mechanical artifacts on display. The temple of Helm guards the Black Dragon Gate, and a high tower next to it marks the home of Ramazith, a mage of renown. What did he want from Eldoth this morning? I'll be if he didn't want us to steal a nymph!

The Upper City, that's where we stay at the Three Old Kegs, a place well known for its vast collection books and manuscripts, old diaries and collections of songs and ballads, so unusual for an establishment of its sort. But even within that stately order is the bustle of the Wide, a huge open market faire, with attractions for everyone, from child to oldman. And the Blushing Mermaid is clearly not the place that the prude noblewomen would fancy visiting. A huge ogre greeted us at the entrance, certain about having met Bethphel. So, the enemy knows I'm here, but... hey, ain't Bethphel a hero with flaming eyes and roaring voice? The stupid ogre went up to his room to check the picture!

But the real life is down there, at the harbor. The Water Queen's House is carving out a piece of the waterfront, but the constant reminder of Umberlee's presence doesn't slow its lively pulse. Even after construction of the wall, it is still leaving one side open to the caressing touch of the sea. It always will... The wind is strong there, just like at the Candlekeep when you climb up the tower to clear the walls. Why has it been touching me so? My love must know the answer. Or maybe that balding dockhand would, even in his age dreaming of sneaking up onto a ship bound to the New World, across the ocean?

Alas, I'm still bound to this place. For 'tis here, by the docks, that the Iron Throne has reared up its seat. Strangely, Kivan is now even more eager than myself to bust that nut open. Even that diminutive, but so full of himself, Quayle the gnome, persists in following us with incessant offers of his services. Such a pest! Eldoth, my love, let's leave them now. I know just the place and the reason for us to be alone...

This was a bad day for vengeance, and a good day to be a gnome. It started early, with a gentle knock on our door. Quayle was there, reiterating his offer... "If you need any help, you know, thinking, just let me know! I'm here to help!" But before Eldoth had a chance to throw him out, we were rudely interrupted. A heavily armored man pushed his way through the door. Did he visit that diviner at the Wide? Whatever the reason, Dabron Sashenstar had a very firm notion of whom to blame for his brother's death in the non-so-distant Cloakwood.

Fine city silks are not known for high resistance against a vengeful sword. And his brute force approach might just have worked... if not for some creative gnomish magic. Soon afterwards, an illusion of Dabron walked out of our doors smiling, and walked through the Black Dragon Gate into the wide unknown, never to be heard from again. Grudgingly, Eldoth agreed to tolerate Quayle's company. The "humble" devotee of Baravar Cloakshadow and "illusionist extraordinaire" proved to be worth his salt, after all.

But that was not all, for we have not one gnome, but two! The other one was just as crazy, if not more so. How Tiax found us out remains a mystery, short of a "divine intervention" that he claims following him around. Preordained or not, our meeting occurred even before Quayle finished his promenade to the gate an' back. "Hush-hush..." and with a maniacal triumph in his eyes, Tiax led us to his hiding place, at this indescript inn just south of the Flaming Fist headquarters.

Here we found Kivan. I almost doubled over when I saw the poor bloke, gagged and bound. Last night, without a warning, our impatient, vengeful ranger tried to break into the Iron Throne fortress. Fairing hardly better than Dabron if he had, indeed, to be rescued by Tiax and brought here confused, paralyzed, and impaired in any way imaginable by the magical traps abundant in that accursed place.

Or so Tiax says. The question is, what the gnome himself was doing there... "For the glory of Cyric!" won't cut it. "Glorious Cyric has foretold of our meeting..." and "Tiax knew you when you first set foot in this city" is only marginally better and, quite frankly, rather suspicious, as Quayle was quick to point out. Indeed, a faithful follower of Cyric spying out on the other devotees of his deity? "Only Tiax shall rule, Cyric's most beloved! 'Tis thy duty... nay, DESTINY to stand by Tiax when the world kneels before him!" Sigh...

But two gnomes is what we're now stuck with. I'm afraid Tiax is just gonna get his wish of sharing our company. So far we haven't seen anything good from his heavenly (or should I say, hellish) patron. But Eldoth is right, a madman is only truly dangerous when you don't know what he's doing. Ironically, Kivan is entrusted with the task of keeping a close eye on our megalomaniac. Hopefully, he'll redeem himself from the embarrassment of having been saved by a "minion of unspeakable evil." But the ranger knows his code of honor. The gag was unnecessary, and I believe him.

Well, if a ranger can grind his teeth and silently do his job, not so Tiax's next of kin. Now, was that really such a wise decision to keep both gnomes together? I hope Eldoth knows what he's doing. Already they're coming to blows over who's gonna be better at infiltrating the Iron Throne headquarters. Moving out of the Three Old Kegs might be wise. The inn's proprietor won't have no nonsense. As if our presence is not already a common knowledge, it would not do to have us thrown out for fighting on the premises. For even if they're not, rare is the ear that would think otherwise.

We left the inn in the morning. The three old kegs hanging from a roof pole clank once, and Nantryn Bellowglyn, the taciturn innkeeper, slowly nodded as we were passing by. The long scar across his face twitched, and I stopped to return his glance. There was something in his eyes, familiar yet concealed, something I couldn't figure out. I couldn't, and so I moved along.

Ah never mind, we would be back soon. Eldoth met a noblewoman at the inn, pleading to save her from someone called Cyrdemac, a thug living off the past she wanted to keep silent. The woman is now desperate to silence him forever. One final payment must be better than an endless chain of smaller tributes, for only then can the memory afford to be silent.

We were advised that Cyrdemac had been frequenting the Elfsong Tavern by the Eastern Gate. Many a thing came to pass on our way here. There was the same lone wizard with a sharp conical hat and deeply set pair of eyes that bid us farewell in Beregost on the day we set off for the Wood of Sharp Teeth. With the same unusual concern, but looking friendlier this time. He greeted me nicely, and we talked for a while, alone...

His name is Elminster, and he was an old friend of Gorion. There were others he mentioned, Duke Eltan of Baldur's Gate, the commander of the Flaming Fist, and Scar, his second in command. Surprising company for an old monk, and the one he never told me much about. But do I really look much like my foster father, do I? What did the wizard see of him in my actions to smile so? Why was he sure there was enough of his influence to counter "what is bred in the bone?" And where have been those tears coming from, to burn my eyes?

"Thou've bad blood in thee, though Gorion did what he could to teach there well and true. Thou've got hungry blood within thee as well, and it will not let thee go without a fight."

Bad blood? Elminster was not surprised not to find Garrick among my companions, nor anyone of the others into whose back he'd been staring back then, when we met for the first time. Come to think of it, Xzar alone was left of our entire party. And even the old mad wizard is no longer with me, as I'm sitting here, in this strange tavern, listening to the song of a ghostly elven voice haunting these halls.

The best Cormyran brandy fails to dull the pain of my heart. Why is everyone dying around me... or leaving me for good?! Today, at the rendezvous with his Zhentarim superiors at the Sorcerous Sundries, Xzar decided to bid us farewell. Safana followed after him... Or was it Xzar following Safana, with eyes mesmerized with her smile. Her smile, so openly directed at Niemain, the highest ranked Zhentarim present, and Xzar's voice, brimming with pride, as he introduced her to his superior.

What is on the girl's mind? She told me once, "Of two evils, I'm choosing the one I haven't tried yet." Poor Xzar... The man is mad as a march hare, but even he doesn't deserve this.

Damn brandy, it's useless! At least, the gnomes have found a third one of their kind as a grounding for the sparkles they would normally shoot at each other. There they are, crowding in the corner. Nearly jumping to the agitated beat of their chit-chat. No table is big enough for a pair of gnomes when they've got something to talk about, never mind a trio. I am alone here, at the tavern floor of the inn, Eldoth leaving us to "deal" with that Cyrdemac himself, upstairs.

As the hours were passing in a drinking solitude, only once again I felt Safana's presence wash past me, with a sweet scent of poison in her wake. I knew it would not be back.

Damn, this Tiax is fun! I should've listened to his drivel before, especially when he's sharpening his tongue against Quayle. The "unfaithful of Baravar" is not returning to the abandoned bosom. But neither will the "well of counsel and wisdom" cease spouting. They've found each other:

"Ruler of the world, hmmm? Only if chosen by virtue of an... uncluttered mind."

"You... where will your learning get you when Tiax rules? Duke of manure at best!"

"Hey, these two are better than a pair of jesters off the streets of Waterdeep, bred and true," the voice of Silence, our hostess for the night. The dark shadows were falling yet never fell. 'Tis always twilight in the city of Baldur's Gate, the magic lanterns tracing our path for the Flaming Fist soldiers. How does a thief escape the rugged breath behind her shoulders? Where does she find a refuge, with a prized possession in her hands? We weren't looking for the shadows, for there were none. The safety's in silence... And she found us, waving in with a slender hand, barely out of a hooded robe. In silence. She didn't tell us another name, but in her shady little shop, right next to the eastern city wall, is peace and quiet.

The Elfsong Tavern stood up to its reputation. The gnomes were up to something, and no sooner they found another specimen of their own race to complete the ensemble as we've already had quite a quest on our hands!

Where is my little Imoen now? How is she faring on her way through the crosswinds of the Sword Coast? I've lost her path... but she'd appreciate the task we were given. One word: City! On the road, 'tis guard or kill. What's an honest mercenary got to do in the city? Steal. And not from anyplace else but the High Hall of Wonders itself! So what if that gnome, Brelvik, has flared into a burning desire to hug a "telescope" to his bosom? "A marvelous trinket" from distant Lantan, a "Golden Extra-Farseer." So what if "it was meant to be used and to be held by loving hands" that just happened to be his? The gnome would not know how to use it any better than either Quayle or Tiax would know how to steal it.

Eldoth thought differently about the matter however, sending both of them after the stupid trinket. Not much loss if they'd get caught, I suppose. But if either Quayle's invisibility would do the job, or Tiax's vaunted skill of working around traps, a better test to find out who's gonna be taking on the Iron Throne job would be hard to imagine.

Least of all would I expect to find them working together. But the miracle happened, worked by a diminutive halfling girl with a lucky rabbit foot hanging from her wrist. Of course, those gnomes are even now fighting over the honor of being the first to find her. Most likely, though, it was Alora who discovered our would-be failures, saving them from disgrace. She already knew the maps, the clockwork of the nightly guard shifts, and the inner workings of the monks' traps. Both Quayle and Tiax were quick to follow her lead. They have more in common than they realize... and both eager to follow after the simple innocence of a child hardly aware of becoming a woman.

And so she's sleeping now, the only one with a smile of her face. Like the only one with a clear conscience. Tomorrow, the entire city will be aflame with rumors of some mysterious wonder-thieves breaking the High Hall of Wonders. Yet instead of an epic tale, I'm now enduring the same endless bickering.

"When Tiax rules..." Silence is watching, and her eyes are taking in everything. Like a hand scribing over an invisible sheet of parchment, or a voice whispering quietly into a distant ear. Not missing a drop...

1 - 0 in Quayle's favor. Tiax and Alora returned with naught from the Iron Throne headquarters, but we've had quite an adventure at the Seven Suns coster! The old wizened butt has been quick to boast his power of dispelling all illusions, but I think it was his sharp tongue and the stick-it-everywhere attitude that really annoyed the dopplegangers. One moment he's pestering the good merchants with his doodle-loo, and the next moment... "To be called shameless by a merchant! Hehe, no use, I can see right through you... Just go back to Amn! Why, the last time I met the likes of you..." To hell! In a wink of an eye, all those good, respectable merchants are turning into hideous creatures from your worst nightmare.

Dopplegangers. Dopplers everywhere... Not one, not even two, but blasted everyone in the Seven Suns have been replaced by dopplegangers! No wonder now why the leadership of the trading coster suddenly started to act to their loss. For everyone had long been dead, their very corpses a learning tool for the killers to assume their liking.

All dead but one. Jhasso they were keeping alive in the basement. The head of the Seven Suns was far too important a figure to be disposed off so easily. Nooo, they wanted to get all the critical information out of his head first. There are ways to torture mind, not body alone. The poor man took us for the dopplegangers as well, the more we were trying to convince him... He was right, of course. Everyone within those walls was a dopple. I knew there had to be a truth to that feeling when I first stepped in and the heavy doors slammed behind us, stirring the dusty flakes of doubt from the bottom of my heart.

They must have felt really secure up there to break their disguise. Sure of themselves to be able to dispose of all too nosey strangers before returning to their "double life." Alas, they underestimated our strength, or Quayle's instinct of survival. You should've seen those twisted eyes when all of us winked out of sight, one by one. Our master of illusion was keeping us invisible for long enough to disperse and pick our enemies. One by one... A howl after a howl was breaking the heavy silence, when their good-natured likeness was crumbling into venomous gore. The telling sign? That animal fear in their eyes. There was no innocent blood to cry over. Kivan has done a fine job, his ranger's conscience shouldn't suffer.

What finally convinced Jhasso? Elminster's advice has come handy, for once. Not until Scar himself, with a troop of Flaming Fist soldiers, stormed the basement that the skeletal semblance of a man he once was agreed to leave his cell. For all the tears he cried!

I know not if I should be content with the apparent trust we're now enjoying with Scar. But the clean sheets of the Blade and Stars inn is a welcome change from a fugitive's fare, and this place is not as snobby as the Upper City inns. What next? Tiax spied a suspicious house not far from the Iron Throne headquarters. They're going to investigate it, this very night. Should I join them?

Last night, Tiax evened out the score. I wish I was obliged to the grumpy Quayle, though. The night's inspiration was dark, its theme foreboding. The house was looming dark and silent, the shut windows like the empty sockets of a strange beast. No one was entering it for days, nor any soul would seem to leave. Other than the members of the Seven Suns coster, of course. That alone would've convinced us, notwithstanding the pitched cries of Tiax about "a great betrayal of our lord Cyric" being conceived within those walls.

Has my love been growing tired of the Iron Throne business? Why has he been breaking my heart by dismissing that which is gnawing upon it from within? Does he not hear the dark dreams within that heart when it is beating urgently against his chest? Alas, I've been growing tired myself. My bard has not gone with us, but maybe he's right? Someone had to tell that lady in the Three Old Kegs that the memory of her past shall trouble her no more.

Quayle has his invisibility spells, Alora must be the Queen of Shadows herself, with Tiax and Kivan trailing not far behind her in the arts of stealth. Alas, but the mad gnome is right. I might just as well hoist a banner up high with my name pasted all over it, wherever I'm heading to. They addressed me alone, "The son of Murder offers ten thousand gold for the head of Bethphel, and look who's coming to us?" Or maybe they just did not care for anyone else?

The bounty is rising and rising. This time, it was a company of ogre mages trying their luck. We saw only two of them at first, but soon we knew there were many more invisible guards around the house. We wouldn't have gotten past them even if we knew where they were waiting for us.

The raucous war cries woke up the walls themselves, eager to collapse upon us, to shrug us tight into a narrow place without escape. Malice permeated the air. Not from the ogre mages alone. Tiax was calling upon his deity, and how else are you supposed to earn help from Cyric?

For a few heartbeats only did it last, enough to freeze the staunchest heart. The sudden silence that followed was deafening, like the leaden weight of miles of water jamming the ears, or the icy breath from a grave. Our enemies were silenced by Quayle's magic, but neither could our wizard cast another spell. Nor could Tiax, giggling silently, giggling against all odds, with an invisible gag in his mouth. Giggling without a sound, as only a mute or a madman could do.

Crouching, an undead apparition materialized behind the approaching wall of ogreish muscle. And at the same moment, a sickly, greenish glow encompassed my hand. Even now I'm not sure if that was the ghast or the ghoulish cast of my hand that was born out of that insane, silent laughter. Either could paralyze on touch, the touch of a frozen heart. We were saved that night, but I wish it wasn't Tiax. We seem to have too much in common...

We axed our way out of the damn building, the doors breaking off their hinges in the wake of our passage. Let it rot with the curse of the open wind howling down its corridors and dark passages! We ran out, into the opening embrace of the rising sun. Into the Eldoth's arms, happy to see me again. Into the motionless face of Glaxir the Seer back at the inn,

"You... are a light entering darkness. You... are a seeker of truths. You... are more than you realize. The Seer has spoken it because the Seer knows the fear you harbor, the fear you shall yet become. In the lair of the basilisk, you will find a Sphene Gem... You would do well to bring it to me."

In the lair of the basilisk? I don't understand it. But I do understand the fear. "The son of Murder..." who the hell is he? Long ago, by the end of the Time of Trouble, it was prophesied that Bhaal, the power of Murder, would perish. Long ago? Just about twenty summers since the prophesy was fulfilled. The monks at the Candlekeep know another one. Is it, too, to come true?

Ever since I set my foot within this city, I have been guided as if with a torch of fate. I earn to stop, to love and to be loved... alas, my fortune seems to be as thick in blood as only Varscona could handle.

This time, the blood was cold. Today, I found the "basilisk's lair." I only wanted to breathe the strong smell of the sea steeped in salt, to listen to the never-ending call of the seagulls, to share them with my love, hand in hand. My reverie was interrupted by alarmed cries from one of the warehouses by the harbor. Several at first, but only one managed to get out. And inside... no, the warehouse did not receive a new shipment of statues. And no, the lifelike horror on those we found was not carved with a sculptor's chisel. Nay, Mutamin was right. Such mastery belongs to one name, and one name only. Basilisk.

Only when slipping inside the warehouse did I realize we had been followed. That damn Tiax! I'll stripe his hide along with Kivan's. The ranger should have known better than letting the maniac to spy on me with Eldoth. I don't care for finding out why the gnome is doing that, I just don't want that to ever happen again!

Damn, I shouldn't have let Quayle turn Tiax back to flesh. The servant of Cyric got much too excited, advancing on the basilisk, his eyes afire and hands gesturing an incantation of power. No, that masterpiece was far too great to be broken. Now, I'm surprised Quayle did it at all. Wasn't he supposed to hate Tiax? Or is the old bugger still harboring hope of bringing the wayward son of Baravar back into his church? I don't think they can be cured...

But Tiax did make a good dummy, distracting the basilisk's gaze for just the seconds needed to close the distance. Alas, there was no sphene gem anywhere. A sign on an enormous broken crate read in bold lettering, with a fine script below:

DANGEROUS BEAST INSIDE!
DO NOT TUMBLE!!!
HANDLE WITH CAUTION
Greater Basilisk, under magical sleep.
Property of Iron Throne.
Deliver to High Wizard Sunin,
Baldur's Gate, Lower City, 13 SW Corner Alley.

The poor blokes won't tumble it again. But at least there was hope that this clue would finally lead us to the source of dopplegangers, after the house with the ogre mages proved as empty as the heads of the warehouse workers, and apparently void of any secret passages.

Sunin lived not far from the same inn where we found Tiax with Kivan. Lived, 'cause he does that no more. For once, I wish I had my nymph cloak to untie that tongue, for now we have no more idea to do next than when we started. We must've triggered a magic ward or something, 'cause as soon as we sneaked into the house, the mage himself was upon us, with two helpers he teleported right in.

Tiax is still aching from his wounds, Sunin must've enchanted those damn arrows himself! Alas, Quayle failed to blind the archers, succeeding only with the second attempt. By that time, we were quite peppered, the acid of Sunin's magic burning in my blood... Oh, how does my love sing! For that alone, I can forget the pain, forget the necromancer's horror. For that song alone, I want to forget myself with him tonight.

Where we wanted words, we found only stupid trinkets. Tiax was out of himself with rage when Quayle took a specialty ring from Sunin's finger. After all, it was our evil gnome who took him on the noggin'. But Eldoth is right, only Quayle had the knowledge to use the ring to boost his spellcasting.

I had to make do with a sphene gem, and the Seer's words, the monk songs from the Candlekeep coming back to haunt me...

The Lord of Murder shall perish.
But in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny.
Chaos shall be sown in their passage.
So sayeth the wise Alaundo.

The son of Murder... Why me? I only wish to be free...

Around midnight, I woke up. Or did I wake at all? As if in a dream, I heard a call from afar, and I stepped upon the cold stone. My mind was touched, with the same sharp feeling. Sadness, deep as a chasm, was there, and the last hope of a spirit born to love. That love was dying now, somewhere within this city. I knew not the place, but if you share a dream with someone, you learn to trust their guidance.

I found them with my eyes closed. The faces I didn't see, but only voices...

"Now know that I cannot let you leave. We are meant to be together, whether ye know it or not."
"Destiny or no, I am not long for thing place."

A fair nymph and a lonely wizard... and, strangely crisp, a voice of my own. I opened my eyes...

"What?! What bandit dares enter the home of Ragefast?! Identify your purpose here that I might know what to put on thy tombstone!"
"Dare you speak of me as bandit, when you hold this beauteous creature captive?! Look at her, she's dying, but not of love."
"No! This wondrous being is my love and life! I would be hers as well, but it takes time! She will grow to care for me, as I for her."
"One does not cage those one cares for. You may break her spirit and she will serve you, but this is not love. Listen to her!"
"She'll learn to be happy here! We shall grow old together..."

The lonely wizard and a fair nymph. A lonely, fading, dying nymph. The day before, I closed a sirine's eyes. Larriaz died in a fishermen's house where she'd been held captive. She was away from the sea far too long. She only wished to die alone. Alone, with the corpses of her captors, under charm having torn each other's throats out. Even a vilest creature has the right to love, the right to be free. Even me...

I was too late. I won't be late again...

"Look at me, Ragefast! My beauty's fading even now."
"Abela, my love. Thy beauty is as brilliant now as the day I found you. Say not such things."
"'Tis flattering, but you are blinded by your passion. Truly see what is become of me. I should not age, but my spirit is fading in this ugly place. Yours does as well, but from obsession over me."
"But we were meant for each other! Thy very words had said so!"
"In my glade, amidst the stars and moon. There was beauty in that, but I cannot be confined with thee. I am not human, and this is not my home."

The night is over, and the dawn is upon us. Upon the lonely wizard and upon the sad nymph, cursed to breed obsession in men's hearts. Tonight, the beauty was in the song of a spirit reluctantly let go by its captor. In the tears of a soul releasing that which it held most precious. Like a bird did she soar, but sad... sad for the love that's gone.

She will never be back. Behind, she only left a lock of her hair.

Tonight, I have donned judgement. Tonight, I'm killing on my own. Tonight, I know the name. It was whispered to me by the dying lips of a man at Ye Olde Inn. Surprising how many memories can be stirred up with the sound of a single name...

Ramazith! It was you who unleashed green slime creatures in that inn, how did the innkeeper anger you so? Ramazith! It was you who asked Eldoth to steal the nymph from Ragefast and got refused. Ramazith! I know now why you wanted her. That, and that alone, I won't forgive you.

Ramazith! I came for you. So, you needed nymph parts for your filthy experiments? I'll shove your own entrails down your throat. I wouldn't have settled for anything less after what I had to go through on my way to the top of your tower. Ramazith! Did you know that I wear the boots of Talos' gift, or would you have stricken me with something better than lightning? Ramazith! Your mustard jellies didn't delay my judgement.

Through poison, fire arrow, and ghast's touch did we have to pass. Eldoth was not with us to savor the victory, alive but paralyzed only two stair flights below. My love, I'll cure you with my kisses! But Quayle crawled, despite nausea, all the way to the top. And just in time. Ramazith was playing invisible games with us. But who is better at dispelling illusions than the master of illusions himself? I let the gnome make the final touch. His hands spread wide, and a burning arc of fire consumed the incapacitated wizard, blood and all. Damn, I should have shoved those entrails down his throat.

The night is still young, and my blood still boiling. Midnight is approaching... lo! the empty hulk of the orphaned tower resonates with the sounds of a song. The same song. Eldoth is now back with us, flesh and spirit. Did he not mention today a girl named Skie, suffering at the hands of a tyrant father? Another prisoner to set free. Very well, I am ready...

The first light of the morning did not break the night for us, but only started it in earnest. Only then did we let our exhaustion stretch on the rough straw of this hidden retreat. Silence was not surprised to see seven of us coming back from the raid. She must've been surprised to see us at all.

In our sleep, how could I hear the baying hounds, or shrink from the searching eyes of the Flaming Fist scouts? I must've simply dreamt it up, with the surety of a prisoner on the last night before the execution. The entire garrison must be on the hunt now, after the abducted daughter of the Grand Duke Entar Silvershield himself, one of the richest and most influential people in the city. How long till they knock on this door?

I only hope we didn't leave a track for the dogs to sniff out, nor any footprints in the dreams of those whose home we had disturbed. In our childhood games, buried into the freshest pile of hay at the Candlekeep, Imoen used to whisper in my ear that if you sleep really, really deep... like really sleep, you will see them in your dreams, those who are near or is ready to step in your life. Back then, I couldn't do it however hard I tried. And now my dreams are void, save for the heavy footsteps and the empty echo. That's why I am afraid of dreaming alone.

They didn't take me in this time, and I was left to wait for them outside. Alone against the heavy darkness of the estate so immense any cry of warning would've drowned before even reaching the impartial stone. Its many windows were dark, save for a single flash of light up the tower in the corner, and the long minutes, stretching far into the night, till it shone again and one slender silhouette opened its arms to greet another. If I could sleep at all that night, I would've thought I dreamt it all up. For when I opened my eyes, it was still dark. All the way till I was called from the shadows, and we were gone.

What was I thinking?! Eldoth had told me how Skie was a "bird in a gilded cage," an adventurous soul dreaming of the world open to the four winds, free of oppressive fathers. Man, oh man! The "adventurous soul" started complaining five steps away from home. "Wait, wait! I broke a nail... Why do I have to wear this drab?" No, she expected to waltz through the main city streets in as revealing attire as she could find in her wardrobe! She sure tried hard. After all we had to go through that night, from the Ramazith's minions to her bickering, by the time we could afford the luxury of closing our eyes she was the most tired of all.

"If I weren't so intelligent, I might be a little *gulp* nervous of the dark!" What moron was the first one to call Quayle wizard? With only the twilight shadows to wake me up, I feel strangely alone...

Did we have to part at all? Of course, the daughter of Entar Silvershield could not stay in the city, with all this craze about her disappearance. Let her stand out as a sore in Ulgoth's Beard instead! "But honey, anywhere is better than here." Eldoth is right, of course. The tiny village up the Chionthar river is well known for its ignorance in Baldur's Gate affairs, and a travelling lady with a bard would not be unheard of in those parts. Only why did he have to leave without me?!

"You know I need you, and I need you here, my love." Why do I always let him touch me with his words? They run over me, up and down, in quivering ecstasy, until I forget... and now I'm washing them away. Sprawling beneath me, this city is awash with rain. Far away into the east, the road is bending, falling out of sight into a misty haze. Down my face, and into my lips. Salty and bitter, this taste of separation.

"I'll write you..." a faint echo from afar. Fly, little bird, fly! Across the rolling plains, and over the walls. Bring me back the sweet melody of his song, and the sharp flavor of his kisses. Deliver me from what I must do here to see us together again. Fly back, to let him share in my love.

Tiax knows what to do, he said. I only have to watch over them, making sure they do. "The ragtag bunch needs a leader." Today, I simply ran away, from all of them. To be alone here, for a farewell of my own. But the heirloom ring of the Silvershield family, set with a ruby, is still in my hand. The bereft father shall find it soon enough.

The shadows are gathering on the horizon, the world is much darker today. Whither shall I return, and where shall I sleep tonight, alone? The "ragtag bunch" must be awaiting me at the Splurging Sturgeon inn. There was someone meeting us at the doors, a peasant's wife with eyes wide in terror. She saw me in her sleep, as if a god made of iron, and she watched me from below, so far below. Stolid, still, unmoving, a bulwark against some raging storm and then... and then I shattered and broke. The iron flesh, it tore itself asunder, and I fell to my knees, a weakened being.

That place sure is a good one to dream...

Summertide is still holding sway over the city, washing over it with a veil of dreams. Last night, I was dreaming alone, alone dreaming of the others as lonely as myself. Imoen, listening a bard singing about Unicorn Run, with the same childish wonder in her eyes I thought was lost forever. Listening to the story of its waters, pure as the life itself. But however many ballads would be sung by the other bards about its wonders, even those waters would not be able to restore that one bard back to life. The eyes of childish wonder? Only in my dreams...

Jaheira, but not with eyes of curse and fire she used to torment me with on the many nights before. She was lost in a city, and everyone else was lost. The girl running away from a mean uncle, and her cat, "really an angel," coming back after a forgotten ring. No, wait... Jaheira found the cat. Jaheira, smiling? Only in my dreams...

There was Xan, the elf we rescued from the Nashkel Mines. He was alone, those eyes too deep for the sun to light them up again. His sword, a living moonblade, was with him. But did he listen to her song of courage and fire? One that my Varscona would've shunned, even in my dreams.

The strangest duo, that giant berserker Minsc with his hamster. "Squeaky wheel gets the kick!" Is the mighty warrior still consulting the hamster for advice? "There be safety in numbers, and I am two or three at least!" It didn't help to rescue Dynaheir, to save her from our hands. From my hands.

I must be truly cursed if they keep coming, those lonely souls of my dreams. Gathering together. I saw all of them at once, in the same room. A small woman begging them to find her son, to hand him an amulet for protection, the only blessing a worried mother had left... The same woman, hanging an ornate necklace around Imoen's neck, the only blessing a grateful mother could give.

The tavern where they found the boy, the streets, and the house itself... so strangely familiar. I swear I could hear the sounds of merry from the Wide, and the shrill cries of seagulls at the docks. Could they all be near? Only in my dreams...

Here is a quiz for you: what is the only force in the Baldur's Gate that you cannot escape from? Don't try to guess. The Flaming Fists are arrogant but harmless, and I'm not afraid of that famous hunter of evil, Phandalyn the paladin of Torm, sworn to find or avenge the Grand Duke's daughter. Even the darkness doesn't rule the city at night, and the dreams flee the light.

You forgot it, of course, right? The silence. Silence, into whose embrace you flee when you're really trying to escape. And in our case, that silence has a name. The moment we stepped into the shop of Silence this morning, I knew we were caught. We didn't have a choice, no matter what Kivan might think about it.

Those silent eyes had not been measuring us up for nothing. The eyes and ears of the Guild of Thieves. Today we met their master, today we were given an offer we could not refuse. Blindfolded and escorted into his lair, we were given an ample understanding along the way that Alatos "Ravenscar" Thuibuld shall brook no nonsense. And looking into his eyes when we were given the freedom of sight again, I knew we'd never learn the way back unless we agreed to do everything he wanted us to do.

Which wasn't much, really. From a thief's point of view... Shandalar, a Halruaan exile currently residing in the village of Ulgoth's Beard, set out to reproduce the secret spell by which skyships were lifted into sky in his powerful and mysterious motherland. And obviously, his former compatriots were not interested in their secrets becoming a common knowledge.

As Ravenscar was talking, his Halruaan friend Resar was only nodding silently. Shandalar had the knowledge, but the hidden lore alone would not have sufficed. We were to steal the unique material components he had managed to obtain: a spellbook, an artifact fragment, and a statuette of wondrous power. The wizard himself is nowhere to be found, but his three daughters are in the city, guests at the Oberon's estate, and the transaction with the Grand Duchess Liia Jannath is to take place on those same premises a tenday from now.

Why Ravenscar chose us for the task is a mystery to me. Surely he had better hands in the guild. Or was he so impressed with the telescope heist and the Skie's abduction? Hardly. You just had to see how his men were making fun of Alora, our guildless thief. Jolted by a trap on one of the locked containers in the guild... gotta have heard their laughter. The funny thing is she laughed along with them.

If you ask me, our halfling is the strangest kind of thief, indeed. What was the point in spotting out those gauntlets in a barrel at the docks? To stalk around to see if no one notices, and then to play like a child with a shiny toy, watching the magic flows drape across their surface? A trinket interesting only as long as the game lasts, and given away the moment an absent-minded elven ranger tells a sob story of the gauntlets she lost while gazing at the sea? I know, they can be catching, those stories.

Does she always steal only for the sheer fun of it? A lovely pair of necromancers, Arkion with Nemphre, could've waged their petty war even now, coveting the trinkets of a love long since lost. And any reasonable thief would've just passed them on between them, back and forth, a longtime employment like no other. What does our halfling do? "They're not happy enough. I'll teach them to be happy!" Ay, Alora, Alora! Sometimes I love her pretty innocence so much... By her hand, the coveted items are now in the Ordulinian's hand, a local priest of unknown allegiance. Dunno whether it's gonna do either Arkion or Nemphre any good, but Alora at least is happy, for all it's worth!

At Arkion's bidding, Tiax brought a corpse from the sewers. A fresh one, at that. And I have a good idea who helped him to procure one. The servant of Cyric is never loathe to advance the cause of evil. "Tiax does as ye will, but one day BOOM, he rules!" The important thing, however, is that the Silvershield ring is now in the hands of that ogre mage we found in the sewers. Soon, soon enough, everyone in the city will be convinced that Skie is dead. Soon, soon my love shall be back, in my embrace. Only that Kivan doesn't learn what Tiax had been doing down under. Our righteous ranger has been a pain enough already, as if we ought to jump and be off after Tazok the first thing in the morning. Patience, patience, my friend. I'm learning it the hard way myself...

The silence in this thief refuge shall never be the same to me. Last night, it was fraught with excitement. It came to me in my sleep; without opening my eyes, I could see through the dark. An empty house far away from here was pulsing with promise, my heart with anticipation. Like a lustful wench opening the doors to let her lover in when her husband is away, so did the lonely house take me in. I wasn't alone, and I knew it wasn't me entering...

Do our souls truly travel in our dreams? I saw the night with someone else's eyes. I knew the gold was ripe, I also knew my freedom, perhaps my life itself, depended on someone else. I knew that, and my blood was rushing hot, as any lover would dream. I liked the feeling, and I dared them to fail.

They didn't. Silence was pierced with a high-pitched call, "'Ere, boys! The jig is up! Make fer the dark!" Heavy boots stomping the ground, "Stand your ground, thief! To arms! To arms!" Quite a few pairs of heavy boots. The night was promising to be hot, indeed.

Less than a heartbeat to snatch a heavy purse. The affair is over, the kiss of fortune stolen away. But the house wasn't letting go easily. Forcing you to cling to the stones damp with the sweat of the dew. In the rear, where a narrow crenellation was leading to a fluted platform and a jump into the darkness below.

The ground met your boots softly. Yours, and your partner's. No company to applaud the masterful landing. Why, have the Flaming Fists suddenly gone so stupid? "There, catch me! Catch me, ya pumpkinheads!" Lo, the jig is still up! A tiny silhouette framed against the moon, dancing a merry one on the roof. Alora, damn it! How crazed a thief must be to run from the guard and into a robbed house?! Tall, heavy shadows clambering up, trudging after her. Three, four... seven, wow! She's led an entire flaming troop after her, in a perfect line like on a parade, eyes into the back of the neck, eyes into the back of the neck...

Hard to keep up with the little bastard. What is she doing now! Oh no, that's gotta make any man mad outta his wits. Now, down that drain-pipe. Yaaa-hooooo! Nice slide, like in my da's backyard. Dare try? Bum, boom, bum... bad, bad armor... does it hurt? Ooops, almost forgot. Always wanned ta see what's under diiiis here hatch. Eeeewwww!.. Should I've waited to hear da splash?

I shake my head, and open my eyes. The dream is gone, but a stubborn thought lingers in my head. That when the time's up to try the night again, someone might deserve a better part.

Back at the Thieves Guild, for a stern reproach. Ravenscar ain't happy, and so am I. Not that we didn't make any inroads at the Oberon's estate. Alora managed to weasel her way into getting hired as a housemaid, and is reporting that, indeed, each of Shandalar's daughters is entrusted with an artifact to keep. And, as confirmed by Eldoth, the wizard himself is back in Ulgoth's Beard. But Kivan... I knew there was trouble coming.

For days, the elf was growing darker and darker, like a cloud before storm. With any hour of delay, his vengeance brewing inside, layer upon layer in the depth of his eyes. The lightning struck last evening, with the thunder of Phandalyn's voice, "Hold where you are! I sense evil among you..." He didn't finish the sentence, held in midstride by Tiax's spell. Watching the righteous paladin being slaughtered in cold blood by a servant of Cyric was just too much for our ranger. I had to restrain him with a ghoul touch. Quayle barely managed to hold himself. How the two gnomes survive together is a mystery!

Now Alatos the Ravenscar wants us to find Kivan, disposing of the unwanted witness. Let his own people try that, I won't. His thirst for vengeance is too close to my heart, and only Quayle with Alora know where they deposited the ranger's unconscious body. Good luck to him, but may our paths never cross again.

* * *

Last night, I had another dream. My body was in my bed, sleeping. But the eyes were in hiding, among the old discarded barrels, watching over the brightly lit entrance to a building I knew to be housing a castaway from the guild Gantolandan, with a magical rogue stone he was contracted to steal from Waterdeep. Someone else's eyes... The still air was unmoving, minute after minute testing the patience of larcenous heart.

I barely noticed a tiny speckle darting for the doors, like a bat blinking out across a lantern. More minutes stretched without motion, until I knew the eyes of my dream were used to waiting. An occasional cat would stretch its meow in the distance, a dog would bark. I could almost hear mice skittering in fright. It didn't cease even when a tiny shadow slid out of the house, everything was just as quiet.

Wait, what is that?! Who ever told her to go for another house?! 'Twas Taxek's and Michael's deed tonight. No good, no honor in stealing away your brethren's catch. But lo! I was not alone lying in wait. The breath of night was shared with a Flaming Fist ambush. What good, what honor in sharing your brethren's prison cell?

This time, even those eyes could not see a halfling entering a doomed house. The guards came in, the guards came out. Everything was just as quiet...

* * *

If that wasn't a dream, I would have believed Alora saved the guild members indeed, so strangely open had this gruesome bunch been to us today. A mug of ale here, a surprise win at cards there. And I thought those decks were crapped! Narlen Darkwalk took Alora on a personal tour of the guild, teaching her a thing or two about traps. Husam, drunk as a fish, was spilling out his heart to me. About his work for the Iron Throne, his home, his wife, everything they took away. Something tells me the guild won't be looking for Kivan either.

Another dream. I cannot escape the sleepy summertide wherever I go. Even in the raucous bustle of the Blushing Mermaid, where fortune, love, even life itself can be bought and sold. Where a mercenary bodyguard is drinking next to a professional assassin. Where walk the ladies of the night, and all souls sink to their kisses like moths to the light. The filthy rich and the dirty poor, the brightest of rogues and the most tarnished of the holy men, you can find everyone in the Undercellar if only you look well enough. The only thing I couldn't find was oblivion.

'Cause 'tis quiet up here in the morning. Few have stayed in the rooms upstairs when the low calls. The drunks are fast asleep now from the night's excesses. Who with his head laid upon a pretty bosom, who with his face smack in his own vomit. What do they see in their dreams? Every single one of them, so peacefully quiet...

In the night, the visions of Undercellar rushed past through my dream. Everyone casting glances at my companions in solitude. Who with a sly smile, who with a frown. But then, if Imoen was blushing and turning her eyes away, many a glance was scolded and hurriedly taken back at a single touch with Jaheira's. Minsc, looking plainly straight ahead, and Xan... must've been looking back, to the past only he would know. Lost in the present, with no purpose of his own. But he didn't mind, just following along.

The other three, however, knew what they were looking for. A massive iron gate rolled away, and a sickly warm air breathed out of nearly complete darkness. Crisscrossed with the web of rusted support pillars, channels, and conduits, the sewers opened up in all their repugnant splendor.

Down there, everything is measured with the same rhythm, the same count: drip-drop. You step, drip-drop... hold breath, drip-drop... breathe out... You live and die by the same never-ending beat of dripping water. The light of torches is foreign here, and so is the sound of human voices. Carrion crawlers are not, along with the stench of their terrible meal. And the spiders, all kinds of spiders, with webs to catch anything that the world above is throwing away. Anything or anyone...

Dark, stagnant, slimy place. "Evil on every corner, careful not to step in any." For once, the hamster's advice seems right. Many a time did the dank passages light up with magic fire from the Imoen's necklace, heavy silence breaking into the uproar of flames and the dying agony of denizens of the deep. The battle-cry of Rashemen shaking the impartial walls. My sweet little Imoen, working magic? Why not, even if a measly sewer kobold could pretend to cast spells. Whatever it was, it didn't succeed. Could not succeed, for the same silence was always closing in where it parted, mending its own wounds. Heavy silence and almost impenetrable darkness. The silence and the darkness of my dreams?

And yet a miracle did happen by the end, this dream was marked for a good ending. On the way back, an ogre mage crossed paths with the group. Must've been the same one that Tiax consorted with, the same one responsible for his carrion crawler pets stealing people from the surface at night. So unfortunate for him... For the next thing I remember was a ring in Minsc's hand, with a ruby and the Silvershield insignia, the same one that the ogre was to plant with one of his corpses.

Did I really dream it up? In the last moments before waking up, I saw all of them standing before Duke Eltan in mourning, silent around the Skie's heirloom ring. Not quite the way it was planned to pass, but would've worked just fine. May it happen soon! Pigeons are bringing strange letters from Eldoth, with the tales of zombies stalking the land to the east. As if that could've held me back from running to fall upon his chest, forget the nightmares of my loneliness, and dream together again.

...There was another ring in my dream. Angelskin, blue as a sky, Imoen's gift to a guard waiting for his bride. "But my lady, she transcends gold, silver, and fancy stones." For once, I want a dream of mine to come true.

Today I learnt to trust my dreams. I'll never forget what happened in the guild. But the morning started slowly, with a trip to the Three Old Kegs. Before leaving, Eldoth told me to keep checking up on Areana, our noble friend. So grateful for helping her to get rid of Cyrdemac that she agreed to pay us for our efforts... in weekly installments. Can't say that my impression was the same, but as our smartypants Quayle says, "Gold coins make a poor mirror."

On my way back with a tight purse on my belt, Alora jumped me even before I reached the Draken's tavern by the Wide. She had a right to be ecstatic. All three artifacts were safely in our hands! Along with some baskets of freshly baked bread, our halfling maid also managed to let two gnomes into the house. Disguised with Quayle's arts, they made it up to the third floor, and before you could say "one, two, three" Shandalar became three trinkets poorer and the Baldur's Gate annals a scandal richer. Not sure why neither Delorna, nor her younger sisters cared enough to set up some wards to dispel invisibility, but Alora says the Shandalar's daughters were so busy arguing with each other they would've hardly noticed them anyway.

I glanced over the odd collection, and I still don't know if it was worth risking our lives. Alora would've shrugged at such thought. Ours was a no-win game, as turned out. A "pure fun," you might say. And I know just the man, nay, just the girl who knows to make the most of it.

Back at the Guild, we were treated to the traditional Halruaan welcome. "Our thanks for the job well done. But now we must remove all traces of this unfortunate incident. My apologies, but this includes you." Colors flared up, and before I could reach for my sword, I was engulfed in their magic. Bright reds and warm lilac, cold blues and enchanted greens. I couldn't feel my eyes, for the swirling currents were within my head. Boiling, smashing, gushing in to plug all channels... I suffocated in my thought.

I must've been lying on the ground, for the voices were somewhere above me. Faint and distant, from across the roaring waterfall of color.

"Narlen! What, by all gods, are you doing?!"

"To ye I put the same question, Ravenscar ye traitorous fool! Ye set up one of our own!" That voice... Narlen Darkwalk, it was him! In the larcenous nights of my dreams.

"Explain yourself, lest you take an earthen bath by the next morn!"

"Ye hired them to do yer dirty deed 'cause they're expendable, right? The brethren in burglary who should die 'cause they not in the guild? Nay say I, and everyone around you. Lift yer eyes from that desk, Alatos! Remember two hungry boys that ran together. How we were taken into the guild? With what scales do ye now measure up the trust of a thief's heart? Or has it started to leak? They work the work, and flee the flee. They be with us, and ye set us up!"

When I opened my eyes, I saw a wall of boots, all kinds of boots in a circle around me. And over my head, a tent of hands reaching out to help me rise. But I was not the only one sprawled upon the ground. Next to me was Resar's face, distorted with an anguished surprise. I took a long glance back. No one was in a rush to close his eyes.

Such was the reward for which we toiled! The respect Alora ran from the guard for. We're on the same side of the balance scales now. Imoen was right; if only you sleep really, really deep, like really sleep... But if those dreams of mine were true, so must have been the others?

The bliss of happiness has been brief, like the wine that comes and goes. So much worse for the hangover... I was never afraid, rarely hesitated. Neither walking into the Davaeorn's lair, not climbing up the Ramazith's tower. Certainly, not when working past the gnoll patrols only to plunge a cold dagger into Dynaheir's heart, even if not by my own hand. Hardly hesitated to take poor Garrick along for a trip to his grave. Was it really Kagain's bolt that pierced his heart?

I should've been ashamed of myself. Ashamed to face them together, Imoen and Jaheira. Even that brute Minsc with his hamster... High time to be outta here!

I don't have to listen again to the peasant woman I met at the Splurging Sturgeon a few nights before. The same thing came to me now in my sleep. I know I am a bad person, and the fates are probably right in arraying against me. But, when it's gonna be time to close my eyes for the last time, I'll smile knowing there's at least one soul I have saved.

I'll have to remember to give Coran a good whack the next time I see him. The sleek elf-boy proved worth all the juicy expletives Viconia bestowed upon him in her delightfully hissing tongue. Did he even know that he had fathered a daughter? Likely, more than one. But this child, barely a year old, was now dying. The shame was too much for Brielbara's husband, and what curse is stronger than the one born of jealousy?

Listening to the mother's tears, I felt something stirring under my heart. Something warm and tender, and suddenly I knew I was going to find the mage and force him to reverse the spell. Woe to the one who dared to stop me!

There were two of them who did, at the lower deck of the Low Lantern. The ship, moored at the docks, was the home to the most highly paid prostitutes, and that is where Yago took to spending his days and nights. The poor man wasn't all that hard to convince, but two of his lovely companions were of a different opinion about the value of the child's life. In fact, they were of a fairly low opinion about life at all.

Desreta and Vay-ya. "We are one with the void. We know life has no meaning. Better end it soon than endure its pain... Let us show you entropic pleasure. It will delight you with its icy touch." They weren't ladies of the night, by all accounts. Surprisingly strong, and it was a good sport teaching them the very pleasures they were preaching. I'll never know where they were coming from, but for a brief moment I saw as if a reflection of myself in Desreta's face.

I'd be pleased to inform Coran, if I see him, that his little Namara is now well, waiting for her big-hearted father to return. Her other father must be back already. I'm still alone. The gauntlets of ogre strength, fashioned out of real ogre's hands, that I took from one of our attackers, are waiting along with me. How do I crave to be held in Eldoth's strong arms! To taste the sweetness of his lips, to have my life blown away!

Why, I know it, that ogre mage is never gonna report back. Official mourning for Skie has been declared. Our business here is done, and if Eldoth is not yet coming, I shall surprise him myself. Tonight, my dreams shall be about him, and then we'll see to their fulfillment.

Finally! Eldoth is back in the city. Out in the rain, looking for a suitable hiding place to tuck Skie into. And I'm still waiting...

So strange... So many days (I thought, an eternity!) that I wanted him to be close, to run his hands against my bare skin, and to cover his entire body with my kisses. To teach him the secret arts of my dreams. My daydreams, for the nights were different. So strange... Even when I wanted to see his face and hear his voice calling out my name, instead the other dreams kept coming.

Last night was no different. What do they want from me?! Jaheira's eyes forceful, and Imoen's smiling. Minsc always staring straight ahead, and Xan backwards. Sometimes I feel he can see me, the only one without a curse on his lips. Perhaps, that's why he's always silent? I'll never know what they want from me, four lonely souls trudging through my dreams. Looking for... for a man? A mighty warrior, crowned with a helm of gold, bright as the midday sun.

I know the remedy from those dreams. It came suddenly, much sooner than I expected. We didn't have to go all the way through to Ulgoth's Beard to join hands. Barely across the river, the city was still shaded by the haze of rain. Passing Tenya's abandoned shack, I couldn't help but remember the cold and bitter promise of Umberlee's help. Cold like the rain. Bitter like the wind lashing with it against my face. Someone must have been peering at me through that haze. I feel it... someone in the temple of Umberlee knows I would be back. Obligated to be back? Yeah, a promise like no other...

The clearing erupted just ahead of us, shreds of grass flying, and a giant ankheg burst out. But its squirting jets of acid were aimed at someone else. A high-pitched shriek revealed the location of its prey. Moments later, the ankheg suddenly gone limp, suspended as if in a half-flight before hitting the ground with a wet, squishy thud. Quayle with Tiax can argue all they want till the pigs start flying (or the time when Tiax rules, whichever comes first), whether it was the wand of paralyzation that Quayle handily appropriated from Resar or the ghastly touch of Tiax's pet that did the job. Whatever, ours was not the first hand to strike the beast.

It was Alora who found a tiny dagger stuck between the ankheg's massive plates. Engraved with a single word "Nester" in a childish sloppy writing. The halfling recognized the name of the unlucky hero, and knew the house to deliver the only relic remaining of the lad. His folks were real grateful for something of his they could bury, she said.

I know the remedy. It came suddenly, the mists in the clearing parting to reveal Eldoth's astonished face. Double surprise! I wasn't the only one daydreaming of being together. He wanted to surprise me too, that's why he didn't send me a note with his pigeons. Man, was he surprised himself to meet so unexpectedly! For a moment, I almost had an impression he was actually scared to see me. So strange...

Is he back yet? The clock of my heart is ticking hurriedly, my skin pulsing against the thin gown of heated air. I know the remedy... then why am I so afraid it won't work?

It worked. I didn't see the haunting images of my dreams. Because I could not dream at all. I was lying awake, sharply awake, to the point of pain. Eldoth's body was sprawling next to me, asleep after a brief moment of passion. I was still waiting... Waiting till he finally came, and then for something else that didn't. The strength of his embrace I did not feel, only the slimy touch of the ogreish skin.

And now I'm sitting alone here, listening to the mournful sounds of an elven voice. A nameless ghost giving the tavern its name. Haunting... I know why the innkeeper's face at the Three Old Kegs looked so familiar. The same Tethyrian resolve beneath dark brows. His face bearing the scars of the civil war, Jaheira had it in her eyes too. She must've been a child back then!

Wait... what is the elven spirit singing about? The drunkard that has just passed away told me she was singing of her love. Lost in the western seas... And where is mine? Where is mine, I ask you?! No use banging his head on the table, it ain't responding. I won't listen to Alora again, the next time she comes back telling me she saw Eldoth entering the Merchant League's Counting House. And why is she stalking him anyway? Hah! how funny... who's damna sailin' away? Nooooo, my love's staying with me, I know that. I feel it with my heart...

Damn brandy, it's useless! Musta been poisoned... Now I have to see a whole circle of Tiax's faces, grinning and sneering, each ever broader than the other. Better bang my own head against the same table, pass away and remember the sweet aroma of apple blossoms. My mother loved them so! Only they're gone now, all gone...

My head hurts, and not only from brandy. Also from Tiax's hysterical cry. "But Tiax... Tiax!.. He must rule!!! The glorious Cyric said nothing of his premature death!" The crazy gnome has a good reason to be so desperate, just as Quayle to hang his head in stupor. "Why must you be such a grumpy pus! Cheer up!" Alora... Where does she find that smile of hers? Mine was gone the moment Eldoth ran back to me in panic, shaking me up with his cry for help.

We have been poisoned. All of us. Or maybe not, but who knows better than Lothander? Only his friend Marek, who actually dripped a slow-acting magical poison into our drink. Slow, yeah, yet no healing arts in Faerûn entire can reverse our doom. Only the antidote that the Iron Throne assassins have. Correction: Lothander only knows where to find it, but he ain't telling until we release him from a geas. Without the bloody spell forcing him to do anything at Marek's bidding, he would've been a gentle soul, unable to hurt a cockroach in his cup of milk. Yeah, trust him! but at least he's trying to be "helpful." He's found Eldoth, not the other way around, and we have no other choice anyway.

"So much brain, and so few words for those Umberlings. They be the bitches." Ah right, Quayle's "wisdom" is never a revelation. The diviner at the Wide said the only power in the city to undo Lothander's geas spell is Jalantha Mistmyr, the High Priestess of Umberlee. I wonder why... perhaps, the geas itself was her doing.

She's not letting it go easily, either. Cold indeed is the promise of Umberlee's help. Like the dark water beckoning from beneath the narrow planks of the temple's passageways. Cold like the blue fire in the High Priestess' eyes, "You are asking too much! The holy day of Storm Call approaches, and the Water Queen is now hard to appease. Bring the Book of Wisdom, and perhaps your request of help shall be granted."

Alright, only that the said book is to be found at the Lady's House... Someone, shut that wailing idiot up! Tiax's pitch is covering even the sailors' ruckus. Of course, he's not the only one knowing how hard is trying luck against the Lady of Luck herself. The priests of Tymora be a tough bunch to cheat, but perhaps his "glorious Cyric" would help this time around? Aye, this group could do with a swift kick in the morals. Good job, Eldoth, that's the spirit! Even at the death's door I'll be in love with the man...

At the death's door? There is no poison without a cure. Tonight, both shall be healed. Tonight, our love shall walk between life and death, and pass pure through the furnace. Hand in hand, together... Rise up, you lazy bastards! Enough of this whining, we've got some butt to kick!

I'm learning a simple yet handy truth. The Lady of Luck likes playing. And our moves started coming up sevens even before we reached the doors of the Lady's House. A little lad approached and waved us away. His guardian, Tremain Belde'ar, a priest of Tymora, was in a dire need a good share of luck himself. His son Casson was caught in a prank in the Water Queen's House, along with his friend Varci. Only one of them escaped, the other one needed more to regain the favor of She Who Smiles. They didn't even know if he was still alive!

Was that Tymora's final word when Casson failed in his bid? Or could she have been drawing us all into a greater game of luck? The truth is simple and yet handy. The Lady of Luck likes playing. You only have to make your move first. Varci made it when he approached us in a dark alley, against Tremain's will. Tremain's was the bid for our help and the promise of the Book of Wisdom in return. And ours? Our very own lives were thrown in the pot, and we got them back. Too little, you might say? The Lady of Luck never loses, and what we gain is always taken away from someone else.

The losers tonight? Chanthalas Ulbright, the High Priest of Tymora himself, decided the youngster's fall was the end of the game, and now he is short a holy book. And Marek, he's short his own life, along with his antidote. We found him at the gambling floor of the Blushing Mermaid. He placed a wrong bet. Blind even before Quayle's spell took him, he could not foresee Alora's dart coming for his throat.

Lothander didn't lie. He told us where to find Marek, and for that we spared his life. In an impossible moment of truth, when his geas was released and he stood motionless, unable to decide what to do next, or truly to believe he was free to decide, I suddenly realized just how happy I must be for the rolls of dice that created that night.

It's about to end now. The mist over the water in the harbor is starting to melt before the bright red glow of the rising sun. Leave, but do not take my luck with you! I'm quiet at the water's edge, not far from the Water Queen's House where my fate itself was decided last night. In the darkest hour, I again met Tenya, a girl born after the Time of Troubles. And this time, my plea for help was granted. Casson the trespasser and the holy Book of Wisdom exchanged hands. An even exchange? The Lady Who Smiles never loses...

I'm learning a simple truth. I'm getting strangely attuned to the games of powers. Why? Why am I jolted every time the mad Tiax is starting that tune?

The Lord of Murder shall perish.
But in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny.
Chaos shall be sown in their passage.
So sayeth the wise Alaundo.

It doesn't sound right in his voice...

I had a dream in the noon that the sun was high, and the shadows were running away. Slipping under the angles of the roofs, diving into the wells of pure, cold water, hiding behind the closed doors. I touched one of them, and it opened silently. The man inside didn't see me, juggling the sparkling flames that shot from his fingers. Silly, fiery, enchanted smile.

Steps up to the second floor, and I found them. They found that warrior in the helm of glory. Shining bright as the midday sun. They were now dying before that fire. Imoen's lifeless body was lying in a heap against the wall, thrown away with an inhuman strength. Minsc had no more air in his lungs for a berserker cry, and Jaheira no more venom in her eyes, both reeling under relentless attack.

It came suddenly; I met his eyes. Xan was looking straight at me. Not past, nor beyond, but straight at me. Gone was the forlorn sorrow, a tempered resolve in its place. Tempered with fire. The enemy's sword descended... and met with a living spark of his moonblade. The frail elf stepped forth, oblivious to danger. Heedless of the space and rhythm of battle, for he needed none... The next moment, they had it for themselves together, the elf and his blade. A perfect union lasts only a moment. A single moment, but for them -- an eternity.

The fire within joined the fire without, and the elf with the sword merged into an arc of radiance so intense I had to close my eyes inside my dream. The force of explosion that followed threw me out into the waking world. But I could still hear the sound of a helm of gold rolling across the stone floor.

The haunting spirits of my dreams have just lost one of their number. The one without a curse was the easiest to be redeemed. For how can one live beyond the eternity of his moment?..

I was alone on my bed, no one beside me. The tavern's ghost paused in her song, and I could hear Quayle turning over in his sleep in his room on the other side of the wall. No other sound... was everyone else gone, too?

When I closed my eyes again, I stood alone in the street, a sword of vengeance in my hand. I knew vengeance... without knowing why. I lifted it toward the sky, and its tip turned red, as if piercing living flesh above me. The first drops fell upon my face. I knew it was blood. A lightning came down, born of the sun. My blood was boiling, and my heart consumed. In the heat of the fire, I alone knew the Song. Its beat was savage.

It's over. The thinnest of veils has fallen from upon my face. The veil of illusion... where did you find it, oh seductress of hearts?! When looking through it, my bed was lonely, and the note I found beside it precious. Written in his hand... I was to go to the Three Old Kegs, for another tribute from Areana. The bait? His smile at the end of the road, his kisses, and his embrace.

His treachery, his lies, and his deceit! The hook bit rudely and savagely on the invisible fabric, tearing it up together with flesh. Instead of the docile noblewoman, a gang of cutthroats in ambush. And the ogre, the same one looking for Bethphel in the Blushing Mermaid weeks past. Who told him where to find me?.. We managed it, alone with Quayle, and Alora showing up by the end. Even blinded with the gnome's magic, the enormous ogre was fearsome in his rage. The good thing is he could no longer tell friend from foe.

The fire of Quayle's burning hands was only the beginning. What is his healing arts to the wounds that're burning even hotter now? Alora brought the news, Eldoth was on the run. The veil was down... what are you feeling now, oh seductress of your own heart?! The shreds remained, grasped by a lingering hope. I didn't tarry to look at the stuff the halfling managed to pick from the fugitives in their hurry. Another note was waiting for me back at the inn. In Tiax's mocking voice...

The Child of Murder, you're unworthy. Right! My lord Cyric knew you for what you are the moment you were born. And I told him just what you've become... HA-HA! Weakling! You won't escape your doom! Go now, GO! Tell that fool Quayle why I didn't cut his feeble throat. He could not punish himself better than by following you around. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! The fools shall suffer, and TIAX RULE!

Fooled. Cheated, like a dupe at the gambling table. I'll show them how to bet against my feelings! They want a game? I'll give them the game! The Lady Who Smiles can be downright laughing at times. Tiax mustn't have paid attention to what he was writing on, for the other side of the parchment gave me back what I have lost. In return for the youth of my heart and the love lost, I got the hunger for blood, the power of vengeance, and the knowledge to bring them to bear. An even exchange? You bet...

Skie, my love!

Soon we shall be free of the only obstacle to our love that is still left. But even if she survives, the bitch won't be able to find us. For I have a special treat for you, my adventurous flower. A honeymoon like no other, one you will never forget.

A lonely keep in open field
did Durlag the Trollkiller build.
To bury guilt in a heart of stone.
For madness could his gems atone?

The gates are always wide apart.
Yet devious trap and monster guard
the secret halls in dungeons deep
where solitude with treasure sleep.

For only I have all the wardstones and know the safest way into the hidden chambers. Nowhere else in the world would we be more together...

Your love, Eldoth

A gale came from the sea, sharp and stinging. Piercing my covers, and the last vestiges of warmth were blown away. A wolf howled from the south. A lone, hungry, restless call. Let the chase begin!! I ran on all fours... down the stairs and into the street, past the shrieking people and straight into the burning maelstrom of fire. "She left me! Heart... burning... fooled! Safana... the love of my life! Burrrrn... let everything burn!!!" I didn't feel anything. Xzar's fire reached deep, burning out something within me, leaving no room for pain anymore. Let him run as well. While he still can...

From across the river, the city stood out grey in black and white, a trap for human ambition. A she-wolf howled at the moon. Was anyone following her?