H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

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H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

Post by gonz.0 »

Forward - Please note the title, it includes the marker 18+ for a reason. Some elements of the story will be violent, and some will contain themes not appropriate for children. This first part, is not what I could consider more than pg13, but the warning stands, for I do not intend to censor for more than is proper for good taste.

Part 1 - Mist and Shadow

The night was cold, fog and sea mist hung in the air, rare in the high seas, rarer still in the midst of highsun. Not even the second ride of Eleasias but a cold snap sent by the sea bitch herself, a tantrum of foul mood that likely sent many a sailor to the depths this night. A certain sailor was grateful however, for his unintended capture within the bilge of the privateer was becoming likened to a hell in his mind.

In the heat and winds of summer on the sea, a bilge is not a place one wishes to hold up. The fetid water and filth would crash upon the stones weighted in the keel and splash him. The curve of the hull was not enough to give good purchase, and the slime covering all made walking about not only hazardous, but impossible. If not for his many preparations for what he thought of as any eventuality, he might have fallen and drowned. Eleven days; he had hung from a makeshift rope basket made from his climbing harness, some rope and pitons he had driven into the hull and beams to make it possible to rest. His needs for sustenance were seen to by one such magical preparation, a ring most timely. His remaining thirst slaked by another trinket of magical nature which could summon clean fresh water by the grace of Lathander. Though for all the comforts that made it possible to survive such a prison, it should be noted again, it was not his intention to be imprisoned in the bilge of a the ‘Remorse’. Nor was it, by any means comfortable.
****************
Before...
Upon the marking of the autumn equinox more than a year prior, a decision was made by her Ladyship that Horatio would make every attempt possible to find clues to the attacks made upon Alaron’s southern shoreline. His attempts to discover much beyond tales of purple sails were unsuccessful. It was in desperation that the decision was made; to learn of pirates, one must sail the seas. His skills rudimentary, Horatio signed aboard a merchantmen of less than lawful reputation. His attempts at joining a more unsavory crew had been thwarted by his lack of acceptance among sailors.

The Harpy’s Song accepted him, and another as new crew. While he knew what he could read in a book, could pull a rope, listen to orders and know what was to be done, he was not yet a sailor. Naturally quick on his feet, and eager, he did well, though his inexperience was apparent to the first mate and captain, they gave him time. The other not so much. She departed while in port of Waterdeep. His watches would drag on for what seemed like days, days seemed like months, and months as years. When the stars and seasons indicated another equinox was approaching, with not yet to speak in valuable knowledge, he decided it was time to give up, or risk more.

The Harpy had traveled farther than he had thought she would in search of profitable cargo. With the better ports of the Moonshaes closed for weather, which he thought a temporary condition, Captain Verkan accepted commissions to sail to Sword Coast ports as far as Calimport. Calimport, where she was forced to spend weeks replacing a mast and sails due to privateering. The captain had not considered that he might lose his ship, he had the right ‘friends.’ His was a business that dealt with others who prey on shipping, providing a merchanter to deliver goods to open ports. Such men do not easily strike an ally.
****************
In the bilge...
Eleven days the sailor used a curved dagger of the hardest metal he had ever found, to carve small holes. Each hole through a planking, tiny as he could manage, came through against another layer. Twice, he had bored through that second layer releasing a fine flow of flour sprinkling out and covering him. The air seemed to be filling with the powder, which tasted like grain flour. With the darkness, he wasn’t sure what it was, only discovering when he struck a small flame to hold it to the powder. The resulting explosion was not severe enough to damage the ship but was enough simultaneously put out the flame and his consciousness.
****************
Before...
The Captain Verkan chose to make for Athkatla and back into waters in which his flag is better known. His hope, to get a shipment to the north, the ‘Gate or Waterdeep, but he would take a Luskan shipment. His plan to port in Waterdeep to put in for a keening before Harvestide. Rumor was the price of grains were very high in certain island ports due to unlucky weather, lower in Waterdeep where there was plenty seemingly gathered in prescient anticipation. The profits potential out of Waterdeep was too much to pass up. The fact Aich (Horatio) learned next, ‘the next port of call would be Callidyrr to deliver the grains’, made the timing important he not miss that sailing. He had not been able to get back to report even his meager information, and this would be his chance. Doing so on the Harpy, would mean if her Ladyship should command, his identity as the sailor Aich would be intact and able to be used further.

Athkatla port, the Harpy’s Song was loading her holds with raw ore. Captain Verkan needed to mend some relationships because of his last failure to deliver. Most of the crew was given liberty to the city, two days to find themselves release after their last journey. Aich, not wishing make the trip, was toying with his Tymorian coin on the docks, accepting a post on watch. He was just thinking to himself about the bad luck he had, more precisely, his female companion had while he was last in Athkatla. He wished nothing to do with the seedy streets and brothels tonight. Hours later of this moonless night, he heard something that caught his attention. An Alzhedo speaker saying “A hunter has just sailed in, the Gretta’s Remorse.”

Once relieved, he made his way about, asking the right questions. He learned the new ship’s owner, Captain Archibald, sailed under two flags. This fact was known in this Amnian port, but unknown further north. The Gretta, a she was known sailing into Waterdeep or Baldur’s Gate ports was a merchant ship, often dealing in salvage recovered from less able seamen’s folly. Gretta’s Remorse though, was a privateer, permitted to harass Northern shipping, often selling the bulk items back to them in their own ports, and proud of sinking more than a dozen Northern Traders to the bottom. Then there was the rumor that Archibald had connection to the sailors flying purple sails.

He thought to himself, ’This could be a clue waited long for’. The stealthy sailor watched the nearby Gretta and learned her schedules. Night fell upon the third day, the Harpy was due to sail in the morning, so he slipped aboard the hunter to seek out evidence of slaves or trade with the notorious pirates sailing under purple sails. Boarding was simple and he succeeded without incident.

The nearly silent approach was unheard, and the few sailors on board did not see him. He entered the captain’s cabin, and searched for evidence, of which there was plenty, just nothing to tie him to the crimes he was investigating. He moved from the cabin to the hold, seeking something within the lockers for flags and weapons. He was forced to duck into the lower hold to avoid detection. It seemed, the crew was returning and they had begun loading barrels of some substance. His night vision made reading what was painted on the barrels impossible. He was going to search more, but was nearly discovered again. An error made severe, while seeking evidence he was forced to slip into the bilge. The hatch closed to keep from being discovered, was used as floor space to place cargo. Any hope he had of escaping through this hatch in the ceiling was dashed by the large weight now resting upon it. There he would remain, until deep in the night of the eleventh day.
****************
Eleventh day trapped...
The sailor both was grateful and yet displeasured by the storm taking the ship. While the reduced temperature made the hold and the bilge slightly more bearable, the violent rocking of the ship, and the pitching and heaving in combination could set even the most hardened sailor’s stomach into a rebellion. He was only glad he thought, after he had finally succumbed to the urge to purge, that there was nothing to bring up. Four hours of the heavy seas had taken toll, causing him to begin to retch. The sailor had spent enough late nights and early mornings revisiting the previous night’s drink to know, that it hurts less and is less bothersome to have something for your stomach to hurl at its displeasure. However; having spent much of his youth cleaning up his father’s vomit, he found the prospect of being trapped in this chamber with the foul stench turned his stomach just thinking of the dilemma.

All of the shifting, and rolling mixed with the severe pain in his skull resulting from the earlier concussive blast that had removed his consciousness, pushed the trapped sailor to try again. Carefully he surveyed all of the tiny bore holes he had made, seeking a light or wind from any. The air had gotten so stale that he had begun to think he might suffocate, though when thinking more calmly days before he assured himself there was ample supply for the bilge was not water or air tight from the deck above. He moved his spiderweb like harness point by point up the length of the chamber. Using the metal pitons already set, he hooked carabiners into them, making a slow progress as much for safety of not falling, as for the queasiness in his stomach and roiling in his head. He closed his eyes, and concentrated after each movement, mentally planning the next.

It is with elation, with silent joy, that he reacted to the violent crashing upon the deck just above him. As the ship smashed through a wave, the whole of the ship had lurched. Despite swinging forward hard enough to smack his head against the deck above him, he smiled. Two of the bore holes nearest the bilge hatch had begun to flicker with the lamplight from above. The sound of the rolling waves was joined by that of rolling barrels. He made his way to the hatch, further his spirit lifted as the hatch was no longer weighted, merely latched.
****************
On deck...
The crew of the ‘Gretta’ as she was now identified by her flag, rushed about attempting to refasten the battings over hatches, securing doors flapping in the wind and most of all, attempting to avoid being washed over the gunwale by the waves threatening to topple the ship. The first mate began to shout new instructions to cut away the mizzenmast, which had sheared suddenly and was fouled in the rigging. It was threatening to rip the main top and mainmast crosstrees apart. The second mate, responded to the commands of the Captain and rushed below decks into the hold.

The mate dodged the rolling barrel of grain flour with a curse, and trapped it by dropping a bag of beans to the deck behind it. He then began cutting open the netting binding a stack of crates together. Inside, he recovered the prize he sought.

On deck, the crew frantically working to clear the rigging stopped each of their own accord to plead with the sea bitch to spare them. Small treasures were being tossed overboard to be drawn to the depths, as they might be very soon.

Below, the second mate cut the cork out of a bottle of elven wine, one of the captured prizes already sold in Baldur’s Gate to a wealthy man who cared not where his pleasures came, only that they did. He drank several swallows not only for courage, and curiosity for he had never tasted the vintage, but for fear that it should be foul and anger the goddess which tossed them about even more and kill them all. He gathered up a full case, making to climb to the deck once again. His attention so upon his task, he failed to notice the slim blade sliding up between planks and disconnecting the latch from the bilge hatch.

Up the mate went onto deck, to make his offering to the sea bitch, only to be stopped by the captain just before he could cast the expensive vintage over. The bitch received her due however; it was not the vintage the mate had intended. Captain Archibald, in his anger at the mate, grabbed the crate and thrust it into the hands of a nearby sailor. The Captain then took the mate by the hair, and did drag the mate’s own knife across his exposed throat. The spray from the cut was dampened by the spray of the waves. The captain was not deterred, he cast the mate overboard with a prayer of his own, offering a valuable sailor to the goddess.

The seas quite abruptly, almost as abruptly as the weather had started, calmed. A quiet cheer goes up among the sailors as they release a sigh of relief and some, clenched fists around their dearest treasure they were about to part with. A second sigh of relief came a moment later, when the lookout cried out a sighting for land, and the navigator determined it was only a few hours till they would be in the port of Baldur’s Gate.

Beneath them, a figure moved silently about the hold. Several cases of the treasured wine went missing, as did a number of casks of other dried goods, preserves, and exotics. A few bags of grain were pilfered in the process. Other casks of flour are sabotaged, and cargo netting holding pallets together are weakened.

There was much in the way of movement about the ship as they prepare for porting, one sailor slips and falls through an open hatchway, weakened by the storm, it had fallen through beneath the batting which did not hold his weight when he took a short cut across it. While this sailor was not killed, he was mocked for the broken leg and his pride suffered as well. All through the porting late that day as the twilight settled over the docks, the men moved about buoyed up by the fact that they had narrowly avoided the wrath of the sea bitch. They congratulated themselves and each other for their bravery and prowess on the sea. None however, noticed the sailor clad in dark clothing slip over the side and to the dock. Nor did they notice him boarding a smaller cog just shoving off flying the colors of a Selunite crew from the port near Candlekeep.
****************
Victor sighed deeply, and put down the pen. This, another entry into the journal in which he was to catalog the life of his son was difficult for him, as nearly all the entries before had been. Every page he filled, he knew, would be as the journal by which he was judged. Judged and deemed unworthy for reward, but saved from the wall by his son's actions. His was a penitence that would weigh upon his soul. He was acutely aware of how his many mistakes in life had informed his only child's path, and though he could see, and sometimes hear the boy's thoughts even, he could do nothing to warn him of the many mistakes he was making that may someday be used in his own judgement.
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"Where morality is present, laws are unnecessary. Without morality, laws are unenforceable." -Anonymous

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Re: H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

Post by gonz.0 »

Part 1 continued...

Victor wiped a cloth across the silver mirror through which he viewed his son, one of many such artifacts upon tables in this hall. His was not the only soul put to this last, painful test of will to be worthy. He rubbed his temples and stretched his hands. It was this time uneventful and peaceful to watch his son sleep. It reminded him of when the boy was just a toddler, when he and his beloved Evangeline would stand in the doorway and watch him sleep. Now however; it seemed his son was very often plagued by nightmares. No man should be judged on his dreams, especially not the night terrors that come from deep within troubled sleep.

He watched the man who had grown from his boy once more. Today he would seek deeper insight into his thoughts, wishing that he could hear more than just what was to the surface at times.
****************
Early the next day...
The darkly dressed man stepped off of the longboat and onto the dock, glancing to the north his eyes catch the silhouette of Candlekeep jutting out into the sea from the thick morning fog. He paid the boatman a second stipend, for his discretion, then began the walk inland as the longboat made it’s way back along the coast to the north. To the few pairs of eyes to take notice of him, he seemed to meld into the mist, not interacting with anyone in this new port community.

His son’s mind became lost in the mist as much as it appeared did he. Memories began to envelope his consciousness. Victor was forced to focus to sense the thoughts of his boy Horatio.

It has been three years since he had last been in any place he had called home in his life, long enough, that this coast no longer feels like home. He had left the Gate last in the company of her ladyship and the elf on board a ship following clues left behind by the slavers responsible for the slaying of the girl Aine. The one who had become a spirit haunting the city and his own mind. Their company had provided the girl’s spirit which haunted so his psyche, with justice, a justice delivered by her family directly. While the act did not give them the peace they were certain it would, it offered him the peace of knowing Ania, the twin, would not rush off to similar end.

He had only stayed on in the Moonshaes because Lady Tha’is had discovered her lands were being usurped by Lord Horstal. He had always thought of her as a lady, it seemed immensely important to him that the world see her as such as well. As he saw it, she needed a champion for this to be or it would fail. She had plans, not that she would share them all.


He barely noticed the fields ripening for harvest about him, so many acres of grains, and more... he thought to himself, “when did they expand to farm so much? They have come a long way from my teaching gathered volunteers the rudiments of the skill.” His mind became adrift back to the islands, and to his reasons for leaving the mainland. Just as his thoughts often did the past year on the ship. I followed her leads, accepted her decisions and efforts to take herself out of dangers, and some to put herself into danger. Even followed her in desires to aid Aglaril and Daertho in a damned foolish crusade into Thay itself. He said he could not let her go into such dangers without him. When the times had come to be before the Queen, he had even acted as her Ladyship’s loyal retainer. His effort to give both her ladyship and the Queen confidence in her ability to be a leader, and thus retain her title and responsibilities. It was something not long thought about, but simply done at the time. Thinking about it now, he questions why.

His mind drifted further, analyzing the complex relationship, his lips moved slightly as he spoke without voice, conversing with himself as he walked. I tell her I love her, the Lady Tha’is, and it is true, for I do love and respect the strong and confident woman who stands as noble woman in the court of Queen Alicia Kendrick. He realized with a sigh however; Though it is the girl Tha’is that I fell in love with years ago that is really loved. Her memory troubles have changed her, given her a new aspect that while it is convincing, and too convinced am I, will love one day just as much. Her distance though; and lack of communication gives pause and reason to believe this may not be. He was certain he loved her and will love her as she has become, however; he finally faced a thought he had been fighting all those long watches. Horatio had spent many days and nights staring into the horizon and letting oblivion take his thoughts, so he would not think such things. She may never love again, as she once did, words and actions current feel as halved and halved again, and her last, vacant.. Would that I could be the like, but less troubled..

He made his way into the growing village that has at its heart, the temple of Ruqel. He gazed up to its flying buttresses and impressive arches. He remembered a time when this structure held a place of such awe in his heart and mind. He quickly banished the thought, but then he wonders if there is still a room deep within for which he too is welcomed. He wondered if his stash of things for emergency still lay in the chest locked away. He wondered if anyone would even recognize him. After so long at sea life his hair and beard were much unkempt, unlike his normally well kept and remarkably clean appearance for a farmer and traveler. He mounted the steps to approach the heights of the Selunite temple, then heard the voice of a woman in the square. Not a town crier, but perhaps more of use to his purpose.

He turned about, crossing the road and approached near the town gossip and her listeners. He listened for a time, catching up on news of the land. Lo’ but of the names he wished to hear, none. Names such as the proprietress of the fest hall are absent. He whispered in such a way as to give thought to the name of ‘Vila Kelvin’ to a passerby, who after a few steps said something to someone else, who said her name loud enough for the gossip to hear it. This was enough to set her off upon such a tangent as to include this name of concern. It is then that Horatio heard sad news, Vila is deceased for months gone by, “a victim of an adventurous spirit and incompetent companions”. Sad news indeed, and enough to make him wish to hear no more.

He frowned, his face still deep in his cowl, and made his way through the streets. He sought an outfitter to purchase some additional supplies for his yearly harvest tide journey. His ears had heard the gossip telling of abundance in the town, and seen signs the harvest would be the best yet. He’d also heard some talk of hunger in the Moonshaes, weather having troubled the farms there. This news had not surprised him, weather had kept his ship from the ports of Callidyrr and Kingsbay sending them to the Sword Coast, south, and north for gainful merchanting.

The news of hunger was however a concern him, so he starts a rumor that temple is going to send a grain shipment, as aid to the ffolk. If enough talk about it, support the idea, then it will become truth, he thinks to himself. When he gets to the outfitter, he purchases the perishables for his journey and a pack horse to carry the grain and beans sacks. Then he leaves a sizable donation for the Moonshaes relief effort with one of the faithful of the village. The purse left held many uncounted coins within, it had been lifted from the belongings of the Captain of the privateering ship Gretta’s Remorse which he escaped only a day ago. The coins better used to help, than to enrich a pirate..

His feet turned toward the road, and his mind once again began churning upon the thoughts that were unbidden, and pushed away so often while at sea. She is loved, expressed in the telling and the showing, so much that he would rather die than let her come to harm. She returned his affections, proof he could show to himself... but no one else. The only proof he might show another, the fact the noble woman did not punish him for defying her as some nobles might punish a vassal publicly oathed to serve. A piteous proof, her reputation was so valued to him that he never did so in public eye.

His feet knew the way, for the Tradeway had not changed since it had been his best companion years gone by. He followed it north, is mind becoming awash with the memories of the past, a past he had been denying for so many months as he played the role of the sailor. A role he became to fulfill his mission seeking information, the last request of him from her ladyship. Though the request was vague in words, it was full in it’s meaning to him. While his practiced step did not make much in the way of a sound, it was in all manner for him a plodding, a trudging. The cause deep in his mind, he knew the truth. She did not want him with her, so she could do what she felt she had to do without his interference.
****************

Victor wiped a tear from his cheek, remembering feeling so strongly a love for Horatio's mother that he would have sacrificed everything for her as well. His tear not however for remembrance of his beloved Evangeline, but for sorrow and guilt, at having blamed his son for his wife's sacrifice of her own life for his. Immense guilt for wishing the boy had died, not her, and punishing him for living. Once again, the weight of the penitence he must perform becomes clear to him. He wished once again that he could but whisper in his son's ear some fatherly advice, that if he had been a father to him, he would offer. "Forget the girl, she will end you."
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"Where morality is present, laws are unnecessary. Without morality, laws are unenforceable." -Anonymous

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Re: H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

Post by gonz.0 »

Part 1 - Mist and Shadow... Finale

Victor returned to his penance after a period of rest and contemplation. He stared into the silver mirror, his pen performing its duty as if not bid to do so by his mind or hand. His son had returned to the city of Baldur’s Gate and entered unnoticed. A year’s growth of his hair and beard, his clothing dirty, smelling of salt sea and sweat, he was just another sailor. He had left his packhorse and supplies tied outside the walls, and entered during the hours when no moon shone overhead.

Victor watched his son slip into the apartment building unseen, and enter the rooms of his city home long absent his presence, lavish by any style Victor had known in his own youth as a child of nobility. His son went about menial tasks of retrieving certain mundane supplies, but then Victor looked on in interest when his son sat to write a note. He listened to the thoughts as his son put them to words giving instructions to his house girl. Replace the pilfered stores in preparation for his occupation once again, listing the various items used without leave to indicate his knowledge of her indiscretions. Victor laughed out loud as he watched his son slip into the sleeping maid’s chamber to leave a note on the pillow next to her and then leave again without giving any other indication of his presence. He could imagine the thoughts that would go through the young woman's mind upon reading, and wished for a moment he could watch that interchanges and what would follow.

Instead, he watched his son make his way back out of the city without ever speaking to another soul. Return to the pack horse barely seen in the moonless hour of the night and be on his way to fulfill his self assigned duty. There was little to write of as his boy 'borrowed' a horse from a sleeping stable boy outside the brothel north of the city, and then traveled the road by night and day to Angla Vled. He negotiated for fresh root vegetables and for passage on a sail barge east to Hill’s Edge. His boy did not sleep until the trade vessel was under way on the Chionathar. The fact that the boy was unmolested on his journey thus far was quite possibly a miracle with as little attention he appeared to show his surroundings. In fact, Victor took note that his boy thought about nothing more than the next league at all, as if in precaution against someone prying his thoughts.

Victor found this part of the yearly ritual curious, but not interesting, as travel was never a fond experience for Victor in life. The fact that his boy showed more care for the horses than he did himself or the average person he encountered worried him though, because he had seen his son becoming more angry and disconnected since taking on his mission for that woman he called 'M'Lady' two years prior. His son left the barge at Hill’s Edge and crossed the river again to travel west into the Trielta Hills path. Only once he was out of sight of any other traveler did he break from the path to move roughly south through the duskwoods and shadetops using game trails for half of the night hours. His boy did not find his destination until he was certain he was not followed.

The small forest glade in which his son camped seemed entirely natural but well suited to safety for the horses with firm soil, and free grazing. Bordering was a flowing stream meeting a deeper slow moving branch not so far from the Chionathar River. Victor watched the sun rise on the glade, and after caring for the animals and sleeping a couple of hours, his son pulled back the vines from the oil cloth covered canoe. He inspected it for damage, treating it at any potential leaks. Since seeing him do this same thing a year earlier, Victor knew what to expect, but still found it a wonder that the boy had managed to keep such a place from being discovered even within the Reaching Wood. But he seemed to be adept at covering his tracks and was patient enough to ensure he was not being followed before he trusted enough to load his supplies into the small boat. Victor was suddenly alerted by movement not his son’s. Victor watched while his boy set off down the stream into the network of pools and streams that fed into the river, sure only for a moment to have seen a pair of centaurs watching from the deeper forest.

Even as before, Victor wondered on his son’s focus, always only on the next step, no farther. His thoughts did not wander to the destination, or more than the next pool or stream, and the turn he would take there. He was aware of the denizens of the woods, his agreement with them to protect the balance, a tenuous and guarded alliance to help defend those dwelling within.

A small time later after watching his son travel the complicated web of life giving water of the swampy forest, Victor saw what he knew he would. The silver mirror began to look as though seen through a greater distance, the viewing became more difficult. His boy had reached his destination, rowing upstream to a glade very similar to the one he had left the horses in. This glade appearing to be well tended. The image became more clouded but still he could feel what his son felt, and hear his thoughts, only catching glimpses as one does when viewing the moon through a clouded night. Victor imagined; ‘Perhaps, this is because I do not approve. Fathering a child with that elf blood was an abomination, and an insult, then making such sacrifices to see to their safety, security, and care though she would not have him with them was even more of an insult.’ As if to prove his thought, the image of the silver mirror went completely opaque for a time.

Listening to the elf maid begin an argument at his son’s arrival made him feel for his boy. He could feel his son’s affection for the elf, love even, though not the love one feels toward his wife, but still for family. He also felt his son’s real love blossom into life when he was shown to the little girl who greeted him with warm hugs. The little one caused him to collapse into a seated position and hold the child close for an hour or more as he listened to stories of the events he had missed in the child's life while entertaining her with small magics.

The image cleared in the silver mirror as Victor's heart opened, this was his granddaughter. He first caught a glimpse of a small girl with luminous blue eyes, pale skin, and shock white hair. It was the first time Victor had beheld the child Cassia, even though he had felt her through his son. His heart softened and found that he could forgive his son for the indiscretion with an elf after all, if a child as precious as this could be the result. She had her grandmother's eyes. Victor could hold no malicious thoughts for a child with the eyes of his Evangeline.

He scolded his boy, though Horatio never heard, for giving in to the elf's insistence that she raise their child in secret. He scolded him for spending the majority of his visit performing menial tasks and wasting valuable time with his child. Instead he was repairing the roof, finishing a cistern, shoring up a granary and loading the food stocks he had brought with him so they would not be predated upon by animals. He scolded his boy for gifting this woman with exotic and expensive wine, and spices for cooking, and more sugar than most families would see in a year. As Victor saw it, the elf was wholly unappreciative of all that his son had gone through to bring them these precious supplies. A woman whose only thanks were in words, or an embrace of only a light touch, and small acquiescence that though she would not let him stay, he would be welcomed back when he came to visit. But only for the sake of the child, for Cassia.

He wanted to be angry, he wanted to be bitter, he wanted his son to receive the thanks of a woman and what she could offer. The fact was though, while his boy was with the child he was more alive and hopeful than he had been the whole last year. As Victor saw in the last images of them through the cloudy silver mirror, his son paddled backwards down the stream so he could keep them in sight as long as he could. Before turning there was a vision of his granddaughter waving to her father, and her mother holding her. It was a difficult image to accept, and perhaps he felt he was imagining, but the beautiful white haired elf holding her daughter moved into a dappling of light, and her dusky skin seemed almost black, and her eyes red for just a moment.
**********
Victor returned to his work after what he thought was a few hours rest. It was however, nearly a tenday later. He saddened as the first visions showed how his son had transformed back into the weary sailor as he rode into the city of Waterdeep with an air of defeat. His year of growth of hair and beard hacked down to manageable length with only a sharp blade, not skill or art. He sold the horses to the stableman at a loss, and made his path to seedy tavern brothels not even bothering to look for a bathhouse after a tenday on the road. This sailor’s mood, demeanor and spirits had seemed to slip deep into a well of despair and anger. The brief lift in his spirits brought about by his child seemed only to raise the height from which he would fall.

Admittedly, Victor understood his boy being drawn to the dancers, and enjoyed the images himself. Victor inwardly cringed at the indifference with which the sailor treated the paid women, with increasingly little regard. He hoped that this sailor would return to the sea soon, because that was the only hope Victor saw him holding on to, returning to the Moonshae Isles and the woman he pined for now for two years. Over the years Victor had been coming to admire the boy as being so much better than he, but found himself near screaming to the image in the silver mirror a few days later, when after spending several days with several different dancers a palpable rage begin to rise in the boy.

Victor had tried to give little attention to his son’s entertainment day after day. The last in the series of entertainment, an above average comely girl with strawberry blonde hair caught his attention. Victor listened as the sailor spoke with the dancer, a talented if only mildly, and attractive woman whom he had taken to bed after being enticed by her dance. The sailor seemed to try to summon from the woman some value, some reason to think her better than she was, more than just a whore. His hopes only to be turned away with each inquiry. Given proof of the lack of value in the girl, the sailor's mind turned dark. Victor heard the dark temptations rising in the mind of the sailor. The sailor had relieved his loneliness or at least his physical desires with these paid women. But now, this last one, he could hear his son's thoughts as he was tempted to play out his more violent desires with her. To put on her, the rage and anger of years of frustrations with the woman he tried to love. Victor had never known his son to have such dark violent desires or intentions, and he feared for his son's sanity. Victor tried with all of his will, to push this sailor from such things, to not make the mistake that Victor had with his son. Victor willed for him to know, he was better than this.

Whether he was heard or not, he was relieved as he saw the sailor leave her bed, gather his things and leave that woman behind. The sailor left the tavern, left the district and went to find lodgings in the docks district, where such things were not so enticing. He found his ship, not still undergoing the keening as he thought. The Harpy was loading for a voyage. Victor watched the sailor, using the name Aich as he found the first mate and reported his presence, arranging to return to service for the voyage. The first mate belittled him for getting drunk in their last port of call and missing the ship, he docked his pay accordingly and sent him away giving him a few hours to report back to the ship. The sailor walked away, finding an open slip to look out upon the sea.

Victor saw the sea through the sailor’s eyes, felt and heard his thoughts as the sailor was standing on the dock, his mind drifting and attention not on the sea he looked upon. He sensed the nearness of the end of his mission, and what would be waiting for him. For the first time since leaving the Harpy’s Song in Athkatla, he allowed himself to look past the next step, to look to the future. He saw an end. He saw a chance to return to the ‘Lady’, longing to take her in his arms, to hear her voice, smell her hair. A chance to cease being Aich, and again be Horatio. His mind summoned the questions unbidden, did she receive his reports? Did she even want to? Did she send him away to be rid of him? Will she even be there when he returns? Which outcome would be better?, to know, or to always remember her fondly in ignorance. His confidence wavered, it was possible to book passage to the ‘Shaes without working as crew, he could give up this life now, give up Aich. But if he did so now, he could never return to it should that be the need. No, as much as he wished it, his honor held him to remain until released, Horatio would have to wait, but did she?

Victor hung his head, he wondered if this might not be the real penance, to have to watch his boy in pain and be unable to even speak to him. Another thought pained Victor in another way, just how much he wished he could get drunk and give up this torture.
**********
It was then the elf approached along the dock. He called out to Horatio, by name, loudly and twice. Victor cringed, as he had known his son had been using the name of Aich to build a legend as a sailor. He cringed again as he heard the inner voice of his son say clearly 'Aglaril you fool, you are going to get me killed', and then considered pushing the offending elf in plate armor right off the dock and into the Waterdhavian harbor.

The elf Aglaril was one of the last people his son had seen a little more than two years earlier when he had separated from his Lady and lover on this miserable mission. His son saw the advantage of getting some information before returning, and maneuvered the elf out of view of his crew to have a conversation in an out of the way drinking spot, in which he learned that the troubles of the islands had multiplied many fold, and the Lady Tha'is was missing. He was told, he was needed, his skills and effort needed in the isles. Horatio looked to his reflection in the glass he held, and saw only Aich. The future he had imagined shattered as did the reflection when he broke the glass in his grasp.

For once, Victor was in total agreement with his son in thought and feeling. 'The isles be damned, I will return, I will give my report, and learn what is the fate of my Lady, and then I am done. I am no hero, and if she is gone, I am not oathed to anyone, there is nothing left for me to do, nothing to prove.'
********************
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Re: H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

Post by gonz.0 »

Part II - The Bowman and the Arrow

Victor woke with a start, he had been having a dream. He was thinking about the journal he was writing for his son’s judgement. Something was not right, and he did not consciously know what it was. In his dream though, as he watched the scenes again, it struck him just what was wrong.

Victor had been practicing drawing down using the enchanted silver mirror the doom guide had provided for his work. He had spent much of the time lately viewing through his son’s eyes, hearing his thoughts and perceiving his world as his son did. He drew back to more of a perspective of a viewer when Aglaril had called his son’s name. He had heard it clearly, and had known the voice from earlier journaling, the peripheral view he thought he had seen, was of the blonde haired elf Victor had known of from years of his son’s association.

In his dreaming, Victor realized what had been wrong, and it worried him greatly. From the perspective of an outsider, he never heard Aglaril’s voice, and he never saw the elf. Even when they were in the tavern, drinking and discussing the isles, it was only ever his son’s perceptions of him that he recorded. Victor feared greatly for his son’s sanity, as visions, and discussions with old friends who are not present, is clearly a sign of madness.

For possibly the first time in the six years since he had been tasked with the penance of recording his son’s journal of judgement, the works with which he may just prove his worth to the gods and be freed from this city of the dead, Victor was in a hurry to return to his work. As he focused on his son to bring his image

As the fog on the mirror cleared, Aich the sailor was standing before Captain Verkan in the Captain’s cabin of the Harpy’s Song... Verkan was dressing him down, the half orc first officer was grinning at Aich from over the captain’s shoulder, Bosun standing beside the sailor. “Son, you was a green stick when you came on board, a liar, but with promise. Ye hardened and seasoned well, always a strange one, peckish, hardly sleepin’. Many a sailor has a love of the water, many have reason to get lost on the ocean as you seem to, and heavy drinking can take both when not at sea. If ye did not have the best night eyes I’ve seen in the lookout, I would’ve left you in you in Waterdeep. You got drunk and missed our sailing from Athkatla, I commend your effort to find us again. But son showin’ up after bein’ given ‘n hours leave to gather your things, seeming as if you had fallen into the grog barrel and drank your way clear... ‘tis unacceptable. I need my sailors clear and sharp, weather around the ‘shaes been unpredictable. We got 3, maybe 4 days in dock Caer Callidyrr after we arrive. You have to get yourself right, or don’t bother returning. I’ll not hold your berth past the third day mid-watch.”

Aich nodded somberly, only uttering ‘Aye Captain’ before Bosun pulled him away, giving him a cuff to the head and assigning him scut work, which the sailor did without complaint for the remainder of the watch. Try as he might, Victor could not seem to hear any thoughts from his son beyond the occasional curse or insult left unsaid to himself, or the other sailors who made the work more difficult as their own form of punishment.

Late in the night, and on high tide, the Harpy’s Song made port of Caer Callidyrr. Aich was fast aware of the arrival, and was somewhat eager to leave the ship. All the more reason the first mate made him stay until all who were going ashore had crossed onto the docks. Victor was well aware this was the kind of situation a man under another’s command sometimes had to suffer. He also knew, it was likely that this would be the last time his son was on this wretched ship, rid of the crew once he reported to his Lady.

Aich made is good-byes to crew he had become friendly with in this sailors life, including taking the time to thank Captain Verkan for the work. Keeping in persona, Aich joined crew at the twisted sail, even buying a round for crew taking advantage of the libation and distractions of the women available for hire. Aich did not take time with them, however, after paying for drinks, he was seen drinking himself into a stupor on a black glass bottle of brandy by the fire. His crew mates had seen before his preferred drink, and his sea bag by his side, most did not expect to see him aboard when the made sail again.

Victor worried as he watched his son seem to drink himself to sleep, but when he pressed further to the sense of the sailors mind, he was surprised to sense full clarity, no drink upon his mind. The sailor was biding his time till everyone was distracted enough for him to disappear. In the hour of the wolf, when not one had a thought for Aich still in mind, Aich the sailor and his sea bag disappeared from the twisted sail. Either through skill of stealth and timing or through magic, he was unnoticed in his presence, or lack of it. None saw him go or could remember when he left. Victor knew though, that was as his son had intended.

In the night Aich the sailor made his way through the city, casual observers would see him for a moment only, the guards did not take notice of him either as he entered the Castle Quarter. Victor could sense one thought over all the smaller images of his sons careful movements. His son’s mind was focused upon returning to his Lady, and shedding the guise of Aich the sailor for good. Despite the nagging and growing sense of dread as the words the elf Aglaril had spoken to him foretold, he had remained hopeful that he was moments from her arms.

That dread however, became the weight of the hull of the Harpy upon his heart when the sailor reached the city home of Lady, only to find it shuttered. No sign of life was to be seen. Disbelieving what his eyes clearly saw, and what he was told, for such his heart could not bear,.He finessed the lock to make his way inside. Inside,he found two years of dust to greet him, not a heath fire and loving embrace of a woman he had longed for every night since leaving by her command. The world seemed to cave in upon him as he remembered Aglaril telling him she had been gone as long as Aich had been at sea, and he could no longer deny it as truth.

Still some glimmer of hope remained, for an ennobled Lady of the isles could not disappear completely. Perhaps she had been granted or claimed lands to which she had taken to, and would be waiting still. Aich began his transformation, rough cutting his straggling hair closer and shaving his beard, he cleaned himself using a magical trinket so that he no longer felt as a salted cod to his own touch. Then he laid down to a troubled sleep upon the Lady’s own bed, all without ever lighting a candle. Victor watched over his son in his sleep, and shared his dreams.
**********
Horatio’s sleep was troubled, for unlike his conscious mind, his subconscious could face the truth, and would force him to remember it. Horatio, in his guise of Aich the sailor was a dispassionate man, calm and calculating, selfish, and greedy. He was always watchful, looking for opportunity and threats. He did not think of the things of the past but pleasant memories and promises of the future. He now remembered in his dreams, not only of the nights of shared passion, but of the mornings when the Lady would turn cold and distant. Remembering her many pleas for him to find another, to not pin his hopes on her for she would surely disappoint. He remembered how she had changed so suddenly from welcoming him to pushing him away after being given some sour news. Finally, he remembered the news which he had hidden from himself during his mission, because it had torn from him focus needed for success. He remembered she had told him that the devil they had vexed sought revenge. Even if it had no claim upon her soul, it wished to take her life.

Horatio woke with a start. With knowledge of his dreams, he knew this would not be a good day. Dressed no more as the sailor, Victor’s boy performed for him in the silver mirror exercise after exercise of futility. Every source of information short of those within the keep held no news of his Lady but of a sudden disappearance more than two years earlier. Every person giving this answer was as another shovel full of dirt burying hope a little deeper.

Eventually, the subject of Victors attention dared returned to the docks and tested his transformation from Aich the sailor to ser Horatio the bowman. He passed a pair of former crew mates, his speech, his shorn appearance, his stance and even his gate changed from his persona as a sailor, neither cast him a second glance. The mistress within the scrollmaster’s house however, she did recognize him. She was of advancing years but still as sharp of mind and eye as ever. She greeted him by name, much to Victor’s surprise. Horatio had used only her title, not seeking employment but to see if she holds a message for him. There were correspondences, but none from her Ladyship. Victor felt for his boy, he could not tell from outward appearance, but pushing in, he could feel the palpable despair caused by the lack of any word.

“When was correspondence intended for the Lady Thais last picked up?” Horatio inquired. “I had some rather important letters sent I need to know if they were received.” She apologized to inform him that messages remain from more than two years previous, with no instructions to forward or transfer them to anyone. Victor half expected his son to lash out in frustration, he would have. Instead, he saw his son pay the holding fees and collect his own documents, most from business dealings in Baldur’s Gate, though he went through each with hope of a coded message.

Victor rubbed his face, and felt much the same as his son, as Horatio turned back toward the castle quarter, his course set upon the dance hall with the intention to drink himself into oblivion.

To be continued...
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Re: H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

Post by gonz.0 »

Part II - The Bowman and the Arrow continued

Victor took a break to rest as his silver mirror turned to a fog along with the mind of his son as he drank himself into a cloud while surrounding himself with music and lovely dancers to distract himself. As he walked back to his cell, he thought about what he had seen in the years before. Victor enjoyed when his son went into the dance hall in Caer Callidyrr. It was the type of place that catered to the higher strata of clientele’, despite what his son thought of himself, he was able to present himself as worthy. The decorations were more plush and fine, as were the dancers. The drink was of a higher quality as well. Victor envied that his son could afford, and be welcomed in such a place. He remembered spending evenings in the Lucky Sword when efforts of the day would see them flush with coin, but this was not more than a few nights a month for a few good years. He knew though that his son was well enough known in this establishment that he had been missed in the many months he was away. Victor realized there was jealousy rising in him, and took a walk longer through the near colorless paths the long way to his cell.

After his period of rest, Victor returned to his table, and as he prepared his pen and looked into the silver mirror, he saw his son sitting once again with his back to the musicians as they played, the two most lovely dancers within his view, as was the bar, privacy lounge entrance as well as the entrance to the establishment. He was situated so that only the musicians were at his back. Such was the habit of a man who was always aware of what happens around him, always on watch. What he saw of his son though was someone who seemed obvious, not seeming to see beyond the bottle on the table before him. He was about to push in to gain more of a feeling, as he had learned his son had a habit of putting on this facade to go unnoticed. It was then he noticed a dangerous looking sailor approach and confront his boy.

“Been a long time” she said to him in high alzhedo. Her accent was one that was a muddled coloring of sailing merchants and those taught to speak with eloquence and diction. With a thought, Victor adjusted the view to get a look at the sailor better. She was of medium height, with a wiry athletic build and not difficult to find attractive but for her slightly bedraggled look of having been at sea too long. Looking closer, Victor noticed the many scars beneath the long dark hair. He kept being drawn back to her eyes though, so familiar, dangerous but lovely. Then he noticed the tattoos. The thorass script flowed across most of the visible skin, and it was what was written there, calishite poetry. Victor recognized her.

Answering her in an impeccable Athkatlan accent the bowman Horatio, Victor’s son, said in a welcoming tone, “Greetings Amira”.He then reached into his magic traveling bag and pulled out an expensive bottle of wine, unopened, opened it and took a sip before handing it to her. She smiled knowing the ritual between them as it was one of trust. She took a seat next to him and then enjoyed the entertainment and small talk for several hours as they caught up. Amira had not been seen by him in nearly three years, but Horatio counted her among his dearest friends. At some point she excused herself and went below to bath, but returned freshened, and looking for companionship. She had an eye toward the half elf they had been seated before but she noted that Horatio preferred her, so she propositioned the blonde human and disappeared to the rooms below with her.

The visit seemed to improve Victor’s son’s mood. Concentrating on him, Victor picked up the surface thoughts and learned that Horatio was sincerely grateful that his friend was still among the living. He was surprised to find his son’s thoughts instead of focused on the lithe and sultry movements of the half elf before him, had wandered to the young girl he had left in charge of his home in Baldur’s Gate. Elsa would be about fifteen now, the orphaned girl he had given a home and the job of keeping the apartments clean. He thought to surprise note he had left her and considered it was probably an unkind gesture. He would have to send her another, to inquire as to her condition and learning. He had been paying her a stipend, very generous, and insisting that she attend lessons at the temple to provide her at least basic education. He wondered if she would, as he had, embrace it and expand her horizons beyond just marriage and child rearing.

When the half elf took her rest for the night, Horatio again secreted himself into the Lady’s city residence. He spent long hours, and more than a tenday with this pattern, He had quickly decided that he would not take to the seas again. He had no great love for the sea as some did, and was not in great need of work either. Horatio was a simple man who needed little in the way of comforts, though he enjoyed them he knew how to live without them. Victor knew, even though his son did not dwell on the fact that his son had son had amassed a significant fortune in the hopes of providing well for the dancer he had fallen in love with. The Lady, whom he served was not always such. When they had first met, she was a homeless wretch not unlike him. Though he had not seen this, he had seen the dancer as a lady from the outset, a priceless treasure for whom he was not worthy.

Victor was saddened by how often his son’s musings would dwell on the Lady. Their relationship had been tumultuous and heart wrenching to watch. Victor had watched his son placing this incredible and yet broken women on a pedestal so high he would never be able to reach her. He tried to make her happy in the most tragic of attempts, reuniting her with those she claimed to have loved only to be turned away them, crushing his spirit along with hers for having caused her pain instead of raising her up. Victor had been jealous of the closeness and desired her himself if he was honest, but was hopeful for his son’s future because he could see what Horatio did not.

The dancer had been in love with his son from early on. Even though she was a force of personality and talent rarely seen in mortal women, she was not one with a self confidence and ability to believe she was worthy of all that she could have. Many times Victor had believed that if one of them would just stop this dance around their desires the two could have a future and happiness. Both however, would sacrifice for the other, believing they were not worthy... at least that is what it looked like to Victor.

During Horatio’s long hours of self destructive musings, he would focus on the past dealings with her, but still came back to the chance meeting about two and a half years ago. Victor’s son had all but given up hope of ever seeing the dancer, his Lady, again. She had left him after a tragic error in judgement on his part. It seemed to Victor that she had done so hurt, and with not only a little irrational jealousy and anger. After more than a year and a half, she had been seen again, transformed into a new woman it would seem, and one without any memory of Horatio. To Victor this seemed like an affectation intended to torture Horatio for his previous errors, but even as such, just knowing that she was alive and well was a buoy to the spirits of his son who spent the next months wooing the dancer, now the Lady. Moderately successful, his boy had won at least the affections of the Lady in private, even if in public he had to one again assume the role of protector and guard rather than be seen as her mate.

Victor had long ago thought this woman was going to get his son killed. He was too willing to sacrifice himself for her. To his mind, it was not a healthy fixation, and though the physical aspects were apparently very satisfying, Victor held belief that such was available from any number of women. He wished with all of his heart that his boy would find a nice girl and settle down rather than following this tragic goddess in human form to his doom. Now she had sent him away two years ago on a mission that would put him on a ship and away from her, Victor held hope from that day that would be the last time his son would see her. He did not hope for the turmoil that he was watching his son endure as he would come to the realization that she was gone. But perhaps it was necessary?

While enjoying the music one day, or pretending to as Horatio the bowman drank himself into a more dull state where he would not have to feel, he was visited by an old face from his past. Victor was focused in on the musings of his son when a face came unbidden from memory. Before the Harpy's Song made dock in the port of the capital, they had made a delivery to the port of Caer Corwell. Aich had been tasked to row in the crates and barrels in a longboat to avoid port fees. Having unloaded and preparing to row back out he was greeted by a boy that had been last seen left with his parents in the heartlands. Seeing him brought to mind memory of when Horatio and the Lady had traveled back to the Moonshaes for the Green Grass festival and to concrete her claim on her lands by beginning construction. That had gone very wrong, as she had lost her lands to a neighboring Lord, and was at risk of losing her title as well. This is what caused his son to declare himself her bannerman in the first place. Seeing the lad Toby again brought back the pain to the surface that had since taken a past tenday of drinking to endure. Because of this sudden flare of pain, the then sailor Aich had almost decided to just keep sailing and go into oblivion. He was not receptive to the entreatments for assistance that Toby attempted to ask. They fell on deaf ears. Aglaril had said the same things, which made Victor wonder if Toby was as much a specter of imagination on the docks as the elf had been back in Waterdeep Since he did not see him either at the time of their meeting, Victor was unsure..

The next morning, word came to him that the Harpy’s Song would be porting again in a few days after having made rounds to Gwyneth and other island ports, and Aich was being given one last chance to claim his berth before they sailed for Luskan. It was welcomed news, though Horatio had been considering other options such as returning to the Sword Coast and seriously thinking to venture to Thay in search of the Lady. his inquiries had led to claims that she had left no trail. His belief was that the only way she could so completely disappear was with her patron’s assistance. A patron whom he knew coveted her enough to capture and keep her if she made that possible.

Days later, days of heavy drinking and a pattern of visiting the dance hall and sleeping in an empty house, Victor saw a change in his son’s demeanor. He focused the mirror to feelings and thoughts again, even though he found it painful to see from his son’s eyes as he could feel the near constant pain he was in, see the ghosts that haunt him as well as memories of the nightmares that have plagued him for years. It was then he saw the arrival of the elf Aglaril and another friend from Horatio’s past, both of whom brought with them the painful memories of other friends lost, their faces and forms seen at the table before him long enough to cause pangs of guilt and pain. Victor believed them to be specters of a drunken mind, but that they may still give insight so he did not look away..

To be continued...
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Re: H. Allengarde - A book of Decisions; For Judgement - (18+)

Post by gonz.0 »

Part II - The Bowman and the Arrow concluded

While not seen by Victor in the normal perspective shown by the mirror, when focusing upon his son’s point of view, he could see and hear the new arrivals. The white haired mulhorandi woman of conservative dress and manners was speaking with the blonde elf he recognized as Aglaril about Horatio, they had come to find him and were seen and heard by him before their eyes adjusted to the more dim lighting and spotted him. Though his son knew this, he remained in front of the musicians and still half watching the lithe half elf present her allure for the pleasure of the patrons.

As they moved closer, Victor could make out a cup of steaming liquid in her hand, and they moved through the room careful not to disturb anyone. In fact, it seemed that no one took notice to them at all, not even Horatio appeared to outwardly. As she spoke loud enough to be heard, Victor recognized the woman at last, an old friend of his sons by the name of Arizma Zul, one of the kind he had warned his son about. The kind that would bring him to a bad end, inspiring loyalty and a willingness to put himself to harm on their behalf.

“... seeing him? Might he be dancing?” Arizma said to Aglaril earnestly, and loud enough to be heard over the din of the voices and music.

“Unless he's decided on a change of profession and joined the staff here, I... ah, there he is.” Aglaril responded, and pointed across the room to where Horatio leaned in a somewhat relaxed pose with a lovely dark haired half elf in a mask dancing upon the stage above him, and an array of open or perhaps empty wine or liquor bottles on the table in front of him. Arizma followed his gesture, and started across the room. She eyed the bottles, and seemed to question the wisdom of approaching him in this place. A dance hall with scantily clad dancers of both sexes, loud music, drink, and many other sensual diversions was hardly a place for which she had been like to be found or frequent. Though it was something she might expect of Aglaril and Horatio. The look on her face said as much and resigned herself to having their meeting here.

Aglaril followed her, a wine cup in his own hand, and arrived at the low table alongside her. He looked at his old companion, the bowman Horatio, but could not help but be drawn to looking at the dancer as well. Horatio, not moving from his relaxed pose looked up at the elf and nodded to him, then turning his gaze to the woman, a small smile actually grew on his lips. His voice was clear and words without even a slight slur, “It’s been an age, Miss.” Horatio said addressing Arizma.

The new arrivals exchanged looks and Aglaril commented, “Well, he hasn't drunk himself into a stupor yet it seems, if he recognizes you. So far so good.” He gave her a reserved smile. Considering how chilly their last meeting had been, and how heated their last few before that had been, it was a wonder that Aglaril had expected a warm reception. Aglaril suggested with a glance that she take the lead, which she did by giving her old friend a warm smile.

Horatio looked up at her, and with a charming smile and a warmth in his voice he said to Arizma, “Come now.. how could I forget such a lovely lady.” Then to Aglaril he said “You on the other hand...” and made a dismissive gesture, “In a heartbeat.” Returning his attention to his white haired friend he gave her traditional greeting in a language that Victor did not know, and if he had not been listening to his son’s thoughts would not have known was a greeting. “Felhvusel”, he said eliciting a glowing smile from her, then in the common speech he invited them to join them with worth and gesture. “Sit... unless you are not planning to stay.”

Zuo huux yu pel tuicw felhh bun zuonlelhb” she said, but from her voice it sounded like a song.

Aglaril was looking offended, perhaps only in a mock offense, and interrupted their conversation, as if to remind them he did not speak the language. “Hmph. That's the second time today. Can it be my hair is more unkempt than usual?” He ran a hand through his hair as if for punctuation. Not giving him mind, Arizma glanced at the dancer, then took a seat on a pillow to make herself comfortable as she could in this place and being careful to not spill her tea. She then took a quick count of the bottles.

Attempting to maintain the humorous sparing they had developed, Horatio consoled the elven swordsman Aglaril, “Do not worry, it's not your hair.. it's the smell.” He laughed, albeit a little forced.

Aglaril smoothed out his cloak, and sitting with a crisp nod, seeming to be amused by the banter. “Good, as long as it's not the hair.” Sensing the tension lessening, Arizma let out a light laugh. The dancer glanced down to the group just then and smiled.

“I got your message when the Harpy's Song made port yesterday.”

Aglaril nodded, “I thought you would figure it was me. I’m glad you are here.” Horatio’s response was unspoken, but rather loudly Victor heard him think, ‘where else would I be you fool.’ Victor sensed that the animosity was still quite present in his son for this elf. Considering their past, he understood it. It may have been that Arizma felt it as well, for she then worried herself with drinking her tea and watching musicians for a spell before returning her gaze to Horatio. Meanwhile, Aglaril continued to explain, “Arizma just returned from the Silver Marches apparently, but she has been involved with the events impacting these isles for some time, more recently than I.” He glanced about as if to tell if someone was listening to their conversation.

Horatio looked to Arizma, noticing her lack of comfort and asked “Is there someplace better suited to meet up? After all, the entertainment is distracting for the elf... can't keep his eyes from the lovely on stage here. And I've already had my bath and rest.”

Aglaril cut in with a dry chuckle “We may want to relocate to a different location to discuss details eventually, but for now, I thought it'd be good for the two of you to get reacquainted.”

Arizma raised her voice above the din, her face serious and concerned, “How have you been, Horatio?”

“As the seas... as the seas.” He looked to her and his eyes softened, “I am sorry we have not taken time for so long. I still remember and mourn the loss of Pen, as I am sure you do much as well.” Victor was reminded now of why he remembered Arizma as one who would get his son killed. Penrose Hawk had been a friend to them both, and had become her lover. The last time Arizma had spoken with Horatio, they were still together. Two other members of the Three Rivers company had informed him some months later of Pen’s tragic death. The mere mention of her former love was enough to stop her in mid motion of bringing her cup to her lips.

She glanced down into her tea, and with an almost imperceptible nod she says quietly, “I think of him most every day.” She closed her eyes briefly to steel herself and then opens them looking back to Horatio. “You have... have been away as well?” She paused, finishing her thought which had been shattered by thoughts of her love. “On the seas, I am presuming?

Aglaril during this exchange had been keeping an eye to the musicians more than the dancers, as if he was seeking to note if someone was paying more attention to their group than they should. But this last, with the tremble in her voice caused Aglaril to look to Arizma and study her face silently for a while, before lowering his gaze briefly in unspoken acknowledgement.

With a nod Horatio responded, “An accurate assumption.” Curt, and to the point, what was unsaid he thought would say more than what could be said, to them both.

Pausing to sip at her tea Arizma then asked him, “Have your travels been taking you anywhere of interest?”

Horatio sensed that the small talk was just out of courtesy, and things had grown uncomfortable, “The Harpy is a merchantmen... a lot of ports... some of more interest than others. Though, when I was able, and in a local port, message was sent to m'Lady... and none were received. The scroll mistress still had them all when I arrived in port.” With his eyes on Aglaril he said this, as he was speaking to ensure he knew this, and would not trouble him with further questions on it later.

“The Harpy... her Captain must be an interesting character.” Aglaril says glancing about again cautiously.

“How long have you now been back in port?” Arizma asks, perhaps trying to redirect as Aglaril fetches a journal from his satchel.

Horatio debated telling them that he had been drinking himself into oblivion to avoid the nightmares and the truth of his situation for more than a tenday. He debated telling them of all of the investigations and questioning he had been making on the whereabouts of her Ladyship Tha’is. He debated telling them of the despair of being left at sea on her behalf risking his life only to find that his reports would go into a dusty bin and never cared if they arrived or not. He debated lying to them, but instead settled on a half truth. Nothing spoken falsely, but just incomplete, let them assume as they may. After all, such tactics had served him well for many years. “The Harpy made port yesterday morning... and I've not decided though if I am to ship out with her when she leaves tomorrow or next day, as of yet.”

Aglaril quipped “The captain gives you a certain amount of freedom it seems.” He looked up briefly, then nodded to Arizma.

Arizma chose then to open the dialog which was the true purpose of this meeting. It was her intent to ask Horatio to help them. It seemed to Victor that Aglaril had obviously informed her to the fact that Horatio had all but snubbed him, only agreeing to speak at a later time not pledge himself. “Unless Toby and Balkr have managed to solve the present problems, I am thinking your skills might very well be needed here.” Not much of an entreaty Victor thought, more of a statement of fact. Both Victor and Horatio noticed just then, that it seemed the dancer was paying more attention than before. Victor worried for this, would she call the guards out of fear for her safety with his son holding a conversation with no one in a public space? Would she think he had gone mad?

“I've managed precious few tidbits of information since my return. There is good news, but, it is far from over.” Aglaril prefaced, then continued with Arizma’s attention, while Horatio feigned it, his attention was on the dancer’s eyes. “I don't suppose either of you have had a chance to gather recent rumors about the isles that hint at strange weather patterns, the condition of the Queen and her family, general doomsday scenarios for the isles or all of Faerun, or such? Or just simply... signs of Toby?”

Horatio began to answer, “I ran into Toby briefly, we sailed...” he thought about how much to say of the meeting, “we sailed about the isle and a package was rowed into Corwell. I saw Toby on the docks but we only spoke a moment before I dropped my cargo at the coster and rowed back out so we could make port here.”

The dancer spoke to them, “Excuse me Sir... Toby the blonde one with glasses yes ?” Well, now nothing competed with her for the attention of all four of them, Horatio, Arizma, Aglaril and Victor, for there was no question now that she was listening to what was being said.

Horatio had been looking at Aglaril as he spoke, but at her question he raised a brow, and turned toward her to ask directly “You know ser Toby Menzer miss?” She looked to the space Horatio had been speaking to, Victor thought he saw condescension in her eyes as if to humor her patron who had been tipping her well for the last tenday.

Aglaril answered for her “Toby used to frequent this establishment often enough, I suppose. Yes," he nodded to the dancer. "I believe we're speaking of the same man.” Arizma nodded agreement with Aglaril’s statement.

Undaunted, or perhaps not hearing the specter’s explanation, the dancer explained. “He has not been in much of late. No not since Belle... disappeared... he promised to find her... but... he has not I assume.” She shrugged

Now curious, both in wishing to gain more information and in listening to the voice of someone who remained voiceless for a tenday as far as he was concerned, “Miss? do you refer to the hin who sometimes danced here years back?” He was honestly concerned, for he had known a hin dancer from this city during his time in the Gem, she went by Izzy, but he learned later that she was sometimes called Belle by friends.

Arizma furrowed her brow, and Aglaril offered “Bell, that name... she was a dancer here once I think.”

“One with red hair, I am presuming?” Arizma asked.

The dancer nodded to them, “The little red headed hin, Toby took a fancy to her for a time.”

“Not surprising” Aglaril interjected. Victor noticed a revulsion rising in his son’s mind. The hin dancer he had known was talented, and indeed had a dark red hair. She had also made it well known how much she was disgusted by the idea that some of her patrons would ask her to do more than dance, and even more so when they were not hin. She would never have accepted a human lover. Horatio wondered what had befallen his little friend.

The dancer adjusted her mask slightly as she continued, “But she told me one night that she was taking a private dancing contract with someone. She said it would make her enough coin to get her out of here.” She sighed, “She never returned after going out to meet with them.”

Horatio mused about some information he learned while investigating the pirate as a sailor, “Preference for red hair... is common to Toby and ... some I encountered on the seas.”

Aglaril quipped “Preference for a different quality is what came to my mind, but regardless..” He looked back to the dancer and rubbed his chin in thought.

Arizma gravely added “We had learned there are slavers at work who were diverting redheads to a particular client. A particular drow client.” This drew a sharp glance from Aglaril. Horatio though had decided that this had gone on long enough, if his guests were going to continue this line of conversation he would have the dancer otherwise occupied so that she would not be privy to things that might get her into danger.
“Miss,” he used all the charm he had within him to gain her full attention. “do you not enjoy what you are doing? dancing as a spiritual thing?”

Her attention was his as she focused on him and smiled at him, “I love dancing but many who come through here dance for the coin they get on the stage... and behind the doors. Belle was one such. She did love to dance and was very good at it.” The half elven dancer continued, “But she dreamed of having her own home getting married and having children someday, Toby gave her a lot of coin toward that goal.”

Aside to Arizma, Aglaril said “A drow... this is news to me. I'm all ears.” Horatio made a mental note to remind him he said that later, and rib him about the comment when time allowed.

Nodding to the dancer, Horatio continued to try to keep her attention from the conversation the others are having. "I am pleased to hear of your status.. is there one here who is only doing what she must, and wishes to 'get out' of the profession? Now?"

Motioning over toward the blonde human between herself and the bar, the dancer explained. “Goldie has nowhere to go but here She dances because she has to to live...”

Following her direction, they took note of the dancer. Aglaril glanced at her, then looked to the other as if to ask a question, but Horatio promptly stood and walked over to the 'blonde', removed the bulk of the pay he has accumulated on the sea travel, and placed the pouch of platinum coins into her hand. He silently nodded to her, and then returned to have a seat, taking a bottle from the table and a good drink from it. Not to be outdone, Aglaril went over to talk to the blonde human dancer as well, as Horatio returned to conversation with the half elven dancer.

The blonde human exclaimed in surprise as she realized what had just transpired, shouting after him her gratitude. Horatio continued his thought he himself had interrupted with his actions, gesticulating with a bottle in hand, “Such things should be a matter of the heart and soul, and not desperation... you are talented miss.. but I didn't get your name.” He asked the half elven dancer somewhat nonchalantly..

With a smile of curiosity, and appreciation for the kindness done for someone in need so close to her, she looked at him. Brightly the half elf said “Call me Arrow.”
The real Gonz.0
"Where morality is present, laws are unnecessary. Without morality, laws are unenforceable." -Anonymous

Horatio
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