Aileen. Shattered Mosaic of Life.

[all_distorted]

In ashy violet twilight of predawn, when the city is balancing on the edge between dreaming and waking, on the furthest pier sat a small raven haired figure. From time to time she brought a half-empty bottle to her lips, took a long drink from it and set it down onto the cold damp wooden planks of the pier, looking into the inky blue waters of the harbour. The girl shifted the gaze of her now a bit hazy eyes from the slowly and sleepily rocking ships to the city, looking but not seeing. The first day in Baldur’s Gate brought her here; tidal wave of memories came pouring down on her all of a sudden.

And still before her mind’s eye were flitting faces of those whom she once associated with; echoes of emotions; images from those three years that she had spent here. Katriona is dead now, passed away from some illness. And Olaf went to Sembia, having sold his little store with various artifacts obtained in the times of his adventuring career and other magic trinkets. Oh well, she had never had a particular affection for those who were trying hard to become her family. Whatever...

Aileen shivered and instinctively wrapped her black cloak more tightly around her, as if in attempt to hide from the early morning’s chill; from the whitish spectral strands of mist stubbornly trying to creep under her clothes. Mouthful of rum, burning her throat slightly and spreading the warmth through her body, improved the situation a little bit.

The sky had already begun to brighten; its dark blue, indigo shades gradually fading, diluted with light colours of approaching morning; transforming, adjusting to the new tone. And clouds, sprawling from horizon to horizon, were changing colours along with the sky. It was amazingly quiet, brief moment of tranquility, as it usually is minutes before the sunrise. Those preferring the veil of night to the daylight, had already finished their shady dealings, and all the others were still in their beds. The city stood still in the morning haze, absorbing smells, sounds and motions, only to spill them out onto the streets of Baldur’s Gate with a new day.

Her eyes glided over the masts and furled sails of the ships moored to the docks. Kaylel. Wonder whether he succeeded in getting on board of some ship. Who knows, may be during those six months they hadn’t seen each other he already managed to become a captain. Wouldn’t be a surprise. “Free sailor”. The corner of her mouth curled into a small smirk. She picked up a stone laying by her side and threw it into the water. That’s how, at the age of eleven, she met those who became close to her, to some extent, – they were skipping stones across the water to see whose would bounce off the river’s surface longer. She won that little contest, and also their favour. Oh, yes, those were good times of carefree mischief and merriment. Gone now…

Light pink streak stretched across the sky, kindling brighter and saturating with colour, it grew bigger and wider. And then the sun emerged from the horizon. Sparkling off the harbour’s waters, its golden rays softly and tenderly touched the roofs of the houses, reaching to every living soul, awakening, heralding the beginning of a new day.

Only Aileen didn’t really care about the beauty of the sunrise. Lost in a trip down memory lane, she couldn’t even tell how long had she been sitting there. This city was also a place of birth of their Volant Crew, how they called it between themselves. Osprey, Gannet, Nightingale, Kite, Hawk, Jay, Tern and her, Falconet. Some of them are far away now, others dead…

She finished the bottle in one large gulp and with a sweep of her arm threw it into the water. Leaning on her hands for support, the girl slowly stood up; lurching to the left she nevertheless managed to steady herself. To the Abyss with all this! No point in drowning in the memories. What happened is already in the past. Although no point in casting memories away either... And why is the damn pier swinging so much? Doesn’t matter, nothing really matters... Time to see how much the city had changed for the past four years; one-and-a-half-year-old visit didn’t count, it was too brief.

The girl kicked a particularly bold rat not hurrying to clear the path, and made her way out of the docks, swaying from side to side.

[all_distorted]

She is at the bottom of a well. The ring of dark, narrow, slimy, dump stone walls towering above her. The circle of morbidly pale sky is high above. On the verge of reality. Get out, she needs to get out. It’s not too late now, no, she still can make it. Low, deep rumbling growing in the distance. She looks around feverishly, trying to find something to grasp at. Naked, slippery walls. Sepulchral chill filling the air. Hurry, faster, faster, seconds are dwindling away, sifting like grains of sand through the fingers. But it’s not late yet, no. She tries to find a crack or projection, tries to climb. Falls down, but doesn’t give up, throws herself at the wall again. Up, up, she has to move upwards. She ought to get out. While it’s not too late. There is still time. Hurry, hurry, she must hurry. But there is nothing to catch a hold of, there is no way out. No escape. Is there really not a chance to get there in time? No, no, no! NO!!! The rumbling becomes louder, fiercer, enveloping the whole world, swallowing it. Making it vibrate. The well’s walls begin to pulsate. Trembling. Shaking. Agonizing. And shatter into thousands of small pieces. She throws her arms over her head, trying to shield herself…

Walls are no more. She is standing in the square. It’s swarming with people, crowded. All of them are turned with their back to her, looking straight ahead. And ahead there are wooden posts and a crossbeam. With a rope hanging from it. Nothing else is seen. Not too late, there is still time. If only she could get closer, she has to stop it! She wants to shout. “Wait! Stop! This is a mistake! You’ve made a mistake, it wasn’t her!” But instead there is only wheezing. Then she rushes forward. To snake between the people, push them away, force her way through the crowd, she has to get there!

They turn around. First one, then the other, third. Now all of them turned to face her. Only they don’t have faces. Instead of them pallid, pasty, flabby, empty, soulless. Faceless. Scream tearing from her lungs, but finding no way out. Flapping in her throat like a trapped bird. And rumble, low, roaring. Coming from nowhere and everywhere at once…
Faceless are stretching out to her their hands, paws, claws, tentacles, cold, viscid, lifeless. They catch her, grab, pull, twirl, drag, carry away. Crazy merry-go-round, whirlwind of death. She is wriggling, kicking, scratching, biting, punching. All in vain. She can’t get away, there is no more time left, she is late. She can’t avert the inevitable. It’s not within her power. This is the end…

Black flash. Dead silence. One brief moment and she’s looking at the faceless from the scaffold. Noose around her neck. She knows it all too well whose body is swinging beside her… She turns her head in the opposite direction. The executioner… with his face. Scarred, emotionless face. She wants to say… but she can not move. Paralyzed with fear. He pulls a lever. Underneath her flips open a hole, a mouth, pitch-black and hungry, fatal. The rope cuts into her skin. His cold indifferent laughter. Macabre dance of lights in front of her eyes. Emptiness in her chest. All inside is tearing apart, sharply, painfully, irreparably. There is no air for her lungs. Nor there will ever be. This is it. This is the end. The end…


Gasping for breath like a fish out of water, the girl sat up on her bed abruptly. Her hands clutching at her throat, eyes dilated with inexpressible horror. She looked around the room with unseeing eyes, not realizing where she was at first. And only after a few agonizingly long moments did it occur to her that it had only been a nightmare. The nightmare haunting her so many times, and now, after three years, it returned, repeating in the exact succession, only its ending different, for now there was him in it. Him… In her worst nightmare…
The terror she’d never forget. The emotional pain she’d never forgive. The anger she’d never be able to get rid of. The wounds that’d never be healed…

[all_distorted]

Present. Trip to the other side.

Her hands were sliding along the rough surface of the cave walls. She was leaning on those walls, pressing herself against them, blending with them, trying to avoid the attention of the trolls clumsily stomping somewhere behind her, in the depths of the cave corridors. Slowly, but surely she was moving towards the exit, her knees almost giving way and her legs refusing to shift any faster, barely obeying her at all. Her head was pulsating with annoying intensity and her eyes refused to focus on the surroundings. Sad were the consequences of her failure to disarm that trap.

She knew, she knew it all too well, that those were not things to trifle with, that when trying to deactivate a trap one should stay extremely cautious and attentive. She was neither; and how could she be that when all inside her was burning with rage caused by the quite recent events. She was trying hard to turn that bright blaze of fury into the flicker of cold anger, so she would be able to think clearly again and decide upon her further actions. But all in vain, the flame didn’t die out, but on the contrary grew stronger and stronger. So it was no big surprise that her hands even used to dealing with traps made a mistake, which released green poisonous vapour, momentarily infusing into the cave air, creeping into her eyes and nostrils, filling her mouth, her throat and her lungs; almost constantly draining her vitality. She was still able to make a few stumbling steps, to turn round the corner and glance around making sure there were no trolls nearby. And then… then the darkness of the cave became blurry and eventually devoured by the blackness of oblivion. She lost her consciousness, fainted…

And now she was trying to leave the place as soon as possible. With a weak movement of her hand she pushed aside tinctured with the red branches of the shrubs obscuring the exit, and stepped outside. Fresh night air was such a great contrast to the stuffy stunk up by the trolls air of the cave, that it made her head spin again. After few uneven steps away from the entrance, the girl sank to the ground, leaning against the rock and taking deep breathes of the cool air, filled with the salty sea smell and that of the pine trees covering coastal cliffs. Her gaze slid down to the water surface, shimmering in the lambent moonlight. The waves were calm that night, rolling in and out. Their almost rhythmical sound was calming; and the girl, now breathing evenly, closed her eyes.

Grey ageless cracked rocks… Grey swirling mass instead of the sky… Grey skeletons of the trees frozen in death agony… Grey landscape stretching beyond the eye’s reach… Heavy cerement of silence shrouding everything around… Dark, disquieting apprehension making her insides tighten… Columns crowned with spectral blue cold flames…Forever trapped… And there, far ahead... The Wall… Extending into infinity… Dooming to eternity… Eternity filled with torment worse than any physical pain… Awaiting for her…

Nebulous fragments took only a few moments to flash in her mind. The girl opened her eyes wide, a sudden shiver surging down her spine. She ran her hand across her face, as if trying to drive away, to rid of the tangle of fear fallen upon her with those images.

What in the hells? What was that? These visions, blurry and vague, but feelings they caused were all too real. Can it really be true? Is the Wall not a mere device of the priests to sow fear in the minds of the Faithless and with that convert them into their faith? Or was it only a dream, another addition to the palette of her nightmares? Or was that just hallucinations? Poisonous fumes of that thrice accursed trap playing tricks with her mind? What, what was that?!

She looked up into the distance, at the walls of Candlekeep raising against the backdrop of the night sky, illuminated by the moonlight, now not luminous and calming, but morbidly pallid and ominous. Who, who would be able to answer her? Whose words she could trust completely? Nobody and no one’s… Or may be, deep inside she already knew the answer and was just scared to hear it from the others, to hear that her soul after her death was doomed to end up in that Wall…

“As the life, so is its end” - darkly mordant voice made her leap to her feet and look around frantically, peering at the outlines of the rocks and bushes, but not being able to locate its source, or was it only in her head? In the meantime the voice was continuing:
“You know where you are bound to. And you also know that there will be no help. You are alone. You disdainfully shun many. And you know it. Those, whom you could consider your friends, abandoned you. Those who smile to you when they see you really couldn’t care less. And those whom you start to open your heart to, only wait for the right moment to rip it out of your chest and stick a dagger in it. And you know it. Just remember the recent events. You are alone. And when you stumble and fall, there will be no one to catch you. And when your fall is over, you will become just another part of the Wall, dissolving into nothingness…”

“Shut up! I will make sure that I won’t stumble!” – The girl yelled to the moon nonchalantly looking down at her from the sky.
Surprisingly enough, the voice, indeed, shut up or may be it just said all it intended to say. And when the echo of her scream died out, the girl turned on her heels and started walking away. Frustration, fear, confusion, pain, all vanished, engulfed in the flames of the anger, now burning with the renewed force.

[all_distorted]

Rough Awakening.

The day was gradually waning. It couldn't be too long until the canvas of the sky would blossom into a spectacular symphony of colours, from pale orange to dark crimson, painting everything underneath in those miraculous shades of the sunset. The sun had already begun to leave strokes of evening tints on the clouds slowly drifting in the sky. Its soft golden rays were flowing down onto the shimmering waves of river, rushing its waters towards the precipice, spilling over it, falling down in cascades, and then continuing its way further across the countryside.

The warm wind was blowing almost gently, making the tree branches whisper to one another. Their rustling and chirping of the birds were almost drowned out by the noise of the waterfall, complimenting the peaceful and beautiful scenery. And even goblins weren't present in this part of the woods.

The scenery, however, was spoiled by the black patch of the charred dead grass - a trace of the fire only recently burning here. The ground was still smoking above the piles of ashes, the only remnants of what fell prey to the flames, which had greedily engulfed what was offered to them. What those ashes used to be was unknown, the fire, possibly enhcanced by alchemical ingridients, had done a good job here. And only the smell, rising into the air with the wipsy streams of smoke, denoted that what was burnt here was far from being firewood...

A tall, heavily built man clad in dark armour entered the clearing with a steady, fast-paced and purposeful gait. The blue colour of his skin as well as other features signified that he belonged to those whom others call planetouched; those who are familiar with such races would have recognized an air genasi in him. He glanced around as if looking for something; it seemed he knew that he would find something exactly at this place. It didn't take him long to spot the still smoking burnt ground. He quickly approached the site and kneeled in front of it, taking a handful of the ash and sifting it through his gloved fingers. The expression on his face indicated that he was to an extent surprised by such a finding. The idea creeped into his mind together with the now barely perceptible but unmistakable smell filling his nostrils. The smell of the burnt flesh. The man cursed as he raised to his feet and, as if not entirely believing in that idea, started searching nearby rocks and bushes. Soon he found an evidence he was looking for, and so solid it was, that it left no doubts - he found belongings. Belongings of those who now were nothing more but gray and hopelessly dead ashes. Hard to say what was going on in his head, but curses leaving his lips suggested that he was at least displeased, as if he had expected to find something else...

His attempt to read the scroll he pulled from his bag was doomed to fail from the beginning. Something more powerful and efficient was needed... After thinking about the situation for a few short moments Storm, for it was him, gathered some of the ashes and made his way out of the clearing. A deep frown on his face indicated that he was far from being content with the thought of what he would have to do...

-----------------------

The dark mantle of night cloaked everything in its soft and chill embrace. Black velvet of the sky was strewn with the pearls of lambent stars; the moon, however, was nowhere to be seen.
The darkness was dispersed by the glow of magical globes, illuminating the edge of the field, nearby wooden structures of the farmlands area, as well as the people gathered around the tent, where now were lying piles of ashes, which once were two women. After several quite insistent demands coming from Storm, who seemed rather annoyed by the attraction of the unwanted attention, a few persons left the site of action.

Those were the moments of the last discussions and preparations for the ritual, the purpose of which was restoration of two lives cut short in mysterious circumstances by unknown hands. A man of comparatively small stature attired in red robe and masked hood concealing his face seemed to be in charge of the process. To some his stance and tone might have seemed a sign of possession of considerable power and knowledge. Or may be it was just an impression he was trying to create. Assisting him were two women, tall and fair-haired Irini and small, dark-haired Anie. All the others present could do nothing more than just observe the process of chanting prayers and casting spells. The combined efforts of the three proved successful, which became apparent when semi-transparent cloud shrouded the piles of ashes in the tent, and with its disappearance it revealed the bodies of two women, Cecilia and Aileen. The first to approach them was Anie, who began to examine the bodies for injuries and check their pulses. The hearts which recently were almost literally nothing began to beat once again, pumping the blood into veins and returning the skin its normal colour.

And the others were discussing that despite the bodies being whole again, there was a possibility that the minds could have been damaged a lot more...

-----------------------

The first breath of air painfully burnt her throat, digging into her lungs like dozens sharp needles. The second breath was considerably less tormentful. And with the third a feeling of dim apprehension crawled inside her... A wave of shiver ran through her body, and the girl opened wide her eyes full of incomprehension, confusion and slightly insane twinkle. Right in front of her face was a vial with some liguid. Poison? With a sweep of her hand, the girl tried to push the vial away. Despite the weakness of her gesture, it nevertheless disappeared from her field of vision.

Her mind was swirling with fragmentary thoughts, and to catch any of them seemed to be next to impossible. Groaning, Aileen leaned on her hand for support and managed to sit up. People. She tried to look around, but all she could see was some vague outlines, blurs of faces looming above her. The girl didn't seem to hear nor the questions addressed to her, neither the voiced concerns of the others, not even the bickering between the small gnome with the big mouth and rest of the gathering. The voices were drifting in and out, in and out. One moment barely audible, and the other deafeningly loud, then she could distinguish some of them, but still being disorienated she couldn't catch their meaning or identify those who were speaking.

Suddenly from the haze of surroundings emerged two vaguely familiar faces, one of which soon dropped out of her sight, but the other remained. Those piercing eyes. Even in that condition she recognized them. Jared. She wanted to say something, ask, but only some incoherent words seemed to leave her mouth.

And only after Nadia, with blessings of Waukeen, casted a spell on the crouched and burrying her face in her palms girl, did the world around Aileen start to regain its clearness. Her body tensed for a moment, and then she visibly relaxed; thoughts no longer chaotically rushing in her head, voices around her became more or less distinct. And when she opened her eyes again, faces of the present weren't blurry shades either. But... what were all of them doing here? Who were some of them? And why they were crowding around her? Why her body was so weak? What she was doing here and what in the Nine Hells had happened? She was sinking in the whirpool of the questions, answers to which she didn't know; and like a drowning person who would clutch at anything within their grasp, she grasped the hand reached out to her which belonged to Jared. She didn't even see surprise in his eyes.

Having stood up, she looked around, aside form bewilderement there was also slight irritation in her eyes, as being a source of free entertainment for curious onlookers was among those things, which she simply couldn't stand. Annoyance, however, quickly vanished together with the words of the mage wearing read, who introduced himself as Adalin, words which made her shudder. "You were dead. Burnt to ash, We reconstructed your body and brought you back. Not an easy job, mind you. There is also another one..." Aileen followed his gesture with her eyes and saw Cecilia, lying on the ground, still unconscious. Anie was near her, preparing to take her to the temple of Ilmater.

Ceci... Whom she hired as a guard... Was dead too... Both of them... Killed... And then burnt... By someone who obviously was determined not to leave any traces... Who wanted to rid of them once and for all... But who? And why? The emptiness of her memory was gradually growing into the chilling emptiness in her heart together with the realisation that the recollection of the happenings might have been lost forever...

She snapped out of her stupor at the noise of the argument between Storm and Jared, which aside from words also included such methods of convincing as use of physical force. Both of them wanted to take her away from there, but neither wanted the other to tag along. And, sure enough, none of them was going to back off. It continued and continued with the others joining in. And Aileen... Aileen was too weak and exhausted for all this, and especially for participating in argument and making not really an easy choice. Finally, the three of them left the scene together, going away into the darkness of the night...

[all_distorted]

In this remote corner of the forest even spiders, infesting almost all other parts of the woods, were absent. Massive, old trees grew very close to the river, merrily rolling its waters along. Their arching branches, stooping and meeting near the ground with the deep green ferns, enfolded the small clearing, as if forming a tent over it, creating the feeling of safety, even though illusionary one. These stately, venerable forest guardians were not, of course, able to offer any protection from physical attacks, but at least they were offering one a shelter, hiding them in their green embrace.

She was sitting on the ground with her knees drawn to her chest, holding a sword in front of herself she was gazing at it, mesmerized. The second sword was resting, sheathed by her side; it was a twin of the first, but their similarity ended with appearance. It was the one she was holding in her hand that was truly a masterpiece; it was also a present from the one who valued her talents. Such a gesture might not have been entirely altruistic, as he was directly interested in improvement of her skills; but, nevertheless, he was also the one who not only was listening to her but had appreciation for her words as well. And respect of a person possessing such intellect and considerable power in terms of magic was something she found rather gratifying.

Turning the sword in her hand, she caught the reflection of the evening sun, now half-hidden behind the tree tops. The blade fitted her hand perfectly as if being its extension; its metallic surface, even despite the sun rays gliding along it, remained cool. She wished her heart could become like it, chill, unaffected by anything from the outside, indifferent to pain. She wished, but it was far from being true…

At least she now had learned to maintain composure during almost any situation. If before any spark had been enough to kindle the fire of ire, when rage was spilling out preventing her from thinking clearly. Not any more. Now her anger wasn’t as searing inferno, but much as cold flames, tamed but strong, burning within, fuelling her with energy. Not only had she learned to control her anger, she had also learned to conceal almost any other emotion or feeling, not letting any signs of them show on the outside.

She learned that the hard way. And recently she had to undergo perhaps the hardest and the most tormentful trial…
When every uttered word was as if plunging the blade deeper and deeper into her heart, her soul, her very being, bleeding and lacerating it. And the whole world around her suddenly shattered was falling to pieces. But she managed to keep the mask of indifference on her face, not letting it slip off; and moreover, she was able to make sardonic remarks. She passed the trial.

Even though, it was much worse than the previous. The first merely disappointed her, not being able to see any further than the end of his nose because of his incredible pomposity blinding him. He hadn’t appreciated what he had, he would regret it.
The second, after all he had done and all the words he had said, which she had almost believed, just… stabbed her in the back, literally, in an attempt to cut her life short. And were it not for the others, she wouldn’t have been breathing any more…
And the third… the third was different. They had started to become close during rather troubled period of her life, when she was about to break. He managed to win her trust; she learned quite a few of things from him; he played a significant role in the changes she underwent, even though she didn’t realize that; he showed her the way and brought a new meaning to her life; he also taught her to feel again. He fixed her… with one single purpose – to later break her himself. He almost succeeded…

Dropping the sword to the ground, the girl leapt to her feet, interrupting the flow of her thoughts. She wasn’t pitying herself; she was angry, at them, and most of all at herself for not being able to forget these feelings completely, for their echoes still clinging to her. She dashed forward and dove into clear waters of the forest river, warm near the surface and cold at depth. The sensation was revitalizing to her body and her mind.

And when, after some time, she resurfaced, there already was her usual small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. At least she didn’t have to hide any more and wear disguises all the time, the obnoxious vermin had been finally dealt with. And even though she had other plans for the bitch, she was still glad to hear that Ceci had dispatched of that despicable louse. She was lucky to once have hired such a guard as Ceci, for she had proven her loyalty not once since then, proving that she could be relied upon entirely. And surely, there were others as well, who more or less could be trusted.

And she now had a direction, goals, far more significant than these her… misfortunes. Even though her heart was now almost numb, her mind was as sharp as ever. And there was a lot to be thought over and a lot to be done…

[all_distorted]

((Since I posted pictures for other characters, I figured I'd post one for mine as well;) ))

[all_distorted]

The Ever-changing Painting of the Soul.

The canvas of the soul never ceases its motion, colours changing one another in swift or sluggish succession; at times merging, creating new shades and patterns of emotions and feelings. Sometimes softness in palette prevails, and sometimes it all is tinctured with darker, sinister hues. All what eyes see, all what ears hear, every bit perceived by the mind, everything finds its reflection on this canvas.

Now the painting is skies alike, suffused with elusively menacing steel gray of acknowledgement. Stretching all across it there are cirrus clouds of anger, crystalline acuteness of which matched by the clear flow of thoughts in the mind. Their edges are keen, ready to swoop down on their prey, set as a target by the mind; precise and inclement blades guided by the will.

Only at present such common as of late panorama of gelid anger is quivering, fluttering in haze of anticipation of a change about to come. The clouds are losing their sharpness, their outlines blurring, and silvery transparency gradually reddening.

Just a brief moment later the cumulus clouds of ire painted with scarlet are swirling and swelling, taking up more and more space. The shades of respect, sympathy and hints of inexplicable attraction has waned and nearly drowned in a surging, fuming mass. Intertwined with dark gray laces of disdain, sprinkled with coppery flashes of indignation, patched with pallid yellow of disappointment, fuelled by the flaring up fire of hatred, these crimson clouds continue to grow, saturating with darker and darker tones.

Suddenly the raging chaos of colours is pierced by a thin golden ray emanating positive warm feelings; it tries to calm down the rampage of the storm clouds. The source of this ray is not inner, it came from the outside, from the one now able to paint on the canvas of her soul. The ray doesn’t yield, it tries to struggle through, tries to lighten the scene and soothe the turmoil, tries to stop the impending tempest. But it is too small and weak; it is buried in the rubricated churning mass.

The clouds are now already of dark blood-red, slowly twisting into a deadly vortex, they have devoured almost all the tableau. A few more moments and control will be lost entirely; the fury will boil over and the colours of wrath will spill from the canvas and onto the outside world, setting it on fire, engulfing it in the blazing inferno of blind rage…

But the sudden gust of icy, sobering wind prevents it from happening. It is the mind and self-control finally intervening; insistently sweeping across the canvas the wind extinguishes the chaotic waves of clouds, draining the fury away, dispersing them. Dark red colours are becoming dimmer, fading away, freezing.

With a final ripple surging across the sky, the tints of emotions are fusing; they settle with a calm shimmering of indigo, reflecting chilly determination and purposefulness, filling all the canvas, fringed with dancing blue flames of cold anger flavoured by antipathy.

The symphony of feelings and emotions depicted on the painting of the soul goes on, play of colors forever hidden from anyone’s vision.

[all_distorted]

Interlude 1. Flashback. Where once was a family.

Age: 6
Location: Waterdeep.

The sun’s rays were seeping through the loosely drawn curtains; the light of early morning spilling over the wooden floor, gilding the surface of the table and all other furniture in the room, one of the many in the Waterdeep’s tavern Sword’s Rest.
Indistinct voices from the main room were interrupted from time to time by the loud drunk laughter of the guests who had been here since the night before. The smell of cooked breakfast was wafting from the kitchen. Little Aileen jumped out of the bed, pulled on her clothes and made her way towards the kitchen.
Dori, the owner’s wife, was already there, she nodded briefly to the little girl:
“Up and around, aren’t we? And I’m already sweating buckets near this stove. Here, try this.”
The girl took the bowl with eggs and sausages from the Dori’s big callous hands, uttered muffled “Thanks” and climbed onto the chest, wolfing down the food and watching Dori, who returned to the cooking, muttering something under her breath.
“Where is your mum again?” – The woman turned her head to the girl and without waiting for an answer she continued in a bitter and disapproving voice, - “Must be on some business as usual and no doubt it’s important as always!”
Even if the girl caught the change in the tone of voice, she didn’t quite understand the sarcasm of the words, so she just smiled and boasted:
“I will go with her one day, you bet!”
With these words the girl jumped down from the chest, dropping the empty now bowl down on the floor, and skipped down the hall to the tavern’s main room.

Things were running their normal course there: several sleepy customers huddling over the tables, with tired and gloomy faces they were eating and sipping their drinks, some of them constantly keeping one hand close to their belts where they had their purses, which was sort of a habit. These were small tradesmen residing in the South Ward of the city, dropping by the tavern to have their meals before the long working day at the market. Couple of the tables was occupied by the groups of the young adventurers barely being able to wait until the moment they set off on their journey. And then there was a company of sailors from the night before, all drunk as a skunk, and still swilling down all sorts of alcohol. The tavern’s owner, Giffard, was at his usual place at the bar stand, chatting with some patron.

Aileen made for her favourite spot – the chest in the corner of the large room. Having perched on it, she began observing customers with interest, turning her head from side to side and trying to make out separate phrases from the background of the humming voices.

“Wha d’ye call me?!” – roared a bass, rocketing across the room and cutting off all other sounds.
Almost all the heads in the hall immediately turned towards the table of the young adventurers, where now was one of the drunken sailors, leaning heavily on the edge of table, towering above the sitting people.

The girl had learned long ago to recognize the signs of a fight about to break out. And at that time too as soon as she sensed aggressive vibes flying around the room, she grinned and ducked behind the chest, peering from behind it, her midnight blue eyes shining with expectation. All her short life of six years Aileen had lived at that place; and three years earlier her mother, being a sword for hire, had started to go away doing different jobs, while the girl was left at the Sword’s Rest wandering around the tavern all by herself.
And the child was never scared by brawls; on the contrary, the sight of the people exchanging blows had always fascinated her for some inexplicable reason.

With her eyes wide open, the girl watched the bully grabbing the mug from the table and hurling it at the head of his chosen target - the wispy fellow who then slumped down to the floor unconscious. The companion of the bully’s victim jumped up from his seat:
“What in the nine hells do you think you’re doing?!”

At once half of the tavern’s customers were on their feet gathering around that table, waving their hands in the air and shouting, some of them were cheering on, while the others were trying to stop the quarrel. Such a common sight for that tavern. The girl hopped onto the chest cranning her neck and trying to get the better view of those in the centre of the commotion, now surrounded by the crowd. And of course there already was Giffard, the tavern keeper together with a couple of dwarves, mercenaries who sometimes worked as bouncers at the Sword’s Rest. When they were not around, Giffard had to rely on his patrons, which were always quite willing to give a hand with the troublemakers, should anyone of them start a fight.

And the next minute the noisy clump was rolling towards the door and through it, outside the tavern. Aileen, having jumped down from the chest, hurried after them. As usual the fun was to continue outside.
But just as she was about to cross the threshold, a heavy hand gripped her shoulder. The girl let out an indignant shriek and tried to wriggle free from the grasp, but to no avail as holding her was none else than Dori.
“No, you ain’t going anywhere! You saw enough already!”

But the child wasn’t going to give up that easily, she still was struggling to shake off the hand from her shoulder, and when she realized that it was useless she scowled angrily and bit the hand. Dori cried out in surprise and pain and let go of the girl, who laughing with joy of getting her own way rushed outside.
But she was already too late – the City Watch were dragging away the troublemakers, and the crowd of on-lookers started to disperse going back to whatever they had been doing before. The girl pouted and with disappointed expression on her face returned to the tavern, making a beeline for their room. But she stopped near the kitchen, the voice caught her attention.

“She bit me! By the gods, she bit me! That’s a monster, not a child!” – yelled Dori.
“Calm down, she just was frightened by that brawl, tis all.” – The tavern keeper sounded rather resolute.
“As if! Ha! She ain’t scared at all, she loves them, I’m telling you!’ – The woman went on, apparently not going to calm down at all, - “Of course! What else can you expect from the daughter of that idiot-girl! What is she thinking about leaving her precious kiddy in the tavern full of drunkards of all the places on Faerun!”
“Enough!” – Giffard harshly cut off his wife’s ranting, - “Marika is a smart woman and no doubt able to figure out how to raise her daughter on her own. Don’t stick your nose into this! Besides, and you know it as well as I do, she trusts us and that’s why she leaves the girl here, when she is away on business.”
“Business! What a good mother!” – snorted Dori, - “Oh, you just wait till she grows up! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Will be the same bastard as her father was!”

Sound of a slap and snarling voice of Giffard:
“Shut your trap, woman! And don’t you dare to mention her father ever again! You have no idea! Got it?”

Heavy footsteps stomping, and the door swung wide open. The girl barely avoided the blow pressing herself into the corner. She followed Dori with her eyes which were already ablaze with anger. How dared she insult her mother and father, yell like that? That was wrong, wrong, and she was a vile woman to say things like that! And the rage boiling up inside the little girl overflowed setting her into the motion. Aileen dashed headlong into the tavern’s main room, run up to Dori, who was now standing at the bar stand about to start serving drinks to the customers, and hit the woman’s leg with her little fist. Then she rushed outside without looking back.

The girl ran down the High Road, past three-storied stone and brick houses with the shutters wide open to let in the sunlight; past wooden warehouses, with endless rows of people going un and out of them carrying boxes, rolling kegs, pushing wheelbarrows; past merchants caravans with all sorts of different goods moving to and from the South Gates of the city.
And while she was running, the anger and rage inside her evaporated. By the time she reached the Virgin’s Square in the Trades Ward, she was already her usual cheerful self, with curiosity looking at the world around her. It didn’t take too long for her to meet up with the others kids, she usually hung out with. That large cobbled square, traditional hiring place for mercenaries of all sorts was their best-loved place.
The children ran around, maneuvering among the crowds crammed in the square; Aileen’s favourite trick was to slip between the legs of the passers-by gaping at something, and then laugh mischievously at the sight of their surprised faces. When the kids got tired, they simply watched the place swarming with sell-swords, hirers seeking people for various jobs, small traders who set up their stalls in the square and noisy hawkers walking back and forth; and of course there were a lot of curious on-lookers, listening to the haggles and discussions of job contracts. A little way away from the square’s centre, there was a usual spot for bards telling their endless tales and singing ballads about adventures in the far lands, legends of the past or stories about peoples lives filled with emotions and feelings.

Aileen was so engrossed in the hustle and bustle of the square’s life she didn’t notice that it was already well past afternoon, and the sun was going down above the roofs of the City of Splendours. The girl, tired and happy, and having forgotten all about the morning incident, wended her way back to the Sword’s Rest.

When the girl was approaching the tavern, her heart started beating faster, as she noticed her mother’s black mare standing tethered to the post beside the tavern’s building. And the next moment there was a short raven-haired woman wearing a chain shirt in the doorway, carrying saddle bags in her hands, hilts of two swords jutting above her shoulders.

“Mum!” – The little girl exclaimed joyfully and dashed towards the woman.
The woman put the bags down and extended her hands to catch her girl, lifting her in the air and spinning her around a several times before setting her down.
“Hey, little impy, how you’ve been?”

The surge of joy was rippling inside the little girl making her smile happily. Her mother was near her, nothing on the whole Faerun mattered while they were together and that was going to be until... The smile dropped off the child’s suddenly gloomy face; she looked intently into her mother’s eyes and said in a quiet serious voice:
“Mum, promise you won’t leave me again.”

The woman sighed deeply and kneeled in front of her daughter putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders:
“Impy… You see, it’s my job. I can’t stay here all the time. You are a smart girl, surely you understand this.”

Aileen wriggled free from the hands on her shoulders and turned away frowning and muttering:
“You always say that.”

The woman smirked and raised to her feet, picking up the saddle bags from the ground and took a few steps towards the horse:
“You can of course go and sulk somewhere in the corner, if you don’t want to come with me, I won’t insist”.
The woman wasn’t even looking back knowing it full well that the girl is listening and devouring every word she said. And she only smirked once again when her guesses proved to be right and little Aileen jumped in front of her blocking her path and waving her hands in the air:
“I want! I want! Mum, I want to go with you!”
The woman nodded and winked at her:
“Sure thing, impy. Gimme a few minutes to get your stuff and warn Giffard that you are leaving with me, I’ll be right back.”

The girl could hardly stand still bouncing up and down, her eyes shining with anticipation. For the first time she was going with her mother and not staying at the tavern.
And the job was to guard a caravan, not even a caravan only a couple of wagons. The route wasn’t long: from Waterdeep to Daggerford; and the road was relatively safe, perhaps only lizardmen from the Lizard March could disturb the travelers on that road, but the last time they crawled out of their swamp was a year before. And why the merchants needed to hire five mercenaries as guards? To make an impression of important and respectable businessmen upon their arrival to the destination? Or was their cargo so valuable that they couldn’t take a step without the guards? Aileen’s mother preferred not to ponder over it, she was a mercenary, doing her job and not asking many questions. Among those questions was the time of the departure, those employers wished to set off at dusk.

Stars were twinkling scattered on the serene night sky; the silvery moonlight pouring down painting the landscape in surreal shades. It was very quiet, only somewhere in the distance the owl was hooting, and small animals rustling in the roadside bushes. People were staying silent, from time to time exchanging a few words in muffled voices barely audible against the background of the wagon’s wheels rattling and clattering of the horses’ hoofs.

Aileen and her mother were at the tail-end of their small caravan; the girl was wide awake, turning her head from side to side trying to catch every detail of the surroundings, bombarding her mother with different questions though in a hushed voice, as if not daring to break the tranquil mystery of the night. And then all of a sudden the girl fell silent for a several long minutes, after which trying to turn around and look into her mother’s face she asked in a serious tone:
“Mum, why is it that we never see father? Is it ‘cause he’s dead?”
The woman startled taken aback by the question and answered in a suddenly hoarse voice:
“No… Not then, and I hope neither is he now…”
“But where is he then? Why I’ve never seen him?”
The girl was still fidgeting in the saddle, trying to catch her mother’s eyes, but then she stared in surprise at the woman’s hands holding the horse’s reins which now were trembling slightly.
One hand let go of the reins, the woman ran it across her face as if trying to wipe off the emotions brought on by memories… Aileen heard a few deep breaths, after which her mother started speaking in a quiet and rather calm though a bit cracked voice:
“Listen, impy, I’ll try to explain. You are a clever girl, I hope, you’ll be able to understand…” – The woman fell silent for a few moments trying to find the best words, then continued, - “Say, someone wants to tame a wolf, to keep a tight rein on him. It won’t be easy to catch him; he won’t give up without struggle. Bit if the attempt will be successful and that someone will drag the bound wolf to their house and put him on a leash, on a thick sturdy chain even so the wolf won’t have a chance to escape. What then the animal will do? He will try to break free of course, will keep trying until he succeeds or until he dies trying. The other possible ending is that the animal will finally submit to his fate and to the will of the captor. But in that case… he won’t be himself any more, there will be little left from the proud and independent animal, loving his freedom so much… Of course there is a possibility for the one who wants to tame the wolf to do so through deception… But it will all come down to the two of the possible endings… Aileen, what do you think about what I’ve just told you?”

The girl answered without hesitation:
“Why someone needs to catch a wolf and put him on a leash if they can go and get a dog?”
“But what if they want a wolf, not a dog?”
“No, they shouldn't do that.”

The woman smiled weakly and patted girl on the head:
“Good girl, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now, listen. Some people… Although there are only a few of them, they can be compared with the wolves, the same dignity, poise and free spirit… And even if you love them… You can’t keep them, can’t tie them to yourself… because even if you manage to do that, they won’t be the same persons any longer as the part of them will be lost… And you don’t want that because you love them as they are… And that is why you have to let them go…”

The woman became silent again, deep in her own thoughts. And little Aileen didn’t dare to break the silence, she was staring blankly at the horse’s mane wrinkling her forehead trying to understand how can one person be tied to another, and moreover be put on a leash.

After another hour had passed they heard a shrill whistle and the next moment figures stepped out from the darkness surrounding their small caravan, some of them ahorse, others afoot. Their faces can not be seen clearly in dim light, and they didn’t utter a single sound. And the next moment everything froze in front of the girl’s eyes: people, horses, wagons, all came to a standstill, standing absolutely motionless in ghostly moonlight. The only thing that was still alive - the girl’s heart pounding hard against her ribcage.
And after a few short moments crystal sphere of the frozen time shattered into smithereens, spurring people into action. The time of course had never stopped, that was the trick the shock played to the girl’s mind. And the next second she was hanging in the air with her mother’s arm wrapped around her waist. The woman jumped down from the horse grabbing the girl at the same time and then almost hurled her under the standing still wagon. The girl hit her shoulder against the wheel painfully, let out a short scream of pain and crawled further under the wagon, but not as far as not to have a proper view.
Mesmerized Aileen watched her mother’s fluid and agile movements, swift and graceful dancing of the swords in her hands, expression on her face quickly changing from scared to fascinated.
The fight didn’t last too long; the attackers fled leaving behind the three of them, now laying on the ground lifeless; although one of them died only after the caravan’s owner cut his throat with a dagger. Such persistent unwillingness either kill attackers or let them go, but not bring them captive to Daggerford suggested clearly enough that they knew who and why attacked the caravan… But it wasn’t in the habit of mercenaries to ask questions, they were merely doing their job…

Only one of the caravan’s guards stood clutching his hand to his side, with blood spurting from his wound, other defenders were only lightly injured. While they were hurriedly bandaging and catching their breath, the girl got out from under the wagon and came up to her mother, pressing herself to the woman’s side.
“I want to fight like you.” – The girl claimed lifting her face up and looking into the woman’s eyes pleadingly.
The woman smirked and unfasten sheath from her belt, holding it out to the girl:
“You will, impy, you will.”

The girl took the sheath and with her eyes shining gleefully she slowly drew the dagger; then she looked into her mother’s eyes once again and a wide grin lightened up her face.

[all_distorted]

Interlude 2. Flashback. Runaway.

Age: 14
Location: Baldur's Gate.

The girl was pacing the room angrily, her steps muffled by the thick dark blue carpet covering the floor in her room. Even though it had been some time since the argument involving a lot of shouting and waving of the hands and even small items of house decorations like vases being broken, Aileen was still burning with rage. She kicked the book which was lying on the floor and happened to be on her way; the book flapped across the room and with a thud hit the wall, some of the pages fell out and flew swirling about the room. The girl let out a quiet low growl, shot an angry look at the door of her room and continued pacing.

How dared they?! Who did they think they were to try and lock her up as a punishment? They weren’t even her real parents! And she’d only been living with them for three years. Yet for some reason they were convinced that they could decide whom she could make friends with and whom she could not. So what if her friends were not considered to be a fitting company for a girl from respectable family? She loved hanging out with them, they were so much fun, and they cared for her, unlike these two bastards imagining themselves her parents. Argh! They were nobody to her, bloody n-o-b-o-d-y. She would show them, oh, yes, she damn well would! They couldn’t go on ordering her around for ages!

Aileen couldn’t calm down, her anger preventing her from thinking clearly, leaving no room for common sense and logic. Such outbursts didn’t happen too often, but when they did it was as if she had absolutely no control over her actions or even the words coming out of her mouth.

The girl suddenly stopped, a lopsided and rather spiteful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She knew what she would do, what would show them that she could decide for herself. It was so obvious, how hadn’t that occurred to her before?! Aileen kneeled beside her bed and pulled a bagpack from underneath it. The dim light of nightfall was enough for her to find things she needed.

With swift, abrupt movements she grabbed things first to catch her eyes and stuffed them into the bag. There was only one thing which was of value to her – wrapped in a piece of cloth dagger, given to her by her mother eight years before. When the bag became cram full, the girl tightened the straps and threw it on the bed, turning around and looking at the door with the narrowed eyes, listening to the noises coming from the downstairs. They weren’t sleeping yet, hadn’t even gone to their room. She’d have to wait, damn it all! Aileen gnashed her teeth in annoyance and made for the windowsill, perching on it with one leg curled under her and the other dangling freely.

The room was lit only by the dim muddy yellowish light of the street lamps. Waiting. Oh, how she hated waiting, counting seconds, minutes crawling painfully sluggishly, lasting the whole eternity. And when finally a couple of hours full of slow torture had passed, she decided that it was the time. Not giving her room the last look-over, she picked up the bag and quietly opening the door slipped into the hall. It was far from being the first time when she had to sneak out of the house during the dark time of the day, however, never had she done what she was about to do before; she knew all too well the Katriona’s habit to count stashed away coins almost on a daily basis.

The light from the streets wasn’t reaching the hall, and the girl had to move in the dark, stepping very carefully so as not to make any floor board to squeak. She could feel her heart thumping and the sound seemed to reverberate through the entire house, threatening to wake her foster parents at any minute. But of course it was only pounding in her ears. Holding her breath, the girl opened the cabinet’s door, stole quietly inside and froze to the spot, struggling to not let the cry of surprise to escape her lips – right at her were staring two round emerald eyes. In a moment she realized that the thing scaring her stiff was a cat. Nothing more than just a cat, sitting right on the rug covering the hiding place beneath the floor boards. The unblinking, full of contempt stare was piercing through Aileen, as if trying to tell her: “Stop, you foolish girl, what are you doing?”

Great! That was the last thing she needed. The cat had an exceptional talent for loud and shrill mewing when it didn’t like something, and were it to start its serenade at that time, the whole house would be up on their feet within a few minutes. Oh blast and damnation! The girl clenched her fists and frowning stared right back into the cat’s eyes, mentally commanding it to clear off. Sure enough, the cat didn’t move an inch, only swishing its tail defiantly. What an obnoxious thing! Aileen bared her teeth and hissed spitefully not taking her eyes off the cat, which hissed in return, arched its back and, having lashed the tail one more time, with a graceful proud gait retired from its post, causing the girl to heave a sigh of relief. Dropping to her knees, she groped for the edge of the wooden lid covering the hiding place. Under it, at the bottom of the cavity in the floor were lying ten almost identical bags, alluring, beckoning to take them all. But to take more than enough meant the likely searches and pursuit. After momentarily hesitation her small hands snatched four bags. Then she tiptoed out of the room, gingerly stepping on the steps she went to the first floor of the house and, having opened the window shut for the night, she got outside.

With a springy step to her gait, the girl headed down the cobbled street without looking back at the house left behind. The streets in this district were relatively quiet at nights, there was neither drunken shouts, nor any noises of arguments and fights; the row of houses submerged in slumber were lit by the yellowish glow of the street lamps, attaching shadows to rare passers-by. Having dived into a hole in the fence hidden behind a thick evergreen shrub, Aileen made her way to the district which was almost the opposite to the one she was living in.

She simply could not leave the city without notifying her band of troublemakers before that, without saying goodbye to Kaylel. She was moving through the gardens and backyards of the houses, climbing over obstacles such as linen hung on the ropes and piles of wooden boxes, jumping from time to time over rats impudently darting around under her feet. A shrill shriek of a woman cut through the night air, followed by a child's wailing; soon a dog's howling augmented the cacophony. The layers of the paint had come off from the walls of the house she was looking for, exposing is unsightly wooden skeleton; window frames were warped, some more, some less.

The girl stopped in front one of the windows and having swept strand of hair fallen onto her pale face, she rapped on the shutters. Indistinct yells and some muffled noises reached her ears from the upper floor. She shuddered slightly and knocked again.

- "What in the Hells?' - inquired disgruntled and gruff voice from behind the greyed by the rains and time wooden shutters.
Instead of a reply, the girl whistled in a special manner, used by their little band as identification signal.

The shutters flung open and in the window appeared a slightly annoyed and surprised face with a black eye and fair hair falling over the eyes, belonging to a boy in his late teens. Seeing who the late night visitor was, the boy threw his legs over the window ledge and jumped down to the ground, perplexedly looking the girl over and in particular the bag hanging over her shoulder.

- "Well, well, well," - he spoke in a drawl, - "I don't think we have something planned for tonight... What's in the bag?"

- "I don't know," - Aileen shrugged her shoulders, - "I took what I could."

- "Ooh, how interesting," - Kaylel smirked a bit, - "so, what, you now came to share it with me? And where you got it from anyway?"

- "From a secret place where is no more left... But you got me all wrong, this is my stuff, Kay," - the smirk vanished from the girl's face, now wearing rather serious expression, - "You see..." - she averted her eyes fixing them on some drunk passer-by slowly dragging himself along the street, stumbling and falling every few steps, - "You see, I'm leaving."

- "What?" - puzzlement crossed the boy's face, but only for a brief moment, - "Made up your mind finally, eh?"

- "Yeah, I had enough, damn it all, enough!" - the girl spat on the ground angrily and continued, - "They would quickly find me here and drag right back with their preaching about how good girls this and good girls that. Ah, whatever! I'm out of here, and that's it."

- "How very nice of you to inform me in person," - Kaylel shook his head as if trying to get rid of his usual derisive mindset, - "No, I didn't mean it that way... And where are you going to?"

- "Waterdeep. A place to live there is guaranteed, and no one would nag me there, aaand I will surely have something to do there..." - Aileen jerked her head up, her eyes lit up by a sudden idea, - "Look, let's go with me, will you?"

- "Huh? To that blasted anthill also known as the city of splendors? No, thanks, I'll pass, I'm quite fine here. Besides, it happens so that I don't like all those splendors that much."

- "I see..." - the girl twisted her mouth to the side, knowing it full well that it was rather useless to try and convince Kaylel in anything, - "Well, say hi for me to everybody else, then."

- "Hey, wait a moment," - the boy seized her by the shoulder as she was about to turn around and leave, - "And what about one for the road?" - Kaylel grinned impishly, winked and motioned her to follow him.

The next few hours flew by like a few minutes, picking them up, twirling them in a vortex of midnight drunken jollity. Such a last night in Baldur's Gate was a worthy end of that chapter in her life, imprinting colourful wild moments in her memory.

After a couple hours of sleep Aileen opened her eyes, sitting up on the bed with a jolt; it took her a few minutes to recognize the place she was at and the reason which brought her there. She didn't wake Kaylel up, they already said their farewells to each other; besides she was certain they would meet again, sooner or later... And that they did, but only three years after...

The girl left through the window and started towards the gates leading out of the city. The sky had only just begun to lighten and falling cool drizzle was soaking into her hair and her clothes, damping them instantly and making her shiver. Wisps of milky mist were clinging to the lamp posts and houses, as if trying to cocoon them, consume and conceal from the outside world. A cat was wailing in a monotonous and dismal manner somewhere in the background. It was cold and lousy; the girl was walking with her hands deep in pockets and the head lowered. And her head was throbbing insistently; everything around melting in dank soggy greyness. She was trying not to make harsh movements which not only were causing new flashes of pain but also threatened with complete loss of balance. The only thing she wanted at the moment was sleep, to lay her head down, close her eyes and sink into the blessed oblivion.

Her thoughts were just like the weather, grey and dismal. Why run away somewhere? Why leave her friends? Why leave their pastime consisting of different, sometimes not too legal, mischief which was so much fun? Why leave the house where she was provided with food and all other things necessary for living? Suddenly she ran into something and an irritated voice grumbled from above:

- "Are you out of your mind? Watch your step, damn it!"

The girl mumbled something indistinct but surely spiteful in reply and continued walking. Really, was she out of her mind? No, it could not go on like that; those three years were more than enough for her: her so-called foster parents were trying to put an end to her friendship with those they referred to as “little rascals”; they were forever dragging her to different temples repeating again and again that she had to finally choose a god or a goddess to worship which in her mind invariably associated with crawling on one's knees while chanting the prayers; they were prohibiting her to learn the art of sword wielding saying that it wasn't something girls from respectable families should do. May be they were lying all along and her mother had never asked to send her to them before she had been arrested and then... To the Hells with all this! She was the one in charge of her life and no one had a right to order her around!

Full of decisiveness the girl reached the gates leading out of the city and arranged to travel with the first caravan which was bound to Soubar. It wasn't a direct route, but she hardly cared, she was returning to Waterdeep where she had spent first eleven years of her short life.

[all_distorted]

(( Dusting off this old thread to post a portrait of my character drawn by an amazingly talented artist Isbjorg ))

[all_distorted]

Watching a watcher.

A gust of wind swayed branches of the tree, strewing her hair with pine needles. The girl shook her head silently, needles fell from her raven black hair and settled on her cape. She didn’t brush them off, trying to move as little as possible not to give away her presence. Dark silhouettes of a few birds pierced the grayish murkiness of the sky. Likely frightened by one of the giants populating the surrounding areas in great numbers, the birds disappeared between the hills overgrown with heath; the girl switched her attention to a group of people standing at some distance.

Two human males and one female halfling honing their fighting skills on giants of these hills. She stumbled upon this group when they were in the middle of an argument with another party, hurling not so elaborate insults and not so biting remarks at each other. It resembled a tavern drunken quarrel, one which does not necessarily end up in a punch-up due to the lack of courage on one or even all of sides involved.

Undoubtedly, this company would not have sparked her curiosity and drawn her attention. Were it not for one another personage in this small scene – a woman clad in black robes and a hood following the group closely and mutely. She was unarmed and, indeed, the purpose of her being there was not battle – she didn't engage in the group’s fights with giants. Neither did she participate in their conversations. And when one of the men nearly pushed her while turning around it became crystal clear that they did not see her at all. Aileen’s lips slid into a derisive smirk, impish sparkles dancing in her eyes. That woman was a watcher. And hardly anything could be as entertaining as watching the watchers. Especially those blinded by confidence in their abilities, forgetting all caution. Hiding in the shadows, they follow their targets, observing, listening in on private talks. Fancying themselves all-seeing and all-knowing but being oblivious to the fact that they long since turned from a predator to prey. How delightfully pathetic.

Another gust of cold wind from the snow-drenched mountains sent a shiver through her body. With silent steps the girl skimmed over grass to a spot under another tree, to get a better view of another battle with yet another giant. With her head tilted slightly to the side the girl observed the fight with mild curiosity. The group was already supplemented by some half-orc or was it orc? The two humans armed with light weapons used combats tactics so familiar to her which brought forth certain conclusions. Fluid motions of a short sword, swift precise strikes of daggers, delivered mostly from behind. Very interesting. A pitiful, not burdened with intellect freak had no chance. Uttering the last hoarse roar, the giant collapsed to the ground; the tree under which she was standing shuddered in fright, dropping another portion of needles onto her hair. She grimaced in annoyance but didn’t even move as her look fell upon the woman in black stepping from behind a moss-covered rock. The woman donned armor, her weapons were drawn. Aileen had to bite her lower lip to suppress a whistle of surprise ready to escape her lips. Just look at what cat dragged in! With slightly narrowed eyes the girl looked the figure over scornfully.

A muffled groan distracted her from examining the new appearance of the “watcher” – the half-orc caught a particularly might stroke of a giant’s club and dropped to the ground unconscious. The remaining members of the group started to fuss around him, intending to carry him to a nearest temple. The girl stood motionless for a few moments longer, following the group with her eyes, then shifted her gaze to puffs of clouds drifting in the sky, inhaled the cool air filled with pine smell, even if slightly spoiled with a faint odor of giant’s dung. And then she walked away with gliding gait, smooth and springy, a wry knowing smile playing on her lips. Definitely, the day had already turned out well.

[all_distorted]

Oh, why has she never studied magic? Part 1.

Elegant arches of dark stone, covered in intricate ornaments, gazed with cold dignified indifference at what was transpiring in the room. Their silhouettes blurring in the soft violet light, making shadows twirl in a bewitching dance. Silence enveloped the halls with a weightless shroud, disrupted only by rustling of pages and muffled murmurs. She stood in front of a long antique bookcase, filled with books of different sizes and ages. Running her fingertips along spines of the books she paused at one of them, took it from a shelf, skimmed through its preface and contents and placed it back. And so it continued for several hours. Having put another book on its place she glanced at the row of books on the shelves and heaved a sigh before reaching out for another tome title of which caught her attention. It had to be there somewhere, an answer to her questions had to lie among these old manuscripts. She already knew that regardless of what that answer would be, it would involve magic in one way or another. Magic… Oh, why has she never studied it?

…Astonishment rippled through crowd gathered at a town’s market square, exclamations of wonder filled the air, strings of loud and elaborate swears left someone’s mouth, dogs started barking, a baby burst into wailing. The source of such an intense reaction was a grotesque creature with two heads bobbing on long scaly necks. Iridescent scales shimmered in the rays of bright summer sun. The creature turned one of its crested heads into their direction and hissed showing rows of small but undoubtedly razor-sharp teeth. A four-year old girl with two black plaits gasped and pressed herself to a thigh of a woman standing close to her, the dark-haired woman clad in plain blue tunic patted the girl on the head:
- "Silly. It’s not real, just a cantrip."
The girl squinted and looked awry at her mother, still hiding behind her back. The woman smirked and pointed at a short scrawny man draped in nondescript gray robes who was standing at some distance from the monster.
- "See? It’s a spell of that mage."
As if in confirmation of her words the man waved his hands abruptly muttering something under his breath. And the next moment the creature dispersed into thousands of small lustrous fragments, which soared up and blossomed into glittering fireworks against the clear cerulean of the sky.
The gathering consisting mostly of the ordinary town dwellers – craftsmen and small merchants – exploded in applause and discordant chorus of rapturous cries. The man in gray bowed reservedly and plunged into the crowd swiftly vanishing in it.
The woman took the girl by the hand leading her away from the square. Little Aileen was bouncing up and down as she walked, her dark blue eyes shining with joy:
- "Mom, mom! When I grow up I want to be a mage!"
- "Indeed?" – The woman smirked faintly and rather bitterly, - "Perhaps because you liked the fireworks and sparkling so much, eh? And you want a crowd to meet you with rejoicing?"
- "YES!" – Squealed the child jumping up yet again.
The woman fell silent for a moment and when she spoke again her voice was somewhat flat and strained:
- "I saw sparkling of lightning from which there was no escape, which after shining left only a piles of burnt flesh and bones. I saw fireworks of blood and entrails torn asunder by a magical explosion. I heard chilling screams of anguish of those who tried to oppose mages…"
The girl blinked rapidly, joy evaporating from her face in a fleeting instant, with a shaky, wavering voice she uttered quietly:
- "Mom…"
The woman shook her head as if shaking off her memories and said in her normal tone as if nothing happened:
- "I only want to say that magic isn’t all about such shiny cantrips we just saw. It can bring pain and death… Besides, one has to have a natural-born talent for it or spend best years of their lives pouring over books to learn anything. Otherwise, you’ll just be a hedge wizards amusing plebs with your tricks."
The child’s forehead wrinkled as she stared at dusty road beneath her feet trying to comprehend what had just been said…

Her fingertips ran along a velvet burgundy cover tracing fancy trimming adorning its edges. “Wisdom of hermits residing in mountains”. Did it contain what she required? Unlikely… Obviously, she was not inherently gifted in the arcane arts, otherwise it would have surfaced long ago. As for studies, she was sure she would be able to master it, she didn’t lack intelligence, after all. But that would take time, a lot of time which she didn’t have. Oh, why did she never study magic before?

…Night shadows recoiled in disgust and scattered in all directions from a shiny globe blooming over her head in a splitting second. A brown-haired bearded man standing in front of her smiled softly:
- "There you go, much better now."
Her face blanched and she tensed freezing to the spot as if paralyzed by a sudden blow. Air caught in her throat, she pushed it out with effort and hissed:
- "What the Hells have you done?! Remove it now!"
Taken aback by such reaction the man replied confusedly:
- "It’s dark now, and you’ll be able to see better with it. Might even save you from falling off this bridge into the waters of oblivion also know as river Chiontar."
- "Don't give me this crap! It’s magic!" – She shrieked, attracting curious looks of those sitting by the campfire. The Fist guard posted at the bridge threw a glance in their direction. – "You casted bloody magic on me!"
- "My, no need to be so nervous. It is but a simple Light spell." – He said softly and slowly as if explaining something obvious to a little child.
Nervous? Simple Light spell? Of course it seemed to be just a Light spell, but it could be anything else for all she knew! Invisible and impalpable serpents of the spell would percolate through pores of her skin, filling every part of her body, bending it to its will. Or it would go directly for her mind, her soul, with unseen and unshakable web chaining them, enthralling her very self. Again…
She flicked her head and spoke in a voice strung with cords of steel:
- "I repeat one last time. Dispell it. Now."
The mage looked her in the eyes and swallowed his next reply, momentarily folding his fingers into a complex gesture and whispering some words. What he saw in her night-hued eyes was blazing cold flames of anger and deep beneath it lurked unconscious, panic fear.
As soon as the light globe dissipated she visibly relaxed and closing her eyes took a few deep breaths. Then she pierced the well-wisher with a glacial glare which made him doubt if a glimpse of fright in the blue of her eyes was real at all.
Not averting her eyes from his she said through clenched teeth:
- "A piece of free advice for you, mage. Ask before you foist you so-called help on the others. People might… not take kindly to you throwing spells around."
With that she pivoted abruptly and walked away dissolving in the velvet soft embrace of the night...

She managed to get rid of her fear of magic, after she joined the Weave Masters…
“The High Forest. Fiction and Facts. A. Godfroy.” “Of Memory's Strength and Depth. Practical Researches. V. Nah’renn.” No, no and no, that wasn’t what she needed…

[all_distorted]

An eternity after.

Shadows were thick in the inn’s room at this time of the night. Provoked by flames dancing in the fireplace, they crawled and bent, danced and dashed across the walls, along the wooden floor planks. A young black-haired woman was pacing the room, her silhouette disturbing the shadowy patterns on the walls. After crossing it for yet another time, she paused, her gaze falling on the objects carefully arranged on the table in the middle of the room.

Two keys – quite ordinary iron one and another made of dark, nearly black metal covered by intricate ornament. A letter, contents of which she knew by heart. Remnants of another letter, ink in which it was written blurred so badly, it was impossible to discern the words, only the seal remained intact – purple phoenix rising from flames. A mithral symbol of Torm. A ring with insignia of what once used to be a guild. A silver locket on a thin chain, holding blue rose petals, withered and dead. Another pendant - a dark blue gem encircled by a silver frame with runes, its faceted surface seemingly hiding something within.

These objects once meant something. For someone. Somewhere. Sometime.

She was determined to solve this puzzle. Recently she decided to try different approach, instead of trying to understand their meaning, she tried to feel it. She examined them closely, held each of the objects in her hands, twirling them and tracing their outlines with her fingers. Closing her eyes she was concentrating on her inner feelings, trying to grasp the quietest of echoes.

Every night the same ritual. Every night for naught.

“Why do I get a feeling there is something you're not telling me?” Words suddenly came to her mind; they belonged to the man who agreed to be her guide. Not that she did not expect such a reaction to her questions. In fact, she was prepared to anything, subsequent attempts to take her life included. And probably she should not have made inquiries of a random passer-by. But she could no longer keep them inside. Besides, somehow she felt as though it was safe to ask him, perhaps it was due to the fact that he helped her after she had been badly poisoned by a wyvern. He could not provide the answers she sought, his replies only raising more questions. Yet, it was a start and she had to reach the finish before…

Frustrated sigh escaped her lips, she rubbed her temples. She was exhausted.


Standing in the middle of a shadowy hall, environed by stone walls. Identical corridors reaching in numerous directions, turning into darkness.She starts to walk, speeding up with every step. Footfalls absorbed by the shroud of ancient silence filling the halls. Every breath tainting her mind with fear. She starts to run, down and down the snaking halls, taking one turn and the other. She cannot stop or else she is doomed...

How long has she been running? A few minutes, hours, forever? Time long since lost its meaning within these halls. Nothing has any meaning here. Only dread, inescapable and inexplicable. Dread and despair, clawing at her heart. She is helpless, lost in the endless stone labyrinth. And she cannot run forever. Her legs start to ache, she will not last much longer…

And then she spots a sparkle straight ahead. The light, bringing promises of salvation. Mustering all strength left inside her she dashes towards it. It is a door. The one which she nearly gave up on finding. Relieved, she pulls the handle… And silence explodes in a deafening racket, floods of water rushing through the gaping mouth of the door. Chaotic torrent sweeping her off her feet, devouring her, sucking the air out of her lungs and soul out of her body, burying her alive… Under the brightly shining light…


Gasping for air she clutched at her throat. Breaths of air painfully digging into her lungs like dozens sharp needles. After several long moments she was able to inhale and exhale normally once again. And then she realized that she was on the floor across the room from the bed. She sat up. A drop fell down, blossoming into weird crimson flower on the wooden planks of the floor. She stared blankly at it and then wiped her nose with the back of her hand, it was bleeding. Again.

She slept no more that night.