Bethphel's Diary: The Melting

Why is my foster father taking me away from Candlekeep tonight? What is the urgency? Imoen, that trollop child, spilled over some gleanings from her peeking into Gorion's desk. Apparently, there was a letter. So, did it warn him of someone sent over here to... wait, did they really want to kill me?! Gorion's child?

"Foster child," he said. "Gotta keep it straight. He raised you as his own, but you are not of his blood. Your head ain't worth nothing if you're actually his child. Nah, I know you're the right one. My ticket out of the gutter, soon as I snuff your lights."

Assassins, whose child are they after? There were two of them. What is going on? And the day started so nice! Our 'dear' Phlydia lost her book again. In a pile of hay, of course! This is nearly becoming a steady source of my income. She pays in gems, nice little trinkets that Winthrop Puffguts, Imoen's foster father, is ever so ready to exchange for hard shiny coin in his inn.

Aye, Candlekeep, the land of subtle riches! I have always been taught that the highest treasure of this tiny hamlet on the Sword Coast is knowledge. One of the greatest libraries in Faerûn. Yet the Readers are oft not destitute themselves. The ticket in is a book, any book that the Library does not have. But such anomalies are becoming more rare with every new visitor, and many have to pay an exorbitant price the monks are charging for the reading privileges. Of course, not everyone is as absent-minded as Phlydia, but Imoen still has a fair share of her trade in picking pockets and whatever other arts of stealth she might be practicing.

Speaking of Imoen... Last time I remember she's been having big eyes for Dreppin. Well, the guy was at the stables and desperately needed help with a sick cow, Arabelle. I almost went out to call her up, but Dreppin... well, he was most insistent that I stay at Candlekeep. Such confidence! Still, I was pleased.

The rest of the day passed in running around the keep as if the whole hell broke loose, what with everyone and their cousin thinking it their duty to remind me of getting ready, the sooner the better. Such a hassle was sure not to escape the soldiers' eyes... Hah! as if they needed any excuse. The feeling was rather nice, though, and I'm certain that was not the leather jerkin I purchased from old Winthrop that they were ogling after... Jondalar, the weapons trainer, oh man, he's the smartest. Always knows which moves to teach, especially when Gorion is not looking. Got to kick my butt with his staff... umm, literally. Not that I couldn't repay him in kind, for some good laugh.

The 'wholesome' attention I've been getting did yield me some gold coins from a few errands, adding to the sum received from Gorion. Which I promptly exchanged for a longbow from Winthrop's stock. My favorite weapon... nothing like a good trusty bow out in the woods, to keep too insistent buggers away. And it appears there are bandits out there, in numbers not seen for a while. The old mage, Firebead Elvenhair, mentioned an iron shortage, whatever that might mean, and started whining on how hard was the road, what with all the bandits hunting for iron more than gold, and all that kind of junk. I really welcomed an excuse to leave, out for a scroll he left with Tethtoril. Sure enough, hardly had I peeked into the inner grounds, as our First Reader jumped me up. He knew I was after the scroll, of all things! Sometimes, this Tethtoril just scares me up, as if he could read my mind.

My mind... it will always remember the seagulls crying. Even far away from here, where are we going? Gorion told me nothing, save a word of Khalid and Jaheira waiting for us at the Friendly Arm Inn, should be become separated. Aye, the journey ahead might easily have surprises in store for me. Something must be coming, I feel them both, fear and eagerness. The monk songs have been particularly moody tonight...

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.

My world has changed overnight. I have lost Gorion. Crows have been crooning in the night when a twig broke under my foot. The loud, crackling sound bringing huge dark shadows to life. Ogres... we were in ambush! Yet however strong the silent giants could have been, theirs was not the power.

"Hand over your ward, and you will not be hurt! If you resist, it shall be a waste of your life." A voice from the dark. And terror, with the pale moonlight falling upon him stepping out of shadows. In my worst dreams, I shall remember the armored figure wading through the maelstrom of magic unleashed by my only defender. Him, who shall come for me again...

"Run, child, get out of here!"

I ran, and didn't look back. Gorion, Gorion! The old man had been fighting with me over all kinds of things for so long that... that I just can no longer fight it! He cared for me despite anything and gave out his last breath to let me live. I... I don't know... He just has always been getting the short end of the stick.

The voice of my nemesis. With a strangely familiar tinge. Nay... whoever my real father might have been, I am now certain of one thing. I no longer have one. I... I just cannot say any more right now... My quill is broken, the last straw I'm holding onto in the night. I must... must do something, but don't know what... The voices around in the forest... they are after me. I don't know who they are, but somehow I know that I am yet to meet that terror in armor, and for that I must be strong...

Strong? I'm already strong... of tears. Strong of death, and strong of grief. I keep them inside. They're my weapons. Single drops are falling down... from my eyes? Upon the earth that already accepted his blood. Gorion... a single flower is wavering upon a thin, broken stem. Too fragile for the weight of tears, too pretty for the taste of blood. There shall be torrents! The melting has already started. I shall be strong, and strong of vengeance!

I'm slowly getting used to being my new self... Not quite the same as before, for the past will never return. The way back to Candlekeep is closed, for the enemy will sure look for me there now that Gorion is dead. I'm now out on my own. Again, not quite, but almost. Did I mention my surprise when I saw no one else but Imoen strolling out my way the first thing in the morning? No doubt the surprise was hers, as well. There I was, stranded in the middle of the road, totally clueless as to whether all of my night pursuers were gone... For a brief moment I was afraid of my own courage! Should've run for cover into the bushes. But one night of fear was more than enough.

I must admit Imoen was quite the help I needed that very moment. I guess I'm gonna have to tolerate her for a while. Brave enough to join me, she had the courage to suggest we pay another visit to my foster father. Something I would've never made myself do again.

For once, we were lucky, as all the enemies were gone, or at least, far from here. Her quick eye found the letter in his sack, the same one she came near to admitting having seen the other day. We sat by the freshly dug grave, and read it. The words were disquieting...

My friend Gorion,

Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in my care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point.

Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge thee to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point.

Luck be with us all.

E.

"What we have long feared may soon come to pass..." Whoever that mysterious E might be, he wouldn't have known Gorion would die for this, would he now? If I were truly his child, my head would've been worth nothing, the unnamed assassin said. Whose child am I, then? Would anyone know?!

A strange furry creature, looking decidedly unwell, was trying to intercept us on our way back, but my arrow quickly helped it out of its misery. Imoen suggested it was a gibberling, the kind of knowledge hardly gained by memorizing the monster compendiums in the library. Regardless, it probably had nothing to do with the events of the last night. But it is better to be safe than sorry, so we picked our way along the road yet a bit off.

Soon we chanced upon a pair, the strangest of all I've seen so far but, best of all, having little in common with the grim determination of our ambushers. The encounter was somewhat tense, yet surprisingly friendly in the end. Contrary to my first impression it was, and I wonder now if that was for real or but a mask.

Xzar, a wizard of unknown origin. And likely, unknown degree of insanity. Apparently, he didn't deem the company of his guard, the halfling named Montaron, sufficient, so they agreed to show me up to the Friendly Arm Inn. A lone outpost of goodness ruled by a renown family of gnomes. It made Bentley Mirrorshade famous for taking over the former citadel of a priest of Bhaal and turning his gruesome abode into the much appreciated respite from dangers of the road. By many a traveller, and many a pilgrim flocking to the Garl Glittergold's shrine raised up by his wife Gellana.

But nothing is without a price. In return, we are to follow Xzar south to Nashkel, a mining village next to the border with Amn. Our newly acquired companions seem to have taken a keen interest in the supposed iron shortage. As of late, ore has been coming out tainted from the mines in the south... Whatever, Candlekeep's ambience of warmth and security is much too deceptive. Here, in the wilderness, there is an acute feeling that not in vain our land has been called the Sword Coast. For now, it's better to travel together. After all, if we're to make our living in this strange new world, the iron crisis might as well be our ticket to fame and fortune.

Having made a headway toward the east, farther from the dangers of being discovered, we broke camp away from the road, to avoid the curious eyes. We'll travel at night.

And here I am, by a long dead fire. The brightest of the stars are already shining over these very letters helping to quicken my turn of guard duty. It won't be long...

Yay for a hot bath with a refreshing bucket of cold water over my head! The boy that brought it from the well offered to empty it himself, but I had him run away with but a single glance... Soooo, that's what the so-called 'adventuring' does to you! At least, now I've got some leisure time to think over the situation I'm in. And I'm in it as deep as ... <censored> ... Looks like I'm heading to Nashkel already. Our companions were delighted to learn that Jaheira with her lame husband are anxious to head that same way, as well. Guess what? The iron crisis is no stupid rumor, as we all have witnessed it today. But first things first...

No sooner we left our campsite as a thunderstorm broke up over our heads. It was light as day when a lightning would flash, but we soon abandoned all thought of offroad travel. The rain turned everything around us into a swamp impassable, save the road itself. We were soaked to the bone, my clothes were clinging, and I hated it, hated feeling Xzar's hungry eyes ogling all over my body from behind. Even when we stumbled upon those gibberlings... those wizards! I thought he was going to have us fight all the way, while strolling himself by at leisure! Hate that chuckle... Guess that's when I started dreaming of a hot bath ahead, and I swear if that 'wizard' only peeked his idiotic eyes into my room, I would've had 'em on a needle!

By morning, we were at the gates and had to suffer a stern admonition from the guards. Hah! We were soon to see for ourselves just how rare fighting is in this prude place. For as soon as we reached the inn's 'grand' staircase, we were greeted by a 'friend'.

Tarnesh the friend, he presented himself... Don't even think he aimed to amuse us with his tricks. As soon as I saw five wizards where had just been one, I knew something was amiss. But Imoen was clearly taken aback. Whatever magic wand she had pilfered from Candlekeep, it sure did not see the action. Add to the picture that Montaron's sword broke neatly in half as soon as it hit flesh, and you get it all bright and clear!

Well, at least it did hit. But then, the next thing I remembered was running away at full speed. I'm sure everyone did! Later, our halfling told us that Tarnesh pulled out some weird horror spell to turn us into chickens. But Xzar, he managed to launch some magic of his own at the same moment, finishing our 'dearest friend' where he damn stood. Through the haze of the fight, I heard the incantations, then a flash of blue, and our madman cackling in glee. I'll have to make sure I know what tricks our wizard has to spare...

On the matter of chickens... we were soon to dig our brave Xzar out of the nearest chicken barn where he'd stuck his head into hay as an ostrich. Sure wasn't a winning sight! I hope that will spare us the torment of hearing him boast day after day about how he did in the 'powerful mage' Tarnesh. With that mood we entered the inn...

Gorion's friends... Jaheira with her husband, Khalid, the half-elves, turned out to be so much less than expected! One running with the druids, and the other one stuttering as hell. The bitch, of course, was full of herself, with her husband like a dog at her side. We probably didn't look our best, either, for she immediately greeted us with a tirade about how we lack experience and need her guidance.

"Does not the grass have blades? Do stars not shoot? The nature be well armed, and requires so..." of us, apparently. Her lame husband only nodding and stuttering, nodding and stuttering... Well, she might be our leader for the time being, but we'll see if I can find a way to show who's the boss.

The rest of the day was spent in wandering around, listening to the rumors told by an occasional mug of mead, and idle chatter. A lot of women seem to be missing something these days. If not a husband, then a girdle of piercing. Or worse, some old boots and a bottle of wine from a spider-infested house in Beregost. The iron crisis is hanging all over the place like a shadow of gloom, and I'm starting to wonder if it might have anything to do with my own predicament. Although what, I fail to fathom...

Closer toward the evening, Imoen rushed in with a sob tale of yet another woman she chanced to meet and an heirloom ring lost to a band of hobgoblins just north of town. I'm starting to regret tugging her along. Promise Joya to return her ring was her idea. Now, I'm not loathe carrying a bunch of dead spiders, as long as it entails a hefty reward. But that woman offered us nothing. I wish Imoen asked me first, but Jaheira seemed to approve. And so, having left Xzar back at the inn to study Tarnesh's scrolls, we found ourselves strolling around the keep's wall like a bunch of idiots in search of hobgoblins.

The only fun to be had was watching a silent competition between Montaron and Khalid with Jaheira about who bags more of those silly but boastful creatures. Well, not so silent, as Jaheira has been rather witty on Montaron's part.

"Yer wit be sharp as my blade. Shall we trade jabs, or shall ye cease yer incessant prattle?!" My, my... I took a special pleasure in snatching a tiebreaker away from them at the last moment. I'll hold it for a good sign. One laughs best who laughs last.

Back at the inn, I had my own scrolls to study. At last, I know for sure that there is a secret bounty placed upon my head. Soooo, Gorion's killers are not about to leave me alone. Well, I'm not going to leave them be, either. Hunted now, I'll turn a hunter myself. And the first quest I've set for myself already. A hunter shall be hunted himself... however long it might take.

A stormy morning and a crazy evening, I even hardly remember events of the day! Early ere the sunrise we left the gnome's abode, south-bound. The first test of Jaheira's leadership: we were ambushed by a pack of wolves on our way. Strange they'd attack a group of armed men, and during the day to boot! Even stranger that our 'experienced' leader, part a druid herself, failed to detect their intentions till they were right on top of us. The worst thing is that I owe her my life now. I was down, a wolf already reaching for my throat... and the next moment, the spires of weeds sprouting out of the ground magically all around me, lifting the wolf up in the air. The rest was a slaughter, bloody and simple.

She told us the wolves are a part of nature, but as attuned as she is to its vibes, an evil influence she failed to recognize. I'm wondering just why I hate her so much. Something I felt... back then, when my quivering self was beating to the tune of her incantations, life force flowing back into my veins... her life force. Almost hugged the damn bitch, I did. But deep inside myself, I'm being told that we are different and our paths must part.

Closer to Beregost, we encountered our first bandits, next to a pillaged caravan. A warm deed, for some of the spoils were still there, unclaimed, and even a witness alive. The tales of danger along the roads stood up right before our own eyes. Danger for those who would attack us...

It was getting dark when we finally entered the town of Beregost. I saw at once that it was much unlike my native Candlekeep, too massive and spread out. "A blight on horizon," by Jaheira's definition... Yet appreciate further its features I could not, more mindful of a good rest after a long and troublesome road.

Alas, that was not to be! Our inn of choice, the Red Sheaf, was already infested with a rumor of my coming. I was wondering how we could have stepped on a dwarven toe, but it took only one look at yet another bounty notice, with a rather detailed description and a promise of increased remuneration, to piece two and two together.

The scroll was proudly presented by Montaron, his face curving with a self-congratulatory smile. That pair makes me worry... looks they too are going after the reins of leadership. And I was wondering why the halfling, just hours ago threatening to stick a blade between Jaheira's ribs, now stepped forward, putting himself squarely between her and already bloodied assassin's axe. Hmm, I'll have to find someone to offset this new rising influence when Jaheira is no longer bossing us around like her husband.

The blood on the inn's floor, innocent or not, sure didn't grant us welcome smiles of the patrons, much less the innkeeper. Their loss, for we have found ourselves a better place to stay the very next door, at the Burning Wizard. Still, our fame was already spreading faster than our beds could be made. Soon enough, we were treated to a hurried visitor. Calling himself Garrick, he promptly proceeded to offer us a temporary employment as bodyguards to a woman bard Silke Rosena. Jaheira, her face still white from loss of blood, was about to refuse, when Xzar (surprise! surprise!) called her away, whispering something under boastful Montaron's gaze, full of his new role of Jaheira's savior. Fine and all, if you ask, but I wish it was me who effected the decision.

So, propping herself up with healing herbs for a fresher look, our leader hurried on to present our band to the new employer. Funny... Garrick himself wasn't aware what his mistress was really up to. The woman wanted us to cut some throats there and now. She wasn't at best terms with Feldepost, the influential proprietor of the namesake inn in town, but we weren't to listen to the merchants coming from him to the meeting, for one of them "is a master of magic, and his sweet-dripping tongue can blind out your mind..."

"Silke, here are the gems you asked for..."

"No more nonsense! Don't listen to them. Strike hard! Kill them all!.."

My bowstring was already pregnant with arrow, and I could almost feel Montaron's evil smile broadening in murderous anticipation, when... Khalid, damn fool! managed to stutter out the most inappropriate words at the nick of time! I'd rather he spoke fluently ever, but swallowed his tongue just for that evening.

"SSSS-TTTT-OOOOP!!! These are innn-nocent mmm-men..."

All the hell broke loose... The halfling, I fear, was about to turn his grudge into action right before the incredulous eyes of the merchants, when Silke herself spelled her doom. Xzar was standing quietly in shadows when she started to chant... and then I was to witness what Imoen's wand could really do in his hands. A magic missile (I can't find any other word to describe it!) shook her concentration, and she was given no other chance. At least, I can count that kill for myself, and her enchanted quarterstaff is now rightfully mine.

Garrick the fool wanted to join us, after all we did! Sure enough, Jaheira didn't let him in, doubtful of someone who'd so quickly switch his loyalties. And damn right she is! Only I don't know who in his right mind would hire us now, what with our newly acquired fame of turning against our own employers. I don't mind killing Silke. We've got her gold regardless, and some more from the grateful merchants. But losing our reputation of trusted hired hands?! I'll count that against her stuttering hubby.

Oh, and Imoen, our eternal child... she's been less help than a burden. One thing is certain. Xzar with Montaron would hardly save Jaheira again. She is proving to be hard to manipulate.

'Tis hard to think clearly through the wine mists, but I'll try... The town of Beregost is... well, when I came out of the Burning Wizard, the roof tiles were shining with golden sun. A good stretching out, and your feet carry you along far... and far... and far... I'm getting dizzy...

Where was I? Right, Beregost is so much unlike my keep. Everything here is... well, bigger. That is, except the towers, no towers here... Surprisingly, no walls, and the town is safe... That is, if you discount some pushy fellows at the inns. That one, Marl be his name... his son is dead. Credit is where it's due. Jaheira sure knows how to deal with folks in distress. The druids must've taught her something. I've never seen a talk as neutral as she gave the old man. How did she manage to calm him down?

The mayor... now, now... what's the name of that priest? Kaddarth Omlet, or something? Doesn't matter, he sure does a fine job. The Most Radiant of Lathander, and a city wall all by himself. Saw him at his Temple of the Morning Sun when we came in for antidotes. Which reminds me... the dwarven female at the Friendly Arm had that blasted house. Oh, man! Our halfling walked in. Imagine... one moment he's here, the next one... back with us again. Scared to hell! Four huge spiders, he reported, the likes of which he'd never dreamt of. We didn't believe him at first, too. But...

On our way back from the temple, I asked Jaheira if she could repeat that trick of hers... as back then, with the wolves. The entangle spell... She said she'd try, but wasn't sure if that would work beneath a roof. Heh, worked like a miracle! Of course, it was her hubby that got to carry out the spiders' stinking remains.

Guess now whom I met on the way to Feldepost's? The old bugger Firebead. Always knew he had a house here, in Beregost. Never knew I'd meet him, though. Always thinking of the books, he is... Oh, the old life in Candlekeep!

The apple trees... behind the inn, their smell is so strong after the rain, so... intoxicating. When I was a child, I so loved them in blossom. Used to weave their flowers into my hair when walking outside the keep, I did. Gorion, be the earth to him a pillow! Damn, I think I understand Marl now. I asked Gorion once why we had no apple gardens inside the keep. Wouldn't tell me why, but only that I was so much like my mother. My mother? He knew her, of course, before she died in labor.

The apple blossoms... I must've inhaled their aroma with my first breath... Damn, another tankard spilled! That Kagain fella shouldn't be staring so hard at me. I'll write the rest down at the morrow, gotta get up to bed... oh, my bed!

My head is aching like drumbeats rolling! I should remember not to let myself drink too much wine... and mead, right, the mead. I get too sentimental when I can't think straight. Anyway, 'tis 'bout time we head back north. Aye, our travel to Nashkel is slightly postponed. My doing, and I'm quite proud of it, yes I am!

Surprisingly, the events of two days ago at the Red Sheaf, with Silke and the merchants, managed to raise our reputation with the townsfolk. Or was that our non-fighting Marl that made us popular? In any case, the people no longer are looking at us askance, and Jaheira was at the seventh heaven from joy. A little more, and I think she would've started doing mean things, instead. Strange folks are those druids... My head! I wonder if she still has the antidotes...

To be brief, for we must go. By the time we found the old Kagain's escort service, I was quite a hero of the day, so easily we have dealt with the spiders, thanks to my advice. The time was ripe for a harvest. The moment I caught the dwarf's eyes, I knew it was...

Pressing our 'omnipresent authority figure' a little, I reminded her that we need to restore our credibility with potential employers, and that joining Kagain's cause but for a while wouldn't hurt our ultimate purpose. He was looking for the son of Entar Silvershield, one of the Great Dukes of Baldur's Gate. The youngster was lost with one of the caravans heading for Baldur's Gate that Kagain's mercenaries were escorting.

I figure it could have easily been the same one we spotted on our approach to Beregost. Or if it isn't, I think I can convince the dwarf that it is. If I can still handle men, that is. His kind don't talk too much, and he, I fear, is one of the worst. The only thing he ever said, besides the deal, was how he thought I'd look good in one of his helmets. A rich piece of armor, indeed! The golden wings... remind me of the seagulls and the seaside sun in autumn...

The dwarf... he bought us a lot of rounds at the Feldepost's inn, toasting to "the most beautiful flower of all". That's where we wound away the night.

Imoen stays here, as my kind dwarf swiftly nodded she can help with running the service, and be paid for that, too. No one said a word, as that was my hour. Too much of the Sword Coast play is not good for children, especially eternal ones. Mayhap, she might grow up a bit here. Find herself a man or two. Or else, she's free to go back to Dreppin, for all I care! She's been no help for me anymore against either the Jaheira's influence, or Montaron's insane charge ("I saw dragons with feet like rabbits. 'Tis true, I swear!").

For now, I have to make sure everyone thinks Kagain is at my side. Not a perfect solution (I'm not all that fond of shortlings!), but one uses what is available, and who knows what the future has in store. I think I should be able to keep him away from me, though, while continuing to enjoy his loyalty. If I can still handle the men, that is...

Wait!.. what was Jaheira trying to tell me in the evening? I remember she caught up with me on the way upstairs, but... I'm afraid, my head was like a sieve. Something about Gorion... damn if I remember!

A day worth losing even if I end up tired to the bone, much of it from some hearty laughter! Nay, that was the laugh of my life, and I was ready to forgive Jaheira anything for the look on her face when she put that girdle on! Even made an old dwarf smile... So proud she was of having nailed an ogre down that she wouldn't settle for anything less other than donning the enemy's most prized possession. Apparently, decided it was the girdle of piercing that Unshey, a dwarven cleric we met at the Friendly Arm Inn, lost to an ogre.

The monster certainly had a touch of madness about it. And rightly so, as our fearless leader soon to demonstrate on herself. Well, I've never seen an ogre before, but even more rarely heard of a female ogre on a hunt. That alone must have warned Jaheira, but no!

I wonder who's gonna be the next victim of an unknown practical joker. Imagine! a girdle that transforms a woman into a man... and, apparently, a man into a woman. Almost plucked out her newly grown beard, she did. Such a pity, it was looking soooo cool. 'Twas hard to keep myself from flirting with her... him! a bit, just to see if Khalid would get jealous.

Kagain prolly would, instead. The dwarf was so easy to convince to stay with us that I'm starting to wonder if he knew all along about the caravan and the fate of unlucky Silvershield's heir. It wasn't far from that fateful place that we stumbled upon the strange ogre with the belt fetish. Fits the description that Unshey gave us at the Friendly Arm when asking to retrieve her girdle, imbued with magic to help deflecting piercing attacks. Well, looks like someone else was a touch more creative about the pay for sparing his life...

I think that cured the beast of its unhealthy addiction, for it didn't even bother to demand a belt or a girdle from our little party. The fight did present a few surprises, however. First, Jaheira's weeds failed to stop the giant, succeeding only in making her gape around in stupor. Xzar's blue-tinted spell, invented by some Larloch as he claims, didn't kill it on the spot either (maybe, it is not that powerful, after all?). The ogre was sure moving fast, and before we could say "ah", its hulking frame was hovering over Montaron. That's when I learnt to appreciate advantages of being petite. While I had a nearly perfect target for my arrows, the halfling was nimbly avoiding the giant swings of ogreish morningstar... until a trusty dwarven axe stung into the hairy legs from behind. That was when Jaheira finally woke up, driving her dart between the pair of madly revolving eyes.

After Jaheira identified the ogre's treasure of magic belts so masterfully, the remaining girdle of piercing was immediately taken care of by Xzar, who braved to don it over his robes in an attempt to "study its magic properties in action." Everyone was just too busy to pay attention.

I suggested heading for the Song of the Morning Temple to remove the curse. To see Jaheira squirm at the idea of facing Kelddath Ormlyr in her deplorable condition. And so we ended up here, seeking help at Gellana's hands. All the way to the Inn, our humbled leader was dragging her feet behind, unwilling even to lift her eyes. I was leading!

Rejoice! In the morning, we finally delivered our first quests. A pair of old worn boots, along with a dusty bottle of wine and smelly spider remains as a proof of the deed fetched more money than the fabled girdle of piercing. Talk about fetishes! Almost made me think it was contagious. Montaron was like a wolf ready to jump, and Xzar much too vocal about not letting "such a valuable piece of magic" slip from his hands. Even had another personality change. When I heard that nearly female falsetto screaming out of his throat... even got me wondering if he had the right girdle on.

I swear they're gonna hate Jaheira now even more than they would Unshey. Unknowing to them, however, it was me who restored their old animosity. Took but a few sweet words and a smile to have my dwarven follower remind our righteous Khalid in private that Xzar wears the girdle not by the right of ownership.

But worry not, I have approached the other side, as well. If I think what they think, I'm afraid the proud owner of the magic girdle might have some problems at the time of our next meeting. Just not today, nor tomorrow. First, the Sword Coast ought to know their heroes. The word of our glorious deeds must reach Nashkel ahead of us. The problem at hand is to keep our insane pair away from Jaheira until the time is ripe. I might need more than Kagain's help to snatch the reins away from under a mad wizard's nose.

And, besides... I haven't decided what to do with her, yet.

The air in Beregost smells trouble. Messengers are flying back and forth between the town and Baldur's Gate, all talking of a possible Amnish threat. Many seem to believe that the trouble at the mines of Nashkel is but the prelude to a large-scale invasion. The Flaming Fist soldiers we met, "the defenders of law and order"... obnoxious folks, so full of themselves! Well, even those arrogant fools are showing signs of worry, what with weapons crumbling in their hands. An officer at the Jovial Juggler inn even had an accident while emptying a tankard of ale with a gulp too long... The moment we went in, the new breastplate cracked from the effort and fell down in pieces. Turned out that was a woman! At least, she could appreciate a good joke. I should remember it for that fair in Nashkel everyone keeps talking about, perhaps even more than about the war.

Another quarry... Since our first visit to Beregost, the air at the town square is periodically being shaken loud by the town crier announcing a hefty reward of five thousand in gold for the head of a mad cleric Bassilus. The man is attributed a peculiar desire to enlarge his family with zombies, and a talent for making them out of the clueless folks he kills on the way.

Well, guess what? This evening, someone spilled under influence that Bassilus was in fact a fugitive from Zhentil Keep, or something. Xzar's eyes sparkled at the news! He almost went so far as to suggest that the madman might be related to the Nashkel problem, if not its direct cause. Diverting our steps toward the High Hedge in the west where he was last seen. A direction as good as any. If we don't meet the bag-o'gold somewhere along the way, at least Thalantyr the mage, the lord of the High Hedge, might be worth talking to...

...The air is surprisingly light here, like after rain... and a lightning in a magic circle around the dome just goes like... bzzzz... bzzzz... distracting. Not the most hospitable place, but as Xzar is studying his newly purchased scrolls, we might as well get our gulp of rest. And we sure need it! While our wizard is in a better mood now, not everyone in the party is so lively. Montaron is still bleeding, although his lower lip owes that not to a gnoll's halberd or an undead skeleton's flying dagger. The halfling almost turned on Jaheira when she bypassed him to heal her husband first. When nerves are failing, 'tis good to have some dwarven muscle around...

Everyone is bloodied and exhausted by now, but the day started out rather well. The fragrant flower fields have been quite a change from the dusty road, and under the sun caressing their petals, the bees were buzzing peace and quiet.

Until we met our first skeletons... death resurrected in a cradle of life. Bare bones rising over the flower beds, lidless skulls floating upon the streams of hot air... I even missed the moment the first daggers started to fly.

I finally put Silke's quarterstaff to action. The arrows were out of place here, with no pain... and emptiness inside the glaring sockets. I soooo much hate Bassilus, or whoever it is that brought the dead back to life! If 'life' indeed it could be called. They were crumbling with a thud... into the earth whence they arose from, and the flowers were lifting their heads again from where the bones hit the ground. An eerie scene... I was told my face was hard to behold, and I believe it. Not even a dagger touched me, either.

Arrgh, what does it matter?! The area around here is full of them, only the lonesome circle of the High Hedge is rising like an isle of shadows... I will never fully trust Thalantyr, but the skeletons are probably still Bassilus' doing. The man, however, was nowhere to be seen. We were going circles, searching, passing through the sweat and blood, but met nothing other than more skeletons... or gnolls. Skeletons or gnolls, those lowly hyenas, dog-faced humanoids, always going after the weakest.

Even deep in a dungeon would have been better, the sweat aroma of flowers is adding such a sick feeling to all of this... And only Xzar was reveling in his pursuit, talking to himself in a strange tongue no one understood and laughing maniacally. For some reason, he was personally touched by Bassilus' story.

Frustration was the word, and imagine our surprise when we saw a live man (a man!) coming out as if from nowhere to greet us not far from this very castle. Permidion Stark, a thief par excellence (or so he wanted us to believe), was up to nothing else but "the greatest heist of all time." He, probably, didn't have a better look at those creatures... the golems, guarding Thalantyr's solitude, they were presented to us later by their owner. Ran away the moment he saw them, I wager. If the gates are open, it doesn't mean one can always enter... or leave alive.

Jaheira didn't heed the warnings, however. So squeezed out was she from exhaustion that she just plainly walked in, making a straight beeline toward the mage standing in the inner circle. Not even as much as a glance around! Even the golems must have been so astonished, they were much too late to stop her. Or was it that old Thalantyr knew her from the time of her travels with Gorion? I'm wondering... But whatever the reason might be, we ended up sharing this weird place with our reluctant host. A much welcomed respite, even if without any decent help from him other than magic traded grudgingly for gold.

T'must be getting dark by now, and I don't think this looney would allow us to stay overnight. Or tolerate our company for too long, even. Soon, we'll have to fend the night off for ourselves in the open. Well, I'm afraid I'll have to fix Montaron's lip, after all. Jaheira ain't coming...

That was a strange dream... Or was it even a dream? So tired, I couldn't even close my eyes, and the pulsating vein kept constantly beating "danger! danger!" against my skull. And then... everything just slowed down. The world stopped. Gorion's image was floating in front of me, yet distant. The eyes... so very very sad. Like a hand, his hand, pulling up a blanket over my head... Don't know why, but somehow I did fall asleep after that. Till 'twas my time for the guard duty, of course.

The stars are slowly fading over my head, now and again glistening through the patches of broken clouds blown away with the wind. But the night was still young when left Thalantyr's abode. Skeletons were waiting for us in numbers. And the lady luck chose to play a bad joke on us this time, as first Khalid's sword broke apart, followed with Kagain's not-so-trusty axe. I must give Jaheira's hubby his due: with bare hands he was tearing the skeletons asunder. We did not have to run...

Our footsteps were soon washed away with the rain, as were the last vestiges of our resolve. Everyone dropped where they stood. Thankfully, the skeletons must've had even more trouble wading through the mud, and without any fire to kindle we were hard to find. Our night was not disturbed by anything other than our own fears. I wouldn't have allowed Montaron to guard us unaided, but he was in no condition for that, anyway. Yet there are more fears within...

In the morning, a tough decision is to be taken. Do we continue our search southward, or turn back toward Beregost? The night won't give us much rest. Wounded and exhausted, soaked with rain and lacking proper weapons, our demoralized little party might opt for a safer retreat...

Or are we lacking courage, really? The western wind is pregnant with salt of the distant sea, its freshness rousing spirit. The bitter salt of our adventures is in the soles of our feet. The wind is getting stronger... Are we to follow its call? Why have Gorion's eyes been so sad tonight? We sure weren't a pretty sight... but I'm no longer the child he always knew. I must find the right words to say in the morning.

The morning was fresh and windy. I still remember their eyes. Always look your men into their eyes if you want to lead them, that much I have known to be true... There was pain, there was exhaustion, even fear... but there also was courage, there was strength, and the will to go on. What do you say when each word is at the weight of life and death?

All the words were said, not few yet not too many, and then there was time for action. Into the wind, Kagain held my quarterstaff aloft, vowing not to fail me ever. The dwarf was probably the most eloquent today for a change. Khalid only smiled, girdling on my longsword with the scabbard. Jaheira was nodding, approvingly... Sometimes, I fail to understand that pair. Even Xzar with Montaron, the secretive lot as they are, seem to be closer to me than Gorion's old friends. Weird...

This evening, after we had broken the camp, and the water was already boiling in kettle over our makeshift fire, Jaheira approached me for a talk, one on one... if you don't count her husband, of course. Congratulating me on "a fff-ine egggza-mmple of lea-ddder-ship," they did!

"To lead the men... the trick is to know where to pull."

I thought my eyes would jump out! As if she didn't want the power herself? That must be some weird druidic game of politics. Last time I saw Jaheira agree with Xzar was when both were struggling to be the first to utter "Nashkel." Now, she is both hands up for dealing Bassilus his due. Of course, Xzar thinks the madman stands behind the whole deal with the iron shortage. But Jaheira is doubtful, and still she wants his head. Money? She was the first to suggest we aim toward Nashkel if we don't find Bassilus in the south... For now, the search's been unsuccessful, but a dayful of purpose seems to have restored our spirits. We're ready for whatever lies ahead.

"Gorion would have been proud..." Gorion, my foster father... How well did she know him, I keep asking myself. Am I doing anything wrong? His eyes were so sad last night. But if I am to see him again in my sleep, I'm sure they would be proud now. They must be... yes, they must...

Bassilus' head is ours! Keeps biting even after the mad eyes stopped rolling in their sockets... For one thing, it is now certain that he had nothing to do with the problems at the Nashkel mines, and nothing whatsoever with the iron shortage. The man was simply mad, mad as a march hare, desperately needing his head to be cured. Which we were glad to help him with, of course...

Too bad, the grisly trophy is now resting in Montaron's backpack, and Bassilus' holy symbol in Xzar's hands. Not mine! The halfling has been so annoying with his incessant bragging about how he slit Bassilus' throat midway through his final spell, that I'm glad he's gone away scouting.

Not that I'm certain his story is quite the way it did happen. At that time, I was rather busy... with Kagain, of all things! Grrrr, there he is, squatting with his back to the fire. Thinks I don't feel those rare yet eloquent glances he's shooting at me all the time?!

During the fight, he must've been thoroughly confused by one of Bassilus' spells. Hmm, no one else did, but he had to! One moment, there was the din of battle ahead, Khalid's warcry, and the flashes of magic missiles... The next moment, I was on the ground, someone heavily breathing into my ear, and Kagain's dirty hands searching all over my breasts through the mail! Took me a while to get loose, and by the time the fight was over, the dwarf had already run away into the woods. Almost killed a boy that happened to watch the scene, before coming back to his senses. I don't think he regrets it one single bit. Well, so much for thinking he would only be admiring me silently all the time. I'll have to keep a better eye on him from now on.

Still, the prize for the most confused part goes not to Kagain, but to the very same Bassilus. When we approached the circular ruins of what must once have been a druidic shrine, he decided Xzar was no one else but his father in person! For once, we were lucky, as the skeletons guarding his 'home' were armed better than those we met before.

I must admit, Xzar talked us half way through to victory. Bassilus was mad to the bone, thinking that everyone he gets to meet must be a relative of his. All of which sorry company, as far as I could gather, didn't make it when he escaped from Zhentil Keep.

Well, we weren't about to be turned into zombies or skeletons to share his company forever. When two madmen come together for a talk, beware of surprises! Our wizard must've found a common language with Bassilus (I only hope Xzar's family is alive and well!), demonstrating in the process a remarkable knowledge of Zhentil Keep and surroundings. I swear I saw Jaheira exchanging a few glances with Khalid...

Whatever it was, though, our host soon was brought to the point of rupturing links holding his creations to their unlife, and stood alone against us, with no 'familial guard'. Is there room for regret in madness? At least, Bassilus could see his father. See him before the way he wanted him to see, yet eager to listen to what he had to say. Why is it that whenever I want to imagine Gorion, some other voice starts whispering in?

Still, he wasn't easy to bring down, and we sure deserve every penny of the handsome award that awaits us in Beregost. And that's where we're heading now. Severed heads don't look as fresh after too long a journey.

But hush... what is it? Montaron is back with report. Looks like he has found something... or someone. The forests here are full of wolves, and we even saw a worg today. But this must be something different. Just what, I'm now about to learn...

So, Montaron ran like hell with the news of mere hobgoblins along our route back north?! Almost made me laugh at first, but the sneaky halfling is getting better at telling the danger where it is... too good at everything, for my taste. Nighttime is sure doing him justice. When he led us to their camp, I almost lost track of him, never mind the goblins. Led us straight after them, told us where to wait for a signal, while quietly taking for himself a position behind their backs...

As he warned us, there were two archers. And I must say I didn't like the look of those arrows. Montaron was right about the danger, his head must still be aching from their poison. Luckily for him, he had an antidote handy.

"Zargal want all your money. ZARGAL STRONGEST THERE IS!!"

Not after we had defeated Bassilus himself. The problem was to engage the archers as quickly as possible while keeping Zargal away. So Montaron stepped right out of the shadows to take out one of the archers, while Khalid with Kagain ran toward the other one like their life depended on it. Because probably it did!

...On their way, weeds were sprouting from the earth... twisting themselves to ensnare... roots of the mighty trees bursting out, yet leaving them unscathed. Zargal was trapped, perched upon a fork of warped wood, high above the ground. Yet his companions managed to escape his fate. Even without poisoned arrows, their blades drew many a drop of dwarven blood.

Soon, though, they were no more, and only the desperate roar of their leader was to them for a dirge. "The strongest one" was executed mercilessly, while screaming curses all the way to the end. Our halfling has had his revenge for the icy grip of death, the embrace he barely escaped tonight.

Those half-elves and halflings! I wish I had their gift of infravision. Shooting at sounds ain't gonna hit the mark, and all the spoils were theirs. Bother! Soon we were wandering through the narrow pathways of the nearby cliffs, and a couple of surprise attacks by the wolf packs convinced us it was time to break camp. But I don't like it here... The place chosen wasn't looking bad before dusk, but... there is something about the shadows... the night is growing denser here... one can almost feel the dread... Wait, we're under attack!

The night didn't pass in peace and quiet. The dread consolidated, and we were face to face with the great undead being. If not for Khalid holding his ground before the dread wolf, he might have been widowed already. Would have solved my dilemma, wouldn't it? As if I know what to do with the bitch. Jaheira hasn't told me everything she knows yet... and I think something must be said. Something about Gorion... Whatever shall I do? I don't hate her anymore the way I did before.

The light hidden in the undead eyes was hard to mistake. One by one, my arrows quenched the fire burning within. The score was mine, and I let myself laugh well that night. Only... the echo of that laugh was following me in my sleep. Another voice, unknown yet somehow familiar. Mocking, "Do you know who you really are?.." Like when you look in a mirror and... and don't recognize yourself. The smell of blood over my hands... The wind in the night was howling right through my soul... the leaves, dead in the spring, whistling past without touch, without sound...

I welcomed hungrily the morning, with whatever it would bring. The first rays of the rising sun flashed their gold upon the sullen hillsides, revealing a place haunted, indeed. Awakened by a skeleton host, we had yet another fight at our hands. The rocky earth has been quite satisfied with our blood. Now it's time to go back home... Home? Now, where did that word come from?!

So, we're back at the High Hedge... Following the footsteps of a chicken! I only hope this exploit of ours doesn't become the common laugh along the Sword Coast. I've seen men turn into chickens before, but never a chicken asking to be turned back into a man.

Alas! for his affliction was more than a 'mere' polymorph spell. As we were to learn from Thalantyr himself. Melicamp, the chicken in question, stole some items of power from the old mage. Not a chicken anymore, if he actually dared to call him teacher and even ask for help. We brought him here, thinking to reap a rich reward from Thalantyr. But after learning we'd get zilch, I just let Jaheira help the animal kind if she would. To be honest, I was rather curious myself... Too bad, poor lad didn't survive the spell designed to relieve him from his miserable condition. Well, a relief of sorts, nevertheless.

I guess I'll never get past the feeling that the skeletal armies around this eerie place are, just like the golems, yet another way of Thalantyr's hospitality. But he helps us some, and it is better still than having him for a foe. Here we were able to identify some of the artifacts that Xzar had failed to puzzle out. The short sword taken off Zargal's warm corpse, indeed a thing of wondrous beauty, for it would whistle a quiet yet heartfelt song, its steel responding to caresses of the wind. But drink the blood it would silently when sheathed into body to the hilt... A sad story was revealed to us by Thalantyr's divination magic. That of a human blacksmith ridiculed for his low height, yet capable of bringing tears to anyone who would listen... listen to his song. And if each spirit has a kindred, his was a mage, his friend for years. They forged the 'Whistling Sword' together, its steel and magic with the song entwined.

It makes me think... a kindred spirit? Is there one I'm yet to meet? What is my song?! The last night's laughter... the call of blood... I just don't know... In memory of the Lady Ashideena did Dergat Wiltoon name his mighty hammer. The hero was carrying the glory of his queen, his wife, into the battle in the Year of the Black Horde. Its touch still bites, a shock of memory... Who will remember me by name?

The first one to wriggle it free from Bassilus' death grip, Montaron desired to leave the weapon to himself, just like the sword whose whistling song turned him into a child again. If only for a bare minute, I saw a small boy, innocent as a newborn, crying big tears for his future life... and then the vision was gone. I'm sure he will never weep again. But the hammer, in whose hands would it end up if not Kagain's? Yet I have no urge to be his Ashideena. Sooner or later, he's gotta go. And I must remember to keep the weapon for my true Dergat to come.

This castle... there is something strange and unusual about this place tonight. It turns me moody again. Or is it the blood I lost that, unlike the wine, turns heads when spilled on the ground like water? Why am I not laughing? 'Tis time to laugh! Two hours till the sunrise, and we're off...

'Tis good to feel rich! Montaron even pretends to have forgotten his thieving habits, as if I wouldn't notice! Not like Khalid the oaf... rest on the laurels while we can. The whole town of Beregost stood guard along the streets, commoner and noble alike, while we were parading Bassilus' head on a pike toward the temple.

For once, I'm glad I'm wearing such a gorgeous helmet, that gift of Kagain's. Quite a few glances slid down its shining gold, many of them not stopping there... The heroes of the day, we've been given all the due honors by the Kaddarth Ormlyr, the priest-mayor, and the free stay at the Feldepost's. As a matter of fact, I'm now fresh from the hot bath, my body soothed and relaxed. But my soul is not...

Jaheira left barely an hour ago, with Khalid. Their visit was no trifling matter. Not merely to tell me that the stammerling managed to return a sword to a certain halfling at the Red Sheaf inn for a meager reward. Would've expected nothing else, anyway, if Khalid's was the arrangement.

No, here is some food for thought. Suspicions that Xzar with his companions might have been working for the Zhentarim... I don't know much about that lot, a thoroughly evil, feared, and despised group (more feared than despised), seeking to dominate trade and power throughout the Heartlands. But at least it could explain Xzar's sudden spark of interest in Bassilus and the way he talked to the man at the ruins. Hmm, time to send for another mug of mead... What might they be seeking in Nashkel? Unveiling the mystery of the iron shortage, or... the opposite, as Jaheira claims? I'm doubtful... they wouldn't have been blundering with Bassilus like that.

Worse news... Jaheira with Khalid are Harpers. If I ever wanted to pit them against the supposed 'Zhentarim' pair to keep either away from leadership, forget about it now! I might just live to see them go for each other's throats in earnest. I would've placed a bet with Kagain against when they'd finally learn about each other, if only that weren't so serious.

Decided, I want to see all of them go down the mines. Together. I'll be them for a judge. Wouldn't trust either to go there alone... Honestly, I know not whose side I would have taken, had it come to blades and blows. Gorion was a Harper too, or so she says... But do I have to be one?

"He must be turning in his grave watching his child succumb to the evil influence."

Yet something other is turning inside me to the same words... an immense shadow lurking in the murk of what is becoming a part of my soul. A click, as if a switch, and pain follows... A wailing of a multitude of souls rising from within like bale... Melicamp! At least, he remembered he was a man. But who am I? A voice inside keeps mocking, "Do you know who you really are?.." I'm terrified to learn the answer... Even the chicken has had his chance to become a man. When am I to face the travail of discovering my true self? Will I survive walking on the brink of life and death? I must be strong. Fear is a weakling's share, and melancholy is dealt to those unsure. I must be merciless, and first of all, to myself.

I don't remember when Jaheira left. My face must have been the answer...

Another delay from visiting the Amnish country... The other day, a thief Zhurlong informed me that he lost his boots of stealth to a marauding band of hobgoblins in the forests south of the town. Picked us for twenty coins, by the way. With quite some effort I was able to keep our shortlings away from the kleptomaniac's throat. Least of all did we need our newly found fame and glory marred with blood, even if hardly innocent.

And so, in the morning we set our steps southward in a search for a coveted article of clothing. Xzar even prepared a special identification spell for use in the field. Montaron has been the first one to poke his nose in every nook and cranny along the way, no doubt cherishing plans of making the boots his own. At least, the glances he was giving Jaheira spoke volumes of his intention not to let the story with the girdle of piercing repeated. I was silent on the matter.

Shortly down the road we chanced upon a couple of ogrillons. Having met and killed my first ogre, I wasn't overly impressed of the weak cross-breeds. One even managed to succumb to Xzar's lucky shot, such a wuss! In their scant possessions we found a letter to some Mirianne from her husband Roe. Obviously destined to reach Beregost, but the halfling messenger apparently lost it along with his life somewhere not far from his destination. Most of us couldn't care less if a wife would finally learn about her dear husband having safely reached Amn. But our 'do-gooders' were anal about going back and delivering the message. Enraging Xzar to no end...

That's when I learned the art of dealing everyone their own. My decision: we go back with the letter only if Montaron gets his boots of stealth. Zhurlong must be glad to stay alive! After some cringing on both sides, we resumed out search. The letter stayed in my pouch...

The illusory safety of Beregost vanishes a few steps beyond its unwalled boundary, which makes me wonder again at the strange power the Most Radiant of Lathander must be wielding. The forests to the south are veritably infested with furry gibberlings. The stupid creatures run at you truly with their eyes closed. Hunting death... whether they deal it or they find it, seems to be irrelevant to whatever deity they might be serving.

An old dilapidated house, half sunken in a growing mire, and still no trace of any hobgoblins. A lonely undead being, human once, was guarding the door and mighty glad to try his claws on our flesh. Xzar told me they were called ghouls (somehow, I tend to trust his knowledge of everything necromantic). The former owner or not, I don't care... it's quite properly dead now. Our little party is slowly getting used to overcoming undeadly fear.

When we finally heard the raucous goblin roar (oh, man! oh, man! they just ain't born to hide), the sun was already sinking toward the horizon. No blood red colors of sunset for us, however, hidden by the leaden weight of heavy clouds. But enough red blood for the goblins to shed and for the rain to lick out... Their chieftain had a peculiar set of boots, which was promptly examined by Xzar and pronounced to be the 'Worn Whispers'. Of yore, worn by the famous spies of a long dead king. Ever since, coveted by everyone who shares the trade of empty shadow and silent death.

By the evening, we were back in town. It didn't take long to find out Mirianne's whereabouts. Raleo Windspear, a long tongue at the Red Sheaf, told us where to find her. One grain of gold in a ton of word garbage, his tales of magic treasures hidden in the old ruins of the Ulcaster's school. I've heard much about the old mage... of the tragic end that his school's very fame brought about. Whether a fiery furnace to temper spirit or, the way Gorion would tell the story, a sober lesson for the very same purpose, the ruins are surely worth paying a visit.

But everything in its due time. For now, we're enjoying the happy wife's hospitality for the night. A ring she rewarded us with turned out to be magical, indeed! Playing a mediator in a dispute does pay. The letter was in my hand, to be sure...

The sun wasn't quite up yet when we left Mirianne's house, bound toward Nashkel. The nature was calm before the awakening. With rays of the sun catching upon a leaf, it would smile with new colors... a stone would wrinkle, and a cliff shine to their tender touch.

Jaheira's mood must be catching... Whatever, the only one who wouldn't even smile at all this morning was a Flaming Fist gone astray. He stopped us dead in the middle of the road, claiming we were part of a bandit group terrorizing the neighborhood. No humor at all, he couldn't be charmed with a warm smile and 'honest demeanor'. His own fault, we've learnt only one cure for an ailing mind. Montaron had no qualms plunging his whistling beauty through the openings in his helm's visor even as the mercenary was already down on his knees. Khalid with Jaheira hesitated to fight 'a representative of justice', coming back to their senses only upon seeing blood pouring from my open wound... Of course, she did heal me rather well (I'm yet to see if she wouldn't!), but during the fight they both seemed ready to jump at the suspected Zhentarim rather than at our common enemy.

Halfling's eyes are now peering through the very same visor, and I've been fighting an urge to knock him good on the temple just to see if the oversized helmet would sink in. I hope he's gonna replace it soon if he's smart. Would've had his plate armor too, if not for the hopelessly wrong size. And as he would rather die than see it on Khalid, I ended up wearing it myself. Not quite what you'd call 'made to order', but good enough, with an adjustment here and there.

The bandits the crazy soldier was probably talking about were to be found a few hours due south. A sentry at the hobgoblin encampment was taken off easily, but not quickly enough for him to go down without a scream of warning...

'Twas a good fight, though not for the goblins thoroughly bathed in the magic grease that our wizard readily spread for them on the ground. A most picturesque dance, depending on the dancers. I wasn't hurrying to shoot... those who were the most amusing, lived longer. Not that it would matter in the end, of course. Whatever gruesome meal they were preparing over open fire, their own flesh is joining it for a wild beast's feast.

I hate this place, it stinks. Montaron must be back soon with report if any more bandits are hiding in the hills. I would rather not be ambushed on the road...

We ended up arriving into the Amnish village around midnight. And straight into a fight, mind you! Another bounty hunter after my head, and no wonder, for the reward just goes higher and higher. My nemesis is not giving up, and something tells me this is just a beginning. But I'm no longer skulking behind the bushes. I'm getting a hang of this new life, and my trusty bow with arrows are now lying closer to my heart than the quill.

After the rendezvous at the hobgoblin encampment we took a detour through the hill country overlooking the road. Indeed, a few more of their kind were found scouting the hills to the west, but none as dangerous as Zargal with his bunch. We met them well... in a narrow place where Khalid alone could easily hold off any of their numbers. We also encountered some weird diminutive creatures, barking like dogs... garbed in pesky colors for crying out loud, "I'm here! I'm here!" But I doubt they were happy to find us, though...

When we finally reached Nashkel, the night was still young and crickets were chirping their endless song. We were rather heavy with spoil, looking forward to unloading it at the earliest convenience. Didn't pay much attention to the village for now, but it's clearly full of Amnish soldiers. The rumors about the upcoming invasion might just turn out to be true.

The shop was closed for the night, so we aimed straight for the inn. No much choice, for it was the only one around. Not much choice inside the inn, either. Kill or be killed... I only wonder what "Lord of Shadow" Neira the assassin was calling for aid. With no shadows around, she failed to demonstrate any of her lord's powers.

Ah... a good stretch, and out we go, down the strip. Let's see what this village has to offer! The first order of business, talking to the local mayor, Berrun Ghastkill. Much depends on it, both Jaheira and Xzar are excited. A trip to the temple also appears to be inevitable. Neira's helmet likely possesses some unknown magical properties. Let's see if the monks would be able to figure them out...

A strange country, Amn... To think that all the talk about a fair in Nashkel would turn out to be such an eerie truth, after all. Half the village is being buried alive in the mines, and the other half feasting in their memory. An outworldly vision... a place where joy is sought yet not welcome, and the sound itself is hanging detached, the blare of trumpets over a sea of smiles suspended in disbelief.

Life and death walk hand in hand here, a single word telling one from the other... Zordral's eyes are all glassy now, but just an hour ago they were boiling pots of fury. With a single word did he sentence the 'witch', and with a single sentence did he condemn himself. The spell was nigh complete, with but one word suspended like a knife to slice through the bared chord of life... when we entered the tent.

Whether he decided we were out there to save Bentha, or just believed his magic to be strong enough not to leave a witness, we'll never know. Here, they are lying now, a judge and his victim... eye to eye, a raging fire dying within one, an unaware spark frozen in the other. Was she seducing the young men, or not, ruining the crops... what does it matter? Zordral has spared us the trouble of separating rights from wrongs. And ain't the death out there to unite us all?

No wonder, the story of a former Captain of the Guard gone mad comes about as no surprise. The guards are walking like ghosts, with their eyes down whenever a word is spoken about Brage. The man who killed his wife and children, as if possessed by an evil spirit. A large party departed west after his head, yet no one came back. I doubt there's gonna be another any time soon. Brage's fellow soldiers are unwilling to lift a blade against the man.

...Alone in the tent, two corpses for a company. What am I waiting here for? Why so calm, watching the sickly colors shift over the mask of death upon Bentha's face? I was rather excited to watch the 'exploding ogre' performance, again and again. Why?! Patience walks a thin rope on this festival of gloom, and the ogres are not known for fine acrobatics. Soon the illusions of death turned real. Jaheira is getting a good score on the ogre kind... Jaheira, drat the girl. I must make myself talk with her somehow!

Illusions, they're all illusions. What was that in the eyes of a young man hearkening to the sad elven fables of the performers? His artist's hands were trembling... Am I afraid of death?! Or is there someone within myself cheering it on in the others? Frightening... Exhilarating...

Remember the feeling, I do, it's still here, in the air. A surge through the veins, indomitable spirit rising from within. Jaheira must have thought Zordral was casting horror, and released her counterspell of courage. I was the champion of the world, dealing my word to the hordes immeasurable. Only... was the word the same one ringing in my head long after Bentha lost her final gulp of air? The word of death... so close, at the tip of my arrowhead. The fear, distant, banished into the eyes of a mage feeling the spell torn away from his mind with a searing pain. The expression on his dead face... What are his eyes seeing now?

The night cicadas are buzzing their incessant tune in the trees, and the orchard fragrance is wafting in, mixed with the sweet odor of death. The Nature's way to tell it's time to leave, and time to go on. Will the smoke of black lotus ever bring peace and quiet?..

I should have known, carnivals drunken spirit. Last evening, even before I was about to leave that accursed tent of death, my faithful dwarf rushed in with the news. Xzar was so eager to try on the recent additions to his wardrobe that he hardly realized the guards might be interested to learn just whose magic missile relieved Zordral of his life along with the mage's robe. The shouts I heard was Jaheira trying to beat some sense into his crazed forehead. Much like an angry wife scolding her husband, so no guard, thankfully, volunteered to settle it out.

Meanwhile, Montaron the lecher found himself a willing halfling lass, dragging her into the woods. An hour later, he is running back without her company, yelling all the way through about some terrible monsters in pursuit. The favors of the wench, apparently, weren't sweet enough for him to forget the better part of valor.

Well, Kagain is worth something, after all, having quickly organized a little expedition. I was next to recover. Darting into the shadows of the forest, we expected nothing less from Montaron's confused gibberish than a band of giant ogres. 'Twas a good laugh when we discovered the very same barking dogs as in the hilly country north of here. I must admit their looks weren't much different in the infrared than their typical weird orange. My arrows had a good mark, thanks to the helmet of infravision, Neira's gift and my nightly head ornament from now on.

I didn't realize, however, how quickly corpses lose the warmth of life. The youth, seduced for the last time in her life, was no more than a fading pink flower in a pool of her blood. Blending into the dark colors of the night. I don't know what her face looked like... guess, like a child's who has never known death. This time, I didn't leave it up to Kagain to break Montaron's lip.

The statue back at the fair. A fair maiden turned into stone by some devious magic or a petrifying gaze. Now I know what her eyes were saying. A word of defiance thrown into the eyes of death. Now I know what to do. That face deserves to breathe light again!

Wheeewww... at last, this Volo dude is off me. Old buzzard! Too smooth for a wizard. Funny in his own way, and not without an eye out for women! Under the weight of his rather hard to determine age, he could have had quite a few maids and bar wenches seduced by his sweet-talking wit. Except... Kagain had little reason to mount meaningful glances at the wizard. Every kind of fun is good when one knows where to stop and change the tune. Volo only knows to stop for a new mug of ale, and a maid can replace only so many mugs before losing any interest.

Well, the old wizard does know quite a bit about everything, and the extra ale has been certainly helpful in untying his prolific tongue. And Branwen... The war priest from Norheim Isles surely got his attention. Mine, too... A female priest of Tempus, shunned at home, she's been travelling the world from an early age. Until she clicked in with the wrong people, and a mage Tranzig turned her into stone for refusing to attack a merchant caravan. Soooo, the ranks of caravan raiders are not limited to the plain cutthroat types anymore. Tranzig, that name I shall remember. Could they have been the same people with Gorion's blood on their hands?!

Now that we released her from slumber, the 'stone maiden' is eager to follow us everywhere. And just as well. I'm not gonna let her slip away before digging up every shred of what she still remembers. But she's too weak still, even with Jaheira's healing arts. Let's see if Volo's company might prove a better medicine while we're away...

Aye, Volo, Volo! I want Kagain look so stern at him again. The man was close with Gorion, and I'm ready to fuel him with as much ale as he could take only to hear him talk of how the old man was bathing a baby girl Bethphel in the pristine fastness of Candlekeep. My smile had been so innocent back then...

We owe his acquaintance to Jaheira. Yet he has been not the only one around here to know her in person. The bitch has made quite a name in these places, it seems... Yesterday, as soon as we hit the streets, Berrun Ghastkill the local mayor recognized her immediately. A local oaf Oublek, on the other hand, amused me by mistaking the only real man in our party (yes! I actually mean Khalid!) for Greywolf, a famous bounty hunter. Before we could be handed a lump sum for a bounty we did not deliver, Khalid's annoying conscience had told him otherwise. The only gratification we've got was from observing Oublek recoil in fear of the garrison commander finally discovering the idiot that he is. Spit on him, the man ain't even forth blackmailing...

Our second day in Nashkel, and only now it is settling into my head. The cloudy peaks of the aptly named mountain range are sparkling on a sunny day from the distant south. Guarding the passes through the Cloudpeaks into the Amnish heartland, the small village has a considerable garrison to boot. Yet it hardly has the looks of an invasion force. For once, their weapons are no better than the trash the Flaming Fists have been using as of late. If Amn, indeed, be the one behind the iron shortage, they are either too smart for their own good, covering it up by debilitating their own troops, or just plain stupid.

The talk of war, however, is as prominent in the streets as it is back in Beregost. Far short of a real craze, yet... but quite a few local folks are coming to see it as a possible solution to their problems. Yet the only threat the guards are battling rather reluctantly these days is the arduous task of bringing their former captain Brage to justice. Nalin, the head honcho at the temple, wants him alive, though. What for? Go, understand redemption...

The shadow of the mines way south is hanging ominously over the entire village. The burying ground next to the temple is losing the competition. Almost any family by now has a body down the shafts, whether dead or still breathing. The adventuring parties have become a common sight in the village, lured by the prospects of fame and fortune. We are greeted with both blessings and curses, yet even more often with a numb apathy of someone certain to have seen us for the very last time. Soon, very soon we are to test their confidence on our own hides. And we'll have to make sure they're tough enough...

Tonight, I had the strangest dream... A tower floating through the black mist. A window in the brick wall. A candle slowly burning to the sounds of a distant lullaby. Was it Candlekeep, or... what? The voice, so longingly familiar. The one that I have never heard... The pain, sweet pain sobbing through my heart, yearning to fly and nest where the wall opens up for an embrace... A grip, cold grip to soothe the pain... The window closing, the bricks rolling back to wall out the love...

A whisper, deathly cold yet reassuring, "Soon... you must be ready..." The mist, concealing the tower, coalesces into Gorion's image. His eyes, so sad in the recent dreams, now alarmingly disquiet. He wants to say something, but the lips part in silence. A hand stretched... doesn't reach... Glance back. A path opens into a forest of shadows. Straight as an arrow, a layer upon layer of darkness parting, one after another... do I want the clarity at the end?.. The same whisper, beckoning, "Your path... has chosen you..." Gorion is no more. I must follow... step... step... oh... my breath is cold... another step... a gulp of darkness...

Only... the pain, sweet pain still sobbing through my heart, tearing my soul. Will it never be healed?! The touch was light, the sounds faint, the whisper... silent. How could I forget?! The lullaby was never ending, turning into chant... The words, soothing drops for my soul. "Mother?!" Even through the cold... A pair of wings, reaching out to cover my eyes... "I will learn."

We left Nashkel in the hour of the dew, when the tears of the morning still linger on the crisp freshness of grass. The peaks were looming over the mist, and when the sun came, their white crowns burst out in a spray of colors so vivid, I was momentarily lost to their enchantment.

Here, at the feet of the great mountains, I'm starting to see things I never noticed before. All through the verdant fields rolling across the opposite bank from the village, each and every stream is chirping the same melody of the river on its way from the snowy summits on the other side of horizon. The month of Mirtul is called 'The Melting'... yet the mountains themselves are impervious to the seasons, answering only to the subtle magic of the morning sun.

Soon after we crossed the bridge, a looney Noober caught up with us. A more annoying fellow we could have hardly found. "Heya! Have you been to Baldur's Gate? I've been to Baldur's Gate... Oops, stepped into something. Have you stepped into something?"

Every other second! A local idiot. Montaron was lagging behind, stopping to talk with Noober around the bushes... Ever since he caught up with us, I have seen or heard nothing of our clueless companion. I wonder if the meaning of it caught up with Jaheira, but our romantic couple was far ahead of us by that time.

Gosh, Xzar just keeps talking of assassins on every corner. No wonder, for he has one right at his side. Montaron ain't talking, he's acting. Even if it means more suspicions leveled against us. Before we left, we were paid a visit by the local 'enforcers of justice', curious if we knew who could've killed Zordral with Bentha (I wonder how their names are sticking so well together). Well, someone has to do the dirty job, I guess.

The further we were going, the more narrow the paths were becoming, the steeper the slopes. The green fields were left far behind. By the time we reached the mining site, we had learnt to appreciate the gloomy mood of the villagers. The land is barren here, churned to the core. Even the trees are standing withered, if not burned down into stumps. And the ghouls of long dead miners are growing desperate in search of food.

We have scouted the area far and wide, if only to find a patch of green to soothe the eye. Indeed, there is a forest further south. But also are the kobolds, the very same barking critters, according to Volo's reassurances (I don't think he was too reassured, though, when we informed him they were roaming around the village). Galtok the gnome, tortured just "to hear him scream," he just barely escaped them. A lucky dude to have met us. In the end, those screaming were the kobolds. Well, well... The miners are talking of some "dogs with swords" down under. If only the kobolds are the problem, I only hope it were so...

When we were already going back to the mines, a white shadow shifted behind the bushy growth. Another step, and a winter wolf was measuring us for his prey. A more majestic beast I've never known. Tall and powerful, with the grace of a true predator, he was a formidable enemy, rumored to shoot streams of frost with his breath. And no less magnificent when standing still in a magic sleep... until the first sprites of blood were starting to mar its snow-white coat.

With Xzar's help, his pelt is now mine. A shopkeeper back at Nashkel promised a hefty sum for the noble snowy fur. But we're not going back so soon just because of that. Here, at the abandoned warehouse, in a pile of shit not touched for years, our treasure shall await our return. To come back alive, we should go down light. Only Kagain, despite his dwarven heritage, would rather dive into the shafts later, with the gold already in his purse. Drat the man, I hate that when I've got to convince him...

Time stops just below the surface. Long tunnels are measured in steps, and in hopes that the next one is not gonna be the last one. Silent hopes... The deeper you go into the bowels of the earth, the tighter is the silence. In some places, its pitch is so high, I swear, if a ray of the sun were to burst into this rocky prison, I would have heard it coming.

There is no end to this place... Kagain was so happy when we just entered, the dwarf was almost singing. Like a fish in the water, he was nigh running through the endless tunnels, never losing direction... Until he hit a trap or, shall I say, a trap hit him. Of course, Montaron has become rather good at finding them. When dragging on slowly, that is... inch by bloody inch... If the mine was big before, it grew into a giant now. A sprawling giant, slowly feasting on time, devouring minute after minute, hour after hour...

A dwarven home is "where gold grows" and exotic crystals shine in their stunning shapes and colors. Yet the tales of the splendid dwarven mansions in the heart of the mountains will remain just tales for now. If fear and despair rule at the upper levels of this stinking place, beneath the cold stone they both die in a sullen resolve to meet whatever the fates deal. If the miners above are coughing up blood, here the blood has long since stopped to flow from the veins of the corpses... or the unlucky ones destined to drag on with a ghoulish snarl of death.

This place is possessed... Only not by a dragon, a vengeful spirit of the mountain angry at the pesky humans burrowing their holes in his stone. That's what one of the luckier miners wanted us to believe. Luckier, for there is little fear in those who trade in the sense of reality for a fairy tale. Like the one daydreaming of ghosts of those that have died in the mines, with compassion in their "beady little eyes". The unlucky ones end up dead, like the nameless fellow running toward us with the "yipping demons" on his heels. I still remember his eyes. The death was already there, even before it did strike.

Only one of that nameless lot shall I remember by name. Kylee, the forgetful one, whose dagger we never dreamed of returning. The dagger he forgot to take from his friend on the surface before saying goodbye. There is still hope, after all. He smiled when his hand hugged the hilt...

Kobolds... they're the ones who truly possess the mines and taint the ore with their hideous poison. Zillions of them... The stink of stagnant water is etched into the walls themselves. Now and again, when turning a corner, a stooped shadow lurks in the faint light of a lantern. An arrow, lighter than a feather, speeding up to quell the little barking mouth ready to break the rule of silence... More often than not, yet sometimes, if they warn each other, these diminutive creatures can show their worth in large numbers. Jaheira literally exhausted herself with intense healing magic. Xzar is still in a stupor, marvelling how he managed to stay alive. Yet she was not alone in her task. I too had a chance to try the lessons of that fateful night... Jaheira saw me chanting my first healing spell, and I saw her face. She was plainly scared, I swear, I could read it in her eyes! So, she's wondering what power is granting me the healing spells. But why the fear?

I'll press her later. Now we all have some healing to do. Between our two couples that soooo 'love' each other... Before we stumbled upon yet another descent deeper into the hidden levels of the mines, Montaron conveniently failed to detect a trap. Jaheira, in the face of Khalid's broken body, was beyond herself in fury. For the first time, I saw murder in her eyes... That's when my healing skill really showed. Just in time to stop blood from flowing.

A brief respite, and the next, hidden, level looming right ahead of us. The path is clear. Even the kobolds have ceased bothering us here. Is it possible we have actually scared all of them away? I've lost their count. Wouldn't have our swords and bows by now grown weary of their quarry? We're just about to check it out. I'm looking forward to Jaheira's spell of courage. Whoever brought the bastards into the mines, he's gonna pay in blood... his very own blood.

Finally, we have some answers. Of the sort that bring up even more questions... At the very bottom of the mines, on an island across the bridge guarded by kobolds with the arrows of fire, in the lair of Mulahey the half-orc, did we find them. Yet the man was but a pawn. The grand scheme of things must be grand, indeed. The letters here, in the chest, speak volumes...

Someone named Tazok dumped our 'friend' Mulahey into this cesspit, with the orders to taint ore with whatever poison we found upon kobold bodies on our way here. Effectively locking the mines, but for what purpose? What appeared to be but random bandit activity, all that hunting for precious ore, is really organized by that same Tazok himself. Large mercenary guilds, the Black Talons and the hobgoblin Chill, are involved. Someone big is out there with a pet peeve for iron. Nay, I don't think it is really that simple...

I guess I'm still as deep in all this shit as ... <censored> ... At least, the hunt for the bandit camp, I hope, should prove to be more exciting sport than this grave digging. Our starting point is Beregost. That mage Tranzig seems to be a middleman working for Tazok. Branwen is gonna be delighted to learn he is stopping at the Feldepost's inn.

I'm also sure not in it alone. For once, I know that neither the Zhentarim (if such they be) nor our romantic Harpers are faking. Xzar even mumbled out something about "those devious machinators that are blackening our name!" The pitch of his voice... I don't think all of us will keep going on together as we are now. Too much bad blood between us, too different the paths. Which shall I choose? Am I ready to let some real blood out? I do feel the pull... but when it's too dark, a pair of invisible wings is coming, shielding my eyes.

'Tis time to rest, and time to ponder. The fight was not hard, but the heavy weight of the enclosed walls is starting to take toil on our party. Only Kagain still keeping up vestiges of a good spirit... Mulahey was cornered. The man decided we were assassins hired by Tazok himself. To try and get rid of him. Must have had a reason, then! For once, the half-orc was, indeed, waaaay stupid to allow his kobolds kill the miners and draw attention. Our attention, worst of all! For that's why we're here...

Now tried to buy time and call up his minions, he did. Ran for cover of their not so broad chests, as soon as he could. Khalid's move was swift and sure, quite unlike his stuttering habits. Placing himself squarely to block Mulahey from his cohorts, in the narrow passage between the two chambers. They didn't last long. After my arrow took half-orc's miserable life, his kobolds lost all their courage...

What time is it outside? I'm sure Xan would like to know. A captive elf spending months underground, without a touch of light! What a torture... I can fully understand his current attitude, if not accept it. The man must have been of a noble descent. A true moonblade, living sword with a will of her own, has chosen him for her owner... husband... nay, companion, through the long days and nights of adventurous life. Not a living soul in Faerûn entire is to marry the same blade and still live. None to wield it... A good fellow, to have braved the descent to rid the mines of this evil. Yet the long captivity must have broken his spirit. Now he ain't talking anything but failures.

Ah, time to close this page in the diary, and go seek out some true light! Perhaps, the next one shall be brighter... There must surely be a shortcut from this cavern back up to the surface. For I don't think that Mulahey and Tazok's messengers, much less the kobold crowds, were tiptoeing past the Amnish guards at the mines entrance whenever they had to go back and forth. And I'm more than eager to find out where that secret passage leads to. Only... where the hell is everyone? Xzar with Montaron consorting in one chamber, Jaheira with her husband in the other one. A cavern of whispers. The silent tension reverberating beneath the vaulted dome. Questions... Which way to go? Which turn to take? Which coin to toss? And no answers...

It takes iron nerves to keep this sorry bunch together. As soon as I set my foot out of Mulahey's chamber, Xzar took me by the sleeve, pulling into their half of the cavern... Just as I thought. They believe that Jaheira with Khalid have their own agenda here, and that it smells too much of "those who harp". The mage speaking, Montaron only nodding and glaring...

Yes, the lovely pair are actually of the Black Network of the Zhentarim, on a secret mission to find out who stands behind the iron crisis. Apparently, Mulahey's masters are smart and skillful enough to throw all suspicion against the Xzar's kind. We have heard much of such rumors on the way here. More than just rumors. Something to keep in mind...

A brief imaginary excursion into the citadel of Darkhold in the Far Hills, and a promise of rich reward if I help them to unveil the Harpers' "devious plans". Man! they are real happy to come about alive Harpers (yes! the wizard even stressed the word "alive"). Xzar's eyes gleaming, and the hands... all moving about in excitement. Sometimes I wonder if he really meant it the other day,

"I wanted infravision like elves. But it is more than just taking their eyes..."

The man is clearly mad, but so often his insanity has a frightening taste of reality about it. Montaron's smile... a mask of murder, from ear to ear.

They were peering long and heavily into my back when I turned to join Jaheira. I know, I could feel their eyes resting upon my frame, one pair probing, the other measuring. And no lust in either, surprising! What was I looking for in the other camp? I wanted something... something different. Jaheira only asked how I learned to heal. Her voice was stern, yet with a trembling touch of fear,

"Whatever power guides you through this, we must know." I disagreed. I told her nothing. And that was it...

Soon, Montaron came back with the news. He discovered a tunnel leading upward, on the other side of the underground lake from where we entered this enormous cave. It didn't take us long to get ready. Zhentarim or Harpers, who would refuse an extra sword when travelling into the dangerous unknown? Neither ready yet for the kill... Yet the tension was palpable when the party was walking around the island, cautiously along the wall of the vaulted dome. The animosity reached its peak just as the ledge narrowed into a dark opening. No one wanted to lead, to let the others follow in his wake. All trust was gone...

The silence was broken by a bulbous sound. Something was seeping through the tunnel from the outside... The gray ooze soon turned into a growing gelatinous mass, slowly drifting toward us. And only Xzar's eyes, bulging in horror, knew what it meant.

Then, it hit Kagain. A spray of greenish fluid met the dwarven shield, and seeing the wood blacken on touch, I knew that was acid. Our impulse was to retreat, and the wizard was the first to run. And the last one... Soon we saw that we were facing but two jellies, their size no longer an issue. The initial shock gave way to determination. Khalid was the first one to advance, both hands on the grip of a greatsword, his mate soon to follow with naught but a plain wooden staff. A long glance in their stead, and I nodded Kagain to join the fray. Hacked into pieces and hammered against the stone, the ooze soon turned into a quiet pool of gray liquid.

Time to lick our wounds and mend armor. This 'little' incident is hardly encouraging. Whatever is awaiting us on the other side of the tunnel, we must be ready to meet it face to face. Yet the fight certainly sobered our spirits. All whining disappeared... Kagain is sitting, back to the stone wall, smoothing out the head of his Ashideena with a bare palm of his hand. No acid even leaves a mark, or a drop, on the ever-shining steel of the mighty hammer. The electrical sparks were flying wide when it would struck its target, the battle rage at its purest.

Jaheira, right across from me, ruffling Khalid's hair, his head on her lap and the eyes rising up the steep slopes toward the ceiling on high... I smile at her, and the hand stops, her eyes darting toward me with a worried question. Did she even get it?!

The air stinks of grave here, yet the worst seems to be over. By the time we reached the surface, the night had already assumed its rule over the earth. The ascent was seemingly endless. Flames from the torches were casting an eerie light over the walls carved in solid rock. The rough angles dividing the shadows shifted, distorted, combining into the shapes of strange beings. A bale rising from within, as if something was ascending into unknown... a mad laughter of foretaste, an urge intolerable. And no light in the end...

This time, there was no bickering about taking places in our sober procession. Montaron was scouting the dark ahead of us, Khalid right on his heels. The first torch was no closer to the lead than Kagain, two of us together cleanly separating Jaheira and Xzar from their respective comrades.

The night greeted us with a bleary vision of a wasteland. Only later did we recognize the contours of long forgotten barrows, the mounds of mighty warriors of old hidden from curious eyes.

Even before our procession left the gaping mouth of the tunnel, a rock slid somewhere over our heads, bringing down a veritable avalanche. Apparently, not everything was truly solid down there! The nerves, coiled into spring, rushed a quick release. Running out of the tunnel like hell... when out, it took a fraction of second for Jaheira to jump on Xzar, bringing him down. In vain was the wizard trying to push frantic words through Jaheira's grip on his throat that he did not cast any spell to bring the rocks down on us.

He was the last one to leave, anyway, but the emotions were soaring higher than reason that hour. It took some combined effort, even with the help of her husband, to pull the furious woman off the mage. While Xzar was slowly recovering his breath, I commended him on the decision to close forever the way for the kobolds to invade the mines again. That settled the issue.

This place, as Volo might have put it, is "thoroughly travelled by an occasional monster." Indeed, a group of gnolls was quick to show up for the commotion. But the real fight was still waiting for us ahead... Montaron was, as usually, away scouting the area, when four figures, zealously hot in the infrared, sprung up before us. Led by Lamalha, a priest of Cyric, the women were clearly the assassins so much awaited by Mulahey. Yet they weren't loathe to do Bethphel in first, as well. They knew my name...

As soon as the words and arrows started to fly, Jaheira summoned whatever meager vegetation could sprout from this barren ground. Yet even if all of the enemies were caught in the green embrace, it didn't break their chant, nor did it stop their arrows of fire. The four were good fighters... Kagain felt a pull, when running forward to engage Maneira. And I saw it with my own eyes when he stumbled, insecure, as if something was trying to hold him in place, deny him the freedom of movement if not the pain or understanding of being murdered. Wavered, then stepped forward with an effort...

Montaron must have been feeling the same, after having jumped out of his hiding place to stab Telka from behind. Thankfully, neither of the holding spells did work. Lamalha was the first to go down. Xzar, when all his draining spells were gone, was shooting magic missiles from Imoen's wand at Telka, one after another. When the last one took her life, the wand turned into a stump of wood, all its magic exhausted. My arrows soon brought the rest of the enemies to their knees. Which is, to their grave. They didn't know mercy. They didn't ask for it...

Do the tombs of the dead have eyes? Is there a place to rest in the crosshairs of their ever-watchful gaze? Or was the eternal comfort of their inner chambers so much more inviting?

I'd better camp under the open sky, but Xzar had little fear of the dead, and the eyes of both our shortlings were alight at the thought of the burial treasures inside the mounds. Yet no treasure is without a guard. If not the skeletons at the entrance, then a ghoul inside.

The first crypt was much too small for all of us to fit in comfortably, so we went for the next one. 'Tis good that we weren't the only grave robbers that night! A haphazard fellow bumped into us on the way, mumbling something incoherent about a fateful dagger that he just had, had, had to give back to someone. Kagain was all too happy to oblige. But when we entered the crypt, I thought twice about the bloody piece of ancient junk. A revenant spirit was waiting for us there, possessed by an eternal hunger that only that blade could quench. A death beyond death, that knows no hope.

The dwarf... so stupid to hold onto the piece of metal. Revenge is made of stuff that is stronger than our fighting steel. A little more, and I would've had to say adieu to my steadfast companion.

"Just give it over, man!.." Thankfully, he soon reached his bargain, for all the price of blood he had already paid...

And now, the revenant is gone. Vanished back into the land of the dead from where it was pulled away with vengeance. It was easy to satisfy... His abode is now ours for the night. A grave. I hope we shall leave it untouched...

The sun is probably not up yet. I awoke to the understanding eyes of Xzar, and a questioning glance from Khalid. The pain was still throbbing through my soul, the same voice relentlessly hammering into my head, "You will learn!"

Someone walked across my grave. I rose, and followed... Faster and faster, through the twisted pathways underground. My heart, beating to the rhythm of distant drumming, "boom... boom..." Beating into my mind... 'Tis hard to chase a shadow, especially of myself.

The walls giving way, the floors melting to my touch, as I descend deeper and deeper. An apparition, basking in the eerie madness of pursuit. What have I been looking for? A bloated figure, hovering far ahead, waiting for me... Mulahey, out of the land of the dead coming to collect his due. The same dagger in his hands. Have we been looking for each other? The revenant spirits, waiting for release...

I turn my back on the blade, and it clatters to the floor. Mulahey lunges his own self straight through me, and the piercing pain of his death shatters my bones. A dagger-shaped opening, with a spark of hope... I have a long road ahead. My destiny?! A dagger through my heart will yet find its time to strike...

One who deals death has the freedom to grant life... The same voice in my head, "You must be ready..." More healing power surging through my veins, through the chilly sweat beaded on the forehead. What power is guiding me, Jaheira wanted to know. I'm now afraid even to ask myself. If only the same wings would stay with me forever. 'Tis such a pain behind the eyes!

One hell of a day, and a bitch of a night. At least, we're all alive if hardly unscathed. When we finally broke our camp near the top of a precipice overlooking the narrow gorge between the mountains, we were so tired that didn't even look over to find out a veritable horde of gibberlings encamped down below. Even my stocky dwarf was visibly shaken. Xzar simply dropped where he bloody stood. Trembling like a leaf all through the night's journey, he looked so light, I thought one more hour and Montaron would've had to haul him over his shoulders.

The morning sun took away our struggle against the night. Just what happened in the next few hours, few of us could remember...

The day before started on a weird note. Our weapons at the ready, we slowly opened the gates of the crypt. Not knowing what undead vengeance to expect lying in wait on our doorstep. Yet the surroundings were calm. Suspiciously so... In the budding daylight, the barrows were no longer looking the forbidding place they used to be in the night. The sun wasn't taking pity on the weathered remains of the old glory.

When does a prey learn it's being hunted? A faint sense of danger, suspended like a chord for a bare second... before erupting into a fountain of shards on the very edge of vision. Turn around, and behold a hideous creature tearing through the ground like a fisherman's knife disemboweling his catch. Emptiness in place of eyes, and only a pair of feelers protruding from the hulking armor of an overgrown bug. I wish I had the same kind of plate. The arrows were just skirting along, hopelessly deflected unless striking at the right angle.

The giant insect paused before squirting out acid. Kagain, placing himself squarely in the way. Such a handy dwarf! He was soon to struggle out of the deadly grip, as the bug, burrowing itself into the ground, reappeared right in front of us to catch and pull prey underground, into its dark abode. The dwarf was almost gone when my flaming arrow sent a burning pain quivering through the enormous green hulk. Just as it released Kagain, our darts and arrows ended its agony.

The very ground beneath our feet will never feel the same... Everyone literally shrunk in a perpetual anticipation, and even a blade of scant grass moving in the wind was enough for Montaron to lose his temper. Yet a tougher challenge was still ahead, for we were soon to learn the real source of the jellies oozing into the mines' underground chamber. The vengeance of the barrows? 'Tis in the ground burning beneath our feet...

A mage, the man with a long name of Narcillicus Harwilliger Neen (but much shorter life span), was right nearby, experimenting with mind control over all kinds of gelatinous creatures. Failing to control his own ailing mind, he settled on nothing better than releasing his pets into the wild... I must admit, Xzar was trying to steal his secret. I also bet the mage had better given it away. For his life ended swiftly, even before the jellies that he set on us slowly started cornering us away.

Still, if they were sick with slowness, the disease was sure catching. The poison with which they strike must've taken years of life off Kagain and Khalid. The dwarven face was in my dream, painted with horror as he was struggling to get away. If you are paralyzed, at least you know it's not your fault you cannot run. The pain of seeing your limbs struggle in painfully slow motion... argh! 'tis hard to forget.

Soon did we realize that our weapons could hardly harm the jellies, and that running away sometimes is best not kept for the last resort. Xzar decided to slow them down with magic grease. Too late did it dawn upon his perplexed mind that the creatures didn't even have limbs! The jellies were skidding along like mustard over butter. That's when the mage started to tremble...

Slowly and painfully, we finally got away. The mustard jellies, too, were drawn far from their former master's body, and we were able to come back and collect the spoils... Xzar, the idiot! Those Zhentarim just never have it enough. The scrolls and robes only whetted his appetite, and Montaron suggested more were tucked away in the nearby crypt.

Well, there were quite a few trinkets, indeed. Including a magic wand to summon aid in battle. Xzar will pay a price, of course, as I will take in return whatever thing of his I choose, and at the time of my liking. If not for my trusty bow, we would've all been food for the ghasts guarding the crypt. Victims to Xzar's greed and stupidity... Everyone was paralyzed by the ghastly sickening breath. Everyone, but myself and the wizard. He ran away as soon as he saw who was waiting for us in the crypt... The fun started when everyone woke up from the paralysis spell. Woke up yes, but not from nausea! I won't even ask what it's like to hold all that vomit for so long.

The way to the north and west was closed, and so we decided to head south, the only direction we still considered to be safe. But if we got away from the gelatinous hordes, we were accosted by a pack of hungry wild dogs as soon as we settled down to rest...

I won't describe what it cost us to climb up the mountain passes through the night. Through the crumpled muscles and bruises, sweat and blood, ambushes by gnolls and ghouls alike... A tale like that is best left to a more peaceful setting, when a mug of warm spiced wine served in a foamy bath would prove a more telling contrast to the deprivations of the last night. No, we have some work to do now. The gibberlings down in the valley finally have learnt to lift their heads up. We shall descend in gore and glory!

She's looking at me, resolve and fear. Resolve to fight to the end for her beloved if need be, and fear that such need might come, indeed. The playful tongues of flame are licking skinny firewood branches, oblivious to the snow falling from the sky grey of clouds. Even across their smoky screen, I can smell a cornered deer trembling for mercy, and a she-wolf defiant to fight the insane odds.

She probably still thinks we're looking to sell her Samuel when the first chance proves itself. She's probably right. I read it in Kagain's eyes. Montaron's too, and Xzar's... Men. How are they supposed to understand that a woman's love is worth more than fifty pieces of gold in Baldur's Gate measure, the price for a deserter's head the Flaming Fists place on their former comrades? Even if that love is doomed... From the very moment when we met Lena, this tattered and disheveled lady in the wilderness, I knew what was dying on her hands. He, who traded love for glory, had but little chance to survive. Yet she refuses to believe it...

My soul is crying with the same pain from the dream. The flames are dying out, must I feed the embers? Nargh!! I should've let them both perish here, in the mountains. There is no such thing as romance. Only the craze of fools who know not their fate when it laughs them straight in the face.

Who is following me through this hell out of love?! Xzar, or Montaron? Spare me! Kagain, the lecher? I'd hate to know it for truth... No one! No one! Gorion is dead, and the wings from my dream know what to shield my eyes against... Samuel was a fool to lay down his weapons. A fool to remove his armor. A fool to believe in love, to follow Lena to this brink of death... Jaheira, so happy to have Khalid around, always ready at her command. Khalid, a fool to lay down his weapons. A fool to remove his armor. A fool to lift the lifeless body, to carry it along... without remorse, without a groan.

We're following them at the distance, a reluctant escort to two pairs of lovers courting death. My eyes didn't go away from Khalid's not-so-broad back, buried under the heavy frame of a dying man. I saw every single bump, every stumble, the strenuous, patient effort to keep on, not to let the weight drop off his shoulders. From behind, I could almost see his teeth gritting, the sweat over his face, clouding his eyes. With every step...

Fool, fool, fool! Fools, they are all fools... Why did I not sell them to that mercenary we met not so long ago? Maybe, I still want to peer into Khalid's back, feel his pain. Why?! Our paths have surely separated, even if the mountains are still huddling us together. Hafiz bin Watat, a strange dwarven mage with a dream to tell. What brought him into this place of silent trials? His dreams? He knows my path, the one of blood. Someone has to die... better not me!

I'll let them reach Nashkel untouched. The road is dangerous, but the cornered deer can rest in peace... if she could. Only I don't think the rest will ever come. The snowflakes are descending slowly, the stupid butterflies in a slow dance. A snow in the summer? If Bentha were still breathing, I might've believed Zordral about her meddling with the weather. Easier to seduce the young fools like Samuel who believe that flowers could be budding through ice and snow.

The tiny white butterflies are melting upon his forehead in a final kiss. Why is it still even hot? Khalid is lying next to him, just as dead, spent in exhaustion. Will I ever understand the men?! Will I ever?!

The way back is rolling along slowly... Khalid is always hovering ahead of me, sometimes Jaheira. I'm right on their heels. To see them wallow from side to side under their heavy cargo, watch them drop onto their knees. Reluctantly, as if the whole world depends on it. First one knee, then another one, cautiously... I almost hear their ragged breath as they finally fall on their backs, gasping for air. Everyone behind me is just spitting and cursing, cursing and spitting. Everyone except Montaron, that is. The halfling is cursing and spitting far ahead from us, scouting the way and watching for ambushes. I had to impress upon him that one more 'undetected' trap like that one in the mines, and...

Tonight, our wizard finally got to identify a bunch of spoils from the mines and barrows alike. Can't hardly wait to put on the suit of enchanted chain mail from the ghasts' crypt. It was snuggling my body so lovingly when I tried it on, I almost thought the dead were waiting for me to come. Alas, the plate armor from the mercenary shoulder I'm still wearing is too heavy for a backpack.

Among the plethora of bolts and arrows, three items of high magic stand alone. The 'Ring of Holiness', taken from Mulahey's dead finger, every priest's dream... it shall wait, too. Along with the finest suit of leather armor I'm yet to see. 'Protector of the Second', worn by Indeera Lakhan in the ages past, the second in command of the elven rangers roaming the Cormanthor wood. Only who is my second in command? Which 'mists of shadows' shall he step out to greet me? The halfling won't get it, not in a dream. Besides, he's already dressed in an enchanted leather jerkin, liberally spruced with studs.

But most curious of all, the boots of grounding, 'Talos' Gift'. How ever did they end up in Mulahey's chamber? A legend had them in a doomed city, so that one, and only one, man would survive the lightnings to tell the tale of divine wrath... I don't believe it. Yet mine is a haunting feeling that if everyone around me is to survive, I must die. My dreams... ever so turbulent of late. Of blood and gore. If only lightnings! Hafiz was right, we cannot both survive the tide. Where is that scroll he gave me? What is it to protect against?!

The flames go out in the other camp, a score steps away from us that seem an eternity to reach across. The three dark figures rising, lifting up the fourth body... What are they, crazy?! Who is gonna walk this wilderness through the night? They won't survive, I know it. Still, I must follow...

Finally, a decent inn and warm welcome! The fools are to be laughed at, not understood.

That's what the carnival taught me here. At last, it has the vigor and gaiety that were sorely lacking on our first visit. The village itself has literally sprung out of slumber. The rumor that the mines are now free of evil menace were slow to spread. But when no more houses were rising in a wailing dirge for the newly dead, and good iron started to show up, the people went real crazy of joy. One of the best carnival attractions nowadays is a smith cutting through a falling silk thread cleanly with a scimitar (if hardly one of Nashkel's vintage). And a score of barking kobolds on display, caught alive when the Amnish guards finally ventured to check out the lower levels of the mines, at first hardly believing their eyes.

The dead will not return, of course, but the carnival spirit has long been known to defy reality.

No, I don't need the fools any longer. Our reputation soared when we showed up before the mayor with a proof of our deed. Mulahey's holy symbol, almost immediately hidden from curious eyes. The likeness of Cyric is not welcome here.

Yes, I don't need the fools any longer. I have found a worthy replacement for them. Divide and rule is what I've learnt from our travels. Well, my Zhentarim are now facing their match. And just as well... a weird man, clearly a mage, the hair on his head long lost to tattoos, offered us to hunt and kill a witch Dynaheir.

A lesson to learn... When two wizards meet, beware! I almost heard the air crackling with electric sparks ignited by their glances. The way Edwin, quite a feebling himself, was measuring up Xzar's more imposing frame, "Ah, hum... Well, I guess that'll have to do..." Xzar nearly ground his teeth to dust.

I think they're gonna have some fun together. According to our agreement, Edwin is to accompany us to Beregost before we even lift a finger against that witch of his. And I'm all too happy about it.

Aye, Branwen was, indeed, afire when we broke her the news of Tranzig. The months in stone hardly slowed her down. About to run up north right away, she was. The weight of the plate armor from my shoulder settled her firm in our party. I hope I wasn't looking as... as awkward and unwieldy in too heavy an armor. She was sure proud, though, like a true "warrior-born". But most of all, the 'Ring of Holiness' should bind her tightly to my side. She'd better not anger me, though.

Armor... I'd much like to try on a suit wrought of ankheg shell. Ankheg, that's what Volo calls those nasty underground bugs we met at the barrows. Only one smith remains on the entire Sword Coast who knows to turn their hide into the finest armor. I'm almost looking forward to another such 'earth-shaking' encounter...

Volo was rather troubled by the Neen's experiments. Ah, whatever, let'im take care of that himself if he wants to. We have our own agenda. The enemy reached with his feelers again. As soon as we left the store where we traded in the pelt of the winter wolf we happened to skin on the way, Branwen's got a chance to prove her worth. In vain did Nimbul, our next assassin, multiply himself six-fold. He could've been strong, but when a fair maiden in armor commands, "DIE!!!", even a prettiest boy must obey... 'Twas funny to watch all six reflections hit the ground. Only one stayed there forever, after Kagain nailed his head in with his hammer.

Finally, we can get our much needed rest! Jaheira with Khalid, no doubt, are busy looking for a cure to keep Lena's boyfriend afloat. They must be crazy to haul him all the way up to Friendly Arm Inn, straight through the Flaming Fist's country. As if no one else but Gellana could mend his hurts...

Here they don't have to be hiding, so we can keep a pretty good eye on them. A whole day at our disposal, I wager. But whatever happens, we must not let them reach Beregost ahead of us.

Bitch and son of a bitch! Where do they get strength to go on?

I was washing off the dirt of the road when Kagain trumpeted in with the news. They left the village as soon as they could. Definitely, sooner than we thought they would. And Samuel with them, apparently still breathing.

Only now the flag has been passed onto someone else. A fine-built fellow, I must admit... umm, yeah. Watching his back (after we caught up with them in the woods) was a markedly different experience. For once, it wasn't obscured by a lifeless body, unlike Khalid's. The man was so strong he was carrying Samuel in his hands at first. Lovingly, like a baby... Not all the way to Beregost, of course, but I was sufficiently impressed. As well, our new companion, Edwin, suddenly turned all so excited, so excited the moment he saw the man. Whispering to himself constantly in a weird tongue... Does everyone in his country start drooling at a hunky back?

The new addition to Jaheira's party certainly boosted their impetus, but the speed didn't gain much. 'Tis not uncommon to chance upon a group of the Flaming Fist on the road, and making one's way through the woods certainly takes more time. Especially, when stopping every now and then for that dude to consult a furry creature of his. Most of the time, it was riding on his shoulder. And by the butt of it, I can tell you that was a hamster!

Man, oh man... if they're not crazy, I must be getting there already. Two wizards in a forest is like two peddlers in a market. Talk about stalking and secrecy when one "becomes death, destroyer of worlds!" and the other one... well, let's just say the men just don't know how to hide. While Jaheira with her hamster-lover were sneaking by everyone without much hassle, we were being constantly harassed, if not by ghouls, then by stinking kobolds fleeing up north. Or even a hermit! Another day like that, and I'm gonna go seeking a hamster's advice, instead, on the meaning of existence... or on the best road up north.

But what the heck, we know where they're heading. So, without losing any time, we sped up to reach Beregost ahead of them. For some reason, Edwin believes that the stranger with the hamster would lead us to his target, Dynaheir. We'll wait for them here, and by the time the sky reveals the first stars (or Jaheira shows up, whichever comes first), we're gonna have Tranzig in our hands.

A crazy yet fruitful night. We were forced to change camp twice already.

And it started so well! It wasn't hard to sneak into the town unnoticed, once the shadows lengthened across the streets. The very same apple orchard behind the Feldepost's Inn was our refuge. Yet now the air was also smelling of murder, danger, and excitement of anticipation... waiting for an alarm signal, the token of bad luck that thankfully did not come.

Tranzig didn't go out that evening, and just as well. His rooms were a piece of cake to figure out. When one mage inquires of another, the barkeeps tend to swallow their questions. Only Edwin and Branwen went into the inn. I don't want to be known to have visited Beregost tonight. No one yet has seen them in my company, and if Edwin becomes too 'famous' in these parts, it would only serve him right. For once, the man's gotta learn what it's like to be hiding his butt in the bushes. Precisely what the rest of us were doing beneath Tranzig's second floor window. Montaron climbed up, taking a position behind the curtains. He would've given us a sign if anything went wrong...

It almost did. The mage immediately recognized Branwen the moment she stepped in. I saw curtains flash as the halfling was jumping out of his hiding. But even before he could strike, Tranzig suddenly sunk to the floor, succumbing to Edwin's charms. The loudest sound in the entire operation was his snoring while his sleeping body was being lowered down a rope. It was definitely weird to see the loops refusing to tighten against an invisible obstacle. Even asleep, he was within his ghostly armor shell.

We had an unlucky witness, though. A fat neighbor decided to seek Tranzig's advice at the most unsuitable moment. Someone will be sought out for murder, come the morning. Even if Tranzig's disappearance would've puzzled minds, the mage was known to arrive and depart at the time of his own choosing.

This time, however, time has chosen him... The moon was already large and red in the sky when Xzar and Montaron were done with Tranzig. A sick thing to watch... Even Branwen, for once, was silent. When we knew everything about the Wood of Sharp Teeth where he'd been meeting with Tazok's envoys, I ordered the halfling to mercifully slit his throat.

Soon, we were accosted by a hungry pack of wild dogs. I'd rather not attract too much attention, so we withdrew deeper into the wilderness behind the temple. If those dogs were of any use, it was to dispose of the body.

Our second camp, however, was soon attacked again. A bunch of hobgoblins was after our gold and iron. More iron than gold, and I think they were of the Chill, and it showed. They were tough, decently led, and we needed every pair of hands we could master... Only then did I notice that Montaron was gone. The halfling showed up only later, with a strange wand he had pilfered from some rich town mansion. A wand of lightning... That saved him from my wrath.

In the morrow, I washed blood off my hands in the clear waters of a forest stream. And tears off my face with pure drops of a warm summer rain. Unshed tears. Yet the coppery smell of blood stayed with me, lingering on everything I touched...

All through this strange journey, from the very mountains where we found Lena with Samuel, and up to these walls, in my dreams... the same voice, "Help them! Help now! Don't delay!" ...tearing, tearful, remindful. I want to walk, I want to follow, I yearn to help, only... I don't know how, nor whom.

"How?! But tell me how!" I feel the wings over my eyes weaken... they almost let go last night. Yet no answer... Why does the same urge grow ever stronger when I see Khalid, or Jaheira, or that stranger without a name, buried under the weight of a lifeless body? As if the nature itself stood guard in their passage. A forest stream singing a lullaby to the rounded pebbles in the riverbed. The rain falling solemnly, warm and inviting...

When the sun was branding a burning kiss on the inn's roof with its far reaching rays of red and gold, I saw Jaheira passing through the gates. She stood motionless there for a second, as if deciding if she didn't forget anything back there, along the way. Just stood there, and then suddenly she turned back. I was hidden, and our eyes missed each other. But that moment I shall remember. Just don't know why...

Montaron is now inside the walls. To watch over the other ones. They made it, surprising! Samuel made it all the way up here alive.

The other ones...

Whatever shall I do when they decide to leave the city? Edwin wants us to follow. Keeps telling me the hamster lover is in the league with whatever witch he's after, her servant, and he will lead us to her hideout. And that Xzar buzzing into my ears about the Harpers... I don't care. I want to stay where the cry for help is still ringing loud in my ears. I... want to follow those other ones and see what happens...

I woke up in the hour of the dew. In the dream, large beads on the tall blades of grass... like down in the south. Growing ripe with blood. Noober?!.. Jaheira, NO!!

I awoke in cold sweat to the realization that they were gone. Gone, to whatever destiny holds them. Sneaked past me, they did. Of all things, betrayal just when I was ready to help! Only... noooo, I won't let them go far! The bubble of the horizon bursts, the first ray of the sun biting me in the eye. My patience's over! Edwin told me where they might be heading. The way to the south is open...

Let the chase begin!!

The road is much too long for hurrying feet... And if the northern wind was filling the sails of our pursuit, so it did for those ahead of us. No scent of prey in our nostrils...

By twilight we were approaching Beregost, and then I had to endure a small revolt. The Zhentarim, seeing that we were aiming to bypass the town, started whining at once. "What are we doing?!" and "where are we going?!" and "Jaheira must be there, in town, looking for Tranzig; surely that's what they're after," and "'tis getting dark, we haven't seen a real bed for days..." That's Xzar, showing off his sore feet... Fools! My dreams won't lie, even if I don't always want to know the truth they're hiding. Pointing south, toward Nashkel, and then... I'm a she-wolf sniffing the air, an eagle with a sharp eye scorching the ground far beneath her wings... yet no sign. Somewhere to the west, but now that we're here, we'll find 'em out.

The road is much too long for hurrying hounds... The revolt was crushed, and thankfully without having to crush any bones. When a she-wolf is on a hunt, if anyone is left by the wayside, it is a dead body. Never alive! And I made sure they know it, too.

The temerity they had even to talk to me like that! The moment I saw Unshey's girdle on Xzar, I knew what the halfling was doing at the inn instead of keeping his eye on Jaheira. Edwin, for once, was on my side. Unlike the Zhentarim, he is certain the warrior that joined Jaheira and Khalid is now leading them straight to the very same witch he's been seeking. A berserker from Rashemen? What are they doing here instead of defending their homeland from the Red Wizards of Thay? I don't care. I'll follow them to the end of the world now... only why? Jaheira... I always wanted to talk to her, yet strangely never had a chance. Something about Gorion, something she must know. Something that is a part of myself, whether in the past or in the future, is now flying past, away from me, and I must hurry not to let it escape. Even through blood, if need be, it's gonna be mine! Before it melts away...

The road is much too long for rushing blood... The hunting beat is high and heavy, pulsating through the skull, day and night. The trails of blood obscuring the vision...

Blood... it's been always by my side wherever I go. An ambush was waiting for us on the road. The night parting to reveal arrowheads seeking us from every side. Xzar was quick to react, and in a flash of his wand, a cloud of vapors revealed a troop of gnolls, elite warriors summoned to cover his rear. Even so, the next moment the mage was on the ground with an arrow in his bosom, and there he barely survived the fight. So much for the girdle! Kagain's new boots, 'The Cat's Senses', an unwilling gift from Nimbul, served him so much better to sidestep the arrows. Normally clumsy, dwarf was now beside himself, surprised with his own agile dance for survival. Whatever... Everyone was puzzled and surprised but me. Of all the steel and guts we were carrying with us, my arrows alone aided the gnolls in their grim task. An eagle swooping over her prey is hard to surprise, indeed...

The town of Nashkel greeted us in the morning. My lads have but few hours to sniff out whatever news they may about Jaheira's minions. And not an extra mug of ale! I don't care if we are to walk through the night. As long as we know the way...

My head!.. like a well-beaten drum, and about just as empty. What was I doing last night?.. Ah, I remember. Into the evening, we set off from Nashkel to catch up with the setting sun. Westward. The strange fellow we saw with Jaheira left quite a few people in the village talking. And from what I was told, I wouldn't be surprised to discover he is a berserker, too.

Minsc be the name, or something. Wandered into the village a mere day before us, raving all about a woman he had sworn to protect. Getting into several fights with those who refused to follow him to her rescue. Not much of a protector, if you ask me, letting her slip into the gnolls' hands like that. Somewhere in the west is she held, in a distant mountain stronghold. If she's still alive, of course. In gnolls' hands, it's not a given...

But the night itself... veiled like with a shroud. I remember we were attacked on our way by a band of gnolls. And a mountain bear, the powerful beast I've never seen before, took exception to our passage.

Already long past sunset, Montaron came back, having scouted out a location that looked like someone might've camped there not long ago. Geesh, only an idiot, drunk to the bone, would've mistaken a xvart village, tucked away in a mountain's embrace, for an abandoned camp. Or a cave, home to the namesake bears, for Jaheira's secret hideout. But then, I'spose he was...

The xvart guards must have been drunk as well, for we were already squarely in the center of the village when the whole mayhem erupted around us, with the screaming "Attttack!" around us on all sides. A giant cave bear, the protector of the village, rearing over us with an uproar, as if an angry mountain spirit. We should have heeded the warning...

Ah, my head is aching! With the pain I want to forget. I was only hoping I did... The madness of that night fight is still vivid before my eyes. When beset by a swarm of little creatures, like infrared imps in a hellish dance, and the darkness is beckoning to deal death or receive it... 'tis easy to succumb to a murderous frenzy. I never realized the xvarts, too, had children... until now. You don't tell them by their height. But when they cry, on a high note of anguished surprise. If only they all stayed in their damn little holes!

I was running away, fleeing from the empty village. Leaving behind the silence of death, screaming through the night... I needed all the extra healing I could get. A stranger in the woods had just the right one. The elixir of oblivion... too bad it didn't last.

The fourth hunting sunset, yet still no trace of Jaheira... Only in my dreams. The wakeful dreams. The second day since the sleepless night at the xvart village, yet we haven't stopped for a minute. Like a pack of hounds, bent on not letting go... Yeah, hounds. Heeere they are, panting heavily with their tongues lashed out. I wonder if we've left our quarry behind already, what with all this "reckless haste" we've been running with. The wizards' whine, if you ask me!

The sun is blinking out of our hunt, yet it is hardly over. As brief a stop as they deserve, and we're off again! The wolves sense their prey better at night...

So, Edwin thought he could pull the reigns the other day. If we're heading after that witch of his, it doesn't mean he's in charge. And if I'm drunk, that I'm no longer dangerous.

Hmm, for once, I must admit Edwin is far from the arrogant fool he appeared to be on the first sight. Surely, whoever sent him on his lonely errand thought better of him. Only... for all the wizards' vaunted intelligence, they are smart only so far as their ambitions go. Even now, a glance between Xzar and Edwin is rare yet eloquent. Like two cats, hissing with their teeth bared, sharp claws at the ready... I only have to make sure they do not actually draw blood. They're good just the way they are, keeping each other at bay. I don't even have to move a finger till everything is ripe for me to stop their bickering nonsense and reassert my power.

The first stars in the pale grey sky bring reassurance. At last, we know our path. A gnoll, Ingot, told us about a prisoner at the stronghold he used to call his home. They wouldn't let him eat her! so he rebelled and had to leave. That strange decision to leave a prisoner alive, unheard of among the gnolls, just turned Edwin on. He's still not done mumbling out there to himself, in the bushes. Seeking an "explanation," darn it...

Other than his incoherent growling, Ingot offered us his services to show the way and "conquerrrrr the wrrrretched forrrrtress." Hardly would call his presence a blessing, but... I guess I'm getting used to being surrounded by hyenas. Branwen, however, is an interesting exception. Least of all would I've expected her to jump into the churning bowl of a waterfall for... a cat?! A dead cat. Sigh... What was the girl, whose kitty had just the luck to fall down the roaring stream, doing in such a desolate place? Rather, who's her father, and what he might be up to... of all things she said about him, he must be a powerful wizard.

A howl out of the darkness. A longing note reaching out for the moon... The mountains are packed with wolves, a wild bunch hungry for human blood. Don't think you're lucky meeting a winter wolf at a distance, standing still on a ledge like a statue chiseled out of melting snow. Their breath can sting from afar, freeze into your heart with a myriad of frosty needles... Yet a couple of their priceless pelts are now tightly packed behind our backs.

Ah, well... At least, we know the way. Sooner or later, Jaheira must show up before the very same gnoll stronghold. 'Tis clear that saving the witch was a part of her bargain with that berserker fellow. I thought a local dryad might know the druid's whereabouts. Getting into her good graces meant teaching manners to a couple of treasure hunters. Fools to think that an enchanted oak would hold a treasure they could sell. They paid dearly for the swing of their axe. With their wretched lives...

If I learnt anything from Jaheira, it is that the nature does not lie. The dryad didn't know nor hear of Jaheira's passage. The nature also repays everyone their due. A sapling I'm holding now in my hand, so thin and brittle. When rooted in rich soil, it can carry a message for those who know to ask. But what do I want to ask her? Haven't the little xvarts already given me all the answers?..

Walking from one sunset to another. Why don't I remember the sun rise? Eyes bound ever westward only meet the gates of the night, stained with the dark red upon the low clouds. Particularly ominous tonight, the mountains are wallowing in blood. The bulwarks of a fortress, forbidding in its gruesome simplicity, are crying out a silent warning we're not going to heed.

At last, we're at the doorstep. For the first time in many a night, we're having a good day's sleep. Everyone but myself... I have not come to rest here, at the doorstep to my future. I have hunted Jaheira all the way up to this chasm, and so? For what purpose?.. The night is beckoning, something is going to happen. It's... in the air.

The bridges to the north are heavily guarded. Or so we were told by the gnoll, our guide. Led by obscure pathways instead, over a roaring waterfall in the mountains, a river boiling through the cracks in a bridge suspended over a deep chasm, shaking at every step. The blood boiling in our veins. The smell of ice floating downstream from the high glaciers, the nature's freshness calling, invigorating... It's melting up there in the mountains. The time is right...

One more bridge ahead of us. Probably guarded, but we have to cross this time. There is no way around. Jaheira must be still behind, with her minions. Why do they want to save the witch? Why should I care? When she is dead, they'll turn back, Jaheira will be safe. Alive, but I no longer need her answers. I've got all the answer right along the way, and those I did not are waiting for me ahead. Only... I'm not sure I want to know anymore.

'Tis decided, here, at the doorstep to my future. Jaheira shall live, for to cross is sheer madness. Just some more blood I need to shed to pay for her life. At least, that's a better answer to the same questions... Do I look insane?! Well, heh, I must be... For how many hours have I been studying the slopes beneath the gnoll stronghold, while waiting for this sunset? You bet. There must be a way up there, along the southern wall, to climb up under the cover of night. The night... A veil descending upon us slowly, a cloak concealing its secrets. There is so much to hold...

A cloak... Xzar wasn't even funny donning that one back in the forest. The lecher, thinking to attract a dryad's eyes, he can glow only with his necromantic blue. Montaron seems to provide well for his wizardly charge. This time, from the shoulder of the fatman whose luck ended on the Tranzig's night along with his miserable life. Or was his misfortune in happening to possess a cloak with the threads of nymph hair entwined into its fabric? Doesn't matter. Just as good a time as any to remind the mage of how he bravely ran away from those ghasts in the tomb. The price has been paid, and the nymph's locks are now hanging from upon my shoulders.

The nymph magic... The night is thickening, the wind billowing the cloak around my frame. Filling it with distant memories of a forest glade, with shining glowworms along the rim. Enigma concealed with the thinnest of veils. What's behind if I cast it aside?.. My eyes are seeking through the night, with a ray of silvery light. Reaching for a star... in the mirror of a hidden lake. My hair, unruly and disheveled in the winds of pursuit, is now falling down in long silky locks, willow leaves touching the calm water... In the circles slowly expanding, like from tears falling through the night, I'm looking at my own reflection...

I am a woman, seductress of heart. My eyes are shining with the secret I am to hide... Dress me in the thinnest of veils! Let me run through the dreamy forest, struggling against the branches reaching for my body. Barefoot across the sand, bulrushes caressing my skin, whispering desire. The bowl of the sky turning upside down, the bed of the lake hugs me from behind with a soft wet kiss. The sweet aroma of the lilies sliding down my breasts, begging to love... What are you telling me, the little star winking from above? Where am I being carried along the moonshine path?..

...Into another night, far from the root of my dream. The night where the stars are hidden behind the blanket of heavy clouds, and the only smell is the sweet odor of the terrible meal over the gnoll bonfires, begging for a merciful kill. The shrill barking of the sentries brings me back to reality. The time is right, the darkness favorable for our plight. Yet this very minute I want to howl...

Last night, I have come and gone, with both life and death left in my passage...

Before the final crossing, I planted the sapling to tell of the blood waiting across the chasm, to be poured on the ground like water... I watered it well, in the cup of my hands. A strange and quivering sensation. As if something is struggling to be torn away from within. I smoothed the soft green leaves, and they recoiled to the touch. It knew what I was after, and it was afraid... We were linked with a common story to share, and I felt a part of me shrinking beneath a heavy shadow, as if a dog scowling before the evil master's rod. Withering with every step, as if a tender flower beneath a steady and relentless gaze of the desert sun.

That night, not a wolf would howl at the moon. Dark beyond perception, the low sky was pregnant with heavy clouds, and I could only guess a turbulent maelstrom over our heads. The shaky planks of the last bridge squeaking to the wind. A sinister croaking into our ears... We were awaited on the other end, eagerly. Two shadows rising in the moment of truth. Yet instead of a shrill cry of warning, a hushed whisper of greed, almost welcome. It was generously quenched, with a golden arrow and a sparkling hammer. A night bird screeched, silencing the thuds of the bodies tumbling down the slopes. A fair deal. Few ogrillons have an entire bridge for a burial mound...

The hillsides bordering the fort from the south were less than welcoming. No approach with a weakness to exploit. I don't believe that gnolls built their stronghold themselves. Nor does Edwin, his wicked smile seems to hide something. Only the xvarts tucked into their little caves, dunk and smelly. What have they been feeding to their crawling pets? Carrion, no doubt...

The precious nighttime was being wasted away, anxiety palpable in the low growls behind my back. When... something happened... in one of the caves... as if a gust of wind rushing in. The aroma of mystery and excitement, the high spirit without limit, filling my soul to the brim, pushing back the odor of despair. Where did it come from?

A surge through my veins... rising... ever higher... Nothing can stop me now! Flowers of the night, their brilliant dark shimmering faintly, climbing up and up, in a spiraling column, reaching to the invisible beyond... did anyone else see them? I know I could hardly look at anything else...

The silvery shimmer along the edges settles slowly into a familiar outline... The veil of the night! I feel the depth in the pool of my own eyes, measured with a glow rising from within. Boiling up my blood. Dread spilled over the grey faces, as if I had grown higher. Damn if I hadn't! The world at a glance, all souls laid bare. My face, its shine concealed with the thinnest of veils...

Cast it aside, let them see the power! Spread the net, grasp their threads and lead forth! In a flight through the night, swift and sure, up the steps of an impregnable stronghold... If water cuts the stone drop by drop, then we're a torrent... Beastly roar silenced with a swoop of the shimmering veil, darker than the night itself. Lunging steel stopped cold with a ray of light, from eye into eye... Tearing through the fabric of night, the dark wings consuming vast stretches of charmed stairways...

The darkest veil. The shining face.
An instant stopped. An instant stretched.
Suspend a drop with a cunning grace
To shatter stone in its cold embrace.

...A distant bell tolling in silence... The way back was less than clear. That woman knew how to die, rising to her full height. Knew to name her enemy into his face. And no fear, only... a joy? The euphoria of dying in battle, I heard it through the chant. Her last laughter... "the Red Wizards of Thay are better enemies than gnolls."

I hate Edwin, hate myself standing there motionless, all mystery gone in the face of murder, evaporated like smoke, replaced... no! torn away with the grim stench of fear. Fear?! It'll walk forever with Edwin from now on, along with a deep scar across his face. She died fighting. He won't forget...

The way back was cast in a cacophony of torchlight. The long fiery shadows drifting across the walls, the enemy is near! The bells tolling loudly, summons for a bloodfest. Stripped of the night's enchantment, the blood is boiling with a warcry, fearsome in a desperate charge.

We were fighting as one, toward the budding colors of dawn, our first sunrise in many a day. This time, as probably never before, no one wanted to be the last one... The rising sun was too much to bear. We turned north, but the sapling stayed. Can I give life, too?!!

Finally, a decent measure of safety... The last days were by no means quiet. Even if travelling mostly by night, our brief respites were constantly interrupted by vengeful gnolls, no doubt dispatched to catch the intruders or to reinforce approaches to their stronghold. The rest of our time was spent in 'square dancing', from ogres to gibberlings, and from the gibberlings to the ogres. A chance meeting with a paladin of Helm ended badly for the woman. She shouldn't have had too sharp a nose for rogues...

Indeed, wherever there are bridges, the bandits are afoot in the forests, looking for iron. Already on this shore, we were accosted by some Neville, "the fairest of all bandits." His hobgoblins failed to hide their ambush, but the damn swordsman gave us a good run for our money.

It seems the nymph powers are both a curse and a blessing. Neville didn't see anyone but me, and his sword cut through the air and bone alike with a magical ease... 'Tis good he didn't pay attention to the dwarf, and if I do have to run, I make sure the debt doesn't stay with me for long. My bow is a candy as soon as I gather the distance. The arrows we retrieved from the goblin quivers were a welcome gift, as well. Perhaps, no less so than the sword itself, for our own were running out.

The bridges weren't as easy to cross, however. Guarded, indeed... Ingot, that gnoll, didn't lie about them. The far end of the nearest bridge was covered with fog, but as soon as we made a few cautious steps across, a hulking shadow stepped out, accompanied with the ululating cries of hobgoblin archers.

Man, I have never seen so much spiderweb in my entire life as was spun the next second, at Xzar's bidding. He must've awakened all of the spiders from under the bridge with his magic. The goblins were hopelessly enmeshed, but the powerful ogre with a single swing of his mighty sword ruptured his bonds. Slowly, he made his way toward our party, and then... I saw a lightning burst out of Xzar's wand... striking him square in the chest. The charred flesh... the Talos' gift...

Still unsure of what surprises might be waiting for us on the other bank, and leery of forcing our way through (what with our ammunition running low), I decided to try another chance at the bridge a short way down south. Surprisingly, it was empty. Or else, all the guards ran away from a mighty mountain bear, intent on crossing the river the human way. The river swollen with the melting flows, with ice broken, with broken hopes...

Kagain had already proved himself a veritable bear hunter by now. But this time it was my arrow that earned us a safe passage. On the other side, we were greeted by a merchant. A grateful merchant. His magic boots were to pay the price of his rescue. The 'Boots of the North', he was wise to give them away of his own volition.

...The night is slowly settling over our camp. Kagain is still watching over his own hands, incredulously. The set of gauntlets from the ogrillon 'owners' of their burial bridge added a surprising agility to the stocky dwarf. If he had trouble turning around before, today his real trouble was to keep his own hands from running away! Especially dangerous, considering they were busy with crossbow gears, and his eyes with shameless ogling.

The night is shrouding the river with a thick blanket of fog. What is Jaheira doing now? Did she get my message? I so much hope she did...

The night was quiet here, in the fog shrouded valley... Not so in my dreams. I awoke with a strange taste in my mouth. Bitter to the bone...

My inner gaze drifted to the flower within. The sapling was dead. I saw it, the leaves breaking on touch, withered as if beneath a steady and relentless gaze of the desert sun. Life doesn't sprout on blood...

Through the din of battle, the berserker roaring warcry, I saw Jaheira. Her eyes, love and pain mixed together. Following her gaze, I knew the answer... Khalid, without his helmet, red blood streaming over his face, was tearing himself away from her hands, lunging in his final downfall against an incoming halberd. Impaled upon the spike intended for Jaheira, he brings down a mighty gnoll. No longer within her reach... The euphoria of dying in battle...

Did she ever get my message?!! Suddenly, I realize that she did... I wake up with a bitter taste in my mouth. The taste of having been cursed... The Melting is over. A new life begins.