Bethphel's Diary: The Time of Flowers

It has been raining... and raining hard. The day was young when the first drops kissed my face with their chilling touch. It has been washed generously ever since...

An uneventful day, the sun still eluding us. Only a bleak, sullen chainsaw of bald peaks would greet us upon the crests of the mountain passes, the jagged teeth tearing at the low clouds. All colors washed out, the nature was crying big tears of mourning. I swear I could hear them in the roar of a cave bear, hungry for the corpse of a lone ogrillon, stranded just like us. Over his blood, before turning away for ours...

What was I thinking through the same gray hours with no rest, without count? My feelings, my thoughts, have they, too, been washed away? The pain was dull, the senses numb. For that, at least, I must be grateful...

The music of the rain is repeating the same monotonous rhythm. So much different from my childhood at Candlekeep... and yet alike. Wrapping myself in a blanket, I would often listen quietly to the drumbeat of the drops against the metal and stone alike, each one ringing a different note. A lonely lullaby...

Sometimes, I had that acute feeling. What did I see back then, through the mysterious haze behind the windows? The shadows didn't talk back to me, and only tears streaming quietly across the glass... on which side? mine or theirs? I used to wonder if I was born to the rain. Yet now, I'm uneasy. The shadows are talking. The voices are growing stronger... and ever darker. I close my eyes, and the wings shielding them shudder at the monotonous steps crushing against the stone floor... ever closer. Could I have been conceived in the rain, too?!

Lightning cracks the sky open, and the relentless flash of light splatters our shadows against the cliffs. Six little creatures, hugging each onto oneself, lying low underneath their sodden cloaks. Ain't no place to hide from the rain here, from its persistent music. Thunder booms overhead, carrying far and wide our sentence... And no place to hide from ourselves. I'm in the crosshairs of five pairs of relentless eyes. The lightning is dumb, but what can be more dangerous than a lonely glance piercing through the haze of rain?

Today, I almost lost control over my men. More like over one maiden, really. If Kagain was ever vigilant at my side, Branwen turned into a cauldron of ire. Beyond the mere animosity to the title of a Red Wizard... The Zhentarim, at least, were rather glad to finally know Edwin's true designation. A servant of the Great Zulkirs of Thay, ever seeking dominion over the world, yet ever stopped by the Rashemi people. But the woman was clamoring for something more than his tales of Rashemen witches. She's right, you see? What have we come here for, to kill? Damn, if I know...

The village of xvarts must be not far from here, to the east. The wind carries no sound, but I'm not anxious to check it out, either. The first obstacle on my way I'd rather walk around.

No sound? I remember another rainy night, with the same smell of the sea in the air. It is closer now, but do we have the same courage to follow along? We'll see in the morning. Something must be waiting for us before we're back in Nashkel. Something is calling...

And then, unless my memory is failing, the hunters for the captain Brage were westward bound...

There were quite a few things waiting for us, indeed. Who'd have known, for once, that we'd stumble upon this pathetic band pretending to be something more than mere grave robbers. A 'pleasant' surprise...

However, we went north in search of a different target. At the mention of Brage, whether for the bounty or vengeance, even Branwen started acting like she had a purpose in life. For that alone, she would stay with us some more.

Hah! I dare her compare us to Tranzig again. If Montaron's tongue were as sharp as his blade, we'd have had a better sport, I'spose. Kagain is just growling to himself in response to all her talk of murdering innocent people...

The way up here was long and bloody. By the morning, the drenching downpour was over. But it takes a while for the bowstrings to dry out. With the halfling out of their darts and his crazy friend no longer entertaining us with his throwing daggers, we were quite short on ranged weapons. Xzar was so agitated, he's been casting webs at the first sign of movement in the underbrush, but wild dogs are much too fast to be caught that easily.

Well, a good exercise if not for the blood lost! Nothing like kicking tasloi butt first thing in the morning, followed up with a chase through tha woods in the afternoon. That obnoxious hobgoblin, Ba'ruk, decided the land was his and had kobold 'commandos' with their arrows of fire to back up his claim. Fascinated, I was watching new flesh tighten over Kagain's burns, all by itself. Such a stocky dwarf, he actually regenerates! Sometimes, I wonder if he'd grow a new arm or leg if the old one were cut off. Or any part of the body, for that matter!

It was already past the noontime when we came upon this glorious 'dig'. Charleston Nib, the 'bossman', wasn't all too welcoming at first, but one takes what one gets. And his pathetic workers sure needed a guard or two to scare them into obedience. Of course, all we needed was some good meal and a plenty of rest. More of that sort rather than the meager payment he could offer for a part in his sorry enterprise.

His second hand, Gallor, was much more generous. As much as nine hundred gold would be ours if we make sure that the bossman with the entire gamut don't go any further than the ancient crypt, after they find whatever artifact they've been searching for... A "plate that provides bounty", more than five thousand years old. Only the bounty of what kind, I know not.

I'd not too eager to find out, either. Something is afoot. The diggers must be close to breaking into the inner chambers, and I'm curiously excited. The voices are growing stronger in my head. New voices! Yes! yes, yes! Wait, they are struggling with each other! Something tells me I shouldn't like it. Damn it, I don't! The Nib's men are growing crazy right on my own eyes. The terror and dread are floating around. I wouldn't be surprised to discover a pack of dread wolves ready to charge. Only... there aren't any. Dead, they are all dead! The men who lived here long ago, with their graves and their beliefs... Dead!! Only why am I afraid?! No, I'm not... DEAD!!!

...So if there were dread wolves around the camp. A pair of them attacked us in the evening, shortly after I put my diary off. Dropped it, really... Not into the face of their sudden attack, for the real dread was still waiting for us inside the ancient tomb. In no hurry, quite sure of its prey.

'Twas not the shadows rising out of the night that brought the bale rising up my throat. Nor their leap across the clearing that brought the fear... Even Branwen was feeling that. No doubt. I know not how but her chant wavered, and even if the fear was banished, a residue, heavy and dark, stayed, dissolving into my blood. Rushing through my veins in a surge of screaming power... a dark power, the color of old blood... some very old blood, indeed. Red dots dancing before my eyes, centering on a perfect shot. And nothing... nothing but the arrow. I was the arrow... A thin, still sound. My soul was in that wailing when the arrowhead didn't find any blood to drink. Undead yet no longer living... The pulse beating against my cranium, "Blood! Need blood!.." No, that was inside the crypt. How did we end up there?

...It was a long, dark tunnel... A thick trail of the darkest red showing us the way. I didn't let my arrow fly, for the blood must continue to flow! Who was that? Charleston Nib, or one of his diggers? Not that it would matter. None of them escaped... A feast of blood, without fear. The killer and the victim alike, happy to let the red rivers run wild. A psalm of gratitude? The gurgling sounds...

I know not how we escaped the ancient charms. The evil that was guiding our hearts followed us outside. Who was holding the bloody idol? Doomsayer, a vengeful spirit of the ancient past, was already waiting, with his terrible, grinding words not meant for us to comprehend. Terror undescribable on Kagain's face, as Gallor was wrestling the bloody 'plate' free from his hands. Gold thrown into the eyes like sand to soak the blood in. The idol of Kozah was demanding more...

The red dots in the eyes ceased their dance. We let it go. From the tongue of Doomsayer rising to reclaim it, the words of a dead language were turning flesh in our minds. I understood them! The long dead powers that some people call 'gods'. Dead, but... could they even be revived?! The thought is chilling...

Gallor has chosen his path, blinded by the doom he held in his own hands. The ancient evil crept after him back into the tombs, and the mouth of the gaping opening was sealed again. For how long?

Disclaimer:The riddle hereby told is taken directly from the one in the game. It was not written by the author of this story.

It has neither teeth, nor mouth.
       Yet, it eats its food steadily.
It has neither village, nor home, nor hands, not feet.
       Yet it wanders everywhere.
It has neither country, nor means, nor office, nor pen.
       Yet it is ready for fight - always.
By day and by night there is always wailing about it.
       It has no breath, yet to all it appears...

The answer was easy... We found Brage the next morning, nor far from the ill-fated dig. Over a recently slaughtered caravan, thoughtful of death. I saw it in his eyes, even before he spoke up his riddle. One of the few things we do share. Last night did teach me something. The man's been courting death, yet I won't let him get it. He hasn't had all of it yet, and I have yet too much to ask of Nalin...

Last evening brought no rest. This time, at least, we have a roof over our heads. A precarious refuge, to be sure. Yet I'm welcoming this chance to get out of my clothes, hopelessly soaked in this incessant rain.

The same rain... It resumed yesterday, as soon as we broke the camp. In a moment, the hills were shrouded with an almost impenetrable curtain. Under that cover, ten silent shadows approached. The hunters after the Brage's head.

Awakened in the night, what could Edwin possibly do but yell at the hapless hunters, "Sleep, you fools!" The unsophisticated charm worked, and while four of the intruders were having sweet dreams, we quietly slipped away. Long since then, we could hear faint voices drifting through the mist. Yet when the silence finally settled in, we wished we'd rather know where the enemy were hiding...

Lo! what was that sound?.. Here it is again. A whiff of wind, and the failing house responds with a groan. The raindrops are beating steadily against the windowsill. The night is quiet...

Shh, lay back and relax. We must have killed all of them. Yes, I wager, the same half-ogres that kicked Bjornin's butt so soundly. The paladin, still recovering from his wounds at the Jovial Juggler. When we're back in Beregost, we'll test Montaron's bragging skills. The fight was tough, and the brutes had gnolls to help them out. Yet the halfling's whistling sword sure knows how to strike from behind.

...Was that just a wave licking at the sand? You never know. The night is alive here... When we first came upon the lake, the rain suddenly stopped, and the sun briefly peeked from behind the clouds to revive the memories of another day, way up north... The skeletons wading through the blood red poppy flowers. They always rise where the earth opened up to take innocent blood in.

A glimpse of the moon through the torn clouds. Like a finger of pale light passing over my bared skin... Naked in the night, I breathe the fresh air in deeply. Snuggled into the only garment that is ever warm. A forest lake is right here. The water must be warm to the touch of raindrops. Yet I'm confined to lie here till the dawn. Leaning over my wounds, Branwen's eyes were strangely serious this evening. Concerned? And guilty... As well they should be! Scared like a hen by that whore Jemby, while her pimp Teyngan was knocking living lights out of me...

Who knows what is waiting for us yet on the southern side of the lake? We didn't reach that far today. As we were working our way along the shore, those bandits stopped us cold. They even dared to name themselves! Of course, Branwen quickly ordered all five Jemby's to the ground. But what she's been doing until the bitch woke up is a mystery to me. She must have been singing a different song that time. I don't remember much... A single hobgoblin arrow took my breath away from me. The blood stopped flowing in my veins. Without a hand on my throat, I was choking down. And the pain of a flail crushing into my bones...

Later, Edwin told me how Jemby cast her spell of horror twice during the fight. Both times Branwen with Montaron were spooked into stupor. And both times Kagain stood fast. From far away, lightnings from the Xzar's wand were merely shattering her false mirrors. If not for the dwarf and Ashideena claiming lives of the witch and her goblin minion... and the magic missiles. Ahh, so it was Edwin whom I should also thank for saving my life... A pity.

Today, we made it to the Coast Way. A few hours north of Nashkel. The rain is finally over, and in the remaining hours, before the twilight casts its shadows over the hills, there is much to think. Over what is waiting for us ahead and what is left behind. A friendly fire is crackling merrily, once and again the sparkles catching a smile even upon a grimiest face. Yet the deathly cold of the ancient tombs is hard to break. Would Nalin know why it still has a place in our bones?..

The last stretch of our journey has seen many a chance encounter. Many a fight... Wild dog with gnoll alike scowling at our passage. Little blue xvarts charging after a worg, as if petty squires behind a knight's broad back. Flindbars cutting through a dense web, spread over a clearing at a moment's notice. Even huge ogres fighting each other. What did Edwin want to tell us with that, huh? That he too has the power to charm? And Branwen's eyes, following me wherever I go. Concerned? Must be guilty...

Yet in all that kaleidoscope of masks, comic and serious, one face stands out. Hardly by chance... Drizzt do'Urden, a living legend stepping out of the dusty shelves of the library at Candlekeep. We met him at the southern side of the lake, splendid in his battle glory. His battle's a dance, the gnolls didn't prove to be worthy partners. A frame of withered white hair under the hood, and a pair of violet eyes gleaming from upon the dark face of a drow. They know more than they would tell. Who knows the full tale of a dark elf turned good? What did he say before disappearing back into the woods? "Beware yer sword!"...

The hills overlooking the road let us see far and wide, with a plenty of warning for a lone traveller, much less a caravan. A perfect place for the bandits to set up ambushes... Come the morning, we'll set upon that way ourselves. Yet the road hazards are the least things to worry about. We'll need a plenty of time to figure out the best approach to Nalin's temple. This hunk of Brage is not a candy to hide...

Just as expected, our welcome in Nashkel was hardly heartening...

It didn't take long for Montaron to sniff out the best approach to the temple. The Amnish were no longer patrolling the streets as thoroughly as before the mines were cleared. Everything should have fallen in perfectly, and yet... we forgot one thing. One man, even...

For days, Brage was walking along with us as a living ghoul. Who'd have thought the plump Oublek's figure would've brought him back to life... What was the fat bastard doing there in the middle of night, anyway?! Looking to give out another bounty reward? One moment, Brage's eyes are staring dead into nothingness. The next moment, the fire blooming, rushing forth happily to embrace his doom.

He wanted justice! Oblivion be cure to his pain...

I've never heard such a thin whizzing sound as the one that escaped Oublek's throat. The guards didn't, either, without doubt. It took them quite a few minutes to rush in, and by that time the crazy captain was scooped up and led toward the inviting gates of the temple. Led, hah! Pulled, pushed, picked up and carried on are better words to describe what it took us to deliver the 'strayed son' into Nalin's hands. Through a rain of arrows... A couple of statuesque guards, paralyzed by Branwen's spells. A spiderweb, sprawling across a busy street intersection. And a few happy souls snoring with blissful abandon in the midst of it all! At least, the priest did repay our efforts rather handsomely. I doubt that looney Oublek would've laid down even a half of what we've got. What did he want the captain for? What redemption?

The village is now like a hive of bees. I hear the temple is under a veritable siege, but Nalin managed to let us out through a backdoor before it was too late. My questions are still unanswered, but I'm patient...

At least, I know the Brage's curse now. Here it is, lying at my feet, tucked away into a plush scabbard. I did well not to touch the sword. Powerful enough to smite an ogre in a single swipe, it is also wont to take away a man's mind. So, that's what Drizzt must have felt! Nalin wanted me to give it up. Not yet... mayhap, I'm gonna soon be crazy enough for its curse not to matter anymore...

Before the matter is settled, we'd better not announce our presence. Lay down, and hush. I don't think it should take that long for Nalin to calm passions down. If the new commander of the garrison weren't bent on bringing Brage to justice, the soldiers would've given up already.

The common folk are not happy with the strife, either. Again, we end up rather popular, if wanted. There are others, with a higher priority on the list. The word is going around about a local artist named Prism having lost his mind, and a noblewoman her emeralds. No coincidence. The bounty on the stolen gems is pretty high, even if "Prism's fate is of little concern."

And what might the bounty of our hands end up to be? Better be careful... Wait, someone is heading toward us. A peasant woman. What the hell was the signal? Blast it! the wrong bird. I'd better move deeper away. The evening should tell...

I'm tired, from all of it... Tired of hiding, of abandoned huts, of all the uncertainty that's driving me nuts. This ragtag bunch of wanderers, spooked of each other.

Enough! The night is waiting for us, 'tis the hunting season. My nostrils are flaring, the smells are especially acute in the night. The wolves are on the prowl... The hunter shall be hunted. I have decided that long ago, at the dawn of my new life. Yet only now I'm starting to realize what that really means. The music of blood booming against my temples. A hunting dance!

The shadows are gathering, and the thin crescent of the new moon is barely visible in the sky. My stage is set, it's ruled with darkness... The beat of blood. Step, step, jump... The time is up, hip, shoulder, eyes. Shooting! Fluid motion, a she-hunter's grace... Here, drive your hand deep into the shadows, catch it, grasp it, pull it. Move with it! The forest clearing is filled with eyes. Yellow eyes of a predator. Behind a tree, sniffing the grass, howling at the moon... Dancing with my own reflections? Flowing through them, in and out. Breathing with every part of my body... My dance's a battle.

'Tis time, indeed. Hey, someone wanted to hunt winter wolves a while ago? I'll give them that chance! Even if I get to shake 'em out of the tent of those black lotus sniffers... Someone also craved to get back to our lil' treasure trove at the mines. They'd have to move, move! ere they get there...

We've had enough time to figure out what stuff our backpacks got filled with on the way here. My hand is resting on the hilt of a magic blade, and the Boots of the North, a reluctant gift from a merchant stranded in the wilderness, are eager to test their defenses against the winter wolf's breath.

'Tis time to leave the worries behind. The hunting hour!

Aye-yeesss! That was a good hunt... The flavor of venison roasted over open fire. A trail of smoke into the bottomless sky full of stars. They are closer here, in the mountains.

Three precious pelts of white snow... When I move my fingers over them lightly, when I pet them, the dead fur softens to the touch. When was the last time they felt like that in their lifetime? When their mothers would lick the little cubs with their soft tongues? 'Tis harder to pet a wolf that has known the taste of blood. Kagain knows as much, I see it in his eyes. They have changed in the last few days. No longer admiring blindly, when I would know what to expect. They are fixed on something now, steady and frightening. What does he have in mind?

We have not been the only hunters here. One arrogant missy, with her henchmen, Delgod and Alexander, decided we'd prove to be a better sport than their game. Oh-kay, so we did... "Sendai of the noble merchant house Argrims, the foremost family in Amn," that name I shall remember. Can't say, though, that her arrogance surpassed their mettle. It did not... We found their hunting camp. Sharing it now with three silent graves of those deserving to be buried in their own land. They fought well. The wild beasts won't touch them...

They called us 'berserkers'. Berserkers they've got. The flame of the Brage's curse sent searing pain through my hands. Lashing the veins open to join them with the blade in one mighty stream of raging fury.

Who said the steel is cold? When my blood came rushing in, only then did I learn what it's like to be one with a sword, truly. Boiling hot, we were singing high of battle alone. Guilty or innocent, self-sacrifice or murder, all the world was one, and to be destroyed... Now, I know what the captain Brage must have felt when the blood of his own blood came down streaming along that blade. The blade that wouldn't leave his hands willingly, a part of himself. Blood running over blood. They never mix, oh but the feeling!

One of Sendai's archers... what was his name, Alexander? His eyes, fixed on me, could not be slept with Edwin's magic. I saw them waver at Branwen's chant, saw them round wide in terror at the sweep of my mighty blade. I saw that... yet my own pain I felt not. Sendai went down the last of them all, and still I wouldn't stop. Everyone just ran away. Everyone but Kagain. The dwarf simply stood there, waiting to take in my blade without a groan. His eyes... they broke the spell.

Yet was I the only one crazed today? The hunting spirit took all of us away. Even the mages... I was told how Xzar, oblivious to danger, rushed forth to roast Delgod with a scorching jet of fire. Standing for a moment within the reach of Sendai's blade. An arrow, passing through the fire, found the mark. I'm glad the mage didn't forget to beef himself up with his draining spells first. He will survive... Edwin, too, took in some kobold fire out of much eagerness in crossing the river. More to scare the wits out of his head, rather than the life outta his scrawny body...

For the rest of the day, I was out of the hunt. Not even Xzar, who suddenly learnt to send scorching jets of fire, would trust my new insanity. But did they know the fire burning my hands, welded to the sword? Did they feel it in my eyes measuring them from behind?!

That was after I took the sword. But even before we chanced upon the Amnish party, we came nose to nose with a different kind of hunters. Hunters for our money... Vax introduced us to Zal, "the fastest dart thrower on the Sword Coast," and the fun began. Well, he was fast, but not for long. Branwen was a good girl today. It was only fitting that the fastest dart thrower would meet his end completely immobilized by her magic. And if his bracers are worth anything at all, they will be mine...

...My knuckles! Why am I grasping the snow white fur so hard? It's so painfully soft... When the sun was still high, I took pity on a child. Lost himself in the mountains, he was looking for his dog, Rufie. When we finally brought him back, the "fuzzy little doggie" turned into a hell hound, and the boy himself into sort of a demon. One moment, they are here, the next moment, gone. Cruel joke! I wouldn't have entertained a meeting with his "rewatives". Nor would I dream of them "moving here." Such is the payment for following good intentions!

No, I could not be the only one hallucinating. Branwen's eyes, their expression... have they changed at all? She's judging me again, she must be! That can't be pity...

The longest day of my life... Gorion's death was the longest night. For how long did I hold Branwen's head in my lap, longing to put my hands through her hair? The cursed hands... The fight was long over, yet I was still staring into her eyes, the very same eyes. The drops on her face? It ain't raining...

As we were approaching the mines from the south, a sudden gust of wind sheared our skin with its cold, icy breath. A wolf howled... At the border between light and darkness, when new colors are born to repaint the world, there was a lone artist. Back from our first day in Nashkel, from the strangest festival of all, I vividly remembered his face. I always will... carrying forever the eerie air of unredeemed love, standing at the border between life and death...

The work of his love... more than a beautiful elven maiden descended from life into stone. I feel it with my veins, a quivering pulse. Why am I shuddering?.. Minutes combining into hours, hours into days was he working, hasting himself with magic to finish this epiphany, a "foolish sculptor." It took his whole life, no more and no less, as any true love demands. He saw her but once, on the outskirts of Evereska, and said nothing. "I left thee pass form mine eyes, and mine heart hath cursed me for it!"

Every magic exacts a price. At the pinnacle of his work, years must have collapsed into mere moments. His age was complete when he finally found courage to sing out her name, "Ellesime!" The song of his life... Before he died, he asked me to look after her. I will. The tiny statuette can rest within my palm, yet it is so more than that. A dream can die, but a true love lives forever... Oh, how I want to believe it!!

So, that Greywolf fellow wanted to collect the bounty for the stolen emeralds. Not if they are now shining with the light of that song! "...for nothing else would capture the majesty of thine eyes!"

Why... Branwen's eyes are glassy now, halted forever. If I thought I fully knew what Brage was feeling with that cursed sword in his hands, then I was wrong. The rivers of raging fire through the veins... But is the berserker's fury stronger than the stony grip of cold upon your heart when you see the eyes of your own child, the eyes that will never change and smile no longer? The fire dies, but the cold it brings stays forever...

What kills more, the first or the final blow? And where is the moment of death?.. When she turned to me, her face in pain, I forgot everything. Didn't see Greywolf's sword coming. But only Branwen's lips, combining into a song... with her last breath. I recognized it! The same chant as back then, at the lake. The chant of help! And the very same eyes... the same eyes! even now...

The sparkle is gone with the last glimpse of the sun, winked out on the other side of the horizon. Yet those same eyes are still watching me from across an invisible wall. She always kept asking herself why she wouldn't go away and leave us. The boundary is crossed, and we're on the different sides now. I guess I'll have to wait for the answer...

'Tis too much blood, and we're leaving... I was hoping that Nashkel, at least, would remember me well. Alas, the carnival is hardly over. This southern land is pregnant with the same sweet sensation of life and death walking hand in hand, strangely persistent. Wherever we go, the trail of blood is following us, always. Will it ever stop?!

The solemn beauty of the temple hall, so detached from the world outside. I'm carrying within my heart the quiet word of Nalin. There was a strange power, some kind of answer... What did he mean? It fell right upon the strings of my soul, like fingers touching a harp. The cursed sword falling down from my hands...

Why can't I make out the melody, then? Even before I could catch the tune, the music was cut short, and I was thrown back into the turmoil.

The midnight was beating into our ears when Montaron rushed in like crazy. We had to leave the village at once... A despicable lecher! For a thief sneaking into a rich and well-guarded mansion to lay his hands on a pretty bosom, he was sure bold. But he was hardly the first audacious soul to lay the claim on the maiden's virtues. His blackened eye is a witness to the outrage of Samantha's lover. Unfortunately, the only weapon the poor lad had at the ready could impress only young lasses.

We ran into the moonless night, the blood of a love lost calling from behind. Into the woods, up the hills, will I ever find a refuge? Burning close to my heart is a little sculpture, a memento of the land far away where each heart has a pair. How do they find each other?

My palm opens up, and a pair of emerald eyes ignites with the glory of the rising sun. It has a song. I must seek it out...

The light is dying in the windows... The time when the shadows grow long before dissolving into darkness. They were small when the Amnish dogs set upon our tail in pursuit. Since dawn, we were beset by the hunting parties. The unlucky lover boy must have had influential parents, or else someone has taken us rather personally...

Yet even when your steps are measured with the beat and drum of the baying hounds, and the forest is harboring arrows seeking your heart, through the heat of despair and in the rush of blood, there is always a way open. It's leading up... Run like a wolf, but soar like an eagle! O'er the hills rising like the sentinels of freedom. The ascent was tough yet brief. We're home, even if poor Hulrik thinks it is his. The law ends here at the end of my blade.

My new blade, Varscona... A strange sensation when my hand hugged her hilt for the first time. Surprisingly cold to the touch. A brief amusement was there, and then a grim, steel-freezing resolve. Hungry for a victim, yet not even the hot blood of many a sacrifice could warm her up.

Not anymore... If anyone, anything knows the way of escape, it is them, the blade and its master of old. When seeking a path across death and back to life, remember ye, oh adventurer, remember her who was forgotten! Mummified and buried in a tomb, her sacred blade become her heart. Waiting for a resurrection ritual that would never come... A way is always open. For her, it was the one of hate. The ascent was long yet intense. Eternal rage bordering on insanity. Through the furnace of eternal solitude... When the crypt was finally opened, she was gone. Or so much does the divination spell reveal. The new form she was destined to be reborn in? Varscona... The sacred blade would know much. Within one blade, they are joined forever.

She is talking to me even now. A whisper on the razor-thin edge of silence. It ain't warm, it's brooding shadows... In the light of a small lamp, they are looming long against the plastered ceiling. Dark shadows are always long in the recitative of her dreams. Warm milk is steaming vainly in the mug, it doesn't thaw away my heart. The shadows of death are rising, and Branwen's face is slowly dissolving behind a mirror untouchable. Varscona, I don't think she even remembers...

Stupid farmer, he's been so happy we saved his cow from the xvarts, he even invited us to his home. Convenient for us, of course, but... Those xvarts, they simply ran away in terror at our very sight. If he were smart, he should've done the same thing. Can't he hear Varscona whisper? No matter. I think we've scared him well enough with our tales of the ogre bands to the east from here. Enough to send his mind packing... It's there, in his shuffling steps around the house, the trembling hands that can no longer carry his livelihood along. His eyes that do not want to say goodbye. The floor is crackling reluctantly to his steps. The descent will be long and painful...

Edwin in the corner. He's always alone. Many a cautious eye is upon him, an easy way to keep the distance... Why is he following us along? He could've left long ago, having done the bloody task he was set to accomplish. If not the wilderness, the village of Nashkel was a perfect place to bid farewell...

A strange fellow, and it would be prudent to keep a good eye on him. But he is helpful. The land of pursuit, burning beneath our feet, and the ogre country alike he has blanketed with grease and enchanted sleep. It would've been hard to get through without him. He can be useful...

The first stars light up over the treetops, and the shadows are lost. The small candle whiffs out of existence. In the infrared, the contours are glowing with the color of blood. All, save Varscona. A blade of freezing ice at my side, but it is silent. I'd better not touch it again tonight...

A hearty welcome, at last! Blast the insane south, I am at home here. With a mug of mead in my hand and a swarming crowd, I do not feel so alone...

Today, the Jovial Juggler is rather cramped with a hoard of onlookers. The halfling is taking the front stage! The tales of a mysterious band of adventurers rooting out the half-ogres to the south have been big here for the last couple of evenings, but who wouldn't stare at a bunch of their scalps being waved right under their noses? Even that prude of a paladin, Bjornin, got all hooked up, and then some...

Ah, ya, ya, yeah... Here, Montaron is mounting the tabletop for a dance. Funny, he beats my best expectations. Our 'jovial juggler' is attracting quite a crowd! And where did he get the notion of scalping those brutes? Ah, here it comes, a long black mohawk of a clan leader. Edwin must be smiling an invisible smile now, if he's watching. That trophy he traded to Montaron today for a favor yet unknown.

The half-ogre had the gall to claim his tribe's weapons were crumbling... like he needed our iron! What with his huge two-handed sword, enchanted to hit fast and sure. And where did the beast get a hold of it? But neither its enchantment, nor Arghain's fearsome warcry could save him from the Red Wizard's magic missiles. Nor could the archer buddies of Ioin Gallchobhair fully appreciate Xzar's spiderwebs. My mages are growing stronger, but it's sure good to keep 'em both together. Now... only if I knew what the halfling was trading up with Edwin!

The din is deafening, coming in waves of uproar whenever Montaron throws another of his tricks. But there is some music here, it is surfing them well... strangely reaching. A new kind of rhythm, even if I recognize the voice.

Garrick! Imoen brought him here tonight, a new friend of hers, and boy! am I happy to see her around. 'Tis been a while since we shared a hearty laugh together... A sweet girl of sweet memories, she was the first one we met when entering the town. As if she'd been waiting for me! I'm soooo glad... For days and weeks of marching through blood, I was longing for a friendly soul to just tuck away with in a room upstairs and, without any pressure or prying eyes, chat a night away like woman to woman. To remove the protective armor from my soul, unstop the guards, and pour it out, cross legged on the pillows... without care, about things small and large, men, news, and dreams...

Oh, no! she's blushing. I remember the smiles that Imoen was shooting at Garrick downstairs, every now and then, when the song would stop, pick up, or take a turn. She's not been losing time here, I see!

The music... Surprisingly, it followed me along, even into our momentarily secluded alcove. I wonder... could it be the one? The tiny statuette is here, but the emerald eyes are not flashing any sign back at me, neither for the good nor for the bad...

Ah, bother! They're both gone now, and it's getting quiet down there, too. Damn the mead, damn the ale, and damn the throng. The air was smelling... crowded, yes. And all that noise... must be making my head roll. I'm getting careless when my head's rolling. Garrick, a wild rose of virgin white pinned against his heart. No! I swear there were two of them... or was that my head? Two bards before my eyes... I saw them both! and the other rose was red... This Kagain fella shouldn't be staring that hard at me...

Long before the dawn, I woke up to the sense of being wanted... I knew it. As certain as a deer catching a stranger's smell in the wind, or a guard rising from his slumber in the slow minutes before ambush. No... more akin to someone awakening within the guard's dream, wondering if it was real...

Someone was down there, at the window of my second-floor abode. Waiting... for what?! Everything in the room went still. The last night's ale was gone. I held my breath, the heartbeat paused. Waiting for a knock, a knock at the door of my heart...

The pulse of anticipation throbbing through the air. Only Varscona insisting silently, "Is it yet time to kill?" as much as a blade could whisper, sheathed tight within her scabbard. I was lying flat on my bed, and only the morning sounds of the awakening town, when suddenly... a harp was touched. And the tight space was filled with music... a most unusual melody. O'er the fences and up into the sky, into the open windows like a bird. And flowers, a waterfall of flowers in the serenade dancing... Roses everywhere. In the wind breathed in anxiously by the deer. In the long-stretched minutes of the guard, trying to forget it was time to wake up. And someone in the dream would sigh, knowing it too real to be true...

Coming from the heart, there was everything in the song... the burning desire to reach for a distant touch, and the quiet sorrow of an enchanted lake, an enamored youth. A heart expanding till it would burst, and an almost mournful suspense of a prayer woven into the strings... Everything was there, but one thing. The knock, the one I never heard...

Varscona still insisting silently, "Is it yet time to kill?" Could he have heard it? He ran away. A coda of brisk steps over the gravel, vanishing around the corner. Garrick! One moment, the song was here, the next one, gone. It didn't stay...

But the sleep was over. Hell, what is all that supposed to mean? He must be crazy! And so suddenly, it can't be serious. First Imoen, then this... the song, it just ain't real... it can't be!.. or can it?

My thoughts were interrupted by a visitor. The same Flaming Fist officer, the same woman whose self-disengaging cuirass became subject to so many rowdy jokes... Well, she's been pretty serious this time. I've almost come to suspect the worst. Edwin was supposed to be hiding, his invisibility spells the only defense against long memory of the local justice. But who knows what he might have been shoving his muzzle into... I'll skin him alive if I ever find out him sneaking up on me. Invisible bastard!

But officer Vai didn't come to arrest us for the deaths of Tranzig and that unlucky fatling whose cloak I've been careful enough not to wave into everyone's faces around here. Instead, she offered us as much as fifty gold coins for each bandit scalp we bring in. Geesh, the countryside to the north must be really swarming with bandits, if even the local garrison feels beset and unable to communicate with their higher-ups in Baldur's Gate.

And where did she get the idea about scalps, anyway? The bad examples must be catching...

Throughout the day, a pair of eyes has been following me around. I guess I've got used to feeling an eye or two laid upon certain parts of my body. Strangely, that glance was different. Searching to get a hold of my soul, instead of groping. And I'm not sure if I was enjoying the touch...

The same pair of eyes is now looking straight at me, across the strings of a harp ringing taut. Into my eyes... only they're looking past. Speaking to me, and yet to a different woman.

Many a song, not one igniting an emerald spark. Garrick would sing, and Varscona would reply with a voice. A silent whisper only I could hear. But the small carved statue in my pocket... my fingers would touch it, but it would not respond... it would stay silent.

Willows weeping by a moonlit lake.
Your steps... the sand I kissed and spoke
my oath. The dream I'll always keep.
    ("What do you know of eternal sleep?")

Over lofty mountains shall fly
my song of love. What quest, what strife
a faithful soul wouldn't brave?
    ("Our final home, the murky grave.")

To see it budding like the moon,
your smile, I'd weave a flowering tune
soaring high, my rising hope.
    ("She's hugging tight, the sister rope.")

Before the dawn touches your skin,
I'll part the mirror. It would bring
the longing that the waves entice.
    ("The depth beneath the brother ice.")

The sky is kindled with a fire.
The heart that's burning with desire
can't hold, can't tame a breaking chord.
    ("A heart is better reached with sword.")

My word may shield you! With the harp,
I'll walk my path. For you... That part,
that dream is mine till my last breath!
    ("Eternal doom. A silent death...")

We're leaving on the morrow. The mages are clamoring to pay a visit to the High Hedge. Those flowerbeds... probably still harbor the same undead hate. I shout not be surprised...

That idiot dwarf! I'll teach him to keep his 'dexterous' fingers away from me...

Grrrr, he overtook me at the top of the stairs, on the way to my room. Mumbling something about gold, jewels, pearls... swearing by his beard, and all that crap. Grabbed me so desperately, as if I would disappear, dissolve right before his eyes. Oh, but I would! Damn, he made me so angry. Gotta take a moment to calm down...

Close the eyes and listen to the beat of heart. There... Feel the long loving hands covering my eyes. Have they been wounded lately by what they saw? A long, deep sigh...

Now, the dwarf is plainly getting out of hand. He was begging not to let Garrick go along with us tomorrow. Into the Wood of Sharp Teeth, and beyond... 'Tis time, of course. Long overdue. My small band has been growing fat and idle, and the bandits in the countryside bolder than ever. Just the season to go a'scalp-hunting. But more than the bounty gold, another treasure is glittering afar, from within the mysterious wood. The key to my mystery? What am I, and who am I? Perhaps, I should look at my enemies into a mirror...

Hmm, Edwin seems to have some reasons of his own to venture into the Wood. Not that he's sharing any of them, but there is little doubt that's why he's been keeping up with us.

Edwin... There's a puzzle for the future. You never know what he has on his mind before the fact. But Garrick, he's here and now. Poor Imoen. The boy has lost his mind, what with all those words of the sun, the stars, and the moon within my eyes... oh, no! this cannot be real. Imagine, I'm "a wild rose of virgin white" that he's forever holding against his heart. What, me?! I only hope he would see who I really am on our journey. Imoen shall only be grateful when her bard comes back with open eyes. The girl didn't come out to greet us this time. Would she still be there waiting for us when we're back?

And no worry, he shall be back. Mayhap, scared a bit back into reality, but he doesn't look all that helpless. Both Xzar and Edwin went wide-eyed today when the air turned all fuzzy around Garrick and then coalesced into four identical mirror reflections. Raising his voice to a high pitch, the young bard rushed into battle, all the while hurling magic missiles at our skeleton friends. For indeed, the fields of flowers 'round Thalantyr's abode shall never cease sprouting the undead hate.

Not that the bard's missiles took the breath away from our wizards, nor his battle song, for that matter. They were surprised and flabbergasted by the very fact that a young bard knew the magic tricks that they did not. And that doesn't bode well with the wizards... Well, Edwin was taken aback, at least, as Xzar isn't that much into any kind of illusions. I have little doubt of what scroll the Red Wizard literally snatched away from Thalantyr's hands, even before the gold could finish changing hands...

Aye, Garrick, Garrick... Poor lad! I probably should let him stay here, back in town. His songs are... crazy. Beautiful but crazy. That'll pass. Except... what if he does know The Song? No, Garrick shall go with us. Even if only to spite the dwarf.

We have departed from Beregost without raising much noise. Only a lone wizard with a sharp conical hat and a deeply set pair of eyes showed an unusual concern. He knew Gorion, and he knew me. But he didn't attack us, as so many others who knew either. Nor did he reveal his name... Not much of a friend, really. Although... a look into his eyes made me strangely numb, and I didn't dare to ask. He went on his own way, and we went on ours. We didn't look back, our faces open into the unknown ahead. But I could feel another pair of eyes, so familiar to the point of pain, looking long into our backs from the crowd... into his back. If I could hear them sob, I might have heard a blessing. And a prayer for safe return...

The first day was rather quiet, with the exception of a couple of minor encounters. So I gather from the scalps now neatly arranged at Montaron's belt. He's been scouting far ahead in the tall grasses, the sneaky halfling. Only the harp would add a weave or two into the carpet of long meadows and the sounds of nature. The buzzing of a bee, the insistent chirping of a cricket. Cicadas are now rising at night. The forest ahead is looming high and ominous, but I'm not trying to secondguess the pitch darkness beneath its boughs. Here, at the precarious edge of the open fields, the stars can still be seen, bright and clear...

Garrick, what is he singing to the sea of rising grass wallowing beneath the moonlight? I'm listening, and the night sky is turning into a mirror. Whipped out with the winds and tempered with the bonfire of a thousand sunsets, the giant bowl is reflecting dreams.

The first stars are starting to dot the dark blue over our heads. The constellations, images of the dreams that have already been, and still of those that haven't been invited to be dreamt yet... What am I talking about? Nalin, that priest, he said something about that... His words, strange... what might they really be about?

The first stars are already there. What are they gonna tell me in my dream? Nah... if only I get one!

Larswood. The first one of the wilderness areas that form the foreboding Wood of Sharp Teeth. And the first one of the two where Tranzig used to meet with the envoys of Tazok, his mysterious superior...

Larswood. It has a distinctive flavor, all of its own. With crowded clusters of trees and dense vegetation crisscrossed by an elaborate network of passages, as if carved deep into the forest's flesh by some intelligent beings. Foresters, most likely, ere the wood has grown its teeth. Yet nowadays, the blood that flows through those veins is the ore-laden wagons, the bandit booty. And we're to stay in the realm of shadows off the tracks, lest our own blood would spill out.

Not that we would miss on a fine ambush. Especially, of the kind that end up with more scalps hanging on Montaron's belt. The caravans were many, and poorly guarded. As if already home, or so the bandits thought, no doubt. We made sure they died in peace, at least. In nicely quiet... Kagain is getting better with his crossbow.

Aye for the peace of heart under the boughs of ancient oaks! So elusive... "There is no poem more beautiful than a tree."

Those were Garrick's words. The poor chap stopped beneath a tree, eyes closed in a trance... He opened them again only hours ago, with his head on my lap. And a smile, responding to my healing incantations... For tough and serious was his wound, not unlike the one that Varscona would cause. Cold to the touch. In a second of blistering light, a shining arrow was tearing through the living fabric of the forest, a trail of ice in its wake. The bard was cut down without a cry, without a groan...

As if with a whip, the thoughts and reflexes were sped up with the acute awareness of combat. The moments that followed, with rising sharpness were stretched into minutes. Turn around, knock an arrow, see the shadows shift behind the foliage of green and brown. More arrows of ice were coming our way. I reached for the arrows of fire...

This time, our opponents were more of a match. In the group of seven, at least four were heavily armored, and while three of them were shooting icing death into our midst, their leader was quite impressive with his sword. Teven by name. Before a spiderweb sprouted where his companions stood, he was already cutting his way through our ranks. Xzar's spell helped for a while, but the damn mercenaries knew to use their swords to let themselves free. Montaron was dying under Teven's blade, sinking to the forest floor... It was time for action, an all-out attack! Sleep charms ain't working well when the pulse is whipped up to the point of bursting, as Edwin was soon to find out... A scorching jet of fire suddenly leapt from Xzar's hand, enveloping the bandit leader. Beyond his burning cry of pain, the entire web went up in flames. The fight was soon over, but we had to run away in the hope that the forest hadn't been dry enough these days for the other trees to catch fire.

Before long, we found ourselves in the land of wolves. The bandits weren't frequenting the eastern corners of Larswood, and the packs were running hungry for human meat. Direwolves, too! Where the forest rises in its untouched splendor, I was surprised to find a living man waiting for us within a ring of stones. Alas, Osmadi was the only one alive out of a team of druids that were building their shrine of nature in that desolate place. For some reason, he decided we were those who murdered his brothers. Our words couldn't persuade him, so we had to make do with our weapons...

The mask of folly never fell off the druid's face, and his final cry drowned in the flash of magic missiles. A hooded shadow stepped out from behind the trees. Another druid. Corsone had been watching the fight (silently!) and came out to apologize for the madness that overtook his companion.

Old fool! He thought I knew naught about the madness. Me! Nay, I'd know one when I see it. Osmadi wasn't mad, and soon we knew who really was behind his demise. His 'friend' Corsone. Corsone the Shadow Druid, a sworn enemy of the mainstream druids (I knew as much!). His was the death-dealing and deceit. I think I owe Jaheira a big one...

The fight was joined. But the damn druid had allies on his side. Whether by chance or not, a nearby group of bears turned squarely against us. Half a score of them, the mighty animals were tearing through the spiderwebs, skidding along over the sheets of magic grease toward us, inexorably.

Soon, every single one of us but the cowardly wizards were to taste the bear claws upon our flesh. Corsone's chant was shaking with laughter. Through the blood rolling over my eyelids, I could see Montaron's tiny body, paralyzed with his spell, tossed about by a bear...

Suddenly, a harp was touched. Like a high chord of hope that would never break. A voice of indignation, and eyes ignited with a righteous fire. I have never seen Garrick like that! Shaking off his wounds, he rose up taller that ever before, facing the shadow druid eye to eye. A rage like his could not be stayed, and not for the want of trying... The flash of a dagger thrown with a song on his lips, and the enemy sprawled in the mud, a shrill cry of pain stuck in his pierced throat. The bears ran away, and the bard sank to the ground in exhaustion. There was no friendly hand to sustain his fall...

Aye, Garrick, Garrick! I wish he stopped calling my name in his songs... The rain is now over, but the dark clouds still hurry across the nightly sky, pursued by the wind. The forest is dark and quiet, but I don't like my feeling for the long night ahead... just too foreboding...

Aye, Garrick, Garrick! The night was stormy and violent. I was awakened by a roaring thunder, yet no rain came. The sky was barren, but another flash of lightning revealed the shadows shifting through the trees around our little camp. We were in ambush!

The rain finally came, the rain of arrows. Everyone bolted up and into the woods. I saw Xzar scampering along, falling flat on his belly while clutching onto one of his wands. It didn't take me long to realize there was a narrow way of escape, and into the open. Suspiciously open... Praying that it wasn't a 'golden corridor', an illusion of safety to herd us in to slaughter, I yelled as hard as I could to dive in...

But it was! We were eagerly awaited on the other side, it looked really nasty. Suddenly, there was a wolf. Its howl was joined, many times over. And then... a harp was touched. A lone, breaking chord...

The gait of a wolf is quick and sure. Soon, all over the clearing and far beyond, the joy and foretaste of victory in our attacker's cries gave way to dismay. And then, to silence... Was it Xzar who summoned the pack with his wand? I don't care. They deserved their meal tonight. Only one corpse, one body I didn't let them have... one only...

The bard was lying on his back, with the eyes open. Raised to the sky in a helpless surprise. The harp, cradled to his chest, caught his fingers between the strings, not letting them go. I could almost read his lips, "Why?" I think I know the answer. The confusion of the fight would not hide it. None of our assailants was armed with a crossbow. And a black-shafted bolt pinning the wild rose to the bard's heart was screaming out the name of the killer... All eyes were on the dwarf, and his?

The rose... it turned dark red now. Alas for the poor bard who did not know The Song! His doom was not silent... There is much healing to be done, but I am not ready to face our coming back. I asked Xzar to set a pyre to Garrick's body, the final tribute. Only his harp am I taking along, with its broken sound...

This time, the wind was blowing from the east... With heavy heart, I took Ashideena away from Kagain. A weapon of love shall no longer rest in his hand. Nor shall my trust. Wait they will, languish, as long as it takes. I don't care...

The dwarf was trembling as I was looking him straight in the eye. Not for his life alone, but for something else... Everyone was watching. Montaron with his usual mocking half-smile. Xzar glaring, licking his lips. Edwin... with a silent mask upon his face. Everyone knew who murdered the bard. No one seemed to care.

Except Kagain. The dwarf was afraid. Afraid of losing what he had, afraid of what was yet to come. Face to face, I saw tears swelling in the dwarven eyes...

Just like with tears, the face of Peldvale is beaded with small lakes. Each reflecting the same still sky over our heads. Everything around is rotten. Stumped trees were rising before us, the naked branches waved in warning. The soft wet soil squeaking beneath our boots, "go... a-way... go... a-way..." Only gibberlings and an occasional pack of wild dogs live off the land turning slowly into a swamp. Maybe, other nasty things too. We didn't venture into the heart of Peldvale today. With the dark descending upon this desolate place, we turned back to break our camp at the swamp's edge.

Here we met Viconia. First, we heard a female voice, surprisingly melodious. And then, the waterfall of white hair haloing around the dark of her skin. There is a beauty in fear. A drow! The sound of metal reaching out from the scabbards. And a long stretched note of anticipation... Surprisingly, hers was a plea for help, succor, and shelter. I don't know why I said yes. Maybe, it was that long glance from Edwin?

Her terror was swift to come upon her heels. A Flaming Fist soldier in pursuit. Just like all of them, so full of himself! They think they are the law, and everyone should obey their every whim. In their dreams! They must have never heard the word 'no'. I swear, he was chasing a dark elf, not a criminal. And when we refused to give her in, he had the temerity to sentence all of us to death. All six of us! The arrogant fool...

Still, he wasn't easy to bring down. Long was the dance of steel and thick the blood. Three times did he try to pull out a spell. Almost succeeded, when a pair of magic missiles shot from Edwin's hands. Sparkling stars cutting through the dark. The Flaming Fist dropped to the ground where he stood. Viconia... There was a stretched pause, and a long glance back. She chose to stay...

That was at midnight. But even now, they're not asleep. Might as well guard the camp, my turn is over. Whatever shall we do tomorrow? The search for any 'emissary' of Tazok yielded naught but corpses. And only arrows and sharp steel around every corner. Xzar and Edwin suggest we join the bandits. Perhaps, they're right...

Tomorrow we'll see the bandit camp, at last! Opportunity is there, but so is danger. Tazok must be there, as far as Raiken can tell. But the bandits only laugh when I'm asking about their leader. Either that or fall silent in fear. Better get ready for any surprises...

The day started out on a tough note. In our flight the other night, we were driven far away from the main route of the bandit caravans by which they were bringing their ore spoils home. We were set to find them again... Only this time, it proved harder than I thought. If the group of elite mercenaries we found with Teven in Larswood was bad enough, here we had more of them. And every single darn bandit well-stocked with the ice arrows. Viconia chanted, and the familiar sounds filled my body with strength, my soul with bitter memories. Branwen... Viconia... The same ring of holiness should look good on her.

The bandits were getting many and tougher as we were going on. And more at home. There was the feeling of getting ever closer to our quarry. At one time, a large group of flinds paraded through the swamp in our plain sight. All yelling and barking, and splashing the mud all around, as if there was nothing to fear. I didn't know Edwin could understand their language. So, there are also flinds and gnolls at Tazok's disposal, besides the humans. With little love lost between them, to be sure... We tried to sneak past quietly, but the flind's doglike keen sense of smell discovered us even through the swamp's stinking vapors. Too bad for the flinds, of course. Too bad for us too, for we've quite exhausted our healing arts now, between me and Viconia.

Something curious about the drow maiden... A lithe frame, almost all too frail to support her, yet bending well to the dancing rhythms of combat. It went suddenly rigid, just once, at the shriek of huge spiders issuing from their hiding place, almost at the other edge of the deadwood swamp. No doubt, hunting for some human meat that's been steadily flowing in with the bandit caravans.

So, our drow cleric no longer serves that spider abomination Lloth... After all was over, I looked into Viconia's eyes. The deepest pools I have ever seen, with a strange sorrow behind them. Frozen, as when the fight with the spiders just started. Frozen with memories?!

Without a word, a reassuring pat on her shoulder. She shrugged it off with a steel edge in her eyes.

Almost immediately after crossing the Peldvale swamp, we stumbled upon the caravan tracks. And Raiken, the bandit. I don't know what convinced him to take us in. Maybe, the tingle of primordial fear of darkness when the hood fell from upon Viconia's face? The face that surely knows the dark beyond the bandit's wildest dreams.

Even now, as we're sitting around a campfire, a few hours' ride away from the main camp, I can see many a glance slide toward the drow maiden, only to jerk away as fast as it could. The fear of the spawn of Underdark. Perhaps, it shall keep our newly acquired 'friends' at bay. The bandits are all around us, armed and beware. Hard to say if we're guests or prisoners here. We'll see about that at the camp...

Well, well, if we're not lucky! Almost got ourselves killed, we did. This mysterious Tazok turned out to be an ogre! Something unexpected for a leader of so meticulously organized effort. No, there must be more behind this whole deal. There must be someone else...

Just imagine, an ogre leading all of this?! Almost smart enough to remember that a secret operation can be jeopardized by recruiting random people off the road. So much for Raiken's blubber of "thinking about keeping our numbers up." Luckily, Tazok ain't the brightest of his kind. Certainly, not fit for an ogre mage, if he could be puzzled by Edwin's riddle pulled up from his sleeve at the last moment,

"Would you rather have too few and need more, or have too many and not need them at all?" For laughs! This Red Wizard is rather cool at times, you know. As if I saw any others, of course...

Tazok left, but soon we were accosted by another ugly. Tersus the hobgoblin, scrambling six suits of leather armor for us, as if we didn't have any better. He only knows to do what he's told. Man, does he ever bother to look around?! He hardly knew if that were the Zhentarim or the Iron Throne running this place. Hmm, Iron Throne, now that's a new name to think about. Who called it out first, Edwin? Hobgoblin interrogator! Could his be a lucky guess? Likely, but an association in name with the iron crisis, nothing more.

I knew this whole enterprise is big, but only now am I starting to realize its true size. And that's, no doubt, but the tip of an iceberg! With the entire camp at our disposal, it's just the time to dive in and sort everything out.

It's getting more and more interesting with every hour... There are two mercenary leagues involved, the human Black Talons and the hobgoblin Chill. Not counting several scores of gnolls and flinds, but those are disdained by everyone else here. A ramshackle bunch, always up to some brawling. Already after dark, we were accosted by just such a 'friendly trio'. The custom is rough here, and the flind with his gnoll buddies ended up swallowing their own blood.

Nothing to fear, I gather. We're answering to Taugosz Khosann, the leader of the Black Talon, and neither the Talons nor the Chill care one little damn about the stinking dogs. Hey, quite a few were openly laughing while we were teaching those hooligans manners!

Which reminds me... Taugosz 'Tenhammer' Khosann had some really interesting news to share. He told us that Tazok is hiring the Talons for the Zhentarim. The Zhentarim?! Must've seen Xzar's face. Either the man is sincerely surprised, or else...

No, they wouldn't have gone into this together with us if they knew what it was about. But still, not all Zhentarim might know what the others of their kind are about, the secretive bunch as they are. So 'tis better to keep a sharp eye on the pair of our own.

I'll need to talk to Edwin about that... But whoever is running this camp, one thing is certain. They are guaranteed my closest attention. Everyone around here is told to watch out for "a young woman known as Bethphel." Thankfully, hardly anyone knows the description! That's the prerogative of a few hand-picked assassins, I suppose. Well, gotta be careful... Or should they be careful? For whatever reason their leaders are not pleased with my existence, I'm dead set to remind them of that... and soon!

For now, the camp... No, it's not all at our disposal. That large imposing tent o'er there? All plush and comfort, gather? The heavily guarded one, see? The Tazok's tent?.. Out of reach. Trespassing is punishable by death. Tazok himself left for a mine, and I'm willing to bet a fortune I don't have that the insides of the tent know just what that mysterious mine is all about.

We must find a way to sneak into that tent somehow. Let's see if our halfling ferrets anything of value out of the tightlipped mercenaries. Too much wine and ale have an amazing ability to untie tongues.

If only we stay here for long enough! Like today, we were assigned to the camp perimeter for scouting duties. An easier task, to be sure. There is not much around 'ere to jeopardize the camp's security. The location's been chosen well. Only a few hobgoblins here and there, either not related to the Chill, or else not all of the Chill are real friendly to the Talons.

Viconia, the girl has a character. And a "lil alurl". Twice was she badly wounded by those goblins. And both times she punished her attackers, not letting anyone else steal her revenge.

She's dancing now, 'round the fire. Her face away from the flames, and into the darkness... A captivating web of fluid motion, a thoroughly strange, spider-like grace. I wonder if she even realizes that. A dance of fear in the onlookers' eyes. I guess Montaron will have to wait for a better time to start...

A surprise assignment. We were awakened rather rudely this morn, with the orders to go ore-hunting west from here and north of Friendly Arm Inn. And report back in three days' time. A dangerous mission for starters, considering the major route for Baldur's Gate goes right there, with but a trifle of distance to the city. Either we impressed someone yesterday, or else are thoroughly despised. Not hated, no... if they wanted to kill us, here is the place to do it, all right.

Regardless, I have but little time to even jot down these notes. We must ready ourselves and be gone. But we'll be back. Oh, we shall be back! I swear... Taugosz thinks we are weak, so I should fear him.

And yet... "The fear is better placed with out quarry!" He laughed, he doesn't know yet what my quarry is... but he will.

It was a cruel and malicious joke. With little ore to hunt, we're accosted by swarms of ankhegs instead. Whatever caravans were ever headed for the city of Baldur's Gate, they've long since been stopped and pillaged far south from here. For some odd reason, however, the Flaming Fist patrol the road here so intensely that the only thing an honest bandit can do during the daylight is duck and hide in the forests till the moon come.

And then there are those acid-spitting bugs. 'Tis the mating season, folks! The females are coming up to the surface to gain weight. Or so we've been told by Gerde, a local ranger bent on containing the overgrown ankheg population...

The son of a bitch! I remember that smile on the messenger's face telling us of this assignment. Drat! I'll smear those lips all across his pimple-ridden face the next time I see 'em.

The intense shadows of the night are soon to melt down into the blooming sunfire. Ain't no rest for the sleepless eyes! When was the last time we were so thoroughly exhausted? Totally drained out. Kagain's armor is one rusty mess, all eaten away by acid. If mine weren't magical... Ahh, not a healing potion left, and even the mages are out of spells. There... Xzar is prostrated on the ground like a speechless log, and if he could move now, that would've been magic! He's been good tonight, though. When the hope was as thin as the threads of the spiderweb torn apart by four overgrown insects, burrowing out of the ground, his was the roaring flame! A fireball exploded, engulfing the web. The ankhegs just don't know how to cry...

The Flaming Fist must've been sleeping too hard. For everyone to see, Xzar lit our signal fires, but we really hardly had a choice. Those ankhegs are just too many, at every step. By the time we reached a lone farm, the bugs got the better of us...

The farmer Brun's son fared so much worse, however. His father thought we killed him. Ran away the moment he saw us approaching. Come the morning, he'll see that he was wrong. I had Kagain drag his son's body right to his doorstep. We found the corpse in the underground caves just west from the farm. Unmistakably mauled by the heavy ankheg jaws.

Aye, 'twas a cruel joke, indeed! Well, we're now better off to face the challenge. When we're back, and that we will... In the very same caverns, beneath the corpse and a pile of crushed bones, there was a veritable magical treasure to be found. Contested in blood and acid. Here, far from prying eyes, for the first time I witnessed the real magnitude of the raw power that our wizards could unleash. Magic bolts sizzling through the pitch darkness to strike unerringly their target. Jets of fire bursting through the passageways ahead of us. A glowing orb, its eerie light dressing the cave walls with a colorful carpet of moving shadows...

Who could tell among them the one of a small drow maiden? One look into her eyes, the clap of her hand meeting mine in the air, her palm was quivering with anticipation. I knew that. She was at home here, at the long last... a fish beating its gills on the surface, she's breathing the darkness freely here.

Who can find a drow in a dark cave, especially if she's no longer there? The music of the underground has a beat of its own, it's in the rush of blood against the temples, "boom... boom..." The ancient human fear of being buried alive, what's it for a drow? The joy of being born anew into the bosom of the mother earth, her pangs beating against the heart, "boom... boom..."

She knew the rhythm well. She was fighting to it, living to it, killing with it. Step, swing, step, backside. Step, step, and again... In the narrow passages, she's been one with the walls. In the wide caverns, one with the dark air. Sliding silently along to emerge in a killing strike. A frail shadow against the hulking ankheg, never afraid to close in. A weapon all by herself... Stealing a kill away from Edwin every time the mage was about to set the score. As if the vixen had been playing laughs with him!

Aye, Vicki, Viconia! The treasure is rightly hers, but am I to guess who'd be getting the most of it? "These crutches are for the weak of heart!" At least, I made sure she'd keep the boots of avoidance taken from the dwarf for our underground expedition. Why am I feeling so strangely warm at the thought that it might keep her safe?

Unusually warm, this sunrise... The rays of the sun are reaching forth to touch my face. I'll just close my eyes, and...

No! Stop it!! The same face is rising again before my eyes, the face that shall never see the sun again. Alas for poor Ajantis, the paladin who was alone in the night braving the tough road. He was out there for the bandits, and we just happened to come along. He fought well, but... but is it that simple, really? His face is standing before my closed eyes, as of the moment Montaron landed his fatal blow from behind. So noble, and so... innocently helpless. Dynaheir... the witch was merciless and resolute. So different, and yet with the same unspoken message.

Am I doing anything wrong? Am I on the wrong side of things? No one to ask, and the dead do not want to answer...

They've finally had their rest. A string of faces gazing at me from behind a mirror. Untouchable... they would glance and leave, and come back again. Shining with the final defiance, Dynaheir would morph into Branwen, so surprisingly gentle at the touch of death. Dreamy Garrick, his eyes rising past mine to conjure my image somewhere above, detached, would mold into the noble visage of Ajantis, the paladin who knows his duty to look the enemy straight in the eye...

I would see them everywhere. In the seemingly endless hours of our southward march, slavering under the weight of the ankheg hulls. And in the depth of blazing fire, behind the mask of gibberling faces, distorted with the scorching pain. In the quiet of the sunset, and in the rising heat of battle.

For that, I was ready. I was ready to face the dead. I couldn't bear to face the living...

This time, we were greeted back at Beregost. Even before my numb feet could carry me into the range of her eyes, I saw a tiny little figure waiting patiently at the side of the road. So painfully familiar... A sharp, piercing knowledge when our eyes met. Without words, I knew she's been coming to the road every morning to leave at dusk, with the dust of hope settling upon the heavy lids.

She wanted to ask me. Without words, I returned her the harp. Without words, for I lost any...

Burn those wizards! I was ready to leave ere the evening shadows, but no! Damn Edwin was nowhere to be found, and so was Viconia. Hiding, for sure. One a suspect in Tranzig's murder, and another a drow. They did right hiding their sorry hides... but not from me! Cursed son of a bitch... As if he didn't know we were to go back to the bandit camp as soon as possible. And damn it, if I don't want to be away from this pissant town!

It took me long enough to cajole Taerom "Thunderhammer" into forging a nice suit of armor out of those ankheg shell. The "armorsmith of the mastery unsurpassed along the Sword Coast," by the word of Volo's own mouth. He's charging well, too... Twenty thousand in solid gold from a noble for a suit of ankheg armor! Had to agree on "mere" four thousand for us, though. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gotten the second shell for free.

Ah, bother! And just when I was ready to leave, they were anywhere but in the right place! What was I supposed to do? To keep measuring the blasted streets with my steps?! Invisible bastards... I would not have guessed there was such a 'special affinity' between the red and the black. A Red Wizard of Thay and a dark elf from Underdark, drawn together yet always ending up bickering between themselves? Nay, drawn together again...

Fine! Fine, of course! They finally showed up by morning. And they've sure been together all the night long. How do I know? 'Cause I heard 'em before I could see 'em. Well, well... here they are, and so 'tis time to go!

...and better soon! Another quill broken. We'll be away before the ink dries out. Thick dark droplets smeared across the parchment like blood over a bridal gown. Slow to soak in... Hate this place, I won't stay here one more minute. A tenday till the ankheg armor is ready, and I'll be damned if I'm coming back before the time is up.

Imoen's eyes. They do not burn, they do not curse, they do not speak. And no anger. I have seen much along the way, with a pair of invisible wings to shield my face. But before those eyes, they part in silence.

We were already making a turn around the walled Friendly Arm Inn, when the northern wind brought a sudden chill into our bones. The raindrops soon were hanging out as an impenetrable curtain, its ends brushing over the lousy mire beneath our feet. Viconia was swearing so hard, I bet the drow mothers couldn't have spooked their drow children any worse than that with their tales of the life on the surface. I share her attitude, for I hardly remember myself another storm so fierce, or a wind so sinister. For once, I wouldn't have minded a decent cave to bury ourselves in.

We're now sitting quietly back at the Inn. I'm sure they're all quiet, they must be. I feel it, something mournful about the rain... Through the haze outside the window, a moaning sound. As vague and uncertain as our future. At least, something good would come out of our forced visit to this hamlet. The temple at Beregost was out of healing potions, and we sure would need some in the wilderness.

The wind sighed, and the door into my room croaked and opened. Kagain stepped in. I have never seen the dwarf so talkative as tonight. He actually gave a speech! Peering into the windows silently for a while, he started on a slow tale of a small dwarven mine far away. The one that knew him as a child, the one he had to leave with his coming of age. Their law was not for his liking, but the memories linger. He still remembers the voices. Did he have any friends back there?

The world is big. He'd had the taste of the human law and that of the halflings. He'd learnt that the same things could be punished and rewarded, and that the blood of an innocent is of the same color as that of a convicted criminal. He'd learnt how to make peace with the law and still rip the benefits of his schemes...

No, his eyes weren't on the windows anymore. He's found his law at last, his eyes were upon me... only this time it was hurting. "But I am steadfast," sigh... "strong and steadfast..."

Staring into the face of the rain, I couldn't make out the small mine far away. The dwarven voices trailed away into the darkness, and only a silent tower in the distance. A lonely apparition in white by a lit window, peering through the same curtain of shadows. My lonely self back at Candlekeep. Have I ever left it yet? I don't want to.

So lonely... I did not hear the dwarf leave.

The bloodied gnoll corpses have been taken away into the other cavern. Still some died without blood, like that flind over there. He thought two wizards would make an easy meal...

The flame arrows burn from within. Garclax's ugly snout was roaring over me, as we fought, head to head and toe to toe. Varscona froze his flindbar in a block, but it wasn't the shrill sound of their impact that sent the fiery sparkles flying. In that instance, our eyes met, and I saw a burning pain bulge out of his orbits. Another flame arrow... they burn from within. I've never seen Edwin do that kind of magic before, and neither did the gnolls. They broke and tried to run away... only there was nowhere to run.

The dump stone walls of the cave are crowding in. The gnolls thought it was theirs, and now it's all ours. Alas... 'tis but a prison. At least, Garclax with his buddies went here for debauching the day before. But what about us?! As soon as we showed ourselves at the bandit camp, we were arrested and escorted to this dunk place. With no explanation given. Those dirty-mouthed hobgoblins... Why were we given out to the Chill, anyway?

The thoughts are racing in my head. Are we really punished for being just one day late? I wish this were the case, but... no, that can't be that simple. Man, man, man... Wait. Could anyone see us going south to Beregost? Drat, we shouldn't have stayed at the inns. Oh, that was stupid, stupid! But then, what's the point in hiding when we're walking, straight as day, into the Thunderhammer Smithy? Damn, damn, damn... And at the Friendly Arm... Just everything wrong! What to do? What to do?! Maybe, someone was spying on us all along? No, why would they do that... They could've just kept us here, on a short leash. Unless... unless they were testing us... of course! Could have they found out my real name?! I'm well known around Beregost, and if they were indeed spying on us... No, can't be. We would've been killed on the spot, everyone trying to be the first to cut my throat, why maroon us here overnight? Burn me if I know! Most likely this whole matter ain't worth a second thought, and we're gonna be released in the morn. Or is it, really?

The sun is setting down slowly, and the final blinks of light are framing around the massive stone covering the cave's opening. As if trying to squeeze in for the final goodbye... The whole life's a game, but the bluffing time could have well been over.

In the name of goodness, whatever am I supposed to do now?! The goblin sentries won't say a word other than their dirty curses. "YOU BE QUIET!"

I'll be quiet. Nothing much to say. Soon, 'tis gonna be as dark here as in a grave. The morning would tell if we're to see again the light of day. But should we really wait for the sun?..

Edwin! The man is sure full of surprises. You never know what he's up to till the fact. For hours he'd rest, motionless, by a slab of stone deep inside the cave, his eyes thoroughly shut, completely ignoring the silence. The next moment, he wakes up and, in the same silence, walks toward the cave's opening to mock the guard. The stupid hobgoblin turns toward us, but doesn't finish his stroll...

The movements, even words, are slow in the drowning darkness. Until the glimmering residues of a charm spell outlined the relief of frozen anticipation, the shadows magnified against the walls. That instant, the weapons were touched, the blades drawn, and long, slender hands raised for a spell or a prayer. A spring taut and ready to release...

The massive rock was already rolling away from the mouth of the cave, and the starlight, blended with the scattering of camp fires, was cutting a broad swath into the darkness that once seemed impenetrable. Questions... What was he doing, that Red Wizard? What were we heading into? To take on the entire camp, with hundreds and hundreds of experienced warriors?! Perhaps, we too were under the trance. That night, the Sword was high in the starry sky...

Soon, the cave's walls echoed anew with the hideous barking of gnolls. More than a dozen of their elite warriors came out of thin air at the wave of Edwin's wand. I can swear it used to be in Xzar's possession. If those wizards could swap their staves, not to mention agreeing on anything between themselves without me noticing, then I must've been totally blind, indeed! Just when had all of that been happening? A quiet invisible voice, "I'll be right back. Get ready..." and the entire gamut followed. It took him but a couple of minutes, and when we left the cave, we stepped straight into a veritable mayhem of destruction...

I was told later how our unlucky goblin guard approached Ardenor Crush himself, the leader of the Chill, and planted a blade of hard steel between his ribs instead of reporting. The next moment, a gnoll throng issued from the open cave under Edwin's invisible command, swamping the place and finishing the job before anyone had a chance to react. The momentary stupor, however, was soon over, giving way to confusion and panic...

"Garclax on the loose!! Ardenor dead!!" I didn't expect a heartier greeting for a bunch of breakaway prisoners. The hobgoblins were exacting their revenge on the flinds and gnolls from the camp, and I have even seen some of them fighting among themselves. For the late Ardenor's portfolio, no doubt... The Talons were just gaping, indecisive, until the tents started catching fire, prompting the obvious course of action.

The eastern part of the camp was denuded of any guard. Dark and challenging, Tazok's tent was looming in the distance. It was a short run, following Viconia's lead. Nay, it was that invisible bastard. They must've been holding hands through that night...

Before the last flap was cast aside into the tent's inner chambers, I could feel my blood rush wild in a surge of courage. Jaheira's magic, this time coming from Edwin, surprising! And an invisible protective barrier all around me. Viconia started to chant the moment we stepped in, and Xzar already had a sleeping spell in the works. There was no point in deluding ourselves. That was the hour of battle!

Tazok was not there, though. Still away from the camp. But we had our hands full, anyway, what with four of his goons, three of them wide awake and a massive flind snoring. The mage was all in mirrors and already busy casting a horror spell. In vain... his was not the power. Arrows, enchanted and not, was our response. The flame of Thay, burning from within, found two victims that night. A dangerous archer, lurking in shadows, was paralyzed by Viconia and slaughtered mercilessly in a savage drow fashion. His longbow of marksmanship did not get my chance to shoot. Still, Kagain tasted the poison of his arrows, as well as the sharp edge of Raemon's blade. Varscona likes to strike from behind. She feasted well, and wanted more...

I did not let her. The last man in the tent was our friend, after all, if an enemy of the enemy could indeed be construed as such. Ender-Sai, a prisoner patiently awaiting his execution. If not for our timely arrival, he would've likely never seen the light of day.

His was a touching story. Ardenor Crush died without learning the truth! Tazok wasn't working for the Zhentarim, much to Xzar's relief. No, but for the Iron Throne, after all Just who those people are and what mischief they're up to, I'm yet to learn. But I have no need for soft-soled shoes, like Ender-Sai does to tell whose toes he's treading on. I already know whose toes my boots will crush into goo. The documents in Tazok's warded chest only confirmed his words.

That was a night of many an unexpected meeting. As soon as we left the tent, we were confronted with Taugosz Khosann, swiftly heading our way. Surprise was on our side, and if Viconia's spell failed to stop the warrior, Montaron was already walking with shadows. His was the sneaky stab in the back that stunned Taugosz cold. A blade whistling through the cracks between the shifting plates of armor ceased its song, drawing blood instead. Almost at the same time, a jet of fire and a flame arrow lit his once arrogant face, now half-aware of the coming doom. A better target for my arrows I could have hardly found...

By means of what powerful magic Edwin was able to lift inert Tenhammer's body and carry it away along with his fancy plate armor, I probably will never know. The man was just omnipresent that night. Back into the clearing before vanishing into the woods, Xzar launched a skull, suspending it magically to float in the air. A trap... There was not gonna be a happy chase through the night, after all.

Ahh, a long detour ahead... In a single breath, Edwin led us all the way into this remote corner of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. And what a way, indeed! Danger behind every tree, every rock, and in every hole. All of that just to meet a bunch of arrogant Red Wizards?! Edwin must've been aiming for this God-forsaken place ever since the Rashemen witch was finished. That would explain his interest in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. And the dangers along the way sure would account for his desire of having us for an escort.

I wonder what they're talking about now, out there in those weird ruins. I wouldn't be surprised if they're deciding on the most efficient way to dispose of the witnesses! One more such glance, and I'm gonna do something nasty. We might look like sell-swords, but we're no lackeys of Thay, nor... nor of the Zhentarim, for that matter. Xzar with his halfling ain't happy as well, clearly taken aback by the Red Wizards presence en force in these woods. But the look on Viconia's face! She's gonna have Edwin's hide, and I'm gonna enjoy it, too...

Well, while the red-robed ones have much to talk about, I have as much food for thought. Might as well be making my own plans without paying attention to those creeps. If they attack, that's gonna be the last thing they do.

The documents from the Tazok's tent all converge on a secret iron mine in the midst of the Cloakwood. There is someone there the ogre's getting his orders from. And if that's the case, then it is a must-see attraction for me!

But first, the Firewine ruins. I've heard much of them already in Beregost, what with all the treasure troves they're rumored hold. Tazok's letters only seem to fill them with kobolds. The very source of Mulahey's power, if I remember correctly... A new emissary, under the name Lendarn, has since been dispatched in his stead. Well, the halfling village of Gullykin is square in our path, and it would've been a shame if we didn't pay a visit. Edwin is right. The only thing worse than a job not done is a job half-finished...

Hmm, the sun is creeping slowly toward the horizon, and those wizards are still not done talking! I'm not gonna waste any more time on that. They can wait here, for all I care. A druid, Fahrington, is searching for his 'scroll of wisdom', and I wonder if we should try to find it ahead of him.

Just gotta be careful. All kinds of creatures are roaming in the woods, and some are more dangerous than the others. I knew there were a lot of wolves here, but a vampiric wolf?! I wanna hear Xzar's tale, why he was so terrified of the beast. That wolf was tough, though. The good ole' normal weapons don't leave a mark on its glossy coat, it takes a special enchantment to shed its blood. I'm sure glad that Viconia has power over roots and all kinds of sprouting vegetation. I didn't know the drow could wield the surface magic. Mayhap, she indeed is no longer serving their spider powers?

The moment we rose to our feet, Edwin parted with his compatriots. I have no idea what they were discussing so vehemently, and if he got more assignments to do. I was almost looking forward to an entertaining fight. But he wants to stay with us, after all! The look on Viconia's face... No, his hide is gonna be safe. If a bit worse for wear!

Well, 'tis easy to say 'hop'. Not so easy to do it, especially if you're jumping across a forest full of spiders. In all shapes and sizes...

Edwin was warned by the Red Wizards, of course. Still, one thing to know of the danger, and an entirely different one to actually discover it where one least expects. And don't tell me those were normal spiderwebs. I would see them from a distance! No, those were elaborate, hidden traps. No doubt, laid out by those ugly creatures, ettercaps by all descriptions. The only humanoids who manage to get along with spiders, they're just as hideous as their eight-legged friends.

And what friends! One of those giant spiders would only blink, and lo! its maw's already right above your face. Some were not unlike vampiric wolves in their resistance to ordinary steel. Yet another spider hardly needed any webs to immobilize its prey. For the sheer terror of eight swords in place of legs, protruding from the plated hide and rotating widely, scything through the wood and metal alike with blinding speed! Yet no web is without a weak spot. And any sort of spiders burn spectacularly from within as much as from without...

Still, the nightbreak found us back in the company of the very same Red Wizards we were hoping to have parted with for good. We've found the druid's wretched scroll, of course. With the same tasloi that must've stolen it from Fahrington.

But the day's labor sure took a heavy toll on us. When Kagain, even our stout dwarf was falling numb in stupor, filled to the brim with the spider poison, I realized we won't cut through the webs by the evening. Edwin suggested retreat.

No idea what would change by the morning, only Xzar informed me he's gonna know by then if the scroll is any good. The tall flames of the campfire are casting troubled shadows upon the drow's face. The spiders should be afraid to approach the fire. Not in her dreams. What is she seeing, the mane of silvery hair tossing in her sleep? Lips combining into silent words in her ancient tongue...

Slowly, I come to realize that I'm not the only one watching. Those eyes... they share the same concern.

In the hour of my watch, the night sky overturned, and I became acutely aware of the myriad of tiny lights dancing around me, as if the stars themselves chose to descend upon our camp. The brooding noises of the forest were cut off abruptly, as if with magic. Thick silence laid its chin on the soft paws, waiting for something to come... listening to itself...

A lithe shadow rose up from the ground, wading through the sea of fireflies, toward me. I stood up and held her hand. It was trembling yet warm at touch. Even before I met her eyes, a brief pulse of convulsion sent an urgent call through my nerves, up along the arm, and straight into my heart. I shuddered, and embraced. She silently wept...

We were sitting long by the glowering coals of the campfire. A watch for the two, yet only one was truly awake. Both sharing the same dream. She was the storyteller, and I was the listener. The painter and the watcher. In her words, alive with the savage music of the drow tongue, the glittering spires of Menzoberranzan were rising beneath the huge vaulted domes of the Underdark, and the enchanted glow of the underground day was teaching a strange tune to the human night. Strange music of a foreign world, where pure notes are dark and the female voice is by far the strongest.

Yet in her eyes, the fell fires raging, and spiders crawling out of their bloodshot web. Devouring the children of sleepless nights, the torment of her dreams...

As the razor of time was edging slowly toward the horizon, and the pitch dark of the sky was brightening up, washed out with tears, a sudden star shot down across the sky. Viconia shook off her dream, and smiled. "The night has granted me power. Do not fear the webs, they shall part..."

The fireflies? They were gone, but I could still feel a lingering touch of magic, spiraling 'round the drow's hair into the dissipating night. Shar, the power of night, was now answering her call...

We talked some more. About Edwin, among other things, who soon rose to replace me. About how much he thinks of himself and how he needs a drow woman to teach him manners. Before he reached us, however, I caught a wink with a whisper, "Well, he's a male, after all..."

I wonder now what that might mean! I think I'm gonna close my eyes with a smile this time...

Before her magic the webs did part. The way through the forest was much easier this time. The strands of spiderwebs were breaking, cut asunder with our passage. Sliding around our bodies as if quivering in fear. So must've been the spiders themselves, suddenly insecure in their own domain. Undisturbed and uncontested, soon we would see the treeline at the southern edge of the Wood of Sharp Teeth.

Before we left, we paid one last visit to Fahrington. His 'scroll of wisdom' turned out to be a cursed piece of shit, and if Xzar's chill pronouncement raised anything among us, it was the unanimous desire to return the scroll where it belonged. Unfortunately for him, the druid would rather have us keep it... I don't like to be fooled. Montaron eagerly did what had to be done.

The rest of our journey was unremarkable, except for a few chance meetings by the end. First, we were confronted by a strange swordswoman, frantic for a male to test her fighting skills against. Now, that's some novel use of the opposite sex, I wager! Kagain made us proud, although I was dubious about the result of that little duel till the very end. Shar-Teel, or so does our 'amazon' style herself, is a fine warrior indeed. Following us now out of the shame. Not too strong an attachment, to be sure, but I'm glad to have her on our side.

At least, for the time being... There is something weird about this place, more so than the silliness that had Kagain hack and slash in a gleeful abandon with his equally crazy challenger. And while quick healing is being administered to the vanquished, he's jousting cheerfully about, displaying his wounds in what he thinks must be the 'manly' fashion. Happy as a child... Silly dwarf! Does he really think he could still impress me? This is getting increasingly annoying...

I don't like the kind of surprises that this land seems to possess in abundance... Talking ghouls! Ghouls that know their name. Hungry ghouls that would help seek the adventurer's quarry rather than the adventurers themselves.

I don't like the feel of it. The air here stinks of... insanity. The voices in my head... brooding. "You were made as you are..." A weight pressing heavily against my skull... So, that's the insanity of the undead! If ghouls start talking, should I be so surprised? "...and you can also be broken." Insane chuckle...

Korax, the ghoul that's following us now. I can feel his steady gaze. I feel it, the hunger for a touch. I won't let a wail out...

If only we weren't so badly exhausted, I would've left this cursed place at once!

There is a 'stonegarden' of sort at the edge of the forest. Where the time stops. A man or a women, a child or a beast, all of them are caught between the sure gait of their steps and eternal suspense, between the warmth of their hearts and the cold of their stone.

Have you ever heard the sound of a word half-uttered? Bring your ear to the frozen lips, but do not be fooled by the wail of the wind within the gaping hollow...

There was only one living shadow in that garden of eternal waiting that went out to meet us. Edwin must've expected the gnome to be here, but he was hardly prepared to the kind of greeting that Mutamin extended. If the diminutive mage used to serve the Red Wizards once, now he was a servant to his insanity alone. Meet his pets... "They sculpt with their eyessss."

His basilisks knew their job well, and even if Edwin had a couple of spells ready to protect us against turning into stone, he would've hardly had time to pull them off... If not for Korax. Impervious to their petrifying gaze, he slowly slumbered forward, hungry for some lizard meat.

Mutamin quickly mirrored out, and then each of his numerous copies started to cast, without doubt, some even more powerful illusion to bedazzle us. Alas! there were enough of us to hit each of his images. The false mirrors were broken, and he was soon thrashing in his death throes. Too bad, Korax had a short attention span. Started feasting on the very first lizard he brought down, he did.

'Tis sure good to know that you're protected from the basilisk gaze, but a totally different thing to go out and test it! Standing face to face against the greater of the giant lizards. We managed it, though. The longbow that we found at the Tazok's tent is truly one of high marksmanship, and together with the bracers of archery it rocks! I've never felt so much power at my fingertips. The bowstring sings to my ears the same neverending song. It shall guide me through many a night yet.

The ghoul's loyalty, on the other hand, was brief. With Mutamin's last agonizing breath, the fabric of insanity around this place was breached, but we didn't realize it at once... A touch from behind. A ghoul's touch. Freezing blood, paralyzing, numbing senses. I knew it was behind me, but couldn't turn around. A sting of deathly cold in every part of my body. Long minutes of waiting, in longing for warmth...

It slowly returned. Kagain was not so lucky. For him, the fight will never be over. The dwarf shall have to spend the night with the same battle rage chiseled upon his face, enchanted axe raised in a silent warning toward the stars. Many a night...

What better way to preserve his loyalty? The greater basilisk has sculpted well... His gauntlets of dexterity shall be a meager consolation upon waking up from his stone slumber. Only when the time is up... and not a shred sooner.

I woke up in cold sweat... In the dream, the bandit camp was lying headless beneath my feet. The smoke of burning tents was billowing high, over the pointed crowns of the black pines. I could see over them, and beyond. Over the seemingly endless blanket of the forest, a sea without a shore in sight.

My head was rising high, and I could soar in the wind. Through the intense darkness of the night, the distant horizon was speeding toward me, none the closer. Glowering with the thin strip of dawning color, the sharpened edge of a giant scythe aiming for the night like for a bundle of ripe ears. Ready to strike...

I felt the shock as if a cord were snapped. A fleeting sound... Was that a mother's lullaby? Or a soothing whisper of assassin with his dagger half-way through your heart? The voice returned, "Such pride undeserved, great conqueror, when your whole being is borrowed. Credit where it is due, and dues where payment is demanded."

I recognized the voice... and lost it like a thread from memory. The dream was taking a turn. Something colder than death itself touched my heart, and a cry of burning pain was freezing within my lungs. The wind gathering speed, growing into a twister of fiery sparkles, as if taking my very essence into their flight. Which way are they heading?

I close my eyes, but to no avail. A huge multi-tiered structure takes over my vision. From between the columns, the faces of stone are glaring, speechless, into the same darkness we all seem to share. In a moment, I'm face to face with myself. "You were made as you are... and you can also be broken." A dagger of bone flies through the air, striking the statue, square. It cracks slightly, but the pain is as though I were rent asunder.

Before I'm thrown out of the dream, a quiet, soothing voice calls, its warmth inviting. One of the strands of fire swirls around me... its ring of letters dancing, unbroken. Nalin's words, I must cling to them. To remain whole...

I wake up in cold sweat. But the chilling touch stays, becoming a part of myself. Somewhere deep down I feel the power, the ghoul's touch...

The scythe of dawn is now starting its swath through the night, but the faces of stone around me are still glaring, speechless, into the same darkness ahead. What are they seeing? There is a deep longing behind the mask of battle in Kagain's eyes. Longing in all of the eyes around me, and a silent reproach.

LET ME GO!! What am I to save them all? Why am I to save anyone?!

No lights were parting the twilight mist, and if not for Montaron, I would've never guessed that we were in plain sight of our destination. Gullykin... The halflings buried themselves into the hills, away from the prying eyes of a casual traveller. Bastards! I guess they're right. Not everyone walking the Sword Coast is a friend. I wouldn't count us in, either. For all we've seen and done on the way here...

Kagain's eyes... they were brimming with tears, his face of stone washed with the clear, pure waters. The raindrops... We parted in silence. Not even Xzar was mumbling another of his insanities.

The beat of time was slow where the stones sleep. Each step echoing in our ears. With the fear the time will stop, without a sound. With the relief that wasn't the sound of stone hitting the dust.

The reluctant silence was pierced with a desperate cry for help. Montaron ran into gnolls looking for prey. And there he was, back with eyes bulged in nearly animal horror... Faintly, I heard another, piercing, cry in my mind, from a southern carnival night, and silence, just as desperate. A memory quenched with a short kick in the jaw... I wonder if he knows why. There was only one glance of apprehension. Shar-Teel...

The next moment we were graced with Edwin's protective spells. The son of a bitch like knew it. Montaron's offensive yelling stirred the beasts that are far more fond of the silence of stone. Even with the shimmering shroud around us to deflect their fatal gaze, the basilisks weren't a toothless enemy. Oh no! they do have a bite. And their sting poisons, as Shar-Teel, our arrogant amazon, was to learn. She's funny in her own way, just watch her face when she's beaten so badly she actually has to ask for help!

So if we weren't the best sight after the battle! "Somewhat worse for wear" was how we were greeted by Kirian and her ragtag band? Dirty scoundrels! Well, I don't care if they're "Waterhavians, born and bred." Varscona was right. The bitch had to learn to keep her trap shut, yes-yes, she did! Too bad, she didn't, and then the steel was bared...

Oh, such a sweet hunger was she singing, my blade! Shar-Teel was the first to charge, at Lindin, snarling. Or was that Baerin that she aimed for? Why do I have to remember their names?! I have a burden enough already... No, that was Lindin putting himself in Shar-Teel's way to let Baerin loose his arrows. Kirian with her boy, Peter, started casting.

And then... the ground shook beneath our feet, as the dead were called back to life. Ripping through the earth with vengeance, old bones rose forth to fight our battle. Where a complete skeleton, where a lone skull or a loose wreath of limbs smashing wildly around. Like back there, at the High Hedge. Yet darker, so much more gruesome.

I froze... to see Kirian swamped in, her last cry thin and cut short as a snapped bone. A mere fool, she didn't have to end like this... We quickly put her companions out of their misery before the skeletons could get at them. With my bow and arrows. Varscona's lust was left unsated...

The village of Gullykin is sprawling across the hills, their slopes dotted with holes that the halflings call homes. A layer rising over a layer, like blasted bees in a hive. No, like an anthill...

The anthill in which I had one of my worst dreams. A nightmare of dread and bones. Barefoot, I would touch the ground, and wherever I stepped, they would rise... rise... RISE! Waving their skeletal limbs in recognition, the dead sockets questioning, "Do you remember me?.. Or me?.. Or ME?!" Following me around, with no hope of escape. There was a child's face in the skeletal crowd, was it not?! My hands red with blood that I could not remember! I tried to run away... did I succeed?

The halflings around me... I'd call them friendly, if they weren't so hopelessly indifferent. You could talk to them, walk into their homes, and they couldn't care less. Always the same smile, the same offer, the same food. Like they were certain they're seeing us for the first and last time.

Except for Montaron, of course. A greater marvel they could have never imagined. An adventuring halfling! Can't say if that would make him popular among local girls, but he'd do good minding his own business this time around. Or be less of a coward... The tale goes there've been too many kobold raids lately. Popping right in the middle of the village, like daisies. Montaron'd better hold on to his remaining teeth, or else...

There is a strange air about this village. Everyone here is soooo busy, they hardly have time to talk. And yet it feels as if time itself is lagging along at a snail's pace in this citadel of family virtue. Children running about, with the halfling matrons watching over them like hens over their chicks. Hmm, matrons? Now, where did I pick up that word from?

Surprisingly, Viconia ain't getting all that well along with Shar-Teel, what with their shared attitude toward males. Except that when Viconia thinks a male's place is that of a servant, Shar-Teel would rather have'im for a corpse. Just where did our amazon get that hatred?

Even then, Edwin would not let himself be intimidated, nor strong-armed into obedience. The damn wizard just always knows what to do! Even Gandolar Luckyfoot, the local mayor of sorts, talks to him like he were our leader. Viconia... I see many a quarrel ahead.

Ah, bother! I had a talk with the drow this morning. About the skeletons, and stuff. One word, and I could not recognize her! One word about not having to see those bones ever again, and she just lights afire, "If I'm not the one to strike first, who will be the one to strike last?!"

I almost heard the nerves snapping. And a wolf howling... Firewine's in the southeast, yet it was coming from a different direction.

The Durlag's Tower! Why is that name ringing so loud in my mind? Howling with a call for vengeance. An anticipation of the past, or a memory of the future? I do not know, nor do I want to think about it... not time... not time... Well, here's our adventurous halfling, looks like he's got a tale to tell.

And what a tale he had, indeed! A long tale that wound us up into the cramped underground passages, from the very heart of Gullykin and into the remains of an elven trading outpost. Firewine... Destroyed in a fool's duel some two hundred odd winters gone. Ask the rubble if it cares who the winner was...

Now we know how the kobolds have been visiting the secluded village. Montaron discovered a secret underground passage into one of the local dwellings. Slaying the halfling traitor, Jenkal by name. Good riddance! I believe the kobolds themselves didn't hold him in high esteem, and it sure showed.

The halfling must've been expecting high guests that afternoon, 'cause the very moment we opened the secret door, we were greeted by a giant ogre mage. As much surprised as we were, so was the fella. Lucky for us, I wouldn't have fancied myself being smack in the middle of preemptive magic strikes.

The ogre was arrogant and uncooperative. Forget the money, Montaron's sword whistled straight through his guts.

A big boss, oh really? Did he, indeed, believe it himself, what with his boasting about puny raids on the halfling village? Lendarn sure had bigger plans for them, the kobolds.

Only he didn't tell us, not a chance! The Iron Throne envoy was a short distance behind his lieutenant, in the underground tunnel, with his ogrillon guard and a swarm of kobold commandos. There was not much talking, only flaming arrows flying back and forth. One of 'em must've got the mage. Edwin was very happy with Lendarn's spellbook in his trembling hands. So very happy, indeed...

Why did we not go back to the surface? Our mission fulfilled, all dues dealt... what held us down below? Why... why did I lead them all through the dungeon hell to the deserted ruins of Firewine?

The dungeon riches? There were none. But a fire around us... in the kobolds' arrows piercing our flesh... in the streams of magic seething through our bones... and the old fire, alive from the ages past, that was melting my heart...

"The best way to shield from fire is to live by fire," Viconia's words. Why was she so strangely tense, as if awaiting something around the corner? This was her element, and yet... she was different. The same anticipation within her as the one beating in my heart. I could feel it, but anyone else? I don't think so...

Even enveloped with the invisible flame of her protective spells, what was that other fire, burning within my mind? Lingering as a memory from the past, the throbbing vastness of the dungeon beating like a giant pump rushing blood through the veins of the narrow passages. "Together enter, together fall..." That call, it carried me along...

He recognized me, beyond belief, the undead knight in his ancient armor. I recognized him not... His empty eyes welcoming death, inviting. For the final release did he ask, a fighting death of pain. Lunging forth with his spear... It burns! the ancient regret.

I was dying in Viconia's arms, and with the life flowing back into my body I knew, I knew it abruptly. The knight was dead (at last!), but the flow of the ancient fire would not stop. It was in my veins now, burning to be released. Following the same call, "Together enter, together fall..."

We found them, the eerie ghosts from the past. Six knights, all awaiting one. I saw them, and they knew. Their wait was then fulfilled. They were free again, and the fire stopped burning. The fire was no more, but there was the ash of questions...

I watched them melt away, with envy. The ghosts from the past. "The Knights of Days Hence," as a young bard ineptly put them in his song. Shar-Teel had a murderous look in her eyes, and Montaron openly shut his ears, but I listened... listened to Poe's song, for the soul of the piece was "right and true," as claimed.

The young bard, of about the same age as I was... and with the same tormented dreams. He knew it, and now I know it, too. The imperfect tale of heroes betrayed. Yet only I could tell the tale of their redemption...

Disclaimer: The song hereby told is adapted from the one in the game (some parts reworked, some added, some copied directly), while trying to preserve its general structure. The original song was not written by the author of this story.

I have a tale, a tale to tell
of knights of courage, bright and fell,
of treachery, of lonely fate,
of patience stronger than the hate.

Brothers in spirit, one for all,
they answered adventure's call.
Brothers in blood, for blood did twine
their fates together, all as one.

"Together enter, together fall,"
'twas as the vow agreed by all.
What dungeon's hard when thou art
seven-edged blade, seven-fold heart?

They went through fire, dread and blood.
Apart them, no sword could cut.
Yet stronger than a sword or spell
proved golden glitter, bright and fell.

In glory slept the hero knights,
but knife to throat did snuff the lights
behind their eyes, a simple deed.
Was honor dead as killed by greed.

Cold spreading through the severed heart,
the traitor walked his lonely part
to leave with gold, forget and hide...
Alone he fell, alone he died.

Grim dungeon witness to the vow,
lost soul's return the brothers now
awaiting, as agreed by all:
"Together enter, together fall..."

When one for all turns all for one
the betrayed souls take solace none
in death's release. So stand they will,
till honor's need someone does fill.

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

With his song before my eyes, I could still watch them melt away. With envy... they were free now, and I? The voices in my head are only growing stronger, with each new dawn that I'm slowly coming to hate... just like Viconia does. Waking up to the same faces. Can I trust them now? Like, fully trust them?!

Today we crossed paths with Melium, a swordsman claiming to be the best one along the entire Sword Coast. Clashed with Shar-Teel in a one-on-one challenge, just as expected.

Oh man! I considered myself to be fairly strong for a woman, but does she have a muscle or what?! Beat the poor sod to the ground. No elegance but brute force, and only a sword, one sharp tip at his throat... What were his eyes saying? Begging for mercy? He received none. The strange thing is I felt exhilaration, rising from within, at the coppery smell of grass quickly soaking up with blood. Can I even trust myself?!

The voices in my head... Was it still the same bloodlust from that ancient tomb, the idol of Kozah ever yearning for more?! Or anything like the box that poor Carsa had been carrying along, talking, struggling with?

Today, I walked barefoot over the ashes of Firewine. The steaming, breathing embers. They never stop glowing... I wasn't alone in trying to quench the voices with pain. She was there too, standing aloof, about to give up to her voices. And when we finally wrung that box out of her hands, so she did. With a name, "Karhk!!!" A frantic, final, hopeless sound. Her doom...

I know not for how long the powerful ogre mage was trapped within that box. Probably long enough to prepare for himself a shimmering globe of force to emerge with. Xzar's scorching fire only glanced off, enveloping its surface. The shimmer vanished with Viconia's incantations, yet soon it was up again.

My hands glowing, yet the heart was cold: the ghoul's touch is working from within... I wasn't able to get through! My hand would pass, yet emerge normal on the other side of the protective globe. And there I was, a woman face to face with two eyes of glowing coals...

I didn't see when Karhk's globe of invulnerability was brought down again. It must've been, for his eyes changed. From beyond all those flame arrows, missiles of magic, or a good old sword whistling quietly from behind, from beyond the threshold of pain, those eyes were looking straight at me. With raging, insane fire... I saw a vicious spell forming in their depth, a seed of lightning ready to leap out...

Viconia, sing! It wavered, as if the magic itself was warped in its very foundation. If only for a moment... and there it was back again! The charge building up into a barbed, sizzling wire. With a sudden certainty, I knew it will strike...

The sky is strangely close, and the clouds... white clouds moving slowly across... like forever... Lying still on a blanket of grass, I'm still reeling from the stream of energy rushing through my nerves, my veins. Deluge of pain overflowing the senses, wringing my body from inside out...

Yet my soul? The ogre's final moment was strangely silent. That's how I know the voices in my head have never stopped. Whoever is hiding behind them, he's sure stronger than an ogre mage out of a magic box...

I'm so tired. Barely two months since I left my childhood home, two months since the loss of all I held dear, two months of walking aimlessly the barren wastes of solitude.

Burnt with all colors of fire... Am I any better than a renegade drow, thrown out of her Underdark, either feared or pursued by each and every surface dweller? Perhaps, both... Tonight, approaching Gullykin, I was accosted by yet another band of assassins. Guess 'tis 'bout time I got the clue, dontcha think?

About midnight, a lone wolf howled. The same call of vengeance... A face stepped out into the moonlight. The grim face of a warrior who knows well his orders. There were three more to help him in his task. but then, he didn't look like needing any.

He knew my name, and gave me his. What else was there to talk about? Charge down the hill, the hulking mass of a man with a dwarven helper on his heels. Shar-Teel was overrun and didn't rise. They didn't care, they had their orders.

Varscona slipped into my hand, Viconia chanted. And there I was, face to face against them both...

I remember how Gorion once was teaching me to dance. My hand in his, our eyes locked. And a smiling whisper, "Listen, listen on to the music..."

There was the sound of broken incantations from behind Molkar's broad back, and then a strange, ominous silence. Montaron broke the flurry of movements with a triumphant yell, and my partner stumbled, surprise and anguish at the unexpected backstab.

They never left his face. When the mist of drow melody settled in, neither Molkar nor his dwarven sidekick stirred up, enchanted, frozen... Behind them, the enemy spellcasters were crawling, coughing their way out of sickening vapors. One of them tried to rise... a spiderweb kept him forever in the midst of the stinking cloud.

There was one thing left to do, one thing only: shoot dead in the eye, or blindly into the howling, laughing darkness... and hack, hack, hack them all into pieces! Across the faces... cut out the surprise, cut out the anguish, cut out, cut off all emotions, anything that makes them human! Their name is Iron Throne, and I know my path. I have tarried long enough. They knew where I was, but so do I! I know where to find them.

Do you hear me?! I'm on my way, beware!

How did we ever end up in this accursed place? We left Gullykin so fast the bedazzled halflings barely had any time for their usual share of greetings.

A journey through the hills... and the kobold ambushes. A hail of flaming arrows well stopped with a fireball, consuming the shafts along with the archers up the slopes. Of course, 'tis sure better to be safe than sorry. We were sidetracked... but why in the world did we have to end up here?!

Varscona is weeping silently. In these ruins the mists of long memories walk. Unquiet, hungry souls. They want their flesh back. Icharyd the ghost, he was unlucky in his choice of victims. Only why did I feel a bite of pain through my sword at the moment of her reluctant blow?

Viconia is restless. Silent, without admitting it, yet restless still. Ever since donning the 'Mail of the Dead', once the armor bestowed by Vorusta the wizard to his undead creations. Skeleton warriors, fearsome assassins that would never be stopped until they would reclaim their circlets of power, such a seemingly innocent wizard's 'gift'.

And now, I was the target, and Molkar the assassin. But why is Viconia so restless, the way those skeleton warriors might've felt were their circlet of power about to be revealed?

Nonsense, but what is she after?! There is no rest in this place of no shadows. Why any if the emptiness itself remembers what it used to be? Just peer closely into the dark, and it will coalesce into a vision of simple yet aspiring buildings, perhaps the greatest magic school of all times, the source of envy that kills and ruins.

At the strike of midnight, we saw the apparition of Ulcaster himself. Wading through the stumps of enduring stone, he was just as detached as, perhaps, back then, in the midst of raging battle, oblivious to friend and foe alike. His eyes, truly of the netherworld, were fixed on something beyond. Was it the memory of his dream, ruined by the wizards envious of the school's success? Or, perchance, the vision of a rebuilt future? What are we to him, to him who has seen both?

And yet his gaze stopped at Viconia. And spoke, "The drow child... the child of darkness... how farest thou in the world of light?"

His voice was... with a trembling tinge. And just as trembling, Viconia approached... I know not the full words they were exchanging. Only she's not been the same since. Even now, walking around this graveyard of hopes, as if looking for something... or someone.

"...hope would return with the retrieval of the simplest of tomes... return hope... history is so important..."

There was something... something about the word 'hope'. Someone listening to the ghost, someone yearning to be reached out. Why did I ever feel like that? Viconia stood, face to face with the ghost, straight as a cedar. Yet inside, I knew, she was a willow.

Back at the other ruins, the embers of Firewine, we met a wandering priest. Bentan, a faithful of Ilmater, was trying to convert us to his way of suffering.

I've suffered enough. My curse is older than the waters of melting. And who has not suffered who ever touched my soul? The faces of Gorion and Jaheira, Branwen, Imoen, and Garrick, Kagain... many others. Those I loved and those I did not. Those who loved me suffered the most.

Perhaps, it would've been for the best if I... but then, there was hope. Something about the word 'hope'. The words I knew from the temple in Nashkel, Nalin's words combined in my mind...

I felt a strange warmth, a sparkle kindled against my heart. I took my hand out... it held the small statue, the Prism's parting gift. The emerald eyes were shining, faintly. I knew it! My song is alive, it's in the future. I'll find it... and the lone drow in the world of light may find hers, too...

The dead are restless here, in this place steeped in gloom and ancient envy. Too high a goal, and too heavy a price. Sleep and dream? I couldn't do either, my heart freezing to a pitch... a crow's call... as the night was flowing through my fingers... and through my skin, till the hands were glowing red, the color of blood.

A wavering flicker of gray in the distance. Viconia... Silently, ten shadows approached, and the circle around her closed. There was no time for idle thoughts but action. Waking up, we sprang to battle. Edwin knew just what to do. A fair fun to watch zombies waddle their slow dance through magic grease. A pleasant surprise to see Viconia run over it as if flying through the air. Straight into Edwin's... no, wait, she stopped, and scowled. But what was that smile about, anyway?

A glance at Shar-Teel, and she nodded back. I touched Viconia's shoulder, and the drow whirled around to face me. "Fear not, we're in this together..."

A question, reluctantly answered. There was a strange feeling deep within my heart, one I have never experienced before. Not for the enchanted treasure hidden here (even if the others might), but for... someone at your side, I was going through this place of dread and venom.

Even the wolves were undead here, and the spiders... say, does the venom breed of envy? That mustard jelly, like in the southern downs, and some more of an ochre kind... 'Twas good to have our drow at my side. She does resist magic, and she taught us to fight the fear of the creeping sleaze. We were in this together, you and I...

In the end, there was a light of hope. A book, "The Sisters of Light and Darkness", about the raven-haired Shar, the ruler of night, and her silver-fair sister. A "simplest of tomes" that I remember from my childhood in the libraries of Candlekeep. One day, I want to show her my home... but now, why was that book so important? What did Ulcaster have to say to Viconia that made her tremble like a leaf, bend like a willow?

"The child of Shar... the child of night... if light and dark combine, what is born?" The answer... "Magic."

Something clicked within me, and I clearly saw myself reading the very same book about the sisters of Light and Darkness. Back in the Great Library of Candlekeep, only this time someone other than Gorion was standing beside me. Someone I could now tell the presence of without looking. Dark as the night itself, and as Shar's healing powers...

There was more, the words I didn't hear, and those that I could not understand. Some seemed to bite her with quivering pain. I felt a pang too, when Viconia chanted and the bones rose from the ground. She walked around the skeletons, asking each one the same question, the one I didn't hear or could not understand. None could answer, and she would pound them back into dust, relentlessly, in cold fury.

When all was over, she turned and ran away. Her light of hope had to come from the dark, I fear...

Last night was hardly quiet. By morning, the dreadful howl of a great hunt shook us from our sleep. The beasts pursued us as far as the Temple of the Morning Sun. The packs of dread wolves, even vampiric wolves, along with their more lively cousins finally caught up with us despite all magic wasted at hiding our tracks.

We had to fight... The grasses were sprouting long and tall from the ground where the trees were none, and the roots of the plants not yet fully grown were bursting forth with unusual vigor. Xzar's necromantic spells of horror sent some of the wolves running away, but mostly affected those that were already caught within a green embrace.

No spell was left uncalled. At a high moment of the battle, I suddenly felt my body grunt with the rippling force suddenly born within my muscles. Glancing around, I realized that so everyone did feel. A welcome surprise, especially for Edwin. Somehow, he knew where that magic was coming from, and from the movement of his eyes so did I... Aye for the drow maiden! We'll feast yet in the good ole' Candlekeep, together!

After the carnage, the rest of the journey was unremarkable. There was a moment when Montaron came back from his scouting, disgruntled about someone trying to con him! Why are all the men so full of themselves? Perhaps, Shar-Teel is right, after all. Officer Vai was so happy to receive our next batch of bandit scalps... Little did she know of the slap that sent Montaron reeling,

"Never again... do you hear me?! Never again shall you bring in a woman's scalp, male dog!" One day, I'd love to hear a story of the men in Shar-Teel's life. Only this is not that day...

In Beregost, Imoen was gone, to a destination unknown. The apple blossom have fallen... The town appeared empty, everything moving around so sloooowly. Dunno! Just gotta shake ourselves up, and all. We've got a business to attend to.

The ankheg armor was finally ready. Sure looks cool on me, the people on the streets are breaking their necks. The greens are good in a forest, though. And Shar-Teel seems to have puzzled out Melium's secret. The vaunted master swordsman happened to possess gauntlets of weapon expertise. Just as arrogant as a long string of their former owner. Just as bloodily ended.

Well, with all this equipment, we're ready for the road. The town crier has all grown hoarse yelling out about the award for the head of a fearsome winged creature, "presumably, a dragon," hunting for the farmers' livestock. Well, if we meet any in the Cloakwood, the sport is ours. Perhaps, Shar-Teel will have a chance to see if her newest acquisition, the light crossbow of speed from the Thunderhammer smithy, is worth the name.

Though, I doubt there is a real dragon out there. Make no mistake about where our arrowheads are aiming. This evening, I looked again through the letters from Tazok's tent. Signed by some Davaeorn. About the time we met already...

It must be midday outside, but it sure feels like midnight here. I was very nearly beside myself with rage before I stepped in. We were about to leave, and those two! Edwin with Viconia were nowhere to be seen again. Until Montaron discovered their secret, leading us discreetly and quietly into their hiding place, one by one. I was the first to arrive...

...the first to gasp in shock... the first to calm down. Behind that door, the world was... different. The light was no more, and only the total, palpable, impenetrable darkness. A darkness with the pulse of its own. The quivering, strained pulse of exhausted spirit, yet the tension lingering, loathe to let go.

Rest was slow to come, ever so slow. Breath by breath, measured, suspended... How can clear waters remain quiet flowing across the cataracts, or down the sharp precipice of a waterfall? The strain was there, spasmodic like tightly clenched jaws, even in sleep grinding out the name of nightmare. Uneasy to release...

Yet when I first crossed the line, the moment the door shut silently behind me, the first stream that rushed through my spine, screaming, urgently, frantically... stark terror. The darkness was alive, breathing with a horrifying, relentless essence, the very blood congealing in its embrace.

The bare essence of the drow... I knew she was there, the child of darkness. Yet it was as if the darkness itself was not yet through with its labor. The name of the light was pain.

A dark, heavy gaze was upon me, the ominous presence dissolved all around me, without location, without warning... Now I know what those hapless souls must've been feeling, those who braved descent into the Underdark but didn't live to tell their story. You don't go looking for a drow in a dark room. They'll find you, even if they're not there yet...

Viconia was there, curled upon a bunk bed into a fetal position. I couldn't see, for the darkness was more than the night itself. Just the slow, heaving movements of her chest pounding waves into my temples, "boom... boom..." The same quivering, strained pulse, incapacitating exhaustion. Despite my best efforts, the fear was still there, washing like a tide over my heart. By her very presence... For the sake of heavens! What torment under sunlight if even that prime essence I could not feel anymore!

I must've gasped loudly, for someone stirred in a corner. A shadow rose, wavering, sleepy eyes rushing hurriedly to probe my features. The darkness between us paled out for a moment, as if a minute amount of light was mixed into its magic substance...

Suddenly, I realized just how much Edwin had been doing for Viconia. No, we won't leave today. We'll go on our quest tonight. Here, look: I'm learning to write in total darkness. Warm blood is of the same color in infrared as under sunlight... aye, so it is...

North and west of Beregost, the sea of green is rolling off beyond the horizon. As if an enormous green cloak was spread across the land. Cloakwood... such it would appear from atop the Candlekeep's tallest tower. Somewhere within its depth lies our quarry. An iron mine smashed into the forest's flesh like an axe into living wood. How hard would it be to find it?

A tiny speck of civilization, a lonely hunter's cabin at the forest's edge. Likely, the last comfortable bed we're to see in many a day ahead. Yet our drow ain't staying in, she's out on the prowl. As collected and agile as on the night we left Beregost:

"I've killed those who saw me weak. Other than..." her voice shuddered, and she swallowed hard, "other than... but once. You've given me a chance, alone of all the surface dwellers I've met... Do not make me do that again. No pity, and least of all from you."

As her gaze rested upon me, I remembered another night locked within her eyes, and in the dance of fireflies ascending I knew her to have changed. Somehow, through the torment of her days, or beneath the questing gaze of Ulcaster, she has grown stronger.

She must be searching now the banks of the river we've heard from afar. Its soft murmur shrouding the forest with a special, quiet magic, when every leaf was glistening with the tender kiss of its vapors. By morning, a cloud of mist will lay thick over the forest. Yet even so, I'm sure, every path will still lead to the same forest stream enamoring the trees with its song.

Cloakwood... blast this enchanted forest with its almost elven magic! I could feel it sprayed around me, as if a happy rider on a rain cloud were generously sharing his joy. And when Xzar roasted a band of tasloi with his fireball, I felt its pain, too! Lest the trees themselves be turned into torches of vengeance, I bid him to forego his pyrotechnics. Edwin was all too ready to insist.

And we were right, of course! Not because the next batch of tasloi did leave us that cloak of undetection they stole from Gurke and that would not have survived the inferno of fire our Zhentarim friend is growing to love and cherish. Nay... for we were soon to witness the gruesome judgement of nature, indeed.

Cloakwood... it does have some powerful protectors. In vain did Aldeth Sashenstar, a hunter and a merchant from the city of Baldur's Gate, tried to persuade us to join his cause. Only a fool would go against Seniyad the Archdruid, himself, in person, coming to exact payment from the reckless hunters for a druid's blood they spilt and their crimes against the forest. Only a fool would do, with the long road ahead, days and night shared with the wood around them.

For this forest can be our home, our bed... and our grave, if need be. Jaheira would've been proud of us, the way we were standing by, watching quietly as her teacher was cutting the hunter down with his flaming sword... now wouldn't she?

I've learnt to watch my step and tread quietly. The Archdruid knows of the iron mine's existence, so he gave us a reluctant nod... and a watchful gaze from behind. I got the warning. We gave a wide berth to the next group of bears we met on our way to the now deceased hunter's cabin.

Aye-yay, we do have a long road ahead...

Every river eventually runs to its end. This stream opened into a chasm, its waters plunging down from this steep height.

Standing at the precipice, I'm listening to the call of the sea. The uproar of the twin waterfalls is deafening, over the neverending cries of seagulls. Theirs is a sad song. The song of my childhood... Every morning, they used to wake me up at Candlekeep. And every evening, just as the daily bustle of life was dying out down below, they were singing a lullaby to the lonely child who had never known her mother... Their shrill, piercing cries could banish the voices. The cold, insistent voices of nightmare that are now coming back into my life. They have devoured my foster father already, and now going after me.

I used to wonder at times if my mother's spirit could still be near. Like a bird, of pure white, with a sad, screeching song? Driving away the voices. Shielding my eyes with her wings? The wings, I remember them! They smell... salt. Tears?

The salt is heavy in the air, intoxicating. The same smell that's always been around me when it was time to lead, to take my life in my own hands... a thin, vibrating tendon. The roaring, foamy waters are gushing out of the forest's veins as the richest wine, the drunken blood eager to dissolve itself in the ocean's embrace.

Not time yet... On the morrow, we shall cross over. To seek the other song. The emerald eyes had been shining faintly through the sleepless night...

It must be there, waiting for me. Drifting on the mists of morning, peeking into the cabin, the windows of my eyes... This forest is full of flowers! The summer is fast approaching, yet the scorching heat will never touch these meadows. My bare hand would move through the mist and part it, they would be there... wild iris in shades of yellow, purple, and blue... harebells and kittentoe, the delicate jasmine and tiny bulbs of starflower. Trillium and pimpernel, shy violets popping up from among their friends, curiously blinking...

Bury your hand into that colorful carpet, feel the wet freshness of their touch. Glide up the stems and cup the flowers with the palm of your hand. From between your fingers, they'd open up a smile. Nymph charms? The forest's magic...

It must've been at work when we decided to let that weird elf go. By the morning, Viconia dragged him in, bound head and foot. The most curious fellow, "that stupid darthiir dog!" The moment her slender hand removed the gag from his mouth, he stretched forth a smile, "I see I've not been caught in vain. The name's Coran..."

Sooo, our charming "jaluk, son of rath'arg, and a bag of iblith" earned all those juicy epithets the moment he dared to send "but an arrow of love" into the black drow heart, hmm? Quite a vocabulary the dark elves have for their surface cousins!

And not without a reason, after all. Do they enjoy being tied up by a pair of charming ladies? Shar-Teel was only spitting in disgust and probing the hilt of her sword, "that womanizing creep deserves to die!" Well, well, I don't have to believe all of his words... his arrows looked pretty real... darn! but his lies are sure sweet. Why did we let him go back on his hunt? If the mayor of Beregost had put, indeed, a price on the dragon's head...

"...not dragon, not dragon... a WYVERN! they have poisonous spikes on their tails..." ahem, such a charming observation, "shouldn't be a problem for a band of such gorgeous, daring adventurers..."

Why, if any wyverns are harrowing the neighborhood, we're not gonna deny ourselves the reward. But why did we let him go, Vicki? "Dunno... That idiot s'lurrpuk! Uh, never mind. He's just that cute. A cute darthiir... now, that's RARE!"

Tonight, we're staying put, just as Edwin suggested. Not even the drow would dare the spider shadows at night. The rest of us will do much better in the morning.

Between the curtains of waterfalls, where the river's both sleeves divide before their final plunge, a towering mass of rock is jutting out into the sea like a broken, uneven comb. A comb well enmeshed in spiderwebs. The resting place of the Spider's Bane, a powerful artifact that Tiber's brother was so unlucky to find. The resting place of Tiber's brother himself, no doubt. As much we learnt from the lonely lad we met, for how long had he been wandering around here? Mourning for his lost brother he didn't dare to stop...

We'll get the sword and be on our way. Viconia is no longer trembling, a strange kind of resolve now radiating from her. Have the spider shadows been gone from her mind, at last?

The rocks and the ocean in a haze of vapor. The twilight blinks out again, and the vision is gone. Sunk into darkness, and only the sound remains, the unrelenting roar. Would I have not dared a dash alone into the spiders' lair, enchanted sword in my hands? Or am I so old already?

Give me back my lullaby, oh seagulls! The salt upon the invisible pair of wings, I beg you come...

We didn't get much chance to dry up after we forded the river a short way above the waterfalls. The morning sun was glistening in the myriads of waterdrops suspended in the web entanglements, yet beneath was a realm of murk. Grey, everlasting twilight... made me think of that one house far away, in Beregost. Magic! Just as that darkness back there, it too was palpable. Unnatural, sleazy at the touch. But who would've done it here?! For what purpose?

Viconia must've felt it, too. She shuddered yet steeled herself. It didn't take an innate ability to sense magic vibrations to feel the myriads of tiny eyes... facetious eyes. Probing our every step... a heavy gaze upon us, as if only waiting for that moment, a single moment of weakness, of spirit stumbling.

I looked around me for succor. Shar-Teel was leading the way, with cold determination on her face, but the halfling would not lift his from the ground. Everyone was strangely silent, and only Xzar's feeble whimpering was rebounding against the thick warp and weft of spider tapestries. I looked into Viconia's eyes, a faint smile shot back, "You saw me weak but once. You never will again."

We didn't have to wait long for the first attack to come. It was unexpected, as everything in this place... There was a snap, as if the entire floor lifted up, ensnaring our flesh and our steel. Only the drow slid through the magic contraption.

The red-robed wizard was beating helplessly right next to its edge, wrapped tightly in a cocoon. A pair of huge spiders was quickly approaching, and only a slender shade of black, lithe like a willow, stood guard against them. Electric sparkles streaking off her Ashideena, the call of service was complete...

Today, I saw Viconia's spider dance. Today, she killed her first spider. Dergat Wiltoon would have been proud...

For many an hour since, we were edging slowly through that maze. With no end to the spiderwebs, layer upon layer, shutting out the seagulls' cry, even the roaring waterfalls. The sound itself was stilted here, the grey world with no sign of life.

The lonely island, what secret was it hiding beneath its silent webs? The ocean waves are breaking hard upon its rocks, the water dust from the waterfalls is spreading a veil of suspense over it. Yet no rainbow... Only spiders and their ettercap friends. The web weavers, ensnared here themselves, in this unlikely prison. What are they feeding on?

Before I could mouth the question, I suddenly knew the answer. Somewhere on this island of spiders, there was someone to be fed. And something, a passion or a hate to be kept alive. Somewhere... that's where we were being led, slowly but surely...

The web contraptions on every step, almost impossible to dodge. When our blades could but bleed themselves onto the unyielding fibers, Viconia's magic alone could break us loose. Yet wherever we'd turn, only one way was ever open.

Did it just suddenly become colder behind my back? Even if we made it through all the giant spiders, ettercaps, or those phase spiders blinking in at a moment's notice, that someone at the end would still be waiting...

Before the gaping mouth of a cave, an enormous sword spider was greeting us. Razor-thin blades, rotating wildly on all of its eight spindly legs, together lashed against Shar-Teel. They met her blade, they met her armor... they met her flesh. Her own blood was flowing as she caught the spider's blade with her hand, twisting with inhuman strength to pierce the bloated belly. There is no pause for pain in the tight beat of battle...

We found it in that very same cave. The Spider's Bane was lying next to the half-eaten body of Tiber's brother, its previous, weaker owner. Both under fierce guard. The fight was quick and brutal, in close quarters. Viconia chanted, and as our spirits were rising, we felt a wild rush of strength through every part of our bodies. Shar-Teel was awesome to behold, the long blade of her two-hander black with the spider blood, and the hilt red with the blood of her own.

Her fight is no dance, a brutal orgy. After all was done, two sword spiders lay cut into tiny bits, and even Edwin had had a giant spider of his own, one on one, without magic. Yet in the suddenly quiet cavern, we found we were not alone.

That someone at the end was still waiting...

Lying on my back on the wooden treehouse platform, high above the ground... Even here, looking up into the sky, I can only see the green clouds of the forest canopy, slowly disappearing with the twilight. Viconia... We're not far apart, the palms of our hands still touching each other. "That one sacrifice I refused to perform," and the thoughts trail back into the cavern on the spider island...

Not a cave, really. Beyond the slabs of rock, its gaping mouth opened into a large cavity woven of spiderweb strings. A dense, crippling, impenetrable cocoon. It had endured much... even the weight of that enormous body.

Smack in the center of the cocoon, surrounded by spiders. None more repulsive than itself in the heat of anguish. The heaving bulk of fat, falling in on itself. Yellow gall, refusing to digest its terrible food, I could almost see it spitting out of the toothless mouth. Cut across that tiny face, a pinhead upon the mountain of flesh, there was an eternal smile of torment. And a low, hateful hiss, "sssso... you havvve fffound me... ye sssshall not livvve... to tell of my dissssgracccce..."

The irony! It had a voice, for it was once a woman. Centeol, the most beautiful sorceress from a distant land. Hers was the love insatiable, the love jealous, the love murderous... She did not mourn for her spider pets. Nay, for indeed she was a pet to her spider captors...

Love is a dangerous game to play. And triumph short in the face of vengeance... What did she feel in those excruciatingly long hours of waiting for him to come? Fingers tight in the knuckles of passion, lust sprouting, stripping away her skin, shred by shred with each thunder of his steps upon the naked stone. Lightnings of passion through the skin in those painfully brief moments of seeing his face at the top of her tower, at the top of her longing?!

...she didn't get to see what she wanted to before his curse cut everything off.

In this life, when do we have to pay? And how much? The archmage Jon Icarus set no limits to the punishment for the death of his beloved wife, lady Tanova. The lofty love and burning desires, all fell apart like a carton castle. Cursed to that body and to her prison, the spiders set to feed against her will, she learnt the meaning of hate. For how long did she beg for someone to come and end her misery?

"I come from the people who know not love. I can do it..." the voice of a drow. A ring upon her finger, and a blistering flash! Did she deserve it? The clear waters falling down the sharp precipice of a waterfall...

I look again at the ring, it's now dull and quiet. So, that's how that ogre mage died at the Firewine... A fitting gift of drow magic. Where did Edwin even find it?

Aye, Vicki, Viconia! Does she, indeed, not know love? The sacrifice she made... "for they thrown him to the spiders..." She could've killed the spiders of her heart, yet something tells me she's as far away from the answer to Ulcaster's question as ever. As I am to the question for the few soothing words that Nalin dropped into the wounds of my heart. Would they be enough?..

Cloakwood... blast this enchanted forest with its almost elven magic! It unravels the knots in my heart that I tried so hard to sink. The leaves hidden in the darkness over my head are whispering their silent song. How much time till our sentence? Are we guests or prisoners here, in the hidden retreat of Shadow Druids? Seniyad is up for a big surprise when he learns he's no longer the only power of the wood.

'Tis truly the heart of the forest. The trees are the tallest here, and even perched upon this wooden platform high above the ground, I can barely tell the branches beyond the darkness over my eyes... all around me. A strange, primordial fear, old as the night itself, is seeping in with the hushed rustling of leaves and monotonous incantations of the druids. But lo! there is a spark of light up there, between the leaves... and then another! Viconia, can you see them?

"These forests... they're so different, yet so strangely familiar..."

Deep in the night, I was awakened by a sharp prick of starlight hitting me in the eye. From behind the closed eyelids, I saw the forest canopy part, and a shimmering beam of light falling upon a forest glade... there, in the distance.

Not far, I saw speckles of silver beckoning... I rose, everyone was sleeping, charmed by the night. No druids to be seen. The forest was resting, perhaps gathering strength for another day to come. So much at peace and so tranquil...

As I made my way down, my chest leaning against the round tree trunk before letting go of the rope, I heard a giant heart beating, "boom... boom..." Distant, and yet close. It was everywhere. Beneath the bark, pumping up the juices of the earth. Deep underground, down to the roots. And from far away, where the sparkling glade had been waiting for me.

The giant heart of the forest was throbbing, beating steadily. Without a trace of fear or exhaustion. A good, healthy heart. Reassuring. Calling.... I had to go. I had to run...

I was running through the dreamy forest, after the ray of silvery light. The branches reaching for my body, the wind whispering desire. The memory was near, the forest glade concealed with the thinnest of veils...

Wading through the mist, I cast away my cloak. I no longer need any nymph magic here. It's in my chest, beneath my skin. I am a woman, seductress of my own heart... The waves are licking my feet with their soft, longing touch.

Where is the bard to trace my steps in the sand? Tear the veil from upon my heart! Shed my skin, and touch it. Feel it! the pulse beating hard, a thin, quivering tendon. The strings of desire, I want them to be pulled! Pulled, pushed, thrown into the cool, hugging waters before my chance to get afraid. Let me see your face above my lips, as the waves are washing me along. Deep inside myself, a vein throbbing, pumping red-hot blood, "boom... boom..." Yet strangely at peace, floating, reassuring...

Over the bed of my lake, the bowl of the sky is spread over as a blanket. Who are you, the little star smiling from above? Like an eye blinking... A teardrop leaving long circles behind. Can the willows truly weep?..

Did I dream it all up last night, or was that for real? I don't think I remember...

The Shadow Druids finally let us go. The splinter druidic sect, they worship nature beyond even their brethren in spirit. And woe to the one who crosses as much as a tiniest woodland creature! They take lives for that, and the other druids are the first to go. There is no room for 'weaklings' in their book.

Would they detain someone who was after the Iron Throne's mine? That question animated us since yesterday, when we wandered smack into their domain, their hidden retreat. Greeted at the river crossing with a question if we're with the Iron Throne or not. I'm glad Edwin knew to answer right. Montaron was almost there with a 'yes'. Stupid halfling, did he really thought a druid would have any other message to pass than a nice lively lightning out of the sky? One look into Laskal's eyes would've revealed the sparkles.

Did I see them fly today? The younger ones, aye... The Shadow Druids are a funny bunch. Should've seen how they were studying that sword I took from Aldeth Sashenstar's body. Turned out to be magical, for a change. Especially good against shapeshifters. Can't say I met any yet, but by the reaction of the druids I almost started to have my doubts...

Well, the younger ones are all shooting flame and soot outta their nostrils like dragons. We were given just such a zealous 'guide' in the morning, when we were solemnly granted free passage through the forest in exchange for a service to be performed. And an implicit test of our behavior, to be sure.

And thusly Faldorn led us straight to the cave shared by an odd fellow with just as odd a company: a pair of baby wyverns, no more and no less! Training them into guards for the very same mine we're seeking out. Coran's lies might have a ring of truth, after all...

But Peter's lies didn't... When Viconia removed her hood, there was no more of his nonsense talk about "harvesting subterranean trees", there was a fight, pure and simple. And while the wizards occupied themselves with the wyvernspawn, Faldorn took the vengeance into her own hands. Peter was toasted "for the crimes against nature," and we were left to go on our way, alone.

Wait... did I only imagine a bear giving that long glance behind our backs?

We'd better be careful. Around midnight Montaron, while out scouting, left the shadows to taste the charms of a local hamadryad. Stupid lecher, will he never learn? Aye, and charm him she did... and then attacked us in return, too! In vain did both Xzar and Edwin hurl their magic against the furious tree spirit. They'd find empty air where she'd just been before. Montaron could only be restrained by Xzar's web spell, lest he harmed his own master.

You'd have to ask Shar-Teel where our foe finally gone. I only wish those druids wouldn't ask us the same question... We skipped much of the travelled pathways on our way to avoid a chance meeting, with the druids and the Iron Throne patrols alike. Why risk a bridge when one can swim across? We emptied our backpacks in the same cave, now in Faldorn's keeping. We're lean and mean, and we're coming!

The druids didn't lie about the directions to the mine. The further we were advancing east, the more of the Iron Throne patrols we had to sneak by. And finally, the rising sun outlined the contours of the mine, an ugly wound thrust like an axe into the living flesh of the forest. It was only then that I realized I lost the Prism's statue with the emerald eyes. The road back will be long, after all...

I thought we did a fine job dodging the patrols on the way here and around the mine's perimeter. Edwin suggested as much, for we didn't want the entire garrison ganging up on us.

We had but time to scout out the general layout of the surface area, thanks to the abundance of the tall trees reaching far above the fences. Two fortified islands, with a fenced corridor connecting them both. The moat is fairly wide and appears to be part of the river. As if someone flooded it on purpose, but just enough not to jeopardize the mine. There was a stable, a few other buildings... no homes. For a long time, we couldn't figure out where was the entrance to the mine itself. The iron caravans must've been rare, and ours was not the lucky day. No iron was being hauled up, nor did we see a single miner, for that matter.

Then the answer came by itself... We did a good job of hiding ourselves, just not good enough. We could've fooled the ordinary guards. Not the four that descended upon us in the middle of day. They knew me by name, bespeaking the fact that we were quite expected. The wave of destruction that rolled over the bandit camp wasn't left unnoticed here, after all.

Everything started so fast, so unexpected. In the blink of an eye, Drassus was next to Shar-Teel, and Rezdan's horror spell touched all of us, save our amazon and the Red Wizard. The power-girl just doesn't know fear, the meaning of the word 'retreat' is foreign to her. She's now proudly wearing Drassus' boots of speed, yet back then the situation wasn't looking as cheerful. If not for Edwin's magic helping of courage, followed with some horror magic of his own, I don't know where we'd have been by now.

As soon as Xzar came back to his senses, a stinking mass of vapors covered the bushes hiding the enemy spellcasters. Kysus had barely enough time to step through a shadow door, and then he too must've fallen unconscious. Most of the wolves summoned to their aid fell victim to the very same incapacitating spell.

I hope the stinking cloud was not noticed by the guards at the mine. There are enough skunks out in the woods... Other than that, our wizards had enough sense to keep their magic low-key. Not that there was any need for a big flash, anyway. Before Genthore recovered his courage, Drassus was already paralyzed by Viconia's holding spell. Shar-Teel's mighty blade finished the work well done, and we even succeeded in taking Kysus captive. Only because our arrows couldn't find his prostrate body behind that shadow door...

Before he died, he told us much. How could I forget! It was a former dwarven mine, and the shortlings like to call 'em home. The living quarters must have been underground. And that's where the higher-ups would be found, too. I'm curious if they might have any bags of holding. That'd explain where the mined iron is disappearing.

The entrance to the mines is from the bailey on the island to the east. Tonight, we must sneak in and pray for luck. Heck, we're risking being discovered already by merely sitting here like ducks! Tazok did leave the mines. But Davaeorn's still here. Better be careful, he's a mage of renown. Quickly in, and quickly out. We'll figure out something along the way.

The night's been merciful. The new moon was not casting its shadow on the six of us sneaking across the guarded islands. Beam by a wooden beam, touch them, cling to them, merge into them like a seal pressing against a rogue's sentence. Breath by a short breath, wary of the steps suddenly echoing from around the corner, concealed only with the veil of night.

It would part at times, like back there at the bridge, with a beam of enspelling charm catching them up by their eyes, the pairs of blindly adoring eyes, as if by invisible threads pulled to their doom. The nymph magic, like at the mountain stronghold of the gnolls, it works even better with humans. Simple to kill one without a protesting sound than trust the longevity of their forced compliance. A body is easier to cover up than a soul. Easier to die willingly, for a blind heart does not cry. The night's been merciful, indeed...

The howls of a multitude of the forest continued echoing in our ears even far beneath the surface. As if the nature itself conspired to help us in our plight. The fear and anticipation can be more powerful than a direct attack. Long minutes of waiting in a shack next to the dead body of a Black Lotus sniffer, listening to the falling cadence of footsteps, as the additional guards were running to reinforce the perimeter, to guard against the fear of the forest. Followed by the long minutes of walking down the long, winding pathways, full of silent slave workers and few guards to charm. An eerie, hollow silence, like the heart falling through, dropping, dripping blood.

The slaves, with only two reasons to keep pounding their picks against the rocks. The faint echo of a voice, "Because I imagine this rock to be my captor's skull... Because the meager spark that leaps from my attempt is all the light I'll ever know again."

I look back at Viconia... how does it feel, a life without light? Some are already blind by heart, like that former bard with withered lungs, spitting phlegm of his curses against Davaeorn. Some are blind with their soul, as Faber the snitch, calling guards sheepishly whenever anyone would speak ill of their master. He's got more than his share of crying in this life...

And yet there are more of those eager to smash their picks against their captors' skulls. Here, in the cells of a slave prison, we found Rill, their leader, and Yeslick the dwarf. The keys to their freedom were in the hands of Hareishan, one of the Davaeorn's magelings. He came rushing straight into our faces, along with his entourage of Iron Throne soldiers. Too many to be charmed. The stench of burning flesh... it's not been merciful, their night.

Rill's men have long been nourishing a plan of mass escape. Their chance is now. I don't care if they succeed, or if the captain of the guard could indeed be bought. As long as the commotion keeps the hounds off our trail.

The guards are discontent and scared already. The one at the secret passage we led Rill and Yeslick through back to their comrades barely even had to be charmed. Wiggling on the floor like a worm begging for his life, he was happy to be used for a decoy, pretending to guard the two back to their labor.

I wish them luck. I hope we get ours. The dwarf had an interesting (if barely legible) story to tell. Of old, this mine used to be home to his kin, a clan of Orothiar dwarves. Of all the greed and stupidity! Was it Yeslick himself who breached the bed of an underground river, the flood wiping out his entire clan in a matter of minutes?

He was found years later by Davaeorn, tortured into revealing the mine's long forgotten location, and kept here as a pet. A fitting punishment, and a lesson to learn. The important thing is now we know the best way to deal a blow to the Iron Throne's mining efforts. The key to the river plug must be in Davaeorn's hands. We'll wring it out of them, dead or alive. Cold or still quivering...

The dwarven mines... The deeper we're going, the plusher and more comfortable are the levels. Now I can understand at least a part of the resentment the human guards must be harboring. Here, far from the mining shafts and slave barracks, the heart of the mine is entrusted to hobgoblins. Lots of them, with poisoned arrows, fat happy. No running up to help their comrades at a sign of distress. They will be the first to drown...

...If we make it that far! I've bet my life that we will. What led us through the crisscrossed networks of corridors here, if not the essence of the drow? Does she feel the veins cut into the bowels of the earth by heart? She knows where to stand, and where to go. Where to sing... A rasp, hissing incantation issues as a venom spitting, and a glyph of warding materializes in the dim air. A group of goblins rounding a corner, wobbling toward us with their puny swords. The blast will teach 'em good! And the skull trap thrown by Xzar in for a good measure will keep the rest from coming after us, locking them in with its chilling, taunting rictus of death.

That was as much magic as our wizards would use, saving, with Edwin's advice, their destructive power for the big show ahead. Only once again did Zhentarim fires come out blazing. The drow magic is so much more subtle. I never fail to marvel at her magic resistance. Or is it rather the strength of her indomitable spirit? In vain did another of Davaeorn's magelings with the lively name Natasha try to shatter Viconia with a bolt of lightning. A drow priest is hard to confuse. After a spell of silence stoppers the voice of power in the throat, a black hand to strangle a helpless cry is soon to follow...

And so we are standing now before the final few steps, the end of the staircase is shrouded in shadows. Behind a massive door, what are we to find? The archmage Davaeorn with his 'arch-magic'. The stories we've heard on the way surpass anything we've faced so far.

In the face of the challenge, are we looking into ourselves for the strength to find? Or out at the others? Shar-Teel doesn't seem to care, one more man to humble in the end, and if a death, what does it matter? Murder in Montaron's eyes, and the wild, incinerating eyes of his maniacal friend. Edwin in his red robe, clutching the wand of frost that he salvaged from the spider lair. Protective barriers rising around us...

Everyone breathing loudly, some slowly, some with a widely accelerating beat of a heart ready to jump out. But Viconia... she's starting to chant. A darker blessing on the scales of courage. The moment of truth, are we ready to rush it?

And rush we did! Down the echoing corridors, over a hapless guard's dead body, with murder in our eyes.In my own eyes...

Shar-Teel's boots of speed did not brake at the skull trap with a glyph of warding floating in the air. The air convulsed with the force of the twin blasts, reverberating like thunder in our ears. It woke up the spirits. Two empty suits of plate armor suddenly shook off their slumber, and two pairs of burning eyes ignited flaming swords in their hands.

Their master was there, with an indifferent greeting from behind their backs. We knew his name, but he would not care to "get acquainted with the dead," as-a-matter-of-factly. And for a moment, it looked like he might've been correct in his assessment.

Shar-Teel swayed, blood burning, hissing from the heat of the flaming blades. It took those precious seconds for me to realize the battle horrors were impervious to arrow damage, and the archmage teleported away. Soon, the entire antechamber was filled with his reflections. The same cold, emotionless face staring from every corner...

What came next is a burning pain to remember. Out of nowhere, or from everywhere at once, a huge ball of fire erupted, billowing, toward me. Into my face... The tongues of flame streaked against my protective barrier, but the intense heat radiating from my armor sent spasms of agony down my skin. The ankheg shell, I would've been cooked in metal!

It was as if time itself stopped, or unbearably slowed. And I was feeling every second of it... The pulse in my head was throbbing with pain, like giant hammers pounding from inside my temples. And then... it suddenly stopped. Only the pulse of battle remained. Xzar managed to dispel the magic. Cooling the heat, dissolving the enemy's magic swords, and disrupting our own protective barriers as well. Wordlessly, I fell into Viconia's healing spell supporting me from behind.

The time resumed, and I rose. Even without their flaming swords, the two possessed suits of armor could break skulls with their armored gloves. Few more seconds, and their dreaded weapons would be restored to them!

That's when Edwin left his invisible state. I do not know what he intended from the start. Only now he suddenly materialized right behind the battle horrors, pegging them with a series of concentrated blasts from his wand of frost. Four thick streaks of ice burning through the air, two for each of them, and the suits of ancient armor stopped their ethereal fighting dance. Freezing, frozen, then breaking down into pieces. Ours was but a brief time to rejoice...

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Viconia stumble beside me, as if something was pulling her down, trying to twist her very soul against us. With a visible effort, she fought it off, and the familiar sounds of a drow chant filled my ears, breathing in renewed courage. Edwin, however, was caught dead in his tracks with a paralyzation spell, and so was our sneaky halfling.

I stood erect. All around me were the same cold, emotionless targets to shoot. The mirror images shattering with an arrow impact. One, two... one more... how many yet to go?!

A ferocious growl broke my concentration. In the blink of an eye, I found myself surrounded with seven worgs, relentless, hungry scowl in their semi-intelligent eyes. Viconia, sing!.. And a sudden wave of strength lifted me all the way up on its white-foamed crest. There! a kick in the jaws of sharp teeth, and the beast is knocked down. Varscona's voice... stronger, demanding!

"Time to kill!.. time to drink blood... hot blood... cold blade..."

From upon the crest of my wave, I could see Shar-Teel rising, in Viconia's chant finding strength to shrug off her wounds. I saw Xzar hurling his dispelling magic, this time at Davaeorn himself. The single-faced reflections all blinking out of existence...

A lightning streaked. Beyond belief, it didn't stop Shar-Teel. Nor did the uplifting swing of her blade falter... This time and this time only, I saw eyes bulging in horror on Davaeorn's emotionless face. It stayed there forever, as the head rolled away from the body over the cold, emotionless floor.

The dawn was rising over the deluge as we were running out of the gaping maw of the flooded mine, the dying screams of the unlucky ones being covered with the thundering roar of a giant whirlpool...

Only now did we get time to seriously lick our wounds. What a ramshackle bunch emerged out of Davaeorn's lair! We must be thankful the old bugger had an elevator straight up to the surface, just as Edwin thought he would. The overlord mentality! I was happy not to have to trudge all the way back, though.

Even here, we're occasionally being harassed by a stray guard, or a Black Talon, either running away or searching for runaway slaves, oblivious to the mine's demise. I didn't have high hopes for the slaves' plight. But if they succeeded, many a family along the Sword Coast and beyond would soon be blessing our name.

Other than fame, we've spirited away quite a lot of treasure. Mostly spell scrolls and gems. Much had to be left over, too heavy to be carried away on the backs, still aching from burns and wounds. Heck, some of us had to be carried away, too! We must be thankful for the druids' parting gift. The taste of their goodberries is... invigorating. Where'd we have been now without their healing magic? Viconia was all spent, and the wizards... they must be thankful to be alive!

Yet even now, they keep squabbling and bickering over Davaeorn's archmagi robe and the matching set of enchanted bracers to go with them. Whatever the arrangement, someone is bound to be unhappy. Ah, I hear Xzar growling in frustration! I guess their temporary treaty is not gonna be long to last.

Why should I care? We've flooded the mines, and that's what's important. The most precious treasure is mine, the letters from Davaeorn's private scriptorium. And another lead onto the mystery. The mage was not the highest ranking boss in the entire enterprise. Someone under the name of Reiltar has been telling Davaeorn what to do. Is he one of the three Iron Throne leaders that Stephan, Davaeorn's apprentice, did not know by name?

That Stephan weakling paid well for sparing his life. Of course, the information he gave us spoke bright and clear that he was not such an "innocent pawn" as he wanted us to believe. Doesn't matter. I want my enemies to know my name, to know who's been treading on their toes. And Stephan, the ill news bringer, will do his part of the job well enough.

Not all families, it seems, will welcome their sons back home, be they former slaves or their guards. A fearsome shadow fell upon the woods last evening. With a screech rising up, a lone prey beating helplessly in the giant claws. That weird elf Coran was right. We followed the wyvern on, the way of the setting sun. Red blood was spilling over the horizon...

I have read much of the wyverns in the library at Candlekeep. Never seen an adult wyvern before. Never stalked one before, or found its lair. From what I knew about them, they preferred the mountainsides overlooking the forests. The lonely silhouettes of the local hills were not hard to make out. But to find the wyvern lair? Not as easy...

Our wizards are better learn the fine art of tracking. Months in the wilderness, and they're still expecting to waltz it. Stealth is the word when stalking a dangerous animal. Viconia knows it well, the one who strikes first also strikes last.

Is a city any different? When I'm in Baldur's Gate, I'm gonna find out. The tracks are all leading there. Davaeorn's letters had much to tell...

Our plans go smoothly. Sarevok has arrived from our headquarters in Ordulin. He brings news from our superiors; they are pleased with our progress so far. I plan to place Sarevok as the commander of our mercenary forces in the region. He has already sent his subordinate, Tazok, to the Wood of Sharp Teeth to take command of the forces located there. Things go apace here in Baldur's Gate. We have placed our first agent among the ranks of the Seven Suns trading coster.

Reiltar

Sarevok... Why is that name ringing such a bell? I've never heard it before, why should I?

Ah, well... Now we know enough to say that flooding the mines was the right thing to do. Someone was much too clever to realize that with all the ore tainted, or otherwise prevented from reaching the city, the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate would bestow great favors and privileges on the merchant organization that'd provide them with quality ore in the face of a perceived threat of Amnish aggression.

The ore from this mine, along with the bounty from the bandit raids. So, that's where all the rumors of war are spreading from! The Iron Throne leaders' ambitions are soaring high. Smart... they even thought of casting shadow of suspicion over the Zhentarim by planting false evidence. And planting their own "agents" into the ranks of their direct competitor, the Seven Suns trading coster.

As you have probably heard, the iron poison began to take effect around the coast. With the majority of iron import being disrupted by Tazok, almost all of it comes from the tainted source in Nashkel. The Sythillisian uprising in Amn has ensured that no forces from that nation will be able to take action against our mercenary forces. However, the Flaming Fist has caught several of the Black Talon mercenaries. All of those captured have claimed allegiance with the Zhentarim and have thus shifted any suspicion away from the Iron Throne. [...]

We have purchased one of the western noble estates to use as our base of operations. It is an ancient building, most likely constructed before the erection of the second wall. [...]

Reiltar

Reiltar again... Uprisings and wars? The Iron Throne leaders are sure flying high. Let's see if their heads would follow...

The hunt is over... By dawn, we stood by the enormous cave opening, more tall than it was wide. 'Stood' is too loud a word for our cowering position amongst the rocks overlooking the entrance. A long trail of blood was leading in, and the morning flies were already started to buzz. Time to time, a loud hiss would issue out of the cavern, as if red-hot metal were plunged into cold water, occasionally interrupted with a deep-throated growl.

Just as I suspected, the cave belonged to a wyvern family, a pair with their young. The male departed early in the morning, coming back with his prey, once and twice.

A distant, lesser, cousin to the dragons... ascending, the wind from his pair of batlike, leathery wings beat me in the face. Their total expanse was wider than the entire length of his thirty-something feet long body! Or should I say, his body together with his tail? Longer than the body proper, with a two feet long stinger curving up at the top, it was more dangerous than the rows of long, sharp teeth. A giant flying scorpion! Many a man dropped instantly like flies from its deadly poison. Something had to be done about it, something to give us a fighting advantage.

By the noontime, the wyvern returned to the cave for the last time, and when the sounds of the feast died out, we knew it was our time to strike. Edwin is one heck of a smart wizard! He surmised that the wyverns would rather fly out of the cave, and if they couldn't... the way over the ground was much too narrow for them to stretch out comfortably.

Concealed with his magic arts, Viconia with Xzar crawled down toward the gaping maw of the cave. When their glyph of warding and a skull trap were launched high into the air, they were revealed. But the attacking wyverns were knocked down in confusion by the concussive force of two simultaneous explosions, as they were trying to lift themselves up in the air.

The moment was taken up by Edwin, with his new fancy slowing spell... The moment the final thread of his incantation was cut out, the mighty beasts suddenly changed the rhythm of their movements. Slowed down, the wings, the body, and the tail. Even their hideous hiss changed pitch. No more hot swords tempered with cold water, but only the bubbles slowly gurgling up a drowning man's throat. Unable to beat their wings at normal speed, they could no longer lift themselves from the ground.

The rest was easy. The hunter has been hunted itself. At the drow's command, the bones rose from the ground. For once, I did not mind. How fitting that the remains of the wyvern's prey themselves would mete their judgement. Both captivating and horrible to watch the skeletal fragments of many different creatures combine into an awesome, frightening creature from the nightmares of vengeance. Ours were the arrows of fire and acid. We're now in possession of not just one... nay, two wyvern heads to bring to the Song of the Morning Temple for a nice round sum in gold.

If only my hunter were as easy to hunt down...

"Our pet mustard jelly, slowing down and spitting acid."

To hear Viconia in a cursing match with Edwin, you'd never guess they'd been closer than that. Are they ever gonna decide on love or hate? A smile upon a drow face is hard to mistake for either...

The ring of energy on Viconia's slender finger? Crafted by drow mages of the Underdark, this weapon saw its first action in an arranged battle between two rival houses. Each combatant was allowed to use a single magic item to aid his efforts. This ring was the weapon used by the victor of the contest, though he never laid hands on it. Worn by his sibling and fired from the crowd, striking his opponent squarely in the back... The drow spirit! Everyone witnessing agreed it was a brilliant interpretation of the rules.

And now, the drow magic is returned to their renegade sister. This time, passed freely between rivals. Perhaps... more than mere rivals? Edwin's reward from the Red Wizards in the Wood of Sharp Teeth, was it not? The payment for Dynaheir's life...

The law of Thay is strict and demanding. What did he tell them to get his leave to follow us on our journey? Did he even have to convince them to risk leaving witnesses to their secret dealings?! I know not. Perhaps, 'tis nothing more than a new assignment, and I should be wary... Wary of what? Of Edwin and Viconia suddenly locking eyes with each other, holding breath from their curses, forgetting all the world around them?

They will erupt against each other soon enough. But this moment of holding breath I want to treasure. Just for a moment, open your lungs to the green, flowering air of the forest, breathe in deeply and hold it. And while it's dissolving into your blood stream, listen... listen to the beat of nature. It's in the air itself, steady, peaceful, reassuring. Blood, pumping down your arteries, is reaching, bringing it to every part, every cell of your body...

Close your eyes, and dream. Through the somber feast that the druids are making for us and our victory over the enemies of the forest. Dream of the songs that will be sung over their offerings. Of one and only song that I want to hear? If only I did not lose those emerald eyes!

Midsummer's eve is fast approaching. Will we run naked through the enchanted forest to the whispers of magic? Will I find the coveted fernflower at last, blooming but this one night a year? The young girl singing her sweat 'finding song' on the midsummer night around Candlekeep, where are you? The old folktale of eternal happiness, will it ever come true?

Only the druids are truly at home here. The forest, their sanctuary, and the source of their power. At the peak of the midsummer's strength, its giant heart starts humming a song. There, listen! Or... is it the faint murmur of the same voices inside my head?

Something must be coming, I feel them both, fear and eagerness. The druid songs have been particularly moody tonight...

Tonight I was dreaming of blood. Not of blood on a blade, nor the blood on my hands, but an ichor running as a torrent through the Realms. A flood pouring across the fields and forests. An ocean reaching to the world's edge, and threatening to cascade off into the void.

The blood was a frightening thing: a massive force that sweeps away all resistance. As a whole it is a monster, and it cannot be stopped. Were it to be viewed from on high, it would seem to cover the entire world in its red-black embrace...

I was running through the dreamy forest, eager to escape the wild torrent gushing out of the earth's open wounds. Fear coursing through my veins, hope lingering on the edge of sight. Gasping for a breath of fresh air, void of its murderous stench.

I felt a strong pull, tugging hard on my soul. As if a ghoulish, undead touch reaching out from behind the brink of life. A cold, insistent voice flooding in to fill my ears.

I recognized it. From the withered leaves at the waters of melting, and from the ancient grave waiting to be opened. From the coppery smell of blood-soaked grass at the Firewine. And from the trembling of my hands, with the river plug starting to turn... "Hurry, hurry! Before they all escape..." WHO IS TALKING TO ME?!

I stopped. I let it go. It disappeared... There was silence. I stood at the edge of a moonlit lake, the glowworms rimming its edge with a string of warm, flickering lights. Across the sand, the brisk footsteps falling in, the cool water leaning up to whisper the first, opening sounds...

I saw him. The bard with a wild rose pinned against his heart. A red rose... And cupped in his hands, a pair of emerald-green blinking. He knew The Song.