Haha, thank you @Blackraven, I have exactly the same issue, but my greed to read good writing always gets the better of me and I happily devour each thread people have shared of their characters here...and then have to try and check that I haven't stolen any ideas in my own writing.
To be fair, we're all writing about the same game, so it's only natural that some ideas are going to criss-cross. And it's not like we're getting paid for any of this either.
Very true, but it is surprising how many different directions people can take when describing essentially the same events and characters! Quite often I find a sterling idea or twist that amazes me and I'm instantly jealous I didn't think of it first! ;-)
It was mid of night by the time the party finally came to the Inn, Laisha's nightvision from her elven heritage proving invaluable in avoiding potholes and stumbling obstacles along the road. She called a halt before they came fully in view of the Inn. It was definitely not what she had expected. Far from a homely, cottage style establishment, the Friendly Arm Inn was a towering brick castle, cold and imposing.
Two guards stood on the open drawbridge at the entryway, seemingly casual in their stance, but their eyes noting every movement around them. Taking a breath and throwing caution to the wind, Laisha strode forward as the tired group straggled up the wooden bridge, where she was greeted with a nod and well practiced greeting. “Welcome to the Friendly Arm. I trust you know the rules of conduct within?" Imoen pulled a face and whispered. “Rules? Booooooooooring”
Laisha gave her a quick glare and shushed her, then turned back to the guard who was trying to remain stern as Imoen continued to pull faces at him, trying to make him laugh. “There are rules?” Laisha asked. “What kind of rules?” "Well, perhaps 'rules' is a touch too formal. It is unwritten, but accepted, that while herein you will act with the utmost of civility to all other guests. This is neutral ground, and all grievances are left at the gates. If the grievances come in, then you will go out.” Laisha nodded and relaxed. Nothing she wasn't used to back at Candlekeep. She had no intention of starting any hostile behaviour here, so these rules seemed to actually be in her favour. The guards, seemingly used to travelers of all descriptions turning up at all hours, moved aside and called after them as the party moved into the grounds. “Enjoy your stay." Laisha mulled over that, struggling to find any hint of veiled threat or irony in the statement, but decided to let it go and take it at face value.
Surprisingly, there were a few people wandering the vast grounds even at the mid of night. They obviously felt secure enough within the grounds to wander as they wished, and Laisha felt curious eyes on the newest arrivals to the Inn. The nearest man approached them amiably. “Travelers, huh?” Laisha nodded in response, and encouraged, the man continued. “You're the first group to come into town all day. Not many have braved the roads since all the trouble started up. We've seen only ten new faces in the last month. Found a lot of bodies, unfortunately. “ Xzar perked up at that statement, and opened his mouth eagerly but Laisha quelled him with a sharp look. “Never mind, Xzar.” she said flatly, and the mad wizard backed away, crestfallen. A second man joined the first, eyeing the band's weapons appreciatively. “Used to be a bandit, I was. More money there than in the mines of Nashkel, that's fer sure. Probably less danger, too, from the sounds of it.” Intrigued despite her better judgement, Laisha addressed the mouthy man. “You were a bandit?” “That I was and I ain't afraid to say it, neither,” the man spat at his feet and stared the party down proudly. “But those bandits out there now, they're different, I tells ya. They've got a mean streak in 'em and their minds set on taking over the whole area... Most of my old pals have gone missin' and I don't like it one bit. That's why I'm holed up here. I've been good to Bentley and Gellana in the past so now it's their turn to look after me.” So the owners of this Inn took help from bandits, Laisha pondered. An interesting tidbit to know. But being out here in virtually the middle of nowhere, she supposed it was an inevitable compromise to turn a blind eye to some deeds done by the folk who frequented the place in order to try and keep it running. But if even ex-bandits weren't keen on working down in Nashkel, then something surely was wrong! “Well, what's so dangerous about the Nashkel mines?” she asked. “Well, if you believed every tale you heard, you'd have to say the King of the Nine Hells himself were down at the bottom of it, smoking a pipe and making himself comfortable. To be honest, I don't know what's down there. All I know is that a lot of the folks who work in that infernal place don't ever make it back up to the surface.”
Xzar and Montaron exchanged a long, meaningful glance that Laisha noted but didn't understand. “We should go to Nashkel as quickly as possible.” Xzar said cheerfully. “Coming here has only delayed us foolishly. It would not do to keep the King of Hells waiting. He and I have business together!” he giggled demonically and the townsfolk carefully backed away. Seeing their startled looks, a wandering grounds guard strode up, declaiming emphatically. “There is to be no fighting or stealing within the walls of the Friendly Arm Inn! Aggressors will be punished to the full extent of frontier law!” Pouting a little at the “no stealing” rule, Imoen whispered. “What do ya think frontier law is?” Montaron grinned eviily. “That'd be hanging he's talkin' about, girly. By the neck, til ye be dead. Crrckkkk!” Imoen shuddered as the wicked halfling chortled with delight. Their wanderings took them around to a small expanse of farmland, lines of crops growing in rows and a few head of cattle lowing between munching on grass. The sight of them brought sudden, unexpected pangs of homesickness for Laisha as she thought of Nessie and Dreppin back at Candlekeep. A familiar smell, of soil and cattle hit her nose, and she turned, almost expecting to see Dreppin's weather beaten face smiling back at her. Instead, it was a farmer's weatherbeaten face, unfamiliar and scowling. “Damn it, my plow broke apart like it had rusted out in a single overnight. How's a man supposed to get any work done and make his living? Can't keep prices down if I have to plant everything by hand. Now get out of me face. I've troubles enough without you poking your nose in.” Laisha glanced at the broken pile of metal heaped in the corner that had once been a plow. A younger man who had been digging in the dirt stood then and approached an apologetic half smile as he wiped his brow of sweat and soil. “Please excuse my father's manner. Our farm is at a standstill. One by one our tools break , and replacements are priced incredibly high. If we don't get a good stock of ore before harvest, crops will be rotting in the fields. Can't manage a farm with your bare hands.” He sighed and went back to his thankless task as Laisha frowned, watching them labor before backing away, not wanting to appear rude by staring without helping.
The largest building on the grounds, bar the huge imposing Inn itself, seemed to serve as a chapel. Stepping forward to inspect, Laisha found it was dedicated to the gnomish god Garl Glittergold. A curious devotion, she thought, to the pantheons of luck and trickery, an observation that did little to set the half-elf at ease. All was shrouded in darkness save for a solitary burning candle and Laisha resolved to investigate it in the morning.
To the left, a narrow set of ancient stone stairs led the way up to what Laisha presumed would be the entry to the Inn proper. As she set foot on the bottom step a robed figure peeled himself from where he had been lurking in the shadows against the wall and approached her, studying her face thoughtfully. “Hi, friend. I've not seen you here before tonight. What brings you to the Friendly Arm?” “Me? I'm here to meet some friends.” Laisha replied. “Oh, you must be whom I am to meet, then. I will take you to your friends, but first I should be sure you are the correct person. Is your name Laisha?” “Why, yes it is.” Laisha confirmed, ignoring the worried sounds behind her from Imoen. “Perfect. You are indeed the person I seek. Now hold still a moment, will you?” “Wait, what?” Laisha started, confused. The robed man began chanting ominously, and the companions cried out in alarm.
“Laisha! He's a mage! Beware!” Imoen shouted, notching up an arrow, then blinking in surprise as several copies of the assassin mage appeared before her eyes as he finished his incantation. “I don't know which one to aim for!” she screamed in frustration. “Just shoot, girlie, the one that bleeds'll be the real one” Montaron replied grimly as he drew the bow he'd filched from the body back at the ambush site. "Mirror Images! Dirty, filthy little trickster!" snarled Xzar as he began a chant of his own. Imoen and Montaron unleashed arrows, stunning the enemy mage as all of a sudden two of his mirror images disappated from the arrow hits. “Keep going, he's on the defensive!” Laisha cried, summoning her magics deep within her to try and cast a sleep spell on the mage as the Friendly Arm guards, roused by the furore, came charging in to join the battle.
The Weave responded to her call, and a burst of magical energy sprang forth, surrounding all who battled...and all participants stopped suddenly, astounded at the deathly silence that engulfed them. The mage on the steps found his next spell fizzling as he mouthed the words, but no sound emerged. Xzar found likewise and he groaned silently in disappointment. Montaron snarled soundlessly as he dropped his bow and advanced threateningly on the now frightened assassin, waving his short sword menacingly. He thrust savagely, straight through the man's throat, impaling him against the stone wall of the Inn as his body twitched and jerked for one final time before slumping lifeless onto the steps.
Laisha turned to the guard and raised a quizzical brow. “No fighting at the Inn, huh? How's that working for ya?” Everyone jumped as Laisha's unexpected silence spell ended and the words came loud and accusatory. The guard cleared his throat, and looked sheepish. “I apologize, Miss. This man here had been at the Inn at least a week. Went by the name of Tarnesh, and never caused any problems...until now.” he shrugged. “Well, by our law, what was his is now yours. He attacked you, so his possessions are forfeit. Anything you don't want can be left at the Inn as a donation.” Laisha nodded as Imoen knelt down by the corpse and gingerly picked through the pockets of his robe. “Hmm some gold, a few scrolls, ooh spellbook! And...wait, what's this?” Imoen held up another scroll, etched in ominous looking writing, her eyes wide as she beckoned Laisha away from the curious onlookers. “Uhhh Lai! I think you better see this!” Laisha took the paper, her eyes widening and hand flying to her mouth as she scanned the parchment.
BOUNTY NOTICE
Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Laisha, the foster child of Gorion. Last seen in the area of Candlekeep, this person is to be killed in quick order. Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than two hundred coins of gold. As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate.
Montaron cackled and waggled his hairy eyebrows up and down as he snuck down the steps behind Laisha and read the note from over her shoulder. "So, ye got a nice price on yer noggin, eh kid? Not bad. Makes me like ye somewhat. Be sure it stays this way, though, or I'll be collecting that sum meself." “Smiles, everyone, Smiles! This is like some great fantasy!” Xzar proclaimed with a manic grin, causing Imoen and Laisha to glare at him. “Let's just get inside before someone else decides I'm fair game.” the exhausted half-elf grumbled and the weary band finally pushed open the doors to the Inn.
Inside, the Inn was bustling despite the late hour, drinkers of all description keeping the barmaids run ragged. A cry came up from the back of the room as a few heads turned their way. “Hoy! 'ere comes the waif who slew the mage! Make way lest she cut you down too!” called a rough voice, and the bar broke out into laughter. Laisha blushed scarlet as Xzar and Montaron scowled savagely. Behind her, she sensed Imoen shuffle nervously, her hand on the dagger in her belt. A half drunk man approached the small band, flagon of ale thrust out in front of him merrily. “Hey, friend! He greeted Laisha as an old acquaintance. “Glad to meet a fine sort such as yourself! I heard you gave that old Tarnesh what for, good for you!” A little bemused, Laisha offered up her thanks. “I'm Jopi, by the way. I can't stand the way the roads are cut off these days. Makes everyone cranky and hotheaded. Me uncle's in Baldur's Gate and I can't get there to see 'im.” “Oh?” Imoen piped in. “What does your uncle do?” “He's a mage, and a crotchety ol' one at that! Goes by the name of Ragefast though as kids we always called him Grumpleskin. Har, if he ever caught us at it, he'd cast barkskin on us, so we'd wander around all brown-skinned and green haired and funny lookin' for a few hours.” “He sounds like fun!” Imoen grinned and Laisha agreed. “We should definitely look him up if we ever manage to get to Baldur's Gate! I'm sure he could teach us a thing or two!” Attention quickly drifted from the group as they proved to be no threat or further entertainment, and discussions quickly restarted at the various tables dotting the ground floor. Laisha threaded her way through, picking up snatches of conversation as she went. “The Iron crisis has taken everybody off guard. Why plan for a shortage when the resource is nearly unlimited? I guess we're paying for it now. I guarantee that if we survive through this it will never happen again. People will be hoarding metal for months.” one man forecast gloomily. His companion nodded as he took a swallow of ale. “Pinch off the supply of iron and after a while the farmers can't sow, the smiths can't forge and by and by, an army finds itself disarmed of all but clubs and staves. That's the kind of strife that makes a land vulnerable.” his companion bemoaned. A third man, returning from the bar with a fresh tray of drinks scoffed and winked at Laisha. “Don't you go believing every little thing being bandied about, girl. A lot of it is just people getting worried 'bout nothing. Those gossips in Beregost are always coming up with new rumors to tell travelers. Us here at the Friendly Arm, we should have more sense.” “Now that ain't true, Surrey!” the original speaker protested. “T'aint even safe to travel to Nashkel no more. I've been stuck here for weeks and weeks. Nothing to do but sit and drink.” Surrey arched a knowing brow. “Oh? And I take it you'd do differently if you ever got your sorry carcass down to Nashkel, Gavin?” “Well...no....but I'd like to have the option!” Gavin grumped as Laisha giggled and Surrey steered her up toward the bar.
“Not many come by the Inn since the bandit raids started up.” Surrey told her. “It's good to see a new face...or four...about” he winked, glancing back at Imoen, Xzar and Montaron. “I was getting pretty tired of the old ones. They do nothing but sit, drink and complain. Maybe I'll chance the roads and try and get back to Beregost one of these days.” “Back to Beregost?” Laisha inquired and Surrey nodded. “I was an apprentice blacksmith under Taerom Fuirium in Beregost. With the iron situation being what it is, I thought I'd better head somewhere else. Waterdeep maybe. Taerom's having enough trouble making a go of it as it is. But heading anywhere seems to be tough enough, journeys should be kept short to avoid all those blasted bandits. I figure I could head back to Beregost and take up farming or something. Perhaps the Temple could use another pair of hands. Or mayhaps Nessie here can give me a few tips and I can wait tables!” He laughed, attracting the attention of the bustling barmaid. “Welcome to the Friendly Arm Inn. Looks like you had a rough journey.” she said, casting a glance over the weary and battered group. “Yes well, the roughest part was inside your walls!” Her face darkened. “Yes, I'm truly sorry about that. Bentley wanted the inn to be a safe haven for all sorts of travellers. Anyone can stay here but we don't tolerate any troublemaking within these walls. But you and your group did an impressive bit of defensive fighting.” Laisha thanked her carefully, unsure of the woman's motives in being so open and friendly. Seemingly sensing her discomfort, the barmaid wiped her hand off on her stained apron and stuck it out in greeting.
"How rude of me, I guess introductions are in order. My name is Nessie, by and by. The Mirrorshades hired me to work at the Inn almost five years ago and now I wouldn't leave it for the life of me. It's wonderful here, with new faces passing through every day." “So who are the new faces here now?” Laisha asked, peering around the room carefully to see if any more would be assassins wished to claim the price on her head. Nessie smiled grimly. “With the roads being what they are right now, there aren't too many faces around here that are new anymore. Let's see... well, Unshey's been taking this time to write a new book, that ugly fella, , Dorn he calls himself, has been scowling and drinking by himself near the door, glowering at every new face that walks in like he's ready to crush them like a bug... Who else? Landrin's on the top floor, drinking up a storm, and then there was...well, Tarnesh... I'm really sorry he caused you trouble. He was all wit and charm until he heard there were visitors at the gate. The guards say he jumped out of the shadows at you and there was nothing you could do. Oh, and a pair of half elves like yourself have been waiting anxiously in the corner over there, sleeping in shifts to make sure they don't miss whoever it is they're waiting for. That's really about it. Everyone else has been here for the last two months at least. We're so full that the Mirrorshades have even talked of letting people throw down their bedrolls in the temple.” "Who are the Mirrorshades?" asked Imoen curiously. "Oh, Bentley and Gellana. They run the place. Bentley's behind the bar, there, and you can usually find Gellana in the temple. I'm usually here, waiting tables and making sure everything stays nice and clean." Laisha looked over to where an old gnome was busy pouring flagon after flagon of amber liquid to the ever thirsty denizens who seemed quite content to sit and drink and gossip. "Did Bentley build this place? It's so solid, it looks like it's been here forever!" Imoen marveled. "Oh no, Bentley and Gellana didn't build the Inn! They found it...They were part of an adventuring party, not unlike your own. In the first few years following the Time of Troubles, when all the gods were walking the surface of our world, the inn was actually the hold of a powerful, undead priest of Bhaal, god of murder. With the evil cleric weakened by the death of his god, Bentley and Gellana were able to destroy him once and for all, thus laying claim to his troubled fortress." “Huh. There's more to this place than I would have guessed.” Laisha mused, fascinated by the history of the place despite her ever present fatigue. “The present is always a thin veneer over the past. Look closely at any building in the Sword Coast region and you can be sure that its stones are held in place by history's mortar.” the barkeep advised, and then whirled about her merry way delivering drinks to the grousing patrons.
Laisha bought her own drinks then, for her and her companions. They deserved a taste of wine and ale after an assassination attempt, she thought, smiling as she pictured Winthrop and Gorion both scowling as the girls downed their alcohol. On her way back to her group, she bumped into an imposing half orc. This must be the Dorn Nessie has spoken of, she supposed. “Hrmmm. It's about time, human. Bring me another flagon of ale.” he commanded in an imperious tone used to being obeyed. Laisha looked him up and down and sneered, despite his obvious muscle and threatening bearing. She had already being accosted tonight, and would not take lightly to being ordered! “I'm NOT a human, nor am I your servant, Orc. Get your own damn ale.” Disinterested, the warrior waved her off. “Then why do you bother me? Begone.” “Huh. Nothing would please me more.” She blew a raspberry at him and his face darkened, but he turned away from her cheek and clicked his fingers at Nessie to serve him.
The four companions seated themselves at an empty table, partaking of their drinks and tearing off chunks from the cheese and bread Laisha had ordered. Montaron glared at the nearest table balefully as they gossiped and cast glances over their flagons at the makeshift party.
“I think it's those Zhentarim who've been causing all the problem 'round these parts. Amn don't have a real reason to invade, so it don't make any sense thinking they're behind it. Zhents don't need a reason though, and a lot of clues point to them too.” “Stay away!” one foolhardy man demanded of the halfling as he noticed them eavesdropping. “I bet you're those Zhentarim. I hear the turn women into goats at the snap of their fingers. I heard they were behind the trouble in Nashkel and maybe other places as well. Just you stay away from me!” “Aye, we turn women into goats, but what you didn't know is that we're skilled at turnin' men into women as well.” Montaron smiled mirthlessly, his hand on his deadly dagger. “D'you want to be an example then?” “Montaron! Stop it!” Laisha glared. Her eyes met his across the table and a fierce battle of wills ensued, broken only by an insane cackle from Xzar, lost in reverie. “Aye, aye, “ the halfling slumped back down into his chair and drained his ale. “But best ye sleep lightly, young taskmaster, or a goat ye be made into, if not worse.”
From beneath the table, content from lapping at a saucer of milk Laisha had procured for him, Hanu spoke up in between grooming his whiskers. “You could always polymorph the runt into a squirrel, Laisha. I would very much enjoy pursing that one around. Montaron's little feet lashed out viciously under the table, missing the swift cat by a mile. “Bah! I be havin' enough of this conversation. Come, thiefgirl, and I be showin' ye the art of liberatin' fools who sleep in inns from their gold!” He dragged the unsuspecting Imoen from her stool then, and the two disappeared into the crowd, looking shifty.
A drunken man swayed near the table where Laisha and Xzar sat, staring blearily at them, taking in their mage robes. “I had me a friend that asked one of them smarty-pants mages why they didn't just conjure great walls of iron from outta the air,” he said as Laisha listened, wondering where this was leading. “That there mage looked my friend square in the eye and asked him how secure he'd feel if the guards were outfitted in weapons and armor that were dispellable with nary a wink. I hate magic. Makes me nervous.” Laisha let that hang in the air a few moments before Xzar calmly liften his gaze and uttered “Boo!” The poor man squeaked and turned tail, shouldering other patrons aside in his haste to escape the mages table as Laisha and Xzar roared in laughter. From the corner, she felt two pairs of eyes watching her, studying her. She mentally prepared herself for another attack as her keen ears sought to make out the hushed conversation between the two.
“C..calm yourself, dear. W...we must proceed c..c..carefully.” the man said, a hand laid casually on his female companion's shoulder. Upon recognizing they had been spotted, the pair approached her, weaving through the patrons with a watchful ease. Laisha noted the sword at the side of the male, the club hanging from a loop in the female's belt. They appeared competent and dangerous, in contrast to the majority of farming folk gathered at the Friendly Arm. Laisha turned, her gaze coolly meeting that of the two, and got a shock when she saw that they could have been her kin – unmistakably half-elves, both! Of course, Nessie, had mentioned them earlier, that they had been waiting for someone.
It was the man who spoke to her first, in a gentle manner with a pronounced stutter. “Something about you is f-familiar, child. Your manner reminds me of a s-sage I know, b-by the name of Gorion.” A light leapt within Laisha's chest as he spoke the name of her foster father, so recently deceased. These must be the two that Gorion had urged her to seek out, Khalid and Jaheira! The female half elf harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest. “It is almost a slight on him, but I must admit I see it too.” she muttered. “Jaheira!” Khalid scolded her, conforming Laisha's hopes. “M.mind your m-m-manners! This must be the child that Gorion wrote of so often.” Gorion had written of her to others? Laisha had had no idea anyone outside Candlekeep even knew she existed!
“We are old friends of your adopted father.” Jaheira spoke plainly. “He is not with you? I must assume the worst; he would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment.” A surly rebellion flared within Laisha then. She was plenty old enough to wander without a constant chaperone! Hadn't her experiences on the Coast Road proved that?! She was here, wasn't she, relatively unharmed! “If...if he has passed, we share your loss” Khalid said sorrowfully as Jaheira continued forcefully. “Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own.” Laisha winced then, the vision of Gorion insisting she flee as he battled the powerful group springing immediately to mind. “He also wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians, if he should ever meet an untimely end. However, you are much older now, and the choice of your companions should be your own.” Jaheira finished, casting a doubtful look at Xzar who was glaring at the pair malevolently “We could t-travel with you until you get settled; help you find your l-lot in life.” Khalid offered with a hopeful smile. “It would be a fitting last service to Gorion, though we should first go to Nashkel. Khalid and I... look into local concerns, and there are rumors of strange things happening at the mine.”
“Meddlers!” coughed Xzar suddenly, drawing a pointed look from Jaheira. No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage? You would do well to help us. It affects everyone, including you. We are to meet the mayor of the town, Berrun Ghastkill.” Laisha wondered just how this so-called “Iron crisis” affected her. She wore no metal armor, wielded no sword, and plied no craft or toil that required the substance that she could see. A very few of her spell components were iron based, true, but she drew mainly from the Weave itself to provide her magics. Other than people complaining about it all the time to her so far, she could see no reason why the politicking and resources shortage affected her at all, and was a mite sick of people telling her why it should! “I'm already going to Nashkel.” Laisha said with an offhand air of superiority. “One of my current acquaintances wishes to visit there as well.” “Indeed? Interesting. In that case I think we should definitely travel as one. You can never be too careful about the dangers of the open road. Wherever they may spring from.” “Oh speak no more, lest ye gorge my sweet tooth!” Xzar snarled in response to the hostile look Jaheira gave him and rose from the table. “I must take my leave, and take to my grave..err bed, yes bed, haha, to recover my abilities, lest we begin tomorrow as we ended today.” he told Laisha as she nodded in response, relieved to put some distance between the wizard and the stern half elves.
Upstairs, Montaron was schooling Imoen in the art of snooping into people's room without being conspicuous at all. “C'mon, girlie, it's for the good of your pointy-eared friend down there,” the halfling wheedled. “If we don't know who else is staying here, we don't know who else wants 'er dead, do we?” Noting Imoen's skeptical look, the little man continued. “And we don't know who's staying here without checking out their rooms and carefully guarded valuables. You can tell a lot about a man by what he values high enough to put it behind a lock.” “Hmmm I guess you're right,” the young rogue conceded with a sudden eager grin, and the pair drifted into the shadows, trying every door and chest within their grasp!
After observing the girl filch a purse full of gold and a handful of semi-precious gems, Montaron was satisfied that her insatiable curiousity would propel her through the rest of the Inn. “I'm off t' bed,” he grunted, waving a stolen bottle of wine. “Don't disturb me, and if ye get caught by the guards due to yer slack handed methods, don't even think of bringin' my name into it. First rule of thievin', lassie, don't grass up yer fellows." Imoen eyed him and smirked. “Really, Monty? I would have thought the first rule would have been don't get caught!” The halfling glared at the girl for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was being wound up or not. Imoen beamed back at him innocently, and the little man finally gave up and stomped off to his room, throwing a final comment back. “And don't you come a sneakin' into my chambers, Missy. I sleeps with one eye open, and if ye try anything, ye be missing a hand come morning!”
Stifling a laugh, Imoen watched him go, giddy with excitement to begin exploring the Inn and obtain a few ill-gotten goodies in the process. It was for Laisha's good, she told herself solemnly. If she could help her friend by finding out who was staying in the Inn with them and ferreting out what secrets they had with them, then surely her snooping was a good thing, right? Feeling fully justified, she began to try the doors that her and Montaron had not already covered. On the third door down, she halted in the doorway as a small dwarven lady looked up inquisitively from a desk covered in papers. “Oh! Er, sorry, wrong room!” Imoen bluffed quickly. “Oh i'm sure, dearie.” the dwarf replied calmly. “Say, you came in with that uncouth lot downstairs, didn't you? Part of the group that the wizard attacked? I saw it all from my window here. Quite a fine shot with the bow you are, lassie. Just one of your many talents, I'm sure.” she finished drily, looking at her unlocked door. “I...um...well..” Imoen gaped. “Close your mouth, girl, you'll catch flies. I might have a little job for you and your friends if you're interested. You seem like you might be capable enough...and after money as well, I'm sure. “She cast a pointed look at the bulging pouch on Imoen's tunic.
“Have you heard? There's a rogue ogre with a belt fetish to the south of the Friendly Arm Inn. I had to bargain my new girdle of piercing for my life out there. Wasn't even interested in an autographed copy of my book. I'm a famous author you know, Unshey Starspire? Of Tethyr? Surely you've heard of me? No? Ah well, you youngsters seem to be all illiterate these days. Regardless, if you can get that belt back to me, I'd be mighty grateful.” “Well sure, Miss Unshey!” Imoen beamed, ecstatic at being thought of as a capable adventurer “We are strong and bold adventurers, we'll take out that ogre and get your belt back for you, no worries!”
Humming happily, Imoen ascended the stairs to the third floor, where in the common area, a lone gnome sat drinking from a glass of wine, staring into the flames of the burning fire. “Hey there. You're the girl with the bow, right?. Come here, I'd like a word.” Imoen padded over. “You must be Landrin, right? Nessie told us about you.” “Oh did she now. And what did that barwench say, that's I'm drinking Bentley out of house and home? Ha! Now, never mind all that, I heard about you and your friends, and I think I could make some use of you, if you'd be willing to help out an old lonely gnome.” “Of course! We are important adventurers and are taking on all manner of quests to help the needy!” Imoen puffed up with pride. “Hmmm.” Landrin eyed the young girl skeptically over her glass, then took another swallow. “Anyway, I've got an infestation of poisonous spiders in my cellar in Beregost. Bentley said I could stay here until they move on but I hate to impose. You'll know the house when you see it: just to the west of the Jovial Juggler Inn. Here, take these potions with you. They're antidotes against the poison. Keep whatever you don't use and I'll give you an extra 120 gold pieces if you bring back my husband's old boots that he keeps down there. If you bring back one of their bodies and my ol' bottle of wine as well, I might toss in a little something extra too.”
Imoen beamed as she ventured idly into the large open sleeping areas at the back of the Inn. Already she had got her and Laisha two quests, helping innocent, helpless old women! And they'd get paid! She barely resisted the urge to click her heels in glee when she almost stumbled into a shabbily dressed man on a stool in front of a bare mattress. “Can I help you?” He inquired, when he saw Imoen looking at him thoughtfully. “Oh! I'm sorry, it's just that I have seen quite the number of Nobles wandering the Inn. I was wondering how is it that you can afford to stay here?” “The Arm caters to everyone, and everyone is more or less equal under her roof. “ the man replied. “Some of the rooms do cost a bit more, but there is room for everyone at almost every price.” Imoen nodded in thanks and wandered off thoughtfully. This seemed like a good place to her, despite the attack on the stairs, a place where anyone in need could come and shelter. She sighed, for a moment picturing Winthrop pottering around the tiny by comparison Candlekeep Inn without her. He'd have to make all the beds himself now! She giggled, picturing the scene , then moved on to satisfy her curiosity about the other inhabitants of the Inn that night.
Downstairs, Laisha finished her third glass of wine and wiped her mouth. Despite the busy Inn, the raucous chatter had died down to a hush, most of the inhabitants having long taken to their bedrolls or rooms. Xzar and Montaron had retired, after a short conversation, Jaheira and Khalid had done the same. Imoen had disappeared, and even Hanu, her familiar had vanished the gods-knew-where. It felt somewhat strange to be back in the company of so many people after the frantic couple of days she'd had, simply trying to get here.
She placed a handful of coins on the bar to pay for her and her companions rooms, and Bentley swept them into his fist, teeling her there was a space free on the third floor for her. She tiredly climbed the stairs, wincing at the thought that she still had several hours of study ahead of her into the night if she wished to transcribe the scrolls from Tarnesh's corpse into her own spellbook. “A wizard's work is never done.” she grumbled to herself, then stopped suddenly, not knowing whether to be appalled or amused. At a door to the left of the stairs, her friend Imoen was kneeling, peeking through the keyhole and giggling madly to herself.
“Immy! What do you think you're doing?” she hissed and the thief turned and shushed her, beckoning her to join her, but be quiet.” “Oh my, you've gotta see this Lai, it's hilarious!” she whispered, and Laisha in turn knelt and tried to peek through the small hole. “My preciousssss” she heard first, and as her eyes adjusted, she struggled to stifle a sudden mad hiccuping laugh. In the room, a nobleman stood, admiring himself in the mirror as he held up an odd pair of vibrant gold pantaloons to himself, twisting and turning this way and that.
“Oh my precious, you look positively DIVINE!” he crooned to his reflection. Beside her, Imoen was turning red from the effort of holding in her laughter, doubling her efforts at Laisha's astounded facial expressions. She reached out to punch Laisha's shoulder lightly, but the half elf was so off balance that with a squeak of dismay she tumbled right through the poorly sealed door and into the room itself! She instantly glanced behind her, furious, but realised with dismay that Imoen had melted into the shadows, the only trace of her a final released giggle. Blushing scarlet, Laisha picked herself up and dusted off her clothes, daring to meet the nobleman's gaze. “About time you showed!” he merely said airily as Laisha gaped, and the man thrust a whole bundle of clothing into her arms. “Here, I need these tunics cleaned and pressed by this eve, and be EXTRA careful with the golden pantaloons! It took 15 women and a small boy from Calimshan 12 days and 4 nights to weave them, so careful on the seams! Well? Get going!" “Sir, yes Sir! Pantaloons pressed and ready by tonight or breakfast is free, sir!” Laisha finally found her wits, quickly putting on an act that she felt certain Imoen was watching mirthfully from her hiding place. “Done and done!” the nobleman commanded happily. “Be on your way!” Laisha hastily retreated, but had taken only a few steps from the door when she heard a barked command from behind her. “Wait a moment! Don't you dare go anywhere!” She halted guilty, certain that her little ruse was all about to be undone and she would be humiliated in front of the entire Inn. “Here's an extra couple of coins. Put in a pleat that would make daddy proud, if you know what I mean! Now get!” Never one to miss an opportunity, Laisha pocketed the coins, and happily got.
Back safe in the room she was sharing with Imoen, she lit a candle and spread her spellbook out upon her desk, along with the scrolls she had retrieved from Tarnesh's corpse. From across the room, a huddled shape under the blankets giggled “Make daddy proud with that pleat!” “Go to sleep, Immy!” Laisha hurled a pillow at her friend, satisfied by the indignant cry before finally settling down to work.
Unfurling the first scroll and reading the arcane print, she discovered that it was a scroll for the transmutation spell Burning Hands! This enabled her to cast a cone of fire that sprung from her very palms, scorching the flesh of her nearby enemies. She winced as she recalled seeing the aftermath of this spell once, on an unfortunate apprentice visiting Candlekeep. His hair and eyebrows had been singed to the root, and his blistered face and neck and taken a long time for the healers to mend. She shuddered at the thought of using this herself, but quickly reminded herself that people she didn;t even know were out there trying to kill her. If what they suffered was a firey death at her hands, then so be it! Grimly, she began to paintakingly transcribe the spell into her book.
As she finished, she became aware that Hanu had returned at some point and was circling her feet. She reached down and scratched his head, receiving a purr of pleasure for her effort. “What have you been kitty?” she asked idly, unrolling the second of the three scrolls. Her familiar sniffed and began to clean himself. “Assisting this hovel with it's burgeoning rodent problem,” he replied haughtily. If I hadn't culled a number of them no doubt they would be up and nibbling at your toes come mid-morn as you slept.” “And of course there was nothing in it for you at all. You're SUCH a good Samaritan, Hanu” Laisha teased him and then sighed as she realised the second spell was one she knew already, the very useful Armor spell. He gazed up balefully. “Unlike you, I prefer my rats raw, not basted in stew as you bipeds seemed to enjoy so much at supper.” he said with unblinking yellow eyes, and Laisha poked her tongue out. “Now what is the problem anyway, woman, why all the sighing at your studies? I thought Gorion had cured you of that habit long ago.” “This spell that Tarnesh had, I already know it. I'd hoped to gain a few new spells from the man who tried to kill me. It's the very least he could do!” she said indignantly. “Give it to that mad wizard you picked up in the forest.” Hanu suggested casually. “it may just alleviate his distress upon finding two of his own spell scrolls missing.” He jumped up on the desk then, and pawed across two more scrolls he had stolen from Xzar. Laisha laughed delightedly, sweeping him into her arms and cuddling him tight. “Oh, my clever little cat, I do love you!” Putting aside the scroll of Armor she'd earmarked to give to Xzar in the morning, she renewed her scribing with renewed vigor, the three scrolls entered into her book giving her immense satisfaction. Xzar's scrolls yielded up two necromantic spells, Minor Drain, an invention of the much feared Netherese Shadow King Larloch that was useful to increase her life force at the expense of an enemy's, and a relatively rare spell Xzar had simply called Chill Touch, another Netherese invention Laisha gathered, which channeled negative energy into those who opposed her, weakening their muscles and life force. Useful for any future assassins who dared try coming up against her Laisha thought viciously. The last of Tarnesh's scrolls gave her Magic Missile, a ubiquitous low level evocation spell that Gorion and Tethtoril had ever laboured to keep out of her hands! Finally, satisfied with her long night's work, fingers stained with ink, she laid her head down on the desk and promptly fell into a dreamless slumber.
Drown in the torrent! DROWN! *ahem* I've always believed if you're not sweaty, braindead and bedraggled by the time you've finished writing a piece, you're doing it wrong. ;-)
Comments
It was mid of night by the time the party finally came to the Inn, Laisha's nightvision from her elven heritage proving invaluable in avoiding potholes and stumbling obstacles along the road. She called a halt before they came fully in view of the Inn. It was definitely not what she had expected. Far from a homely, cottage style establishment, the Friendly Arm Inn was a towering brick castle, cold and imposing.
Two guards stood on the open drawbridge at the entryway, seemingly casual in their stance, but their eyes noting every movement around them. Taking a breath and throwing caution to the wind, Laisha strode forward as the tired group straggled up the wooden bridge, where she was greeted with a nod and well practiced greeting.
“Welcome to the Friendly Arm. I trust you know the rules of conduct within?"
Imoen pulled a face and whispered.
“Rules? Booooooooooring”
Laisha gave her a quick glare and shushed her, then turned back to the guard who was trying to remain stern as Imoen continued to pull faces at him, trying to make him laugh.
“There are rules?” Laisha asked. “What kind of rules?”
"Well, perhaps 'rules' is a touch too formal. It is unwritten, but accepted, that while herein you will act with the utmost of civility to all other guests. This is neutral ground, and all grievances are left at the gates. If the grievances come in, then you will go out.”
Laisha nodded and relaxed. Nothing she wasn't used to back at Candlekeep. She had no intention of starting any hostile behaviour here, so these rules seemed to actually be in her favour. The guards, seemingly used to travelers of all descriptions turning up at all hours, moved aside and called after them as the party moved into the grounds.
“Enjoy your stay."
Laisha mulled over that, struggling to find any hint of veiled threat or irony in the statement, but decided to let it go and take it at face value.
Surprisingly, there were a few people wandering the vast grounds even at the mid of night. They obviously felt secure enough within the grounds to wander as they wished, and Laisha felt curious eyes on the newest arrivals to the Inn. The nearest man approached them amiably.
“Travelers, huh?”
Laisha nodded in response, and encouraged, the man continued.
“You're the first group to come into town all day. Not many have braved the roads since all the trouble started up. We've seen only ten new faces in the last month. Found a lot of bodies, unfortunately. “
Xzar perked up at that statement, and opened his mouth eagerly but Laisha quelled him with a sharp look.
“Never mind, Xzar.” she said flatly, and the mad wizard backed away, crestfallen.
A second man joined the first, eyeing the band's weapons appreciatively.
“Used to be a bandit, I was. More money there than in the mines of Nashkel, that's fer sure. Probably less danger, too, from the sounds of it.”
Intrigued despite her better judgement, Laisha addressed the mouthy man.
“You were a bandit?”
“That I was and I ain't afraid to say it, neither,” the man spat at his feet and stared the party down proudly.
“But those bandits out there now, they're different, I tells ya. They've got a mean streak in 'em and their minds set on taking over the whole area... Most of my old pals have gone missin' and I don't like it one bit. That's why I'm holed up here. I've been good to Bentley and Gellana in the past so now it's their turn to look after me.”
So the owners of this Inn took help from bandits, Laisha pondered. An interesting tidbit to know. But being out here in virtually the middle of nowhere, she supposed it was an inevitable compromise to turn a blind eye to some deeds done by the folk who frequented the place in order to try and keep it running. But if even ex-bandits weren't keen on working down in Nashkel, then something surely was wrong!
“Well, what's so dangerous about the Nashkel mines?” she asked.
“Well, if you believed every tale you heard, you'd have to say the King of the Nine Hells himself were down at the bottom of it, smoking a pipe and making himself comfortable. To be honest, I don't know what's down there. All I know is that a lot of the folks who work in that infernal place don't ever make it back up to the surface.”
Xzar and Montaron exchanged a long, meaningful glance that Laisha noted but didn't understand.
“We should go to Nashkel as quickly as possible.” Xzar said cheerfully. “Coming here has only delayed us foolishly. It would not do to keep the King of Hells waiting. He and I have business together!” he giggled demonically and the townsfolk carefully backed away.
Seeing their startled looks, a wandering grounds guard strode up, declaiming emphatically.
“There is to be no fighting or stealing within the walls of the Friendly Arm Inn! Aggressors will be punished to the full extent of frontier law!”
Pouting a little at the “no stealing” rule, Imoen whispered.
“What do ya think frontier law is?”
Montaron grinned eviily.
“That'd be hanging he's talkin' about, girly. By the neck, til ye be dead. Crrckkkk!”
Imoen shuddered as the wicked halfling chortled with delight. Their wanderings took them around to a small expanse of farmland, lines of crops growing in rows and a few head of cattle lowing between munching on grass. The sight of them brought sudden, unexpected pangs of homesickness for Laisha as she thought of Nessie and Dreppin back at Candlekeep. A familiar smell, of soil and cattle hit her nose, and she turned, almost expecting to see Dreppin's weather beaten face smiling back at her. Instead, it was a farmer's weatherbeaten face, unfamiliar and scowling.
“Damn it, my plow broke apart like it had rusted out in a single overnight. How's a man supposed to get any work done and make his living? Can't keep prices down if I have to plant everything by hand. Now get out of me face. I've troubles enough without you poking your nose in.”
Laisha glanced at the broken pile of metal heaped in the corner that had once been a plow. A younger man who had been digging in the dirt stood then and approached an apologetic half smile as he wiped his brow of sweat and soil.
“Please excuse my father's manner. Our farm is at a standstill. One by one our tools break , and replacements are priced incredibly high. If we don't get a good stock of ore before harvest, crops will be rotting in the fields. Can't manage a farm with your bare hands.” He sighed and went back to his thankless task as Laisha frowned, watching them labor before backing away, not wanting to appear rude by staring without helping.
To the left, a narrow set of ancient stone stairs led the way up to what Laisha presumed would be the entry to the Inn proper. As she set foot on the bottom step a robed figure peeled himself from where he had been lurking in the shadows against the wall and approached her, studying her face thoughtfully.
“Hi, friend. I've not seen you here before tonight. What brings you to the Friendly Arm?”
“Me? I'm here to meet some friends.” Laisha replied.
“Oh, you must be whom I am to meet, then. I will take you to your friends, but first I should be sure you are the correct person. Is your name Laisha?”
“Why, yes it is.” Laisha confirmed, ignoring the worried sounds behind her from Imoen.
“Perfect. You are indeed the person I seek. Now hold still a moment, will you?”
“Wait, what?” Laisha started, confused.
The robed man began chanting ominously, and the companions cried out in alarm.
“Laisha! He's a mage! Beware!” Imoen shouted, notching up an arrow, then blinking in surprise as several copies of the assassin mage appeared before her eyes as he finished his incantation.
“I don't know which one to aim for!” she screamed in frustration.
“Just shoot, girlie, the one that bleeds'll be the real one” Montaron replied grimly as he drew the bow he'd filched from the body back at the ambush site.
"Mirror Images! Dirty, filthy little trickster!" snarled Xzar as he began a chant of his own.
Imoen and Montaron unleashed arrows, stunning the enemy mage as all of a sudden two of his mirror images disappated from the arrow hits.
“Keep going, he's on the defensive!” Laisha cried, summoning her magics deep within her to try and cast a sleep spell on the mage as the Friendly Arm guards, roused by the furore, came charging in to join the battle.
The Weave responded to her call, and a burst of magical energy sprang forth, surrounding all who battled...and all participants stopped suddenly, astounded at the deathly silence that engulfed them. The mage on the steps found his next spell fizzling as he mouthed the words, but no sound emerged. Xzar found likewise and he groaned silently in disappointment. Montaron snarled soundlessly as he dropped his bow and advanced threateningly on the now frightened assassin, waving his short sword menacingly. He thrust savagely, straight through the man's throat, impaling him against the stone wall of the Inn as his body twitched and jerked for one final time before slumping lifeless onto the steps.
Laisha turned to the guard and raised a quizzical brow. “No fighting at the Inn, huh? How's that working for ya?”
Everyone jumped as Laisha's unexpected silence spell ended and the words came loud and accusatory.
The guard cleared his throat, and looked sheepish.
“I apologize, Miss. This man here had been at the Inn at least a week. Went by the name of Tarnesh, and never caused any problems...until now.” he shrugged. “Well, by our law, what was his is now yours. He attacked you, so his possessions are forfeit. Anything you don't want can be left at the Inn as a donation.”
Laisha nodded as Imoen knelt down by the corpse and gingerly picked through the pockets of his robe.
“Hmm some gold, a few scrolls, ooh spellbook! And...wait, what's this?” Imoen held up another scroll, etched in ominous looking writing, her eyes wide as she beckoned Laisha away from the curious onlookers.
“Uhhh Lai! I think you better see this!”
Laisha took the paper, her eyes widening and hand flying to her mouth as she scanned the parchment.
BOUNTY NOTICE
Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Laisha, the foster child of Gorion.
Last seen in the area of Candlekeep, this person is to be killed in quick order.
Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than two hundred coins of gold.
As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate.
Montaron cackled and waggled his hairy eyebrows up and down as he snuck down the steps behind Laisha and read the note from over her shoulder.
"So, ye got a nice price on yer noggin, eh kid? Not bad. Makes me like ye somewhat. Be sure it stays this way, though, or I'll be collecting that sum meself."
“Smiles, everyone, Smiles! This is like some great fantasy!” Xzar proclaimed with a manic grin, causing Imoen and Laisha to glare at him.
“Let's just get inside before someone else decides I'm fair game.” the exhausted half-elf grumbled and the weary band finally pushed open the doors to the Inn.
“Hoy! 'ere comes the waif who slew the mage! Make way lest she cut you down too!” called a rough voice, and the bar broke out into laughter.
Laisha blushed scarlet as Xzar and Montaron scowled savagely. Behind her, she sensed Imoen shuffle nervously, her hand on the dagger in her belt.
A half drunk man approached the small band, flagon of ale thrust out in front of him merrily.
“Hey, friend! He greeted Laisha as an old acquaintance. “Glad to meet a fine sort such as yourself! I heard you gave that old Tarnesh what for, good for you!”
A little bemused, Laisha offered up her thanks.
“I'm Jopi, by the way. I can't stand the way the roads are cut off these days. Makes everyone cranky and hotheaded. Me uncle's in Baldur's Gate and I can't get there to see 'im.”
“Oh?” Imoen piped in. “What does your uncle do?”
“He's a mage, and a crotchety ol' one at that! Goes by the name of Ragefast though as kids we always called him Grumpleskin. Har, if he ever caught us at it, he'd cast barkskin on us, so we'd wander around all brown-skinned and green haired and funny lookin' for a few hours.”
“He sounds like fun!” Imoen grinned and Laisha agreed. “We should definitely look him up if we ever manage to get to Baldur's Gate! I'm sure he could teach us a thing or two!”
Attention quickly drifted from the group as they proved to be no threat or further entertainment, and discussions quickly restarted at the various tables dotting the ground floor. Laisha threaded her way through, picking up snatches of conversation as she went.
“The Iron crisis has taken everybody off guard. Why plan for a shortage when the resource is nearly unlimited? I guess we're paying for it now. I guarantee that if we survive through this it will never happen again. People will be hoarding metal for months.” one man forecast gloomily.
His companion nodded as he took a swallow of ale.
“Pinch off the supply of iron and after a while the farmers can't sow, the smiths can't forge and by and by, an army finds itself disarmed of all but clubs and staves. That's the kind of strife that makes a land vulnerable.” his companion bemoaned.
A third man, returning from the bar with a fresh tray of drinks scoffed and winked at Laisha.
“Don't you go believing every little thing being bandied about, girl. A lot of it is just people getting worried 'bout nothing. Those gossips in Beregost are always coming up with new rumors to tell travelers. Us here at the Friendly Arm, we should have more sense.”
“Now that ain't true, Surrey!” the original speaker protested. “T'aint even safe to travel to Nashkel no more. I've been stuck here for weeks and weeks. Nothing to do but sit and drink.”
Surrey arched a knowing brow.
“Oh? And I take it you'd do differently if you ever got your sorry carcass down to Nashkel, Gavin?”
“Well...no....but I'd like to have the option!” Gavin grumped as Laisha giggled and Surrey steered her up toward the bar.
“Not many come by the Inn since the bandit raids started up.” Surrey told her. “It's good to see a new face...or four...about” he winked, glancing back at Imoen, Xzar and Montaron.
“I was getting pretty tired of the old ones. They do nothing but sit, drink and complain. Maybe I'll chance the roads and try and get back to Beregost one of these days.”
“Back to Beregost?” Laisha inquired and Surrey nodded.
“I was an apprentice blacksmith under Taerom Fuirium in Beregost. With the iron situation being what it is, I thought I'd better head somewhere else. Waterdeep maybe. Taerom's having enough trouble making a go of it as it is. But heading anywhere seems to be tough enough, journeys should be kept short to avoid all those blasted bandits. I figure I could head back to Beregost and take up farming or something. Perhaps the Temple could use another pair of hands. Or mayhaps Nessie here can give me a few tips and I can wait tables!” He laughed, attracting the attention of the bustling barmaid.
“Welcome to the Friendly Arm Inn. Looks like you had a rough journey.” she said, casting a glance over the weary and battered group.
“Yes well, the roughest part was inside your walls!”
Her face darkened.
“Yes, I'm truly sorry about that. Bentley wanted the inn to be a safe haven for all sorts of travellers. Anyone can stay here but we don't tolerate any troublemaking within these walls. But you and your group did an impressive bit of defensive fighting.”
Laisha thanked her carefully, unsure of the woman's motives in being so open and friendly. Seemingly sensing her discomfort, the barmaid wiped her hand off on her stained apron and stuck it out in greeting.
"How rude of me, I guess introductions are in order. My name is Nessie, by and by. The Mirrorshades hired me to work at the Inn almost five years ago and now I wouldn't leave it for the life of me. It's wonderful here, with new faces passing through every day."
“So who are the new faces here now?” Laisha asked, peering around the room carefully to see if any more would be assassins wished to claim the price on her head.
Nessie smiled grimly.
“With the roads being what they are right now, there aren't too many faces around here that are new anymore. Let's see... well, Unshey's been taking this time to write a new book, that ugly fella, , Dorn he calls himself, has been scowling and drinking by himself near the door, glowering at every new face that walks in like he's ready to crush them like a bug... Who else? Landrin's on the top floor, drinking up a storm, and then there was...well, Tarnesh... I'm really sorry he caused you trouble. He was all wit and charm until he heard there were visitors at the gate. The guards say he jumped out of the shadows at you and there was nothing you could do. Oh, and a pair of half elves like yourself have been waiting anxiously in the corner over there, sleeping in shifts to make sure they don't miss whoever it is they're waiting for. That's really about it. Everyone else has been here for the last two months at least. We're so full that the Mirrorshades have even talked of letting people throw down their bedrolls in the temple.”
"Who are the Mirrorshades?" asked Imoen curiously.
"Oh, Bentley and Gellana. They run the place. Bentley's behind the bar, there, and you can usually find Gellana in the temple. I'm usually here, waiting tables and making sure everything stays nice and clean."
Laisha looked over to where an old gnome was busy pouring flagon after flagon of amber liquid to the ever thirsty denizens who seemed quite content to sit and drink and gossip.
"Did Bentley build this place? It's so solid, it looks like it's been here forever!" Imoen marveled.
"Oh no, Bentley and Gellana didn't build the Inn! They found it...They were part of an adventuring party, not unlike your own. In the first few years following the Time of Troubles, when all the gods were walking the surface of our world, the inn was actually the hold of a powerful, undead priest of Bhaal, god of murder. With the evil cleric weakened by the death of his god, Bentley and Gellana were able to destroy him once and for all, thus laying claim to his troubled fortress."
“Huh. There's more to this place than I would have guessed.” Laisha mused, fascinated by the history of the place despite her ever present fatigue.
“The present is always a thin veneer over the past. Look closely at any building in the Sword Coast region and you can be sure that its stones are held in place by history's mortar.” the barkeep advised, and then whirled about her merry way delivering drinks to the grousing patrons.
“Hrmmm. It's about time, human. Bring me another flagon of ale.” he commanded in an imperious tone used to being obeyed.
Laisha looked him up and down and sneered, despite his obvious muscle and threatening bearing. She had already being accosted tonight, and would not take lightly to being ordered!
“I'm NOT a human, nor am I your servant, Orc. Get your own damn ale.”
Disinterested, the warrior waved her off.
“Then why do you bother me? Begone.”
“Huh. Nothing would please me more.” She blew a raspberry at him and his face darkened, but he turned away from her cheek and clicked his fingers at Nessie to serve him.
The four companions seated themselves at an empty table, partaking of their drinks and tearing off chunks from the cheese and bread Laisha had ordered. Montaron glared at the nearest table balefully as they gossiped and cast glances over their flagons at the makeshift party.
“I think it's those Zhentarim who've been causing all the problem 'round these parts. Amn don't have a real reason to invade, so it don't make any sense thinking they're behind it. Zhents don't need a reason though, and a lot of clues point to them too.”
“Stay away!” one foolhardy man demanded of the halfling as he noticed them eavesdropping. “I bet you're those Zhentarim. I hear the turn women into goats at the snap of their fingers. I heard they were behind the trouble in Nashkel and maybe other places as well. Just you stay away from me!”
“Aye, we turn women into goats, but what you didn't know is that we're skilled at turnin' men into women as well.” Montaron smiled mirthlessly, his hand on his deadly dagger. “D'you want to be an example then?”
“Montaron! Stop it!” Laisha glared. Her eyes met his across the table and a fierce battle of wills ensued, broken only by an insane cackle from Xzar, lost in reverie.
“Aye, aye, “ the halfling slumped back down into his chair and drained his ale. “But best ye sleep lightly, young taskmaster, or a goat ye be made into, if not worse.”
From beneath the table, content from lapping at a saucer of milk Laisha had procured for him, Hanu spoke up in between grooming his whiskers.
“You could always polymorph the runt into a squirrel, Laisha. I would very much enjoy pursing that one around.
Montaron's little feet lashed out viciously under the table, missing the swift cat by a mile.
“Bah! I be havin' enough of this conversation. Come, thiefgirl, and I be showin' ye the art of liberatin' fools who sleep in inns from their gold!”
He dragged the unsuspecting Imoen from her stool then, and the two disappeared into the crowd, looking shifty.
A drunken man swayed near the table where Laisha and Xzar sat, staring blearily at them, taking in their mage robes.
“I had me a friend that asked one of them smarty-pants mages why they didn't just conjure great walls of iron from outta the air,” he said as Laisha listened, wondering where this was leading. “That there mage looked my friend square in the eye and asked him how secure he'd feel if the guards were outfitted in weapons and armor that were dispellable with nary a wink. I hate magic. Makes me nervous.”
Laisha let that hang in the air a few moments before Xzar calmly liften his gaze and uttered
“Boo!”
The poor man squeaked and turned tail, shouldering other patrons aside in his haste to escape the mages table as Laisha and Xzar roared in laughter.
From the corner, she felt two pairs of eyes watching her, studying her. She mentally prepared herself for another attack as her keen ears sought to make out the hushed conversation between the two.
“C..calm yourself, dear. W...we must proceed c..c..carefully.” the man said, a hand laid casually on his female companion's shoulder. Upon recognizing they had been spotted, the pair approached her, weaving through the patrons with a watchful ease. Laisha noted the sword at the side of the male, the club hanging from a loop in the female's belt. They appeared competent and dangerous, in contrast to the majority of farming folk gathered at the Friendly Arm.
Laisha turned, her gaze coolly meeting that of the two, and got a shock when she saw that they could have been her kin – unmistakably half-elves, both! Of course, Nessie, had mentioned them earlier, that they had been waiting for someone.
It was the man who spoke to her first, in a gentle manner with a pronounced stutter.
“Something about you is f-familiar, child. Your manner reminds me of a s-sage I know, b-by the name of Gorion.”
A light leapt within Laisha's chest as he spoke the name of her foster father, so recently deceased. These must be the two that Gorion had urged her to seek out, Khalid and Jaheira!
The female half elf harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“It is almost a slight on him, but I must admit I see it too.” she muttered.
“Jaheira!” Khalid scolded her, conforming Laisha's hopes. “M.mind your m-m-manners! This must be the child that Gorion wrote of so often.”
Gorion had written of her to others? Laisha had had no idea anyone outside Candlekeep even knew she existed!
“We are old friends of your adopted father.” Jaheira spoke plainly. “He is not with you? I must assume the worst; he would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment.”
A surly rebellion flared within Laisha then. She was plenty old enough to wander without a constant chaperone! Hadn't her experiences on the Coast Road proved that?! She was here, wasn't she, relatively unharmed!
“If...if he has passed, we share your loss” Khalid said sorrowfully as Jaheira continued forcefully.
“Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own.”
Laisha winced then, the vision of Gorion insisting she flee as he battled the powerful group springing immediately to mind.
“He also wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians, if he should ever meet an untimely end. However, you are much older now, and the choice of your companions should be your own.” Jaheira finished, casting a doubtful look at Xzar who was glaring at the pair malevolently
“We could t-travel with you until you get settled; help you find your l-lot in life.” Khalid offered with a hopeful smile.
“It would be a fitting last service to Gorion, though we should first go to Nashkel. Khalid and I... look into local concerns, and there are rumors of strange things happening at the mine.”
“Meddlers!” coughed Xzar suddenly, drawing a pointed look from Jaheira.
No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage? You would do well to help us. It affects everyone, including you. We are to meet the mayor of the town, Berrun Ghastkill.”
Laisha wondered just how this so-called “Iron crisis” affected her. She wore no metal armor, wielded no sword, and plied no craft or toil that required the substance that she could see. A very few of her spell components were iron based, true, but she drew mainly from the Weave itself to provide her magics. Other than people complaining about it all the time to her so far, she could see no reason why the politicking and resources shortage affected her at all, and was a mite sick of people telling her why it should!
“I'm already going to Nashkel.” Laisha said with an offhand air of superiority. “One of my current acquaintances wishes to visit there as well.”
“Indeed? Interesting. In that case I think we should definitely travel as one. You can never be too careful about the dangers of the open road. Wherever they may spring from.”
“Oh speak no more, lest ye gorge my sweet tooth!” Xzar snarled in response to the hostile look Jaheira gave him and rose from the table.
“I must take my leave, and take to my grave..err bed, yes bed, haha, to recover my abilities, lest we begin tomorrow as we ended today.” he told Laisha as she nodded in response, relieved to put some distance between the wizard and the stern half elves.
“C'mon, girlie, it's for the good of your pointy-eared friend down there,” the halfling wheedled. “If we don't know who else is staying here, we don't know who else wants 'er dead, do we?”
Noting Imoen's skeptical look, the little man continued.
“And we don't know who's staying here without checking out their rooms and carefully guarded valuables. You can tell a lot about a man by what he values high enough to put it behind a lock.”
“Hmmm I guess you're right,” the young rogue conceded with a sudden eager grin, and the pair drifted into the shadows, trying every door and chest within their grasp!
After observing the girl filch a purse full of gold and a handful of semi-precious gems, Montaron was satisfied that her insatiable curiousity would propel her through the rest of the Inn.
“I'm off t' bed,” he grunted, waving a stolen bottle of wine. “Don't disturb me, and if ye get caught by the guards due to yer slack handed methods, don't even think of bringin' my name into it. First rule of thievin', lassie, don't grass up yer fellows."
Imoen eyed him and smirked.
“Really, Monty? I would have thought the first rule would have been don't get caught!”
The halfling glared at the girl for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was being wound up or not. Imoen beamed back at him innocently, and the little man finally gave up and stomped off to his room, throwing a final comment back.
“And don't you come a sneakin' into my chambers, Missy. I sleeps with one eye open, and if ye try anything, ye be missing a hand come morning!”
Stifling a laugh, Imoen watched him go, giddy with excitement to begin exploring the Inn and obtain a few ill-gotten goodies in the process. It was for Laisha's good, she told herself solemnly. If she could help her friend by finding out who was staying in the Inn with them and ferreting out what secrets they had with them, then surely her snooping was a good thing, right? Feeling fully justified, she began to try the doors that her and Montaron had not already covered. On the third door down, she halted in the doorway as a small dwarven lady looked up inquisitively from a desk covered in papers.
“Oh! Er, sorry, wrong room!” Imoen bluffed quickly.
“Oh i'm sure, dearie.” the dwarf replied calmly. “Say, you came in with that uncouth lot downstairs, didn't you? Part of the group that the wizard attacked? I saw it all from my window here. Quite a fine shot with the bow you are, lassie. Just one of your many talents, I'm sure.” she finished drily, looking at her unlocked door.
“I...um...well..” Imoen gaped.
“Close your mouth, girl, you'll catch flies. I might have a little job for you and your friends if you're interested. You seem like you might be capable enough...and after money as well, I'm sure. “She cast a pointed look at the bulging pouch on Imoen's tunic.
“Have you heard? There's a rogue ogre with a belt fetish to the south of the Friendly Arm Inn. I had to bargain my new girdle of piercing for my life out there. Wasn't even interested in an autographed copy of my book. I'm a famous author you know, Unshey Starspire? Of Tethyr? Surely you've heard of me? No? Ah well, you youngsters seem to be all illiterate these days. Regardless, if you can get that belt back to me, I'd be mighty grateful.”
“Well sure, Miss Unshey!” Imoen beamed, ecstatic at being thought of as a capable adventurer “We are strong and bold adventurers, we'll take out that ogre and get your belt back for you, no worries!”
Humming happily, Imoen ascended the stairs to the third floor, where in the common area, a lone gnome sat drinking from a glass of wine, staring into the flames of the burning fire.
“Hey there. You're the girl with the bow, right?. Come here, I'd like a word.”
Imoen padded over.
“You must be Landrin, right? Nessie told us about you.”
“Oh did she now. And what did that barwench say, that's I'm drinking Bentley out of house and home? Ha! Now, never mind all that, I heard about you and your friends, and I think I could make some use of you, if you'd be willing to help out an old lonely gnome.”
“Of course! We are important adventurers and are taking on all manner of quests to help the needy!” Imoen puffed up with pride.
“Hmmm.” Landrin eyed the young girl skeptically over her glass, then took another swallow. “Anyway, I've got an infestation of poisonous spiders in my cellar in Beregost. Bentley said I could stay here until they move on but I hate to impose. You'll know the house when you see it: just to the west of the Jovial Juggler Inn. Here, take these potions with you. They're antidotes against the poison. Keep whatever you don't use and I'll give you an extra 120 gold pieces if you bring back my husband's old boots that he keeps down there. If you bring back one of their bodies and my ol' bottle of wine as well, I might toss in a little something extra too.”
Imoen beamed as she ventured idly into the large open sleeping areas at the back of the Inn. Already she had got her and Laisha two quests, helping innocent, helpless old women! And they'd get paid! She barely resisted the urge to click her heels in glee when she almost stumbled into a shabbily dressed man on a stool in front of a bare mattress.
“Can I help you?” He inquired, when he saw Imoen looking at him thoughtfully.
“Oh! I'm sorry, it's just that I have seen quite the number of Nobles wandering the Inn. I was wondering how is it that you can afford to stay here?”
“The Arm caters to everyone, and everyone is more or less equal under her roof. “ the man replied.
“Some of the rooms do cost a bit more, but there is room for everyone at almost every price.”
Imoen nodded in thanks and wandered off thoughtfully. This seemed like a good place to her, despite the attack on the stairs, a place where anyone in need could come and shelter. She sighed, for a moment picturing Winthrop pottering around the tiny by comparison Candlekeep Inn without her. He'd have to make all the beds himself now! She giggled, picturing the scene , then moved on to satisfy her curiosity about the other inhabitants of the Inn that night.
Downstairs, Laisha finished her third glass of wine and wiped her mouth. Despite the busy Inn, the raucous chatter had died down to a hush, most of the inhabitants having long taken to their bedrolls or rooms. Xzar and Montaron had retired, after a short conversation, Jaheira and Khalid had done the same. Imoen had disappeared, and even Hanu, her familiar had vanished the gods-knew-where. It felt somewhat strange to be back in the company of so many people after the frantic couple of days she'd had, simply trying to get here.
She placed a handful of coins on the bar to pay for her and her companions rooms, and Bentley swept them into his fist, teeling her there was a space free on the third floor for her. She tiredly climbed the stairs, wincing at the thought that she still had several hours of study ahead of her into the night if she wished to transcribe the scrolls from Tarnesh's corpse into her own spellbook. “A wizard's work is never done.” she grumbled to herself, then stopped suddenly, not knowing whether to be appalled or amused.
At a door to the left of the stairs, her friend Imoen was kneeling, peeking through the keyhole and giggling madly to herself.
“Immy! What do you think you're doing?” she hissed and the thief turned and shushed her, beckoning her to join her, but be quiet.”
“Oh my, you've gotta see this Lai, it's hilarious!” she whispered, and Laisha in turn knelt and tried to peek through the small hole.
“My preciousssss” she heard first, and as her eyes adjusted, she struggled to stifle a sudden mad hiccuping laugh.
In the room, a nobleman stood, admiring himself in the mirror as he held up an odd pair of vibrant gold pantaloons to himself, twisting and turning this way and that.
“Oh my precious, you look positively DIVINE!” he crooned to his reflection. Beside her, Imoen was turning red from the effort of holding in her laughter, doubling her efforts at Laisha's astounded facial expressions. She reached out to punch Laisha's shoulder lightly, but the half elf was so off balance that with a squeak of dismay she tumbled right through the poorly sealed door and into the room itself!
She instantly glanced behind her, furious, but realised with dismay that Imoen had melted into the shadows, the only trace of her a final released giggle. Blushing scarlet, Laisha picked herself up and dusted off her clothes, daring to meet the nobleman's gaze.
“About time you showed!” he merely said airily as Laisha gaped, and the man thrust a whole bundle of clothing into her arms.
“Here, I need these tunics cleaned and pressed by this eve, and be EXTRA careful with the golden pantaloons! It took 15 women and a small boy from Calimshan 12 days and 4 nights to weave them, so careful on the seams! Well? Get going!"
“Sir, yes Sir! Pantaloons pressed and ready by tonight or breakfast is free, sir!” Laisha finally found her wits, quickly putting on an act that she felt certain Imoen was watching mirthfully from her hiding place.
“Done and done!” the nobleman commanded happily. “Be on your way!”
Laisha hastily retreated, but had taken only a few steps from the door when she heard a barked command from behind her.
“Wait a moment! Don't you dare go anywhere!”
She halted guilty, certain that her little ruse was all about to be undone and she would be humiliated in front of the entire Inn.
“Here's an extra couple of coins. Put in a pleat that would make daddy proud, if you know what I mean! Now get!”
Never one to miss an opportunity, Laisha pocketed the coins, and happily got.
Back safe in the room she was sharing with Imoen, she lit a candle and spread her spellbook out upon her desk, along with the scrolls she had retrieved from Tarnesh's corpse. From across the room, a huddled shape under the blankets giggled
“Make daddy proud with that pleat!”
“Go to sleep, Immy!” Laisha hurled a pillow at her friend, satisfied by the indignant cry before finally settling down to work.
Unfurling the first scroll and reading the arcane print, she discovered that it was a scroll for the transmutation spell Burning Hands! This enabled her to cast a cone of fire that sprung from her very palms, scorching the flesh of her nearby enemies. She winced as she recalled seeing the aftermath of this spell once, on an unfortunate apprentice visiting Candlekeep. His hair and eyebrows had been singed to the root, and his blistered face and neck and taken a long time for the healers to mend. She shuddered at the thought of using this herself, but quickly reminded herself that people she didn;t even know were out there trying to kill her. If what they suffered was a firey death at her hands, then so be it! Grimly, she began to paintakingly transcribe the spell into her book.
As she finished, she became aware that Hanu had returned at some point and was circling her feet. She reached down and scratched his head, receiving a purr of pleasure for her effort.
“What have you been kitty?” she asked idly, unrolling the second of the three scrolls.
Her familiar sniffed and began to clean himself.
“Assisting this hovel with it's burgeoning rodent problem,” he replied haughtily. If I hadn't culled a number of them no doubt they would be up and nibbling at your toes come mid-morn as you slept.”
“And of course there was nothing in it for you at all. You're SUCH a good Samaritan, Hanu” Laisha teased him and then sighed as she realised the second spell was one she knew already, the very useful Armor spell.
He gazed up balefully.
“Unlike you, I prefer my rats raw, not basted in stew as you bipeds seemed to enjoy so much at supper.” he said with unblinking yellow eyes, and Laisha poked her tongue out.
“Now what is the problem anyway, woman, why all the sighing at your studies? I thought Gorion had cured you of that habit long ago.”
“This spell that Tarnesh had, I already know it. I'd hoped to gain a few new spells from the man who tried to kill me. It's the very least he could do!” she said indignantly.
“Give it to that mad wizard you picked up in the forest.” Hanu suggested casually. “it may just alleviate his distress upon finding two of his own spell scrolls missing.”
He jumped up on the desk then, and pawed across two more scrolls he had stolen from Xzar. Laisha laughed delightedly, sweeping him into her arms and cuddling him tight.
“Oh, my clever little cat, I do love you!”
Putting aside the scroll of Armor she'd earmarked to give to Xzar in the morning, she renewed her scribing with renewed vigor, the three scrolls entered into her book giving her immense satisfaction. Xzar's scrolls yielded up two necromantic spells, Minor Drain, an invention of the much feared Netherese Shadow King Larloch that was useful to increase her life force at the expense of an enemy's, and a relatively rare spell Xzar had simply called Chill Touch, another Netherese invention Laisha gathered, which channeled negative energy into those who opposed her, weakening their muscles and life force. Useful for any future assassins who dared try coming up against her Laisha thought viciously. The last of Tarnesh's scrolls gave her Magic Missile, a ubiquitous low level evocation spell that Gorion and Tethtoril had ever laboured to keep out of her hands!
Finally, satisfied with her long night's work, fingers stained with ink, she laid her head down on the desk and promptly fell into a dreamless slumber.