A statement responding to the above comments about the caravan scene is below. If you posted, go ahead and read it, but for others: Be forewarned, it includes story spoilers.
To those who posted and/or liked, thank you - I love the interest in this scene! With respect, @jmerry, I do not think that the EE has introduced such an identifying item. I did not see it in my own game, and I did not find any documentation of it on the wiki, or any references to handing in such an item to Entar Silvershield. It seems likely to me that these additions are exclusively NPC Project or Unfinished Business content. Because I have not played these mods, I do not consider myself constrained by their content. That having been said, it is possible that I am mistaken, and that I just carelessly overlooked it. In that case, we can imagine that the identifying item was tucked away deep under his clothing, which - let us suppose - Ausar was too overwhelmed and Jaheira not sufficiently interested to search his body thoroughly enough to discover it.
So, as @BelgarathMTH aptly put it, what is going on here? This incident is the origin point of a little subplot / backstory that is largely incidental to the main story, and will probably not resurface for a long while. The facts are meant to be a little mysterious and to not quite “add up,” given what the characters currently know. In a land as violent and magically-charged as Faerun, I imagine this is not an uncommon experience, especially for adventurers.
In the EE, if you help Kagain complete his quest on time, your journal will update to read “Entar Silvershield’s son was killed.” To me, this cements the identity of the body. However, it leaves many, many other things wide open, including the condition of the body and its accoutrements (unlike other games, I do not think there is even the pretence in BG that the lootable array includes *everything* on a given body). What I am aiming to do is to step into this opening and, by filling it with some detail that is unconventional but (as far as I can tell) entirely consistent with what appears in-game, sow a few seeds to be harvested later in the narrative.
I don’t want to say just yet exactly *why* Entar’s son may have been found wearing armor marked with the Blacktalon sigil. There are many possible explanations, some humdrum and mundane, others sensational and scarce-to-be-believed.
I would kindly request that posts identifying the body be revised to include spoiler boxes. Unlike architectonic plot events, like Sarevok being the one who murdered Gorion or Gorion’s Ward discovering he/she is Bhaalspawn, I think that this random body actually being the son of Entar Silvershield is a detail even readers who have played through a few times are liable to miss. I think it would be nice for those readers to be able to experience this revelation in the context of the narrative.
@monico - yes, I do very much like my symbols. I think they serve an especially important function in societies, like many in Faerun, where even basic literacy is uncommon. Where I can find a symbol in the pre-existing lore, I will use it. Where I cannot, I will devise one that seems plausible. As it so happens, both of the sigils I have described up to this point have some official or semi-official status. For Elminster’s sigil, see: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Elminster_Aumar. For the Blacktalon sigil, see: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Taurgosz_Khosann.
With the Friendly Arms Inn behind our adventurers (for now, at least) and Beregost looming before them, now seems like an opportune moment to open the thread for another week or so of free discussion. Happy to hear larger comments that might have seemed out of place at any given time, smaller comments on old sections or recent sections, hopes/theories about what might come next, updated estimates of Ausar’s current alignment or projections about where it might end up, characters you like, characters you don’t like, etc. - really anything at all you might want to discuss.
I also want to thank some of my readers by name:
@BelgarathMTH , @energisedcamel , @Adam_en_tium , @Aerakar - many thanks to you, my rock-solid core of four who seem to have read every posting for the last few months within a day or two of them being posted (and often on the same day!). Your constant presence has always been very much appreciated.
@monico - many thanks to you, for providing the necessary support to me and this thread when it was still in its infancy, and for having caught up remarkably in such a short time. Your place of honor in the story of this thread will always be a unique one.
@dukdukgoos - many thanks to you, one of the newest readers who also accomplished a truly incredible binge - I hope you are still enjoying the story here at the cutting edge.
@jmerry - many thanks to you, our resident number-cruncher, for being there to leap in with your incredibly deep knowledge of the game and its mechanics.
@JuliusBorisov and @Gusinda - many thanks to you, true veterans of these forums, for stopping by from time to time to show your support.
My thanks extend, of course, to all the anonymous readers of this thread as well! If you ever decide to pick up an account, I will be happy to thank you by name and even happier to hear what you think.
And that’s all, folks - next new installment will be Friday, July 10.
I'm definitely still following! I love emergent roleplay content like this, very imaginative and entertaining.
In terms of the caravan, I'm pretty sure older EE builds required UB or BG1NPC mods to flesh out the scene, but the latest EE build (2.5) has integrated the UB fixes into the main game, so it doesn't require mods any more.
@dukdukgoos - that's great! so glad you are enjoying it! Sometimes when I am playing/writing I remember that one could play/write a hundred different characters in this way, all of which would be totally unique. It's dizzying and exciting at the same time.
More regarding the caravan (story spoilers):
If you and @jmerry both settle on the same answer, I am very much inclined to agree, but for whatever reason my game will simply not reproduce your experience. I am currently running v2.5.17, and just to make sure I did not miss anything with Ausar, I started up a new game and made a beeline for the caravan. No identifying object was at the site. So, I made a beeline for Kagain's, picked him up, and then sprinted straight back to the caravan. Unlike in past versions of the game, this quest is no longer "broken" - Kagain does recognize the body as belonging to Entar's son (completing the quest), whereas he did not in older versions of the game. However, even during this second visit to the site, there is no identifying item for turning in later down the road.
This made me very curious, so I pulled up the Unfinished Business and NPC project readme's. The UB readme discusses fixing the Kagain caravan quest so that it completes, but provides no detail on adding an identifying item for Entar's son. The NPC Project does, however, purport to add it.
So, if EE 2.5+ merely incorporated UB, and not, for example, NPC Project, then I don't think any identifying item would have been added to the game, which is consistent with my experience. If either of you have actually found this item in an unmodded EE playthrough, though, then I suppose I am at a loss - perhaps my installation is just idiosyncratic.
Anyway, as mentioned before, not a huge issue for the story. If Kagain was in the party, he almost certainly would have found it (already recognizing Entar's son), but Ausar and Jaheira have colorable excuses for overlooking it.
Thanks for your patience! This is definitely more of a molehill than a mountain
In my hundreds of recent runs in BG1, I've never once stumbled upon any symbol or mark identifying the victim of the raid, apart once doing Kagain's quest where he recognizes the body but that's it.
Provided, I play solo 99% of the time, and go rapidly through the scene, so I might have just missed it, but if walking through the scene alone, there is no way to interact with the caravan or the bodies that I can remember.
It's definitely my memory playing tricks on me. That identifying trinket has a X# item code, indicating that it's part of the NPC project. More recent EE builds have added a few things to Kagain's quest, but not that.
Not two minutes had passed before a man approached us, arms open wide, an ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face.
“Need directions? You seem a friendly sort, so I thought I’d offer my services as a guide. What do you need from the town of Beregost?” he said, making a short bow to each of us in turn.
I said nothing, remembering how quickly my “warm” greeting at the Friendly Arms had turned hot.
“If you could direct us to an affordable inn, we would much appreciate it,” Jaheira said, not at all taken in by his mood. But at the words “appreciate it,” the man’s eyes lit up.
“We have many inns for the frugal adventurer. The Red Sheaf has basic rooms, though the clientele is a touch rough. There are also the Burning Wizard and the Jovial Juggler, which also have finer suites. The Red Sheaf is near the center of town, as is the Burning Wizard. The Jovial Juggler is a bit further along, and sits on the Southern edge of the city.” The man spoke so quickly, he was almost out of breath by the end.
“Thanks for your help,” Jaheira said curtly.
“No problem, friend. Enjoy your stay.” The man froze the grin on his face, and continued to look at Jaheira expectantly. Jaheira, however, simply brushed past him, and we moved to follow her. Khalid held back for a moment to fish a coin from his pocket and handed it to the man before trotting back to Jaheira’s side at the front.
“You shouldn’t be encouraging those parasites,” she said, shaking her head.
By now, my attention was far from focused on whatever sputtering explanation Khalid was giving. Though I
had seen sketches of towns in books, I had never actually set foot in one before. In certain ways, the Friendly Arms Inn had been much like Candlekeep: a strong stone wall encircling one building of primary importance, with a few peripheral structures between the two. The lives of all non-transients were ordered to the good of that one primary structure, whether it was an inn or the Great Library itself. But this town, I could catch even at a glimpse, was a place with no true center, a sprawl of multifarious elements abutting, overlapping, and cross-cutting each other. I was wary. I was completely entranced. It was the feeling, perhaps, of staring at the patterned scales of a poisonous snake. Glancing over to Imoen, the glint in her eyes told me that she felt none of the caution and all of the wonder.
We walked along a broad and winding street, bordered by free-standing houses that rose two, and sometimes even three stories into the air. One was the picture of opulence, with its latticed windows, blue-tiled roof, and enclosed front yard. It even boasted a polished wooden balustrade leading up to the front door. Another was humbler, with no tile at all on the roof but only what appeared to be a kind of reinforced thatching. Imoen exclaimed as we passed a hedge garden with a fountain, its playful sculpting apparently not for dry contemplation but rather for moments of concord and levity.
But this cornucopia of sights could not compare to the excitement occasioned by the sheer amount of noise. Men and women shouted to each other across the streets, or from open windows. Merchants hawked their wares. Children played and laughed; parents yelled after them. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the lively thrumming of a lute, followed by a just as lively bout of applause. And under every articulable sound I could clearly identify, there was a constant background hum, or drone - some combination of low conversations, of footsteps, of doors swinging open and shut, of wheels rolling upon stone, in other words, the sonic substrata of free and active life. Before stepping into Beregost, I had never imagined how deeply the sages’ control, their tyranny of quietude, had pervaded my experience of the world.
That's a fantastic description of Beregost, from the point of view of a character who grew up in a library. It stands to reason he'd be mostly impressed with the sound environment as an ambience he'd never heard before.
As we made our way toward the south side of town, a woman in plain clothes hailed us.
“Did you come from down south? Do you know anything about the rumors that Amn is going to invade? I don’t like to believe it, but what else could be happening?” she asked.
“We hail from elsewhere. I am sorry,” Jaheira said, as we passed her. The woman waved her hand and craned her neck in a lookout for the next group from out of town. War with Amn?
Our road opened out into a large public square, with an imposing stone obelisk rising skyward from its center. Although the hour was growing late, many people milled about in the square: individuals enjoying the evening air, groups congregating before casting off for somewhere else, and what even appeared to be couples courting. I could not help but stare; a couple courted in Candlekeep about as often as the librarians burned books. The base of the obelisk bore a simple inscription: BEREGOST. Again, I marveled: no catalogue of founders, no lengthy history, no list of rules. The inscription’s bareness seemed to me perfect for a town that could be so many different things to so many different people. The town did not define their lives; it was merely their sum.
By happenstance, looking somewhat less crowded than described
Jaheira directed us toward a building on the western side of the square. A large sign to one side of the entrance bore the image of a golden eagle’s head, set against a background of bright, luxurious scarlet. In gold filigreed script beneath the eagle’s head, the sign read “Feldepost’s Inn.”
I turned to Jaheira, “The man at the town line never mentioned -”
“Shh-” Imoen whispered, jabbing her shoulder into my ribs, “can’t we stay at a fancy place for once?”
Jaheira, who had obviously heard Imoen, just smiled. “Khalid and I have been to Beregost before; there are always a few reasonable rooms to rent and,” here she turned serious, “with the bounty on your head, it is better not to sleep in a rats’ nest.” So Jaheira had intended to book rooms here from the beginning. She must have asked our “guide” for “affordable” options, I realized, so that he would not dog us around the entire town, his nostrils filled with the smell of our gold. Practical. The more I thought of the man, the more he seemed like a fool.
Before Khalid had even opened the door the whole way, Imoen was barrelling through it. I heard her gasp, “Ausar! You gotta SEE this!” When I stepped inside, I felt Imoen’s excitement immediately. Rich crimson and violet carpets, one or two as intricately designed as certain tapestries, were draped over the polished wooden floor of a common area at least three times smaller and nine times more luxurious than the Friendly Arms. Small tables bedecked in fine cloth of a matching red dotted the room, each one bathed in the gentle glow of its own candle, at enough distance from each other to preserve an aura of privacy. The candleholders on the tables and the lampstands mounted on the walls were all of gleaming gold. Ornamental columns of white marble rose to the ceiling, and pedestals of white marble supported ferns lush with healthy fronds.
“Fit for the king of Baldur’s Gate,” Imoen marveled, “maybe he is staying here tonight!”
Imoen had clearly never cared much for her studies, but I did not think to correct her on a point of title. We had slain a horde of hobgoblin bandits and a pack of gibberlings. We had cut down the armor-plated ankheg, and the enraged ogre. We had delivered justice for Joia, who was no doubt still singing our praises at the Friendly Arm. We were the ones who would investigate the Nashkel mines and finally bring the iron crisis to a close, ending the instability and the bandit rapacity that fed upon it. In other words, we were true adventurers. And a night in this palace was a true adventurer’s reward. It was a reward, in all truth, richly deserved. My spirit swelled, as though I already possessed it all.
Hearing Imoen’s exclamation, Jaheira and Ajantis turned to each other and laughed. But before I could ask why, a brusque shout broke upon my ears.
“‘Ere now, get out! I don’t like your type in here!”
I looked up to see a man in commoner’s clothing, stained with grime and disheveled, as though it had not been washed or pressed in a fortnight. A stark contrast with his surroundings, he stared at me from beneath bushy brown eyebrows and a pile of unkempt hair. His beard was also dirty and ragged.
“Heh! You tell ‘em, Marl,” called out another man, not nearly as bedragled as his fellow, but also in a commoner’s wear that clashed with the inn's opulence.
We pushed forward without responding, all of a mind to avoid starting a confrontation in an inn we had just entered. But “Marl” persisted.
“Hey! I told you to get lost! Ain’t no room here for ye troublemakin’ strangers!”
But we were high adventurers come to celebrate our successes, our feats of bravery in battle; if he only knew who we were, he would simmer down to listen to our stories, etching them into his memory so he could tell his grandchildren of the day he met Ausar Ankheg-Slayer or Ausar Goblinsbane, untouchable by sword or spell. It was not, after all, every day a commoner crossed paths with a hero. I met him with all the levity of a buccaneer toting a full purse.
“No need to get all bent out of shape. There’s plenty of bar for us all,” I assured him, grinning.
“Hey, I take whatever shape I want! I’m sick of you freakish adventurers going out, consorting with gods know what, and dragging your trouble back into my hometown! What do you say to that?!” He had begun to shout now, but a little more charm would win him over.
“I just do what I think is right. We solve a lot more trouble than we cause. Well, very nearly anyways,” I replied with a laugh.
“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?! You mess up the local economy with your treasure, you upset the balance of nature, you flash your magic around, and because maybe somebody’s son thinks it’s fun and goes out and gets himself killed! It’s a bad example and somebody ought to kick your ass for it!”
Now his roaring had attracted the disdainful stares of the entire room, which, I noticed, were directed not just at him, but also at me. I bristled. I would not be shamed in front of all these people by such a motley lout, whose greatest mental exertion each day was probably an hour-long attempt at tying his own shoes. He knew nothing, and yet here he stood to pass judgment on me?
“Hold on! Everyone goes their own path, and I’ll not be held accountable for what the fates deal!” I reproved him sharply, hinting at what might happen if he tried. Imoen placed her hand on my sleeve, but I brushed her aside.
Now a different tone crept into Marl’s voice, but only for a moment, “He was a good boy till your kind came through town! Filled his head with nonsense they did, and because of it he’s dead! Now why shouldn’t I take THAT out of your hide?!”
So Marl was the father of this so-called “someone’s” son. I reached reflexively for the sharpest verbal weapon I could find, raising my voice even louder.
“Because if you were like this at home with him, I would ha-”
Before I could finish, Ajantis clapped me on the shoulder, hard, knocking the breath out of me. He started speaking without missing a beat.
“If you knew him like you think, then ask yourself if he wouldn’t have gone anyway,” his voice was measured and deep, “It’s a calling you’re born with. Nobody gives it to you.”
The resonant confidence in the paladin-squire’s voice cracked Marl’s blustery anger at its seams.
“Tain’t true! He was going to take over the farm and settle down. Maybe apprentice with Thunderhammer during the winter. He never wanted to adventure.” The anger was still there, but that different tone, fleeting before, had become predominant. I recognized it now: grief.
“That was what you wanted, Marl!” His better kept companion called out, “Fun’s fun, but ye’re blaming these folk fer what couldn’t be helped. That boy was a firebrand if ever there was…”
“No!” Marl cut in, “He was settling down! He wanted...he wanted…”
“That new plow ye brought last year, he got the gold by helping clear kobolds near Ulgoth’s Beard. He wanted to make a difference, make the realms a bit safer. Just like these folk most likely.”
“By Chauntea, why couldn’t he just stay home?!” Marl’s lips quivered. I could see he was on the verge of tears. Ajantis looked him straight in the eyes.
“The realms call, and you go. He sounds like a fine lad taken too soon, but doing what he was meant. If you’ll suffer our company, we’ll buy a round and toast his memory with you.”
“‘Twould be fitting, I suppose,” Marl at last relented, and a server brought over a drink for him and Ajantis,
“To Kennair Nethalin! Rest ye well!” Then, breathing heavily, “I . . . I would be alone awhile.” He wandered away toward the back of the inn. His companion approached us, clearly relieved.
“Well, ‘tis the calmest I done seen him in a week. Still, best you move along. Marl isn’t known for his steady moods.”
Ajantis thanked him, but said he did not expect much trouble from Marl. The five of us sat down at an open table, but no one said anything. Khalid, Jaheira, and Imoen were all looking at me. I looked down, but I could still feel their eyes. What did they want me to say? The silence stretched. I heard a shifting on the other side of the table, but before either Jaheira or Khalid could speak, Ajantis interposed.
“This day has been long,” Ajantis said, “perhaps Ausar and I shall take some air before the night is upon us.” I raised my eyes to see him exchanging a look with Jaheira, who spoke to answer him.
“Yes, a walk would do Ausar good, I am sure.” She did not sound pleased, but I was of no mind to disagree. A stroll with Ajantis would be a welcome relief from their wordless stares.
I like this interpretation of the scene, having Ausar almost give the "wrong" answer to make the encounter end badly, then having Ajantis with his superior wisdom and moral development give the "right" answer instead. It's also a good chance to have some character development for Ausar in your narrative structure.
I breathed deeply as we stepped out into the square. I turned to Ajantis, who seemed to be studying my expression.
“What a cad,” I said, fishing for some sympathy.
“No,” Ajantis countered immediately, shaking his head, “did you see him?” I felt a pin-prick of doubt.
“What? What are you talking about? Of course I saw him.” I thought that Ajantis, of all the members of our fellowship, would have understood. A knight of glory, with an ingrained appreciation of the divide between the noble and the base, should have recognized Marl’s infringement upon our honor. I wondered, with a sinking feeling, whether Ajantis’ training had alerted him to a cue that I had missed.
“I know you are clever, Ausar, so do not parse words with me,” he said flatly but without reproach. He cleared his throat and then continued, “At bottom, there are only two kinds of thing in this world: there is good, and there is evil. Many imagine that the world is more complicated, but the basic truth is simple enough that even a child can understand it. Marl was not evil. He was a father grieving his lost son. The hand of evil is long, and it reached through Kennair’s life to tear at the chords of his father’s heart. Could you, of all in our fellowship, not see that?”
“But the dishon-” I had raised my voice reflexively, to challenge him, but then swallowed my own reply as the full import of Ajantis’ words dawned upon me. Of all in our fellowship. The pin-prick of doubt deepened into a stab wound. Jaheira or Khalid must have told him about Gorion’s murder, and now, Ajantis held it up before me like a mirror. Marl and I were each other’s complement in loss: he, the sonless father, and I, the fatherless son. Yet but for Ajantis’ timely intervention, I would have used his son’s death as a cudgel to beat him into submission, or else, even worse, provoke him into a brawl.
Ajantis held his focused, studying gaze, as though trying to read an omen on my face. We passed under the shadow of the Beregost obelisk, and I felt despair. Ajantis was the true hero, the wise paladin-squire of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart; I was an exile from Candlekeep who had nearly attacked a father in mourning over some heated words. I looked back to the unyielding conviction in Ajantis’ eyes. In that moment, I yearned for nothing more than to learn everything I could from him, for Ajantis to take me as his own squire. And yet, here I stood before him, condemned by my own folly.
“I see him now,” I said, “or rather, I see him as I ought to have before.” My clumsy tongue was failing me again. I could not remember the last time I had to admit such deep regret. “Ajantis, I-”
But just then, a young man called out to us in a voice that, despite being a touch high and not being particularly loud, seemed to cut straight through the square’s ambient bustle: “Hail adventurers!” His face was comely and smooth, the face of a noble or somebody who kept the company of nobles. He strode over to us, unhesitantly, even before we had returned his salutation.
“I have a proposal for you. I have heard that you’re an excellent warrior,” he said, looking at Ajantis, “How would you like a well-paying job as a bodyguard for my mistress?” I marveled - when Imoen and I met Ajantis back at a farm by the Friendly Arms, I had never considered that Ajantis’s feats of chivalry may have already earned him region-wide renown. This knowledge made his chastisement sting all the more, just as it magnified my desire to prove my worth in his eyes.
“Thou art ill-informed, if thou thinkest the sword of a paladin-squire of the All-Seeing God shall swing for silver or gold. State thy name and thy cause, and I shall judge of its justice,” Ajantis proclaimed. He had raised his speech to the register of highest formality. It must have been, I presumed, a register commensurate, to Ajantis, with the gravity of pledging his word as a paladin-squire and as public representative of his Order. The petitioner, however, was entirely unphased and continued chatting on in the same conversational tone.
“I’m Garrick, and I work for Silke Rosena. She’s the most skilled musician and actor along the Sword Coast. In fact, she’s to play at the Ducal Palace before the month’s done. However, she’s been having some problems of late. Some thugs have been hired by Feldepost to hurt her bad because she didn’t perform at his inn when she was supposed to. You can’t blame her for not showing up, what with a villain like Feldepost running the place. She needs mercenaries to protect her until she’s ready to leave for Baldur’s Gate in the morning. She’s willing to pay around 300 gold.” But recalling what Ajantis had just said, Garrick added quickly, “if not for you, then perhaps for your honorable friend,” pointing at me. “Anyway, what do you say?”
I wanted to interject, disclaiming all interest in the reward, in the hopes of impressing Ajantis. But Ajantis answered Garrick immediately, “Villainy, forsooth! Feldepost would spurn a fair action at law, to menace thy lady with craven brigandry in the streets?” Ajantis’ speech, pure decorum before, had been rapidly gaining speed, his solemnity breaking into a scowl as he spoke. “Helm guide my sword! For these execrable vagabonds shall repent at the point of it! Thy lady shall suffer no harm from them this night. I pledge thou my word.”
“And mine as well!” I followed, taken up in the impassioned ardor of Ajantis’ voice.
Garrick’s eyes gleamed with joy, “I think you’ve made a good decision. Now just meet me outside of the Red Sheaf Inn.” With that, he bounded away, around the nearest corner.
Now Ajantis turned to me, “Through this noble act, Ausar, thou mayest make straight thy misstep.” My heart sang with relief.
“And so you shall,” I affirmed. I winced - I had stepped on my tongue again, “Or no, I mean, so I shall,” I hurried to correct myself. Ajantis appeared not to have noticed.
“Then let us not tarry here. The entrance to the Red Sheaf lies right around that corner,” he said, pointing to where Garrick had just disappeared. We rounded the corner.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I hope you have all been enjoying Ausar's adventures in Beregost! Unfortunately, there will be no new installment on Friday. Looking forward to picking up again on Monday!
Silke Rosena took my breath away. She was lithe, without appearing boyish - quite the opposite, in fact. Her body strained against a tight black bodice, topped with an ornamental scarlet trim that, every time she took a breath, seemed a mere stitch away from falling a stitch too low. Her chest and her arms were otherwise entirely bare, in a full display of ivory white skin that clashed with the deep red of her lips. She leaned forward on her staff in an impossibly seductive pose, her raven-black hair falling just to the side of her bosom. She tilted her chin up ever so slightly to look us over with deep, dark eyes.
Written description does not precisely match the pixels, but just go with it haha
“So, Garrick,” she called out to him, “these are the only mercenaries you could find? I guess they’ll have to do.” Like Garrick’s, her voice carried surprisingly well, so that I could hear her as clearly as if she had whispered in my ear. She walked toward us, a full view of her long legs shown intermittently through a slit cut lengthwise from her long black skirt. She stopped between the two of us, then drew so close to me I could have wrapped my arm around her waist. Her perfume, rich and sweet, wafted over me. She placed a dainty finger on my chest.
“You look to be worth about 300 gold, that’s what my little Garrick offered you, isn’t it?” She slid her finger down a fraction of an inch, and looked up into my eyes. I was terrified that, even with that little finger, she might feel my heart pounding in my chest; but I was even more terrified to look down at her, at such a close angle. Could her bodice be any tighter? Whatever powers of speech I had before, all had fled by now.
Fortunately, Garrick cut in.
“I offered them 300 gold, just like you told me,” he called out over her shoulder. I could scarcely hear him. Silke took a step or two back, satisfied, but with what exactly, I was not entirely sure.
“Well then,” she started, “I assume that Garrick has explained what your duties are. You must simply dispose of the ruffians…” She kept speaking, but her lips caused me to lose focus on her words. Had Candlekeep ever seen a woman with a scintilla of this allure? I was contending with fantasy and could not snap my attention back until she was wrapping up: “...can sway even the most wise of men.” Indeed, what would she not have been able to convince the “wise” sages of Candlekeep to do? But she must have been talking about the ruffians, not herself, right? I looked over at Ajantis. He seemed entirely clear-minded, so I tried to pull myself back together, focusing on the streets and alleys from which Feldepost’s thugs might emerge at any moment.
We did not have to wait long. Only a few minutes later, a group of three men strode down the street, their eyes set on Silke. Though not noble by their dress, neither were these men penurious, the desperate sort who might have been drawn to crime from want. Perhaps, then, these men might be trained and even more dangerous. Except, I noted with surprise, not one of the three men appeared armed. Unless they had concealed daggers in their sleeves or in their boots, these men were approaching us without so much as an empty scabbard. They must have been planning to brutalize Silke with their bare hands, without an expectation of having to overcome any serious resistance.
I guess Ausar has no idea what's coming, but it's mighty brave of them to not even go back to the inn to round up the others! It seems the ankheg lesson hasn't quite sunk in just yet!
I like your interpretation of Silke. I can't imagine Ausar had much eye candy in Candlekeep! I always imagine her as an aged beauty who's now past her prime, slightly unhinged and desperate for the attention she once had in her youth and angry that the world doesn't treat her with the respect she believes she deserves. Her title of thespian extraordinaire is self-proclaimed, I'm sure!
Silke, who had been lolling in the Red Sheaf’s shade, straightened up as soon as she saw them.
“Here they are now: Feldepost’s thugs. Strike when I tell you to,” she said in a low, sharp voice. I appreciated her confidence in us; she did not sound frightened in the least. The man in the lead looked back, but his companions urged him to take a step forward. Far from brash or threatening, he had a mollifying expression and spoke almost apprehensively.
“Greetings, Silke. We’re here as you’ve asked, and we have the -”
“Don’t try to threaten me!” Silke exploded, “I won’t be easy prey for you to beat on, I’ve brought friends!” Silke’s chest rose and fell with the fiery excitement in her voice. Had she warned us about this sort of trick when I had not been paying attention?
The man started to reach into a small pouch at his belt, but Ajantis and I drew our swords halfway from their sheaths in warning. The man’s eyes widened, and he held out his hands, open palms facing up.
“What are you talking about? We’re here with the gems that -”
“Shut up!” Silke shouted, “There’ll be no weaseling out of this one.” Then, in a dramatic crescendo, her shout became a roar, “STRIKE NOW! Kill them all!” The faces of the lead man and his two companions crumpled into looks of sheer panic.
By now, I was entirely bewildered. These men could not have been the hardened criminals Feldepost had hired to mug a young woman in the streets. Ajantis made no move in any direction, but simply stood there, his brow furrowed, as though trying to work something out. I seized the opportunity to play the hero’s role.
“Stop this madness!” I yelled back at her, “We won’t murder those who are obviously innocent men.”
Silke’s lips curled in disgust as she turned to her side to face me. The supreme confidence Silke had projected just a moment before, as of a general commanding a superior force on the battlefield, was transmogrified into a swill of arrogance and rage.
“Our deal is off! In any case, you’re probably too cowardly to be any good in a fight. I’ll deal with them myself, after I deal with you!” She raised her hands, intoning arcane syllables. Just like the mage-assassin! I felt everything inside me reeling backward to that night - the fatigue, the adrenaline, the fear. The smell of blood. My response was immediate and reflexive. With one fluid motion, I drew my blade in a slash at Silke. The iron edge scored her pale white arm, marking its passage with a red runlet of blood. Silke shrieked with pain, interrupting her incantation. The spell unraveled into a formless few atoms of power. Ajantis rammed at her with his shield, trying to knock her off balance, but even in her pain she was limber and swift, side-stepping the blow. My second swing fell low, tearing the fabric of her skirt. That’s when I felt it, a clawing, siphoning sensation, not of anything within me, but as though the air around me were being pulled away. An animal defiance gleamed in Silke’s eyes; she was outmatched, but surrender had not even crossed her mind. I lunged into a thrust; she pushed the point aside with her staff. But only at the last possible moment.
That vacuum force I had felt, definitely emenanting from Silke, remained steady and now became suffused with foreboding. I knew, somehow, that some awesome power was on the verge of being unleashed. I feinted with one blade, planning to follow up with the other, but before I could, Ajantis bashed her to the ground with his shield. Why did he keep pushing her with his shield? Didn’t he have a sword? I heard a cracking sound, perhaps from her arm, or one of her ribs. It was not enough; the siphoning sensation grew more and more insistent - a bright blast of fire blossomed in my memory. A frenzied panic reached out and seized control. It all happened in an instant. As soon as Silke slammed into the ground, I thrust downward into her stomach, just beneath her bodice. She screamed in agony as I slid the blade in deep. For the first time, I heard her fear. Part of me screamed too. It was all too much like the gibberling Ajantis and I had slaughtered on the way.
Having lost many a character to Silke's lightning bolt over the years, my heart was in my throat during this entire fight. Ausar's quick reactions saved the day, but I hope he learns some caution soon, because this kind of risk-taking is not sustainable haha . . .
Rolling two 16's in a row is definitely not something that happens very often. You might want to get a little more careful with your gameplay unless you decide you want to divorce your story from what actually happens in your game.
I wonder what the back story of Silke's plan was. What was the truth behind the deception? Simple robbery, or something more sinister? How much did Gerrick know?
Rolling two 16s... you don't need a 16 to hit Silke's AC of 9 (No armor, Dex 15). Ausar hits on a 7 (off-hand 11), Ajantis on an 8; this pair's four combined attacks per round translate to about 2.5 hits per round. The timing luck to interrupt her spells ... that's more difficult.
Incidentally, for battle screenshot purposes, the greyscale effect while paused is one of the graphics options (on by default). I've disabled it in my own games, so I can move the screen around and scroll the combat log to frame the pictures just right, while still getting them in full color.
@BelgarathMTH - for reasons @jmerry mentions, taking on Silke wasn't quite a death wish, but I do agree it was very risky. I suppose that I, like Ausar, have yet to really be burned by these risky plays. Maybe that's what it's going to take haha
@dukdukgoos - all excellent questions...perhaps Garrick will reveal more (if, indeed, he knows more) the longer he stays with the party, or perhaps not...public murder for the simple robbery of a few townsfolk does seem a little extreme, doesn't it? Especially for someone who, as a public performer, presumably needed to maintain at least a decent reputation with the public.
@jmerry - thank you again for your expertise! The timing was definitely what I was most concerned about, because even one lightning bolt would (almost certainly) have meant death. Also, I am so thrilled about being able to turn off greyscale! I had no idea that was even an option. Unfortunately, because of the buffer, there are many greyscale pictures in the bank. But, in the long-run, you have done this thread a great service!
What happened next, though, was entirely different. Ajantis’ boot crashed into my chest, sending me sprawling onto my back. The blow was so forceful that my hand slipped off the hilt of my sword, which remained lodged in Silke’s navel. A second later, I heard the sound of it clattering against the paved street. I sat up to see that Silke was motionless; Ajantis stood over her. He pressed his hand against her wound, but this time, there was no miraculous healing. Blood just continued to dampen her skirt and pour out into the street. Silke must have already been dead.
I staggered to my feet, but before I had even caught my breath, Ajantis whirled around and held the point of his sword an inch from my throat.
“Ajantis!” I gasped. But Ajantis just pressed the point against my throat.
“Down!” he barked.
“What?” I cried out.
“On your knees, Ausar!” He commanded, with no decrease in pressure at the point of his blade.
Very slowly, I sank to my knees. Ajantis’ eyes were cold. What hell was this? Would the events of my short life outside of Candlekeep just keep repeating themselves, over and over again?
“Ausar Gorionson,” he proclaimed, in a booming voice. The three men whose arrival had triggered this entire incident now stood stock-still; men and women passing by stopped to gawk at the spectacle. “By the authority of the Watcher, I charge thee with the murder of Silke Rosena.”
“No, you don’t understand. I-” But Ajantis’ voice rang out, heedless, quashing my words.
“I had knocked her prone, a woman with naught but a simple staff to menace us, whom we then didst hold entirely in our power. But thou didst willfully strike a fatal blow, before she might even cry for quarter. On pain of your life, how dost thou answer?”
“I- I-” I scrambled for something to say; the situation had spiraled so quickly out of my control. I blurted out the first thing that came to me: “She was about to destroy us all!”
“How sayest thou this? What danger in a woman, even a mage, beset and overcome by two armed men?”
“Less than two seconds,” I said, blurting out everything in my head, believing with all sincerity that cold-eyed Ajantis would end my life if left unpersuaded. “Less than two seconds is all it would have taken. It was a little after I had first finished studying magic, in the demonstration rooms. The sages were observing a test - a visiting mage who had been researching months to compose a novel variation on Monster Summoning. That’s a spell. I was there with Gorion. The summoning failed. Or not failed, exactly. But all it did was conjure a hobgoblin. A sage from the gallery laughed. The visiting mage became irate, and then I felt it for the first time. This sucking sensation, filled with dread. After this feeling had built up to its climax, the visitor began casting again. A few syllables, less than two seconds, then the sweep of an arm - that’s all it was, Ajantis, two seconds - and a globe of fire flew toward the hobgoblin, exploding on impact. The thing was blackened beyond all recognition when the smoke lifted. That’s what was going to happen to us, or something like it. I felt that same thing - the suction, the dread. We wouldn’t have been able to stop her!” I had been speaking so quickly, I was almost panting at the end of my exposition. Ajantis’ expression remained unchanged.
“I sensed no such thing,” was his reply. He turned to the three men, “Will any of you bear witness to Ausar’s testimony?” But each just turned sheepishly to his fellows and shook his head.
“I shall bear witness, paladin-judge!” The acclamation rang out from behind me. It was the high, youthful voice of Garrick. I saw something change in Ajantis’ expression; could it have been surprise? Or relief?
“The Eye of Helm recognizes Garrick,” Ajantis intoned, “speak thy witness.”
“Prithee do not execute this man on judgment o’erhasty,” Garrick swept his hand dramatically to indicate me, “for I vouchsafe the truth of what he hath spoken, wise arbiter. I hath felt the same, just now, and many times past.” Now he raised his voice, projecting to the three men and the small crowd that had gathered by now. “‘Tis as one’s soul is a skiff in the frothing vertices of a Blood Tor maelstrom. In Silke’s presence, I felt it often. She spake of it as a cosmic sign of her majesty and power,” Garrick finished with his face frozen in an expression of fear and awe. A soft murmur went up from the crowd. I felt the pressure of the point against my neck ease ever so slightly.
“That’s the truth of it,” I insisted, regaining my composure somewhat, “Gorion explained it to me later. All arcanists must cleanse their auras between castings. When an arcanist much greater in power cleanses his aura under pressure, lesser arcanists may experience this rapid exchange of clouded aura for fresh as a powerful pulling or frothing sensation. That is why I only began to feel it after beginning to study magic. Your soul needs to be attuned to the Weave.”
“And art thou so attuned, Garrick?” Ajantis asked.
“Attuned? Why yes,” Garrick smiled broadly, “I am a bard.” A man from the crowd groaned loudly. Ajantis sheathed his sword.
“Then I withdraw all charges against thee, Ausar Gorionson. Necessity in defense of thy own life clears thy deed of all evil.” I rose from my knees, but just as I did, Ajantis fell to his own, bowing his head. “I have publicly accused thee of a capital offense. My charge was outside the surety of court and,” his voice quivered here, “it was false. I submit myself to your satisfaction according to the Old Law.” An old man in the crowd gasped.
Sad news - I am winding down the pace of new installments. Life has become increasingly hectic, and I have lately been writing fewer words than I have been posting. Until things let up, new installments will only be posted once a week, on Friday, rather than three times a week. Realistically, I can't give a sure estimate of how long this reduced schedule will last, but if things returned to normal in less than a month or two, I would be surprised.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! And apologies if this seems abrupt. I love writing Ausar's story, so hopefully my life will come back into balance sooner rather than later.
Thank you, @Adam_en_tium, I really appreciate it Life is great, just super busy.
CHAPTER 1, Part LVIII
“The Old Law?” I asked, hesitantly.
Before Ajantis could respond, the same old man stepped forward. With a start, I recognized him as Firebead Elvenhair, a sage who had visited Candlekeep several times during my life there.
“Forfeiture for this wrong under the Old Law is the offender’s tongue, that - I quote - ‘his mouth may slander no more,’” Firebead announced. Ajantis assented with a nod, saying nothing. I looked over at Silke; something seemed beautiful about her even in death. Because she was dead. No! Where had that thought come from? I was flooded twice over with remorse. Before I could speak, though, Garrick interposed himself between Ajantis and me, on the one hand, and the crowd, on the other.
“Thou camest to me friends, united to a noble purpose. Let blood not now dissolve fellowship’s bond. Ausar Gorionson, take the humility of this paladin as thy satisfaction. And leave him his tongue, that it might praise thy mercy.” Garrick’s speech would have been moving, if he were facing Ajantis and I. Instead, he had been facing the crowd - a bard indeed! Nevertheless, I did not require his persuasion.
“Rise, Ajantis, I do not demand it.” I extended him my hand, and the crowd cheered. It was not long, though, before the spectators dispersed. Not even Firebead had waited around for a word or two. But the three men remained; the same man who had spoken to Silke, removed from his belt-pouch a small phial containing some stoney grey liquid. He held it out to me.
“We thank you for stopping the evil witch before she killed us. Here, take this as a token of our appreciation.” I accepted. Ajantis asked if they could alert the guard to remove Silke’s body. The men nodded, then took their leave. Ajantis and I looked down at Silke. Guilt settled in to fill the spaces emptied by the receding waves of adrenaline. To kill a woman? Surely there must have been some other way. Was a blade to the gut the best Ausar “prodigy of Candlekeep” could do? I shook my head.
“I have done an ugly thing here today,” I said softly, looking down at the body.
“Remember, what I said before,” Ajantis replied, “there is good and there is evil. Everything else is secondary. We were good, and she, evil.”
“Is this what being a hero looks like? How many knight-errants have killed their damsels?” I said bitterly. Silke’s dark eyes were glazed over in death; her red lips would open no more. “I did not leave Candlekeep to become a killer.”
“We are not killers, Ausar! She was! A witch who could have burned us all alive, with nothing more than a word and a flick of her wrist. I am beginning to see the wisdom in Keldorn’s choice of training.”
Silke’s skin was so fair, her blood so red. Knowing I was responsible made me feel terribly numb. Ajantis’ words fell dead to the ground, and we stood there in silence.
Don't worry about the pace, take your time : as long as you enjoy your walkthrough, noone would complain about a slow pace (to me, a slow pace would be once a month or even less, once a week is quite fast honestly).
About this chapter, I saw two small typos:
- "Garrick interposed himself between Ajanatis and I" (should be Ajantis, obviously)
- "To kill a women? Surely there must have been some other way." (should either be "to kill women" or "to kill a woman", slight preference for the former as it would be more generic than just refering to Silke ?)
Then, both of us were clapped on the shoulder from behind.
“Silke’s dead! I guess she had it coming; you can’t be evil like her and expect to get away with it. I’m out of a job now. Would it be too much to ask if I could join up with you?” The voice was, of course, Garrick’s. I turned to glare at him. It was his naivete, if not his ill-intent, that had tossed us head-first into this debacle. Ajantis said nothing, perhaps wary of leveling any further accusations that day. Garrick seemed to read the mistrust in my eyes.
“Ho now, friend! I swear I had no idea! The only reason I’m holed up here in the first place is because I was running from trouble. You must have heard of the Dale Wind troubadours? Bards extraordinaire, entertaining the nobility from Neverwinter to Amn? No? Well, I played with them - until I learned it was a cover. Our manager was taking kickbacks from thieves that would rob our patrons blind during shows. When I came here, Silke took me in, but it turns out she was evil too! So, you see, I’m just as much the victim here as you! It seems there just isn’t an honest coin left in the realms for an honest bard.”
Sifting truth from falsity would be tricky with him - a bard, it was said, had enough yarns to tie even a cat in knots. But I could not help instinctively feeling a degree of solicitude for him: judging by his appearance, we were probably around the same age, and I too seemed to be learning the hard way that the world was far more treacherous a place than I had expected.
“Well, maybe we can table the future-travel-arrangements bit. How about we just head into the Red Sheaf, and I’ll buy you fellows a drink. I sure do owe it to you after today.” Why not? There were not enough hours left for the day to get too much worse.
“No problem,” I said. So we claimed victim’s rights: Silke’s staff - magical upon closer inspection - a potion, and an exceedingly heavy purse. Then, Ajantis led the way inside.
We stepped into the Red Sheaf’s anteroom. Compared to Feldepost’s, the Red Sheaf was sparsely decorated, dim, and low-ceilinged. The smell of ale seemed soaked into the wood all around us. At the threshold into the common room, our passage was blocked by what I could only presume was a dwarf. Although I had seen pictures of dwarves before, I had never seen one in the flesh, visiting Candlekeep. Rising only about five-feet high, well-muscled and sturdily built, the dwarf before us was about as ugly and graceless as they appeared in the pictures. He had a shaggy beard, mostly grey with a few residual traces of dark brown. Not only was he armored, but he had even hoisted a shield in front of him that covered almost all of his body. An axe hung from a belt loop at his right side. The Red Sheaf must have had some exceptionally rough customers to merit a bouncer like this one.
His eyes locked on me, and in a voice that sounded like gravel crunching against payment, he said, “You’re at the end of your rope, I’ll wager. Not that it’s anything personal, you understand, but I’m afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done.” So not a bouncer at all, but another bounty hunter. Hadn’t there been enough killing today?
“Why are you doing this?” I shook my hands in frustration, “I’ve done nothing to you.”
“You’ve done nothing to anyone, far as I know,” the dwarf shrugged his lumpy shoulders, “Don’t matter one whit to me. A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two meet, there’s old Karlat makin’ his living. Like I said, it’s nothing personal.”
Karlat drew his axe, and closed quarters with Ajantis, whom the stump-legged dwarf could not sidestep in such a confined space. But I was not about to allow Ajantis to face alone the bite of an axe meant for my neck. I flanked the dwarf on his left, raining down cuts and thrusts. None passed the dwarf’s shield, which he had raised expertly so that the openings left for my blades against such a short target were either futile or suicidal. Fortunately, however, this meant Karlat had only his axe to ward off Ajantis, whose hand-and-a-half blade had almost twice the reach. Again and again, I heard the ring of Karlat’s chainmail as Ajantis’ blade struck against it. The dwarf was remarkably hardy, absorbing blow after blow without so much as a grunt. Ajantis could not, of course, penetrate the chain, but he could bruise Karlat with the blunt force of his strong downward cuts, keeping the dwarf on the defensive until one of us found the opportunity for a lethal strike.
High-pitched string music, a few moments ago a mere background tone, now swelled, forcing itself to the foreground. It twined together with a deep, throaty chanting, the likes of which I had never heard before. This acoustic harmony swirled around me like a tailwind. I redoubled my efforts; between Ajantis and I, Karlat’s guard would be crushed soon enough. Perhaps sensing that he would only be ground down in a prolonged fight, Karlat roared and crashed forward, breaking inside the arc of Ajantis’ blade. I seized the opportunity and swung, but only managed to graze his scalp. Ajantis had been thrown off-balance, and Karlat hacked at him in a fury, crushing Ajantis’ ringmail in some places and drawing blood in others. Finally, though, Ajantis found the space to step out of grappling range. He thrust forward with his sword, sending it straight through the eye of the oncoming dwarf. Karlat’s face started to contort itself in agony, but froze halfway, so sudden was the dwarf’s death.
Comments
A statement responding to the above comments about the caravan scene is below. If you posted, go ahead and read it, but for others: Be forewarned, it includes story spoilers.
To those who posted and/or liked, thank you - I love the interest in this scene! With respect, @jmerry, I do not think that the EE has introduced such an identifying item. I did not see it in my own game, and I did not find any documentation of it on the wiki, or any references to handing in such an item to Entar Silvershield. It seems likely to me that these additions are exclusively NPC Project or Unfinished Business content. Because I have not played these mods, I do not consider myself constrained by their content. That having been said, it is possible that I am mistaken, and that I just carelessly overlooked it. In that case, we can imagine that the identifying item was tucked away deep under his clothing, which - let us suppose - Ausar was too overwhelmed and Jaheira not sufficiently interested to search his body thoroughly enough to discover it.
So, as @BelgarathMTH aptly put it, what is going on here? This incident is the origin point of a little subplot / backstory that is largely incidental to the main story, and will probably not resurface for a long while. The facts are meant to be a little mysterious and to not quite “add up,” given what the characters currently know. In a land as violent and magically-charged as Faerun, I imagine this is not an uncommon experience, especially for adventurers.
In the EE, if you help Kagain complete his quest on time, your journal will update to read “Entar Silvershield’s son was killed.” To me, this cements the identity of the body. However, it leaves many, many other things wide open, including the condition of the body and its accoutrements (unlike other games, I do not think there is even the pretence in BG that the lootable array includes *everything* on a given body). What I am aiming to do is to step into this opening and, by filling it with some detail that is unconventional but (as far as I can tell) entirely consistent with what appears in-game, sow a few seeds to be harvested later in the narrative.
I don’t want to say just yet exactly *why* Entar’s son may have been found wearing armor marked with the Blacktalon sigil. There are many possible explanations, some humdrum and mundane, others sensational and scarce-to-be-believed.
I would kindly request that posts identifying the body be revised to include spoiler boxes. Unlike architectonic plot events, like Sarevok being the one who murdered Gorion or Gorion’s Ward discovering he/she is Bhaalspawn, I think that this random body actually being the son of Entar Silvershield is a detail even readers who have played through a few times are liable to miss. I think it would be nice for those readers to be able to experience this revelation in the context of the narrative.
@monico - yes, I do very much like my symbols. I think they serve an especially important function in societies, like many in Faerun, where even basic literacy is uncommon. Where I can find a symbol in the pre-existing lore, I will use it. Where I cannot, I will devise one that seems plausible. As it so happens, both of the sigils I have described up to this point have some official or semi-official status. For Elminster’s sigil, see: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Elminster_Aumar. For the Blacktalon sigil, see: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Taurgosz_Khosann.
With the Friendly Arms Inn behind our adventurers (for now, at least) and Beregost looming before them, now seems like an opportune moment to open the thread for another week or so of free discussion. Happy to hear larger comments that might have seemed out of place at any given time, smaller comments on old sections or recent sections, hopes/theories about what might come next, updated estimates of Ausar’s current alignment or projections about where it might end up, characters you like, characters you don’t like, etc. - really anything at all you might want to discuss.
I also want to thank some of my readers by name:
@BelgarathMTH , @energisedcamel , @Adam_en_tium , @Aerakar - many thanks to you, my rock-solid core of four who seem to have read every posting for the last few months within a day or two of them being posted (and often on the same day!). Your constant presence has always been very much appreciated.
@monico - many thanks to you, for providing the necessary support to me and this thread when it was still in its infancy, and for having caught up remarkably in such a short time. Your place of honor in the story of this thread will always be a unique one.
@dukdukgoos - many thanks to you, one of the newest readers who also accomplished a truly incredible binge - I hope you are still enjoying the story here at the cutting edge.
@jmerry - many thanks to you, our resident number-cruncher, for being there to leap in with your incredibly deep knowledge of the game and its mechanics.
@JuliusBorisov and @Gusinda - many thanks to you, true veterans of these forums, for stopping by from time to time to show your support.
My thanks extend, of course, to all the anonymous readers of this thread as well! If you ever decide to pick up an account, I will be happy to thank you by name and even happier to hear what you think.
And that’s all, folks - next new installment will be Friday, July 10.
I'll make sure to hide spoilers from now on, it might break immersion to readers indeed.
In terms of the caravan, I'm pretty sure older EE builds required UB or BG1NPC mods to flesh out the scene, but the latest EE build (2.5) has integrated the UB fixes into the main game, so it doesn't require mods any more.
More regarding the caravan (story spoilers):
If you and @jmerry both settle on the same answer, I am very much inclined to agree, but for whatever reason my game will simply not reproduce your experience. I am currently running v2.5.17, and just to make sure I did not miss anything with Ausar, I started up a new game and made a beeline for the caravan. No identifying object was at the site. So, I made a beeline for Kagain's, picked him up, and then sprinted straight back to the caravan. Unlike in past versions of the game, this quest is no longer "broken" - Kagain does recognize the body as belonging to Entar's son (completing the quest), whereas he did not in older versions of the game. However, even during this second visit to the site, there is no identifying item for turning in later down the road.
This made me very curious, so I pulled up the Unfinished Business and NPC project readme's. The UB readme discusses fixing the Kagain caravan quest so that it completes, but provides no detail on adding an identifying item for Entar's son. The NPC Project does, however, purport to add it.
So, if EE 2.5+ merely incorporated UB, and not, for example, NPC Project, then I don't think any identifying item would have been added to the game, which is consistent with my experience. If either of you have actually found this item in an unmodded EE playthrough, though, then I suppose I am at a loss - perhaps my installation is just idiosyncratic.
Anyway, as mentioned before, not a huge issue for the story. If Kagain was in the party, he almost certainly would have found it (already recognizing Entar's son), but Ausar and Jaheira have colorable excuses for overlooking it.
Thanks for your patience! This is definitely more of a molehill than a mountain
Provided, I play solo 99% of the time, and go rapidly through the scene, so I might have just missed it, but if walking through the scene alone, there is no way to interact with the caravan or the bodies that I can remember.
Not two minutes had passed before a man approached us, arms open wide, an ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face.
“Need directions? You seem a friendly sort, so I thought I’d offer my services as a guide. What do you need from the town of Beregost?” he said, making a short bow to each of us in turn.
I said nothing, remembering how quickly my “warm” greeting at the Friendly Arms had turned hot.
“If you could direct us to an affordable inn, we would much appreciate it,” Jaheira said, not at all taken in by his mood. But at the words “appreciate it,” the man’s eyes lit up.
“We have many inns for the frugal adventurer. The Red Sheaf has basic rooms, though the clientele is a touch rough. There are also the Burning Wizard and the Jovial Juggler, which also have finer suites. The Red Sheaf is near the center of town, as is the Burning Wizard. The Jovial Juggler is a bit further along, and sits on the Southern edge of the city.” The man spoke so quickly, he was almost out of breath by the end.
“Thanks for your help,” Jaheira said curtly.
“No problem, friend. Enjoy your stay.” The man froze the grin on his face, and continued to look at Jaheira expectantly. Jaheira, however, simply brushed past him, and we moved to follow her. Khalid held back for a moment to fish a coin from his pocket and handed it to the man before trotting back to Jaheira’s side at the front.
“You shouldn’t be encouraging those parasites,” she said, shaking her head.
By now, my attention was far from focused on whatever sputtering explanation Khalid was giving. Though I
had seen sketches of towns in books, I had never actually set foot in one before. In certain ways, the Friendly Arms Inn had been much like Candlekeep: a strong stone wall encircling one building of primary importance, with a few peripheral structures between the two. The lives of all non-transients were ordered to the good of that one primary structure, whether it was an inn or the Great Library itself. But this town, I could catch even at a glimpse, was a place with no true center, a sprawl of multifarious elements abutting, overlapping, and cross-cutting each other. I was wary. I was completely entranced. It was the feeling, perhaps, of staring at the patterned scales of a poisonous snake. Glancing over to Imoen, the glint in her eyes told me that she felt none of the caution and all of the wonder.
We walked along a broad and winding street, bordered by free-standing houses that rose two, and sometimes even three stories into the air. One was the picture of opulence, with its latticed windows, blue-tiled roof, and enclosed front yard. It even boasted a polished wooden balustrade leading up to the front door. Another was humbler, with no tile at all on the roof but only what appeared to be a kind of reinforced thatching. Imoen exclaimed as we passed a hedge garden with a fountain, its playful sculpting apparently not for dry contemplation but rather for moments of concord and levity.
But this cornucopia of sights could not compare to the excitement occasioned by the sheer amount of noise. Men and women shouted to each other across the streets, or from open windows. Merchants hawked their wares. Children played and laughed; parents yelled after them. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the lively thrumming of a lute, followed by a just as lively bout of applause. And under every articulable sound I could clearly identify, there was a constant background hum, or drone - some combination of low conversations, of footsteps, of doors swinging open and shut, of wheels rolling upon stone, in other words, the sonic substrata of free and active life. Before stepping into Beregost, I had never imagined how deeply the sages’ control, their tyranny of quietude, had pervaded my experience of the world.
As we made our way toward the south side of town, a woman in plain clothes hailed us.
“Did you come from down south? Do you know anything about the rumors that Amn is going to invade? I don’t like to believe it, but what else could be happening?” she asked.
“We hail from elsewhere. I am sorry,” Jaheira said, as we passed her. The woman waved her hand and craned her neck in a lookout for the next group from out of town. War with Amn?
Our road opened out into a large public square, with an imposing stone obelisk rising skyward from its center. Although the hour was growing late, many people milled about in the square: individuals enjoying the evening air, groups congregating before casting off for somewhere else, and what even appeared to be couples courting. I could not help but stare; a couple courted in Candlekeep about as often as the librarians burned books. The base of the obelisk bore a simple inscription: BEREGOST. Again, I marveled: no catalogue of founders, no lengthy history, no list of rules. The inscription’s bareness seemed to me perfect for a town that could be so many different things to so many different people. The town did not define their lives; it was merely their sum.
Jaheira directed us toward a building on the western side of the square. A large sign to one side of the entrance bore the image of a golden eagle’s head, set against a background of bright, luxurious scarlet. In gold filigreed script beneath the eagle’s head, the sign read “Feldepost’s Inn.”
I turned to Jaheira, “The man at the town line never mentioned -”
“Shh-” Imoen whispered, jabbing her shoulder into my ribs, “can’t we stay at a fancy place for once?”
Jaheira, who had obviously heard Imoen, just smiled. “Khalid and I have been to Beregost before; there are always a few reasonable rooms to rent and,” here she turned serious, “with the bounty on your head, it is better not to sleep in a rats’ nest.” So Jaheira had intended to book rooms here from the beginning. She must have asked our “guide” for “affordable” options, I realized, so that he would not dog us around the entire town, his nostrils filled with the smell of our gold. Practical. The more I thought of the man, the more he seemed like a fool.
Before Khalid had even opened the door the whole way, Imoen was barrelling through it. I heard her gasp, “Ausar! You gotta SEE this!” When I stepped inside, I felt Imoen’s excitement immediately. Rich crimson and violet carpets, one or two as intricately designed as certain tapestries, were draped over the polished wooden floor of a common area at least three times smaller and nine times more luxurious than the Friendly Arms. Small tables bedecked in fine cloth of a matching red dotted the room, each one bathed in the gentle glow of its own candle, at enough distance from each other to preserve an aura of privacy. The candleholders on the tables and the lampstands mounted on the walls were all of gleaming gold. Ornamental columns of white marble rose to the ceiling, and pedestals of white marble supported ferns lush with healthy fronds.
“Fit for the king of Baldur’s Gate,” Imoen marveled, “maybe he is staying here tonight!”
Imoen had clearly never cared much for her studies, but I did not think to correct her on a point of title. We had slain a horde of hobgoblin bandits and a pack of gibberlings. We had cut down the armor-plated ankheg, and the enraged ogre. We had delivered justice for Joia, who was no doubt still singing our praises at the Friendly Arm. We were the ones who would investigate the Nashkel mines and finally bring the iron crisis to a close, ending the instability and the bandit rapacity that fed upon it. In other words, we were true adventurers. And a night in this palace was a true adventurer’s reward. It was a reward, in all truth, richly deserved. My spirit swelled, as though I already possessed it all.
Hearing Imoen’s exclamation, Jaheira and Ajantis turned to each other and laughed. But before I could ask why, a brusque shout broke upon my ears.
“‘Ere now, get out! I don’t like your type in here!”
I looked up to see a man in commoner’s clothing, stained with grime and disheveled, as though it had not been washed or pressed in a fortnight. A stark contrast with his surroundings, he stared at me from beneath bushy brown eyebrows and a pile of unkempt hair. His beard was also dirty and ragged.
“Heh! You tell ‘em, Marl,” called out another man, not nearly as bedragled as his fellow, but also in a commoner’s wear that clashed with the inn's opulence.
We pushed forward without responding, all of a mind to avoid starting a confrontation in an inn we had just entered. But “Marl” persisted.
“Hey! I told you to get lost! Ain’t no room here for ye troublemakin’ strangers!”
But we were high adventurers come to celebrate our successes, our feats of bravery in battle; if he only knew who we were, he would simmer down to listen to our stories, etching them into his memory so he could tell his grandchildren of the day he met Ausar Ankheg-Slayer or Ausar Goblinsbane, untouchable by sword or spell. It was not, after all, every day a commoner crossed paths with a hero. I met him with all the levity of a buccaneer toting a full purse.
“No need to get all bent out of shape. There’s plenty of bar for us all,” I assured him, grinning.
“Hey, I take whatever shape I want! I’m sick of you freakish adventurers going out, consorting with gods know what, and dragging your trouble back into my hometown! What do you say to that?!” He had begun to shout now, but a little more charm would win him over.
“I just do what I think is right. We solve a lot more trouble than we cause. Well, very nearly anyways,” I replied with a laugh.
“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?! You mess up the local economy with your treasure, you upset the balance of nature, you flash your magic around, and because maybe somebody’s son thinks it’s fun and goes out and gets himself killed! It’s a bad example and somebody ought to kick your ass for it!”
Now his roaring had attracted the disdainful stares of the entire room, which, I noticed, were directed not just at him, but also at me. I bristled. I would not be shamed in front of all these people by such a motley lout, whose greatest mental exertion each day was probably an hour-long attempt at tying his own shoes. He knew nothing, and yet here he stood to pass judgment on me?
“Hold on! Everyone goes their own path, and I’ll not be held accountable for what the fates deal!” I reproved him sharply, hinting at what might happen if he tried. Imoen placed her hand on my sleeve, but I brushed her aside.
Now a different tone crept into Marl’s voice, but only for a moment, “He was a good boy till your kind came through town! Filled his head with nonsense they did, and because of it he’s dead! Now why shouldn’t I take THAT out of your hide?!”
So Marl was the father of this so-called “someone’s” son. I reached reflexively for the sharpest verbal weapon I could find, raising my voice even louder.
“Because if you were like this at home with him, I would ha-”
Before I could finish, Ajantis clapped me on the shoulder, hard, knocking the breath out of me. He started speaking without missing a beat.
“If you knew him like you think, then ask yourself if he wouldn’t have gone anyway,” his voice was measured and deep, “It’s a calling you’re born with. Nobody gives it to you.”
The resonant confidence in the paladin-squire’s voice cracked Marl’s blustery anger at its seams.
“Tain’t true! He was going to take over the farm and settle down. Maybe apprentice with Thunderhammer during the winter. He never wanted to adventure.” The anger was still there, but that different tone, fleeting before, had become predominant. I recognized it now: grief.
“That was what you wanted, Marl!” His better kept companion called out, “Fun’s fun, but ye’re blaming these folk fer what couldn’t be helped. That boy was a firebrand if ever there was…”
“No!” Marl cut in, “He was settling down! He wanted...he wanted…”
“That new plow ye brought last year, he got the gold by helping clear kobolds near Ulgoth’s Beard. He wanted to make a difference, make the realms a bit safer. Just like these folk most likely.”
“By Chauntea, why couldn’t he just stay home?!” Marl’s lips quivered. I could see he was on the verge of tears. Ajantis looked him straight in the eyes.
“The realms call, and you go. He sounds like a fine lad taken too soon, but doing what he was meant. If you’ll suffer our company, we’ll buy a round and toast his memory with you.”
“‘Twould be fitting, I suppose,” Marl at last relented, and a server brought over a drink for him and Ajantis,
“To Kennair Nethalin! Rest ye well!” Then, breathing heavily, “I . . . I would be alone awhile.” He wandered away toward the back of the inn. His companion approached us, clearly relieved.
“Well, ‘tis the calmest I done seen him in a week. Still, best you move along. Marl isn’t known for his steady moods.”
Ajantis thanked him, but said he did not expect much trouble from Marl. The five of us sat down at an open table, but no one said anything. Khalid, Jaheira, and Imoen were all looking at me. I looked down, but I could still feel their eyes. What did they want me to say? The silence stretched. I heard a shifting on the other side of the table, but before either Jaheira or Khalid could speak, Ajantis interposed.
“This day has been long,” Ajantis said, “perhaps Ausar and I shall take some air before the night is upon us.” I raised my eyes to see him exchanging a look with Jaheira, who spoke to answer him.
“Yes, a walk would do Ausar good, I am sure.” She did not sound pleased, but I was of no mind to disagree. A stroll with Ajantis would be a welcome relief from their wordless stares.
I breathed deeply as we stepped out into the square. I turned to Ajantis, who seemed to be studying my expression.
“What a cad,” I said, fishing for some sympathy.
“No,” Ajantis countered immediately, shaking his head, “did you see him?” I felt a pin-prick of doubt.
“What? What are you talking about? Of course I saw him.” I thought that Ajantis, of all the members of our fellowship, would have understood. A knight of glory, with an ingrained appreciation of the divide between the noble and the base, should have recognized Marl’s infringement upon our honor. I wondered, with a sinking feeling, whether Ajantis’ training had alerted him to a cue that I had missed.
“I know you are clever, Ausar, so do not parse words with me,” he said flatly but without reproach. He cleared his throat and then continued, “At bottom, there are only two kinds of thing in this world: there is good, and there is evil. Many imagine that the world is more complicated, but the basic truth is simple enough that even a child can understand it. Marl was not evil. He was a father grieving his lost son. The hand of evil is long, and it reached through Kennair’s life to tear at the chords of his father’s heart. Could you, of all in our fellowship, not see that?”
“But the dishon-” I had raised my voice reflexively, to challenge him, but then swallowed my own reply as the full import of Ajantis’ words dawned upon me. Of all in our fellowship. The pin-prick of doubt deepened into a stab wound. Jaheira or Khalid must have told him about Gorion’s murder, and now, Ajantis held it up before me like a mirror. Marl and I were each other’s complement in loss: he, the sonless father, and I, the fatherless son. Yet but for Ajantis’ timely intervention, I would have used his son’s death as a cudgel to beat him into submission, or else, even worse, provoke him into a brawl.
Ajantis held his focused, studying gaze, as though trying to read an omen on my face. We passed under the shadow of the Beregost obelisk, and I felt despair. Ajantis was the true hero, the wise paladin-squire of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart; I was an exile from Candlekeep who had nearly attacked a father in mourning over some heated words. I looked back to the unyielding conviction in Ajantis’ eyes. In that moment, I yearned for nothing more than to learn everything I could from him, for Ajantis to take me as his own squire. And yet, here I stood before him, condemned by my own folly.
“I see him now,” I said, “or rather, I see him as I ought to have before.” My clumsy tongue was failing me again. I could not remember the last time I had to admit such deep regret. “Ajantis, I-”
But just then, a young man called out to us in a voice that, despite being a touch high and not being particularly loud, seemed to cut straight through the square’s ambient bustle: “Hail adventurers!” His face was comely and smooth, the face of a noble or somebody who kept the company of nobles. He strode over to us, unhesitantly, even before we had returned his salutation.
“I have a proposal for you. I have heard that you’re an excellent warrior,” he said, looking at Ajantis, “How would you like a well-paying job as a bodyguard for my mistress?” I marveled - when Imoen and I met Ajantis back at a farm by the Friendly Arms, I had never considered that Ajantis’s feats of chivalry may have already earned him region-wide renown. This knowledge made his chastisement sting all the more, just as it magnified my desire to prove my worth in his eyes.
“Thou art ill-informed, if thou thinkest the sword of a paladin-squire of the All-Seeing God shall swing for silver or gold. State thy name and thy cause, and I shall judge of its justice,” Ajantis proclaimed. He had raised his speech to the register of highest formality. It must have been, I presumed, a register commensurate, to Ajantis, with the gravity of pledging his word as a paladin-squire and as public representative of his Order. The petitioner, however, was entirely unphased and continued chatting on in the same conversational tone.
“I’m Garrick, and I work for Silke Rosena. She’s the most skilled musician and actor along the Sword Coast. In fact, she’s to play at the Ducal Palace before the month’s done. However, she’s been having some problems of late. Some thugs have been hired by Feldepost to hurt her bad because she didn’t perform at his inn when she was supposed to. You can’t blame her for not showing up, what with a villain like Feldepost running the place. She needs mercenaries to protect her until she’s ready to leave for Baldur’s Gate in the morning. She’s willing to pay around 300 gold.” But recalling what Ajantis had just said, Garrick added quickly, “if not for you, then perhaps for your honorable friend,” pointing at me. “Anyway, what do you say?”
I wanted to interject, disclaiming all interest in the reward, in the hopes of impressing Ajantis. But Ajantis answered Garrick immediately, “Villainy, forsooth! Feldepost would spurn a fair action at law, to menace thy lady with craven brigandry in the streets?” Ajantis’ speech, pure decorum before, had been rapidly gaining speed, his solemnity breaking into a scowl as he spoke. “Helm guide my sword! For these execrable vagabonds shall repent at the point of it! Thy lady shall suffer no harm from them this night. I pledge thou my word.”
“And mine as well!” I followed, taken up in the impassioned ardor of Ajantis’ voice.
Garrick’s eyes gleamed with joy, “I think you’ve made a good decision. Now just meet me outside of the Red Sheaf Inn.” With that, he bounded away, around the nearest corner.
Now Ajantis turned to me, “Through this noble act, Ausar, thou mayest make straight thy misstep.” My heart sang with relief.
“And so you shall,” I affirmed. I winced - I had stepped on my tongue again, “Or no, I mean, so I shall,” I hurried to correct myself. Ajantis appeared not to have noticed.
“Then let us not tarry here. The entrance to the Red Sheaf lies right around that corner,” he said, pointing to where Garrick had just disappeared. We rounded the corner.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I hope you have all been enjoying Ausar's adventures in Beregost! Unfortunately, there will be no new installment on Friday. Looking forward to picking up again on Monday!
Silke Rosena took my breath away. She was lithe, without appearing boyish - quite the opposite, in fact. Her body strained against a tight black bodice, topped with an ornamental scarlet trim that, every time she took a breath, seemed a mere stitch away from falling a stitch too low. Her chest and her arms were otherwise entirely bare, in a full display of ivory white skin that clashed with the deep red of her lips. She leaned forward on her staff in an impossibly seductive pose, her raven-black hair falling just to the side of her bosom. She tilted her chin up ever so slightly to look us over with deep, dark eyes.
Written description does not precisely match the pixels, but just go with it haha
“So, Garrick,” she called out to him, “these are the only mercenaries you could find? I guess they’ll have to do.” Like Garrick’s, her voice carried surprisingly well, so that I could hear her as clearly as if she had whispered in my ear. She walked toward us, a full view of her long legs shown intermittently through a slit cut lengthwise from her long black skirt. She stopped between the two of us, then drew so close to me I could have wrapped my arm around her waist. Her perfume, rich and sweet, wafted over me. She placed a dainty finger on my chest.
“You look to be worth about 300 gold, that’s what my little Garrick offered you, isn’t it?” She slid her finger down a fraction of an inch, and looked up into my eyes. I was terrified that, even with that little finger, she might feel my heart pounding in my chest; but I was even more terrified to look down at her, at such a close angle. Could her bodice be any tighter? Whatever powers of speech I had before, all had fled by now.
Fortunately, Garrick cut in.
“I offered them 300 gold, just like you told me,” he called out over her shoulder. I could scarcely hear him. Silke took a step or two back, satisfied, but with what exactly, I was not entirely sure.
“Well then,” she started, “I assume that Garrick has explained what your duties are. You must simply dispose of the ruffians…” She kept speaking, but her lips caused me to lose focus on her words. Had Candlekeep ever seen a woman with a scintilla of this allure? I was contending with fantasy and could not snap my attention back until she was wrapping up: “...can sway even the most wise of men.” Indeed, what would she not have been able to convince the “wise” sages of Candlekeep to do? But she must have been talking about the ruffians, not herself, right? I looked over at Ajantis. He seemed entirely clear-minded, so I tried to pull myself back together, focusing on the streets and alleys from which Feldepost’s thugs might emerge at any moment.
We did not have to wait long. Only a few minutes later, a group of three men strode down the street, their eyes set on Silke. Though not noble by their dress, neither were these men penurious, the desperate sort who might have been drawn to crime from want. Perhaps, then, these men might be trained and even more dangerous. Except, I noted with surprise, not one of the three men appeared armed. Unless they had concealed daggers in their sleeves or in their boots, these men were approaching us without so much as an empty scabbard. They must have been planning to brutalize Silke with their bare hands, without an expectation of having to overcome any serious resistance.
I like your interpretation of Silke. I can't imagine Ausar had much eye candy in Candlekeep! I always imagine her as an aged beauty who's now past her prime, slightly unhinged and desperate for the attention she once had in her youth and angry that the world doesn't treat her with the respect she believes she deserves. Her title of thespian extraordinaire is self-proclaimed, I'm sure!
Silke, who had been lolling in the Red Sheaf’s shade, straightened up as soon as she saw them.
“Here they are now: Feldepost’s thugs. Strike when I tell you to,” she said in a low, sharp voice. I appreciated her confidence in us; she did not sound frightened in the least. The man in the lead looked back, but his companions urged him to take a step forward. Far from brash or threatening, he had a mollifying expression and spoke almost apprehensively.
“Greetings, Silke. We’re here as you’ve asked, and we have the -”
“Don’t try to threaten me!” Silke exploded, “I won’t be easy prey for you to beat on, I’ve brought friends!” Silke’s chest rose and fell with the fiery excitement in her voice. Had she warned us about this sort of trick when I had not been paying attention?
The man started to reach into a small pouch at his belt, but Ajantis and I drew our swords halfway from their sheaths in warning. The man’s eyes widened, and he held out his hands, open palms facing up.
“What are you talking about? We’re here with the gems that -”
“Shut up!” Silke shouted, “There’ll be no weaseling out of this one.” Then, in a dramatic crescendo, her shout became a roar, “STRIKE NOW! Kill them all!” The faces of the lead man and his two companions crumpled into looks of sheer panic.
By now, I was entirely bewildered. These men could not have been the hardened criminals Feldepost had hired to mug a young woman in the streets. Ajantis made no move in any direction, but simply stood there, his brow furrowed, as though trying to work something out. I seized the opportunity to play the hero’s role.
“Stop this madness!” I yelled back at her, “We won’t murder those who are obviously innocent men.”
Silke’s lips curled in disgust as she turned to her side to face me. The supreme confidence Silke had projected just a moment before, as of a general commanding a superior force on the battlefield, was transmogrified into a swill of arrogance and rage.
“Our deal is off! In any case, you’re probably too cowardly to be any good in a fight. I’ll deal with them myself, after I deal with you!” She raised her hands, intoning arcane syllables. Just like the mage-assassin! I felt everything inside me reeling backward to that night - the fatigue, the adrenaline, the fear. The smell of blood. My response was immediate and reflexive. With one fluid motion, I drew my blade in a slash at Silke. The iron edge scored her pale white arm, marking its passage with a red runlet of blood. Silke shrieked with pain, interrupting her incantation. The spell unraveled into a formless few atoms of power. Ajantis rammed at her with his shield, trying to knock her off balance, but even in her pain she was limber and swift, side-stepping the blow. My second swing fell low, tearing the fabric of her skirt. That’s when I felt it, a clawing, siphoning sensation, not of anything within me, but as though the air around me were being pulled away. An animal defiance gleamed in Silke’s eyes; she was outmatched, but surrender had not even crossed her mind. I lunged into a thrust; she pushed the point aside with her staff. But only at the last possible moment.
That vacuum force I had felt, definitely emenanting from Silke, remained steady and now became suffused with foreboding. I knew, somehow, that some awesome power was on the verge of being unleashed. I feinted with one blade, planning to follow up with the other, but before I could, Ajantis bashed her to the ground with his shield. Why did he keep pushing her with his shield? Didn’t he have a sword? I heard a cracking sound, perhaps from her arm, or one of her ribs. It was not enough; the siphoning sensation grew more and more insistent - a bright blast of fire blossomed in my memory. A frenzied panic reached out and seized control. It all happened in an instant. As soon as Silke slammed into the ground, I thrust downward into her stomach, just beneath her bodice. She screamed in agony as I slid the blade in deep. For the first time, I heard her fear. Part of me screamed too. It was all too much like the gibberling Ajantis and I had slaughtered on the way.
Having lost many a character to Silke's lightning bolt over the years, my heart was in my throat during this entire fight. Ausar's quick reactions saved the day, but I hope he learns some caution soon, because this kind of risk-taking is not sustainable haha . . .
Incidentally, for battle screenshot purposes, the greyscale effect while paused is one of the graphics options (on by default). I've disabled it in my own games, so I can move the screen around and scroll the combat log to frame the pictures just right, while still getting them in full color.
@dukdukgoos - all excellent questions...perhaps Garrick will reveal more (if, indeed, he knows more) the longer he stays with the party, or perhaps not...public murder for the simple robbery of a few townsfolk does seem a little extreme, doesn't it? Especially for someone who, as a public performer, presumably needed to maintain at least a decent reputation with the public.
@jmerry - thank you again for your expertise! The timing was definitely what I was most concerned about, because even one lightning bolt would (almost certainly) have meant death. Also, I am so thrilled about being able to turn off greyscale! I had no idea that was even an option. Unfortunately, because of the buffer, there are many greyscale pictures in the bank. But, in the long-run, you have done this thread a great service!
What happened next, though, was entirely different. Ajantis’ boot crashed into my chest, sending me sprawling onto my back. The blow was so forceful that my hand slipped off the hilt of my sword, which remained lodged in Silke’s navel. A second later, I heard the sound of it clattering against the paved street. I sat up to see that Silke was motionless; Ajantis stood over her. He pressed his hand against her wound, but this time, there was no miraculous healing. Blood just continued to dampen her skirt and pour out into the street. Silke must have already been dead.
I staggered to my feet, but before I had even caught my breath, Ajantis whirled around and held the point of his sword an inch from my throat.
“Ajantis!” I gasped. But Ajantis just pressed the point against my throat.
“Down!” he barked.
“What?” I cried out.
“On your knees, Ausar!” He commanded, with no decrease in pressure at the point of his blade.
Very slowly, I sank to my knees. Ajantis’ eyes were cold. What hell was this? Would the events of my short life outside of Candlekeep just keep repeating themselves, over and over again?
“Ausar Gorionson,” he proclaimed, in a booming voice. The three men whose arrival had triggered this entire incident now stood stock-still; men and women passing by stopped to gawk at the spectacle. “By the authority of the Watcher, I charge thee with the murder of Silke Rosena.”
“No, you don’t understand. I-” But Ajantis’ voice rang out, heedless, quashing my words.
“I had knocked her prone, a woman with naught but a simple staff to menace us, whom we then didst hold entirely in our power. But thou didst willfully strike a fatal blow, before she might even cry for quarter. On pain of your life, how dost thou answer?”
“I- I-” I scrambled for something to say; the situation had spiraled so quickly out of my control. I blurted out the first thing that came to me: “She was about to destroy us all!”
“How sayest thou this? What danger in a woman, even a mage, beset and overcome by two armed men?”
“Less than two seconds,” I said, blurting out everything in my head, believing with all sincerity that cold-eyed Ajantis would end my life if left unpersuaded. “Less than two seconds is all it would have taken. It was a little after I had first finished studying magic, in the demonstration rooms. The sages were observing a test - a visiting mage who had been researching months to compose a novel variation on Monster Summoning. That’s a spell. I was there with Gorion. The summoning failed. Or not failed, exactly. But all it did was conjure a hobgoblin. A sage from the gallery laughed. The visiting mage became irate, and then I felt it for the first time. This sucking sensation, filled with dread. After this feeling had built up to its climax, the visitor began casting again. A few syllables, less than two seconds, then the sweep of an arm - that’s all it was, Ajantis, two seconds - and a globe of fire flew toward the hobgoblin, exploding on impact. The thing was blackened beyond all recognition when the smoke lifted. That’s what was going to happen to us, or something like it. I felt that same thing - the suction, the dread. We wouldn’t have been able to stop her!” I had been speaking so quickly, I was almost panting at the end of my exposition. Ajantis’ expression remained unchanged.
“I sensed no such thing,” was his reply. He turned to the three men, “Will any of you bear witness to Ausar’s testimony?” But each just turned sheepishly to his fellows and shook his head.
“I shall bear witness, paladin-judge!” The acclamation rang out from behind me. It was the high, youthful voice of Garrick. I saw something change in Ajantis’ expression; could it have been surprise? Or relief?
“The Eye of Helm recognizes Garrick,” Ajantis intoned, “speak thy witness.”
“Prithee do not execute this man on judgment o’erhasty,” Garrick swept his hand dramatically to indicate me, “for I vouchsafe the truth of what he hath spoken, wise arbiter. I hath felt the same, just now, and many times past.” Now he raised his voice, projecting to the three men and the small crowd that had gathered by now. “‘Tis as one’s soul is a skiff in the frothing vertices of a Blood Tor maelstrom. In Silke’s presence, I felt it often. She spake of it as a cosmic sign of her majesty and power,” Garrick finished with his face frozen in an expression of fear and awe. A soft murmur went up from the crowd. I felt the pressure of the point against my neck ease ever so slightly.
“That’s the truth of it,” I insisted, regaining my composure somewhat, “Gorion explained it to me later. All arcanists must cleanse their auras between castings. When an arcanist much greater in power cleanses his aura under pressure, lesser arcanists may experience this rapid exchange of clouded aura for fresh as a powerful pulling or frothing sensation. That is why I only began to feel it after beginning to study magic. Your soul needs to be attuned to the Weave.”
“And art thou so attuned, Garrick?” Ajantis asked.
“Attuned? Why yes,” Garrick smiled broadly, “I am a bard.” A man from the crowd groaned loudly. Ajantis sheathed his sword.
“Then I withdraw all charges against thee, Ausar Gorionson. Necessity in defense of thy own life clears thy deed of all evil.” I rose from my knees, but just as I did, Ajantis fell to his own, bowing his head. “I have publicly accused thee of a capital offense. My charge was outside the surety of court and,” his voice quivered here, “it was false. I submit myself to your satisfaction according to the Old Law.” An old man in the crowd gasped.
Sad news - I am winding down the pace of new installments. Life has become increasingly hectic, and I have lately been writing fewer words than I have been posting. Until things let up, new installments will only be posted once a week, on Friday, rather than three times a week. Realistically, I can't give a sure estimate of how long this reduced schedule will last, but if things returned to normal in less than a month or two, I would be surprised.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! And apologies if this seems abrupt. I love writing Ausar's story, so hopefully my life will come back into balance sooner rather than later.
Once a week is already really nice !
I think that we all know how life can be sometimes... I just hope it's for the best for you.
I don't even have time to play once a week for half a year ^^
CHAPTER 1, Part LVIII
“The Old Law?” I asked, hesitantly.
Before Ajantis could respond, the same old man stepped forward. With a start, I recognized him as Firebead Elvenhair, a sage who had visited Candlekeep several times during my life there.
“Forfeiture for this wrong under the Old Law is the offender’s tongue, that - I quote - ‘his mouth may slander no more,’” Firebead announced. Ajantis assented with a nod, saying nothing. I looked over at Silke; something seemed beautiful about her even in death. Because she was dead. No! Where had that thought come from? I was flooded twice over with remorse. Before I could speak, though, Garrick interposed himself between Ajantis and me, on the one hand, and the crowd, on the other.
“Thou camest to me friends, united to a noble purpose. Let blood not now dissolve fellowship’s bond. Ausar Gorionson, take the humility of this paladin as thy satisfaction. And leave him his tongue, that it might praise thy mercy.” Garrick’s speech would have been moving, if he were facing Ajantis and I. Instead, he had been facing the crowd - a bard indeed! Nevertheless, I did not require his persuasion.
“Rise, Ajantis, I do not demand it.” I extended him my hand, and the crowd cheered. It was not long, though, before the spectators dispersed. Not even Firebead had waited around for a word or two. But the three men remained; the same man who had spoken to Silke, removed from his belt-pouch a small phial containing some stoney grey liquid. He held it out to me.
“We thank you for stopping the evil witch before she killed us. Here, take this as a token of our appreciation.” I accepted. Ajantis asked if they could alert the guard to remove Silke’s body. The men nodded, then took their leave. Ajantis and I looked down at Silke. Guilt settled in to fill the spaces emptied by the receding waves of adrenaline. To kill a woman? Surely there must have been some other way. Was a blade to the gut the best Ausar “prodigy of Candlekeep” could do? I shook my head.
“I have done an ugly thing here today,” I said softly, looking down at the body.
“Remember, what I said before,” Ajantis replied, “there is good and there is evil. Everything else is secondary. We were good, and she, evil.”
“Is this what being a hero looks like? How many knight-errants have killed their damsels?” I said bitterly. Silke’s dark eyes were glazed over in death; her red lips would open no more. “I did not leave Candlekeep to become a killer.”
“We are not killers, Ausar! She was! A witch who could have burned us all alive, with nothing more than a word and a flick of her wrist. I am beginning to see the wisdom in Keldorn’s choice of training.”
Silke’s skin was so fair, her blood so red. Knowing I was responsible made me feel terribly numb. Ajantis’ words fell dead to the ground, and we stood there in silence.
Don't worry about the pace, take your time : as long as you enjoy your walkthrough, noone would complain about a slow pace (to me, a slow pace would be once a month or even less, once a week is quite fast honestly).
About this chapter, I saw two small typos:
- "Garrick interposed himself between Ajanatis and I" (should be Ajantis, obviously)
- "To kill a women? Surely there must have been some other way." (should either be "to kill women" or "to kill a woman", slight preference for the former as it would be more generic than just refering to Silke ?)
Then, both of us were clapped on the shoulder from behind.
“Silke’s dead! I guess she had it coming; you can’t be evil like her and expect to get away with it. I’m out of a job now. Would it be too much to ask if I could join up with you?” The voice was, of course, Garrick’s. I turned to glare at him. It was his naivete, if not his ill-intent, that had tossed us head-first into this debacle. Ajantis said nothing, perhaps wary of leveling any further accusations that day. Garrick seemed to read the mistrust in my eyes.
“Ho now, friend! I swear I had no idea! The only reason I’m holed up here in the first place is because I was running from trouble. You must have heard of the Dale Wind troubadours? Bards extraordinaire, entertaining the nobility from Neverwinter to Amn? No? Well, I played with them - until I learned it was a cover. Our manager was taking kickbacks from thieves that would rob our patrons blind during shows. When I came here, Silke took me in, but it turns out she was evil too! So, you see, I’m just as much the victim here as you! It seems there just isn’t an honest coin left in the realms for an honest bard.”
Sifting truth from falsity would be tricky with him - a bard, it was said, had enough yarns to tie even a cat in knots. But I could not help instinctively feeling a degree of solicitude for him: judging by his appearance, we were probably around the same age, and I too seemed to be learning the hard way that the world was far more treacherous a place than I had expected.
“Well, maybe we can table the future-travel-arrangements bit. How about we just head into the Red Sheaf, and I’ll buy you fellows a drink. I sure do owe it to you after today.” Why not? There were not enough hours left for the day to get too much worse.
“No problem,” I said. So we claimed victim’s rights: Silke’s staff - magical upon closer inspection - a potion, and an exceedingly heavy purse. Then, Ajantis led the way inside.
We stepped into the Red Sheaf’s anteroom. Compared to Feldepost’s, the Red Sheaf was sparsely decorated, dim, and low-ceilinged. The smell of ale seemed soaked into the wood all around us. At the threshold into the common room, our passage was blocked by what I could only presume was a dwarf. Although I had seen pictures of dwarves before, I had never seen one in the flesh, visiting Candlekeep. Rising only about five-feet high, well-muscled and sturdily built, the dwarf before us was about as ugly and graceless as they appeared in the pictures. He had a shaggy beard, mostly grey with a few residual traces of dark brown. Not only was he armored, but he had even hoisted a shield in front of him that covered almost all of his body. An axe hung from a belt loop at his right side. The Red Sheaf must have had some exceptionally rough customers to merit a bouncer like this one.
His eyes locked on me, and in a voice that sounded like gravel crunching against payment, he said, “You’re at the end of your rope, I’ll wager. Not that it’s anything personal, you understand, but I’m afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done.” So not a bouncer at all, but another bounty hunter. Hadn’t there been enough killing today?
“Why are you doing this?” I shook my hands in frustration, “I’ve done nothing to you.”
“You’ve done nothing to anyone, far as I know,” the dwarf shrugged his lumpy shoulders, “Don’t matter one whit to me. A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two meet, there’s old Karlat makin’ his living. Like I said, it’s nothing personal.”
Karlat drew his axe, and closed quarters with Ajantis, whom the stump-legged dwarf could not sidestep in such a confined space. But I was not about to allow Ajantis to face alone the bite of an axe meant for my neck. I flanked the dwarf on his left, raining down cuts and thrusts. None passed the dwarf’s shield, which he had raised expertly so that the openings left for my blades against such a short target were either futile or suicidal. Fortunately, however, this meant Karlat had only his axe to ward off Ajantis, whose hand-and-a-half blade had almost twice the reach. Again and again, I heard the ring of Karlat’s chainmail as Ajantis’ blade struck against it. The dwarf was remarkably hardy, absorbing blow after blow without so much as a grunt. Ajantis could not, of course, penetrate the chain, but he could bruise Karlat with the blunt force of his strong downward cuts, keeping the dwarf on the defensive until one of us found the opportunity for a lethal strike.
High-pitched string music, a few moments ago a mere background tone, now swelled, forcing itself to the foreground. It twined together with a deep, throaty chanting, the likes of which I had never heard before. This acoustic harmony swirled around me like a tailwind. I redoubled my efforts; between Ajantis and I, Karlat’s guard would be crushed soon enough. Perhaps sensing that he would only be ground down in a prolonged fight, Karlat roared and crashed forward, breaking inside the arc of Ajantis’ blade. I seized the opportunity and swung, but only managed to graze his scalp. Ajantis had been thrown off-balance, and Karlat hacked at him in a fury, crushing Ajantis’ ringmail in some places and drawing blood in others. Finally, though, Ajantis found the space to step out of grappling range. He thrust forward with his sword, sending it straight through the eye of the oncoming dwarf. Karlat’s face started to contort itself in agony, but froze halfway, so sudden was the dwarf’s death.