The music died down, and I turned around to discover that the chanter had been none other than Garrick. The deep throatiness of that chanting belied the relatively high-pitch of his normal conversation, and did not seem at all suited to lengthy recitations; bardic training must have been somewhat different outside of Candlekeep. As Ajantis again called up Helm in healing the worst of his wounds, I searched Karlat’s body to discover the inevitable bounty notice. I was not disappointed.
“BOUNTY NOTICE
Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Ausar, the foster child of Gorion.
Last seen in the area of Candlekeep, this person is to be killed in quick order.
The offer has been extended to all appropriate guilds.
Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than 350 coins of gold.
As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate.”
So between the Friendly Arms Inn and Beregost, the value of my head had increased by 100 gold, enough to start drawing the attention of some grizzled bounty hunters. Such was, of course, the pessimistic interpretation of this note. For if a new, more remunerative bounty had actually been approved and promulgated within the last two days, the Hakar’s intelligence network would have to have been extremely subtle, sensitive, and efficient: subtle and sensitive because it had been accumulating meaningful information about me without anyone in our fellowship noticing; efficient because the low-level intelligence-gatherer would have had to communicate his findings to an individual with the authority to set an increased bounty, which would them have to be published and distributed - all within a mere two days. In fact, this network would have to be so robust and entrenched as to be capable of surveilling and processing my actions incidentally, as otherwise it would have been much more cost-effective for the Hakar to have directly hired a master assassin to eliminate me, more quickly and safely, and with much less overhead. Such resources arrayed against me represented nigh impossible odds, and so I could only hope for the much simpler, more optimistic explanation, namely that the 100 gold coin difference was an adjustment to local conditions, the price differential between town and country.
“A bounty, on your head?” Garrick whistled. I turned around. He had been reading the notice over my shoulder this whole time. “Well, at least I know for sure you two aren’t evil, and I’ve never been shy of a little adventure. How about we team up? Haven’t you always wanted to be immortalized in song?” I shifted my eyes to Ajantis, who was already looking at me for some reaction. Neither of us, it seemed, were quite sure what to make of Garrick yet. When he sensed no immediate acclamation would be forthcoming, Garrick hastened to move on, “Ah, but yes, you must both be thirsty, and more than a little tense. Let’s drink, and be merry! Business can come later.”
We took our seats at the bar, trying to ignore the stares of the other patrons, all of whom had just witnessed the entire murderous spectacle.
“Pick your poison; it’s on me,” said Garrick.
Ajantis held up a hand, “I will not drink. Helm’s holy vigil is unceasing; his duty, eternal. So shall mine be, I pray, unsullied by drunkenness.” Garrick raised his eyebrows, but the bartender visibly relaxed. A paladin’s party would cause him no trouble.
“Suit yourself,” Garrick replied nonchalantly, “but I know there’s a man under that armor. What’ll you be having, my elven friend, some wine, perhaps?” Garrick did not wait for a reply. “Two rounds of firewine,” he shouted to the bartender, “and keep ‘em coming.”
“To adventure!” Garrick toasted, clinking his glass against mine. I repeated the words, but I was thinking of Silke’s face as I did. Was this adventure? The first swallow proved its namesake; sweet, liquid fire streaked down my throat. I coughed and sputtered loudly, eliciting a laugh from Garrick, and even the hint of a grin from Ajantis. The next few sips were easier, and I soon felt the firewine at work, melting the tension in my muscles. And so we drank.
After the second round, Garrick’s face became flush red, and the pace of his conversation picked up. He peppered Ajantis with question after question about the Order of the Most Radiant Heart and its heroic roster of paladin-knights. He pushed a cup toward Ajantis with a wink, who again declined, but without rudeness. Ajantis answered Garrick’s questions with warmth and passion, flattered, it seemed, by the deluge of praise Garrick was pouring out upon his Order. “Oh, where is that blasted pen!” Garrick would cry out again and again, scouring his pockets, desperate to write something down, but inevitably abandoning his search a moment later to ask some follow-up question. When Ajantis revealed that he was squire to Keldorn Firecam, Garrick choked almost spitting up his wine. “THE Keldorn Firecam? Keldorn Magewaster? Keldorn the Undeceived? AJANTIS, why didn’t you say something before . . .”
I did not mind listening quietly; the warmth of the firewine was pleasant and blunted the sharp edge on Silke’s memory. She had been so beautiful. And I killed her. I drained the last drop in my third cup. As I turned around to reach for my fourth, I heard a voice close by:
“Hullo. You wouldn’t ‘ave happened to see a big loutish guy with a dog’s ‘ead on him around here, have you?”
I swung around but saw no one. Then, the voice again: “Yea, you! You seen ‘im or not?” Then, I looked down from my seat at the bar. The speaker was a halfling male, around four and a half feet tall. He had beady, angry eyes, like a rat. These diminutive races must have been some kind of divine jest.
“A dog’s head?” I asked, playing along. He must have been even more drunk than Garrick. Or just simple.
“You ‘eard me. A dog’s ‘ead,” he demanded. “And breath that could peel paint, too.”
“Oh, a gnoll!” I offered, flipping through the Candlekeep bestiary in my head.
“Yeah, a gnoll,” he shouted, as though he had known it all along, “There’s one ‘oled up in the hills due west of ‘ere, close to the High Hedge. Damn thievin’ ball-of-fur stole my short sword two days back.” Did this story have a point?
“My condolences, little guy,” I couldn’t help it, “Hope things pick up for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, pick on the little ‘alfling. You’re funnier than a bag-o-whistles, but looks aren’t everything you dumb creep,” he spat on the floor and stomped away. Usually, I knew, that sort of reaction would have angered me, but that sweet afterglow of firewine had mellowed me out entirely. I turned back toward Garrick and Ajantis.
There would be no way to break into that conversation, and besides, praise of others was tiresome. I exhaled loudly, and strained to listen in on the conversation down at the far end of the bar.
“Some guy came in yesterday,” started a bald man with a paunch, “Said he was part of a caravan coming from Amn to Baldur’s Gate. Said his caravan got wiped out, raiders in the night so it seems. There were humans and hobgoblins attacking together, he said. Can you believe that? Human folk working with goblin scum: What has this world come to?” In reply, his friend just took a long swig from his tankard.
It was information I would process later. The bar was starting to seem too stuffy, the reek of ale just a little too pungent. I rose from my seat. Ajantis nodded his head and clapped Garrick on the shoulder.
“The hour is late, Garrick. Time to turn in for the night.”
“So, uh, *hic*,” he slurred, digging into his pocket for a few gold to settle the tab, “howboutch I come with yoos? You,” he said, pushing a finger into Ajantis’ chest, “I’ll weaveyainta the story of your Order. And you,” he continued, sweeping his hand wide in what could only charitably be called my direction, “Mr. Serious ‘n’ Silent, twice the sword ‘nnnnnn’ twice the muscle ofany elf I ever seen, not prancin’ ‘round in ROBES no siree - I’ll need *hic* tastart a whole new epic about ye.” Garrick slouched to his knees in a comically poor beggar’s pantomime.
For the third time, Ajantis and I looked at each other, considering the offer. Just as before accepting Joia’s task from Imoen, I felt the need to reach out to seize the hero’s mantle for myself: Garrick would pen his songs about someone, so why not about me? Well, wouldn’t my hero’s ballad just be a dirge for all the Silke Rosena’s of the Sword Coast? Her ruby red lips… I pushed the thought aside; I needed some rest.
“It would be irresponsible to leave him here, drunk as he is, and ungrateful, given he paid for all our wine, wouldn’t it?” I asked Ajantis coyly.
“Ah so it would,” he replied, catching my meaning, “especially when he has offered such a valuable service to the Order of the Radiant Heart.”
Phew...life is buys out there...sorry for missing last week!
Chapter 1, Part LXIV
Compared to the stale odors of the Red Sheaf, the night air was sweet. Garrick leaned against my shoulder; even simple ambulation seemed to be stretching his capacity for coordination to its breaking point. As we neared the town square, a shadow flitted at the periphery of my vision. Then, a sultry voice called out:
“Come along, sir! I know you like . . . you like what you see!”
Instinctively, I turned my head to look, but before I could, Ajantis had latched his hand onto the top of my head, holding it fixed.
“Do not look. I have known many a man who has rotted his heart with lust, before he even knew what he was giving up.” I said nothing, but also did nothing to resist his grasp. If this woman would be even more scantily clad than Silke - who I had killed - then perhaps it would be better not to look. “This is Ormlyr’s shame!” Ajantis continued, impassioned, “to allow harlots to strut the public streets, openly plying their sordid trade. The governor and guardian of this town, a high-ranking clergyman in the Church of Lathander, and yet fleshy pleasures have him unmanned. And so Beregost suffers the same disease as its master. I have even heard it spoken that he keeps a harem of sirines in the Morninglord’s own temple. Fie on him!” By now, though, we had left the woman far behind, and were already hauling Garrick up the steps of Feldepost’s.
Imoen ran to greet us, but stopped a few steps shy, wrinkling her nose. “What is that smell? And who is that?” Garrick mumbled something unintelligible.
“It’s a long story,” I said, sliding Garrick onto a chair. He was on the very precipice of sleep.
“Well I already heard half of it.”
“Oh, and which half was that?” I said, thinking that she must have been joking.
“The half where you killed a witch, and then Ajantis almost killed you,” she said triumphantly.
“What? Who told you that?” I knew she would enjoy my surprise, but I let her have it.
“I ran into ol’ Firebeard, when I was out an’ about with Jaheira and Khalid. Fetched a book for him just like the old days at Candlekeep,” she said. So they were already the old days? “Anyway,” she continued, “he told me that Ajantis accused you of murder, but then almost let you cut his tongue out ‘cause of some ‘Old Law.’ What kinda neber-weber would’ve made a law like that?” Ajantis shuffled uneasily, looking down at his feet. “After that, he told me to give you these,” she shoved a brown leather case and a slim volume into my hands, “said that he wanted to give you some help, seein’ as life after Candlekeep was already gettin’ off to such a hard start. Who is he again?” she said, looking over at Garrick, who had begun to snore.
“He’s a bard,” I answered, thinking it best to leave out the identity of his former employer, “he’ll be travelling with us for a while.” Imoen did not lift her eyes from his face. By now, Jaheira and Khalid had made their way over to us.
“We will?” Jaheira repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Do not forget, we are a fellowship, Ausar.”
“Ah, well,” I said, not wanting to butt heads with Jaheira again, “may we? He seems good-natured, and likely knows much of what has come to pass recently in this region.”
“We may. And Khalid and I have something for you,” she said, “in thanks.”
“For what?”
“For slaying that ogre. If you hadn’t killed it when you had, Khalid would not have lived.” Jaheira squeezed Khalid’s hand.
“T-Thank you, Ausar. You have my un-undying gratitude,” he said with a chuckle.
Jaheira brought out a set of thick scales that I recognized as belonging to the ankheg trophy she had confiscated from me at the Friendly Arms. Except there was no odor, and extraneous gunk had been cleared away. The color also appeared to have deepened, from a pear green to something closer to puce.
“I treated the Ankheg chitin, so that it would be suitable to work. Tomorrow morning, we can bring it to Taerom Fuiruim. He is a blacksmith here in Beregost and, if his reputation holds true, he should have the skill to craft armor from it as durable as steel.”
“Thank you. I would be honored to wear it.” I said, accepting the scales from her hands. I remembered how my sword cuts had simply bounced off the Ankheg’s carapace, and looked forward to being as invincible myself. In truth, I had been worried that Jaheira would interrogate me about my hand in Silke’s death, and certainly, I had not expected a gift. Perhaps, like Firebead, this gift too was in part an expression of pity. But I doubted it; I had seen strength from Jaheira, and compassion, but the only pity I had seen her show thus far was for the wolf we had killed on the way here. Her praise and her deference, where I had expected further criticism, made me feel as though I had finally found my place in our circle of fellowship.
So, I happened upon this thread earlier today, and have spent the next couple of hours reading through it. Having just finished the final post, I must say this is quite magnificent. Lovely interpretation of a high intelligence, low-wisdom, good/neutral aligned character would react to the events that unfold in this story.
I wonder what happened to @Rao ... these days I always get concerned when people disappear without a trace on social media. I hope it was just life getting too busy
Comments
The music died down, and I turned around to discover that the chanter had been none other than Garrick. The deep throatiness of that chanting belied the relatively high-pitch of his normal conversation, and did not seem at all suited to lengthy recitations; bardic training must have been somewhat different outside of Candlekeep. As Ajantis again called up Helm in healing the worst of his wounds, I searched Karlat’s body to discover the inevitable bounty notice. I was not disappointed.
“BOUNTY NOTICE
Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Ausar, the foster child of Gorion.
Last seen in the area of Candlekeep, this person is to be killed in quick order.
The offer has been extended to all appropriate guilds.
Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than 350 coins of gold.
As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate.”
So between the Friendly Arms Inn and Beregost, the value of my head had increased by 100 gold, enough to start drawing the attention of some grizzled bounty hunters. Such was, of course, the pessimistic interpretation of this note. For if a new, more remunerative bounty had actually been approved and promulgated within the last two days, the Hakar’s intelligence network would have to have been extremely subtle, sensitive, and efficient: subtle and sensitive because it had been accumulating meaningful information about me without anyone in our fellowship noticing; efficient because the low-level intelligence-gatherer would have had to communicate his findings to an individual with the authority to set an increased bounty, which would them have to be published and distributed - all within a mere two days. In fact, this network would have to be so robust and entrenched as to be capable of surveilling and processing my actions incidentally, as otherwise it would have been much more cost-effective for the Hakar to have directly hired a master assassin to eliminate me, more quickly and safely, and with much less overhead. Such resources arrayed against me represented nigh impossible odds, and so I could only hope for the much simpler, more optimistic explanation, namely that the 100 gold coin difference was an adjustment to local conditions, the price differential between town and country.
“A bounty, on your head?” Garrick whistled. I turned around. He had been reading the notice over my shoulder this whole time. “Well, at least I know for sure you two aren’t evil, and I’ve never been shy of a little adventure. How about we team up? Haven’t you always wanted to be immortalized in song?” I shifted my eyes to Ajantis, who was already looking at me for some reaction. Neither of us, it seemed, were quite sure what to make of Garrick yet. When he sensed no immediate acclamation would be forthcoming, Garrick hastened to move on, “Ah, but yes, you must both be thirsty, and more than a little tense. Let’s drink, and be merry! Business can come later.”
We took our seats at the bar, trying to ignore the stares of the other patrons, all of whom had just witnessed the entire murderous spectacle.
“Pick your poison; it’s on me,” said Garrick.
Ajantis held up a hand, “I will not drink. Helm’s holy vigil is unceasing; his duty, eternal. So shall mine be, I pray, unsullied by drunkenness.” Garrick raised his eyebrows, but the bartender visibly relaxed. A paladin’s party would cause him no trouble.
“Suit yourself,” Garrick replied nonchalantly, “but I know there’s a man under that armor. What’ll you be having, my elven friend, some wine, perhaps?” Garrick did not wait for a reply. “Two rounds of firewine,” he shouted to the bartender, “and keep ‘em coming.”
“To adventure!” Garrick toasted, clinking his glass against mine. I repeated the words, but I was thinking of Silke’s face as I did. Was this adventure? The first swallow proved its namesake; sweet, liquid fire streaked down my throat. I coughed and sputtered loudly, eliciting a laugh from Garrick, and even the hint of a grin from Ajantis. The next few sips were easier, and I soon felt the firewine at work, melting the tension in my muscles. And so we drank.
After the second round, Garrick’s face became flush red, and the pace of his conversation picked up. He peppered Ajantis with question after question about the Order of the Most Radiant Heart and its heroic roster of paladin-knights. He pushed a cup toward Ajantis with a wink, who again declined, but without rudeness. Ajantis answered Garrick’s questions with warmth and passion, flattered, it seemed, by the deluge of praise Garrick was pouring out upon his Order. “Oh, where is that blasted pen!” Garrick would cry out again and again, scouring his pockets, desperate to write something down, but inevitably abandoning his search a moment later to ask some follow-up question. When Ajantis revealed that he was squire to Keldorn Firecam, Garrick choked almost spitting up his wine. “THE Keldorn Firecam? Keldorn Magewaster? Keldorn the Undeceived? AJANTIS, why didn’t you say something before . . .”
I did not mind listening quietly; the warmth of the firewine was pleasant and blunted the sharp edge on Silke’s memory. She had been so beautiful. And I killed her. I drained the last drop in my third cup. As I turned around to reach for my fourth, I heard a voice close by:
“Hullo. You wouldn’t ‘ave happened to see a big loutish guy with a dog’s ‘ead on him around here, have you?”
I swung around but saw no one. Then, the voice again: “Yea, you! You seen ‘im or not?” Then, I looked down from my seat at the bar. The speaker was a halfling male, around four and a half feet tall. He had beady, angry eyes, like a rat. These diminutive races must have been some kind of divine jest.
“A dog’s head?” I asked, playing along. He must have been even more drunk than Garrick. Or just simple.
“You ‘eard me. A dog’s ‘ead,” he demanded. “And breath that could peel paint, too.”
“Oh, a gnoll!” I offered, flipping through the Candlekeep bestiary in my head.
“Yeah, a gnoll,” he shouted, as though he had known it all along, “There’s one ‘oled up in the hills due west of ‘ere, close to the High Hedge. Damn thievin’ ball-of-fur stole my short sword two days back.” Did this story have a point?
“My condolences, little guy,” I couldn’t help it, “Hope things pick up for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, pick on the little ‘alfling. You’re funnier than a bag-o-whistles, but looks aren’t everything you dumb creep,” he spat on the floor and stomped away. Usually, I knew, that sort of reaction would have angered me, but that sweet afterglow of firewine had mellowed me out entirely. I turned back toward Garrick and Ajantis.
“But a mage of that power? The simu-, sim-,” Garrick was tongue-tied, “the copy must have been perfect TO A HAIR.”
Ajantis smiled, shaking his head, “It mattered not, Keldorn raised his. . .”
There would be no way to break into that conversation, and besides, praise of others was tiresome. I exhaled loudly, and strained to listen in on the conversation down at the far end of the bar.
“Some guy came in yesterday,” started a bald man with a paunch, “Said he was part of a caravan coming from Amn to Baldur’s Gate. Said his caravan got wiped out, raiders in the night so it seems. There were humans and hobgoblins attacking together, he said. Can you believe that? Human folk working with goblin scum: What has this world come to?” In reply, his friend just took a long swig from his tankard.
It was information I would process later. The bar was starting to seem too stuffy, the reek of ale just a little too pungent. I rose from my seat. Ajantis nodded his head and clapped Garrick on the shoulder.
“The hour is late, Garrick. Time to turn in for the night.”
“So, uh, *hic*,” he slurred, digging into his pocket for a few gold to settle the tab, “howboutch I come with yoos? You,” he said, pushing a finger into Ajantis’ chest, “I’ll weaveyainta the story of your Order. And you,” he continued, sweeping his hand wide in what could only charitably be called my direction, “Mr. Serious ‘n’ Silent, twice the sword ‘nnnnnn’ twice the muscle ofany elf I ever seen, not prancin’ ‘round in ROBES no siree - I’ll need *hic* tastart a whole new epic about ye.” Garrick slouched to his knees in a comically poor beggar’s pantomime.
For the third time, Ajantis and I looked at each other, considering the offer. Just as before accepting Joia’s task from Imoen, I felt the need to reach out to seize the hero’s mantle for myself: Garrick would pen his songs about someone, so why not about me? Well, wouldn’t my hero’s ballad just be a dirge for all the Silke Rosena’s of the Sword Coast? Her ruby red lips… I pushed the thought aside; I needed some rest.
“It would be irresponsible to leave him here, drunk as he is, and ungrateful, given he paid for all our wine, wouldn’t it?” I asked Ajantis coyly.
“Ah so it would,” he replied, catching my meaning, “especially when he has offered such a valuable service to the Order of the Radiant Heart.”
Chapter 1, Part LXIV
Compared to the stale odors of the Red Sheaf, the night air was sweet. Garrick leaned against my shoulder; even simple ambulation seemed to be stretching his capacity for coordination to its breaking point. As we neared the town square, a shadow flitted at the periphery of my vision. Then, a sultry voice called out:
“Come along, sir! I know you like . . . you like what you see!”
Instinctively, I turned my head to look, but before I could, Ajantis had latched his hand onto the top of my head, holding it fixed.
“Do not look. I have known many a man who has rotted his heart with lust, before he even knew what he was giving up.” I said nothing, but also did nothing to resist his grasp. If this woman would be even more scantily clad than Silke - who I had killed - then perhaps it would be better not to look. “This is Ormlyr’s shame!” Ajantis continued, impassioned, “to allow harlots to strut the public streets, openly plying their sordid trade. The governor and guardian of this town, a high-ranking clergyman in the Church of Lathander, and yet fleshy pleasures have him unmanned. And so Beregost suffers the same disease as its master. I have even heard it spoken that he keeps a harem of sirines in the Morninglord’s own temple. Fie on him!” By now, though, we had left the woman far behind, and were already hauling Garrick up the steps of Feldepost’s.
Imoen ran to greet us, but stopped a few steps shy, wrinkling her nose. “What is that smell? And who is that?” Garrick mumbled something unintelligible.
“It’s a long story,” I said, sliding Garrick onto a chair. He was on the very precipice of sleep.
“Well I already heard half of it.”
“Oh, and which half was that?” I said, thinking that she must have been joking.
“The half where you killed a witch, and then Ajantis almost killed you,” she said triumphantly.
“What? Who told you that?” I knew she would enjoy my surprise, but I let her have it.
“I ran into ol’ Firebeard, when I was out an’ about with Jaheira and Khalid. Fetched a book for him just like the old days at Candlekeep,” she said. So they were already the old days? “Anyway,” she continued, “he told me that Ajantis accused you of murder, but then almost let you cut his tongue out ‘cause of some ‘Old Law.’ What kinda neber-weber would’ve made a law like that?” Ajantis shuffled uneasily, looking down at his feet. “After that, he told me to give you these,” she shoved a brown leather case and a slim volume into my hands, “said that he wanted to give you some help, seein’ as life after Candlekeep was already gettin’ off to such a hard start. Who is he again?” she said, looking over at Garrick, who had begun to snore.
“He’s a bard,” I answered, thinking it best to leave out the identity of his former employer, “he’ll be travelling with us for a while.” Imoen did not lift her eyes from his face. By now, Jaheira and Khalid had made their way over to us.
“We will?” Jaheira repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Do not forget, we are a fellowship, Ausar.”
“Ah, well,” I said, not wanting to butt heads with Jaheira again, “may we? He seems good-natured, and likely knows much of what has come to pass recently in this region.”
“We may. And Khalid and I have something for you,” she said, “in thanks.”
“For what?”
“For slaying that ogre. If you hadn’t killed it when you had, Khalid would not have lived.” Jaheira squeezed Khalid’s hand.
“T-Thank you, Ausar. You have my un-undying gratitude,” he said with a chuckle.
Jaheira brought out a set of thick scales that I recognized as belonging to the ankheg trophy she had confiscated from me at the Friendly Arms. Except there was no odor, and extraneous gunk had been cleared away. The color also appeared to have deepened, from a pear green to something closer to puce.
“I treated the Ankheg chitin, so that it would be suitable to work. Tomorrow morning, we can bring it to Taerom Fuiruim. He is a blacksmith here in Beregost and, if his reputation holds true, he should have the skill to craft armor from it as durable as steel.”
“Thank you. I would be honored to wear it.” I said, accepting the scales from her hands. I remembered how my sword cuts had simply bounced off the Ankheg’s carapace, and looked forward to being as invincible myself. In truth, I had been worried that Jaheira would interrogate me about my hand in Silke’s death, and certainly, I had not expected a gift. Perhaps, like Firebead, this gift too was in part an expression of pity. But I doubted it; I had seen strength from Jaheira, and compassion, but the only pity I had seen her show thus far was for the wolf we had killed on the way here. Her praise and her deference, where I had expected further criticism, made me feel as though I had finally found my place in our circle of fellowship.
As always, beautiful writing @Rao . Insightful implementation of the bard's song mechanics in the story.
I'll come back from time to time to binge-read your story, hopefully you'll post a few chapters soon.