Chapter 1 - Fire
To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:
The Child we are calling Veil – an alias strong with symbology, I’m sure; give yourself a pat on the back whoever thought of it – has shown little change in the past month. She continues to spend most of her time climbing on top of anything she can or occasionally running circles through Candlekeep when brought outside. Though she has yet to overtly show any emotion, I believe she enjoys these activities, and if I were to speculate I think they may be a celebration of the freedom she was denied when in the care of the priesthood of the dead one. I am no psychologist, however, as a few of you are so fond of reminding me.
She still reacts little to being spoken to, barely acknowledging the presence of others at all, other than as another thing to climb on top of – much to the consternation of some and amusement of many. It is of course worrisome if she never improves, but for now I believe she is managing remarkably well for a child raised as she was by priests of the dead one.
She has yet to begin breathing fire or emit paralyzing rays from her eyes, so Galvarey may relax for now. Rest assured I will notify you as soon as such phenomenon occur.
Sincerely,
Gorion
--
"I’m gonna miss you," Imoen sniffled, tears running down her cheeks as she said goodbye to her best friend and sister, looking like she could barely contain the desire to break down and sob.
Mijandra suspected her own acting was not nearly as good. She knew full well Imoen had every intention of following them, and it was only with great effort that she kept herself from grinning, let alone managed to look particularly sad. "I’ll miss you, too," she choked out.
"Now now, Imoen, there’s no need for that. Why, Mijandra here hardly seems upset at all," Gorion said. "I’m sure you’ll see each other again quite soon, hmm?" He’s on to us.
"Really?" Imoen asked, continuing the act as she turned wet eyes towards him. Mijandra, however, could not hide her grin any longer.
"Really," Gorion said simply, without a twitch of the mouth or twinkle in the eye to give away he knew anything. It seemed Mijandra was the only bad actor between the three of them.
"Why ya gotta go, anyway?" Imoen asked genuinely.
"Someone did try to kill me, Im," Mijandra answered. Gorion’s hand tightening slightly on her shoulder told her that wasn’t the answer he would have given. Which was exactly why she answered first. Gorion would have given Imoen the same evasive answers he’d been feeding Mijandra, and Mijandra was getting a little tired of them.
Reminded of the assassination attempt, Imoen’s face became worried, flickering briefly with determination. She was all the more certain to follow them now. Silly girl can’t learn to stay out of trouble, Mijandra sighed mentally. Mijandra was grateful, though. She knew she wouldn’t survive long without Imoen’s company. Gorion probably knew it, too.
"Not to worry, Imoen, Mijandra will be safe. Though the sooner we leave the better," Gorion said.
"She better be safe, or you’ll answer to me," Imoen scowled at Gorion, before cracking a grin and turning to Mijandra, the sobbing farewell act completely forgotten. "Love ya, sis. See ya soon," she said, giving her sister a kiss.
"I love you, too, Im," Mijandra answered before turning and walking to the gates of Candlekeep behind her foster father.
--
"Mijandra, we are in an ambush."
Sword and dagger filled Mijandra’s hands in an instant. She mentally cursed herself as her eyes darted over the surrounding forest. She was an elf and an aspiring rogue. Seasoned adventurer that he may be, it was unpleasantly humbling that Gorion had detected an ambush, in the dark no less, before she did.
"I know you are there, show yourselves!" Gorion called into the forest. Furiously scanning the forest as she was, Mijandra spotted them as soon as they started moving.
Fire. His eyes were fire. They drew her in almost immediately. She had only the barest moment to observe two ogres and grotesque armor before all she could see, all she could sense at all, were his eyes.
She felt them pulling. Pulling her into his skull, where the fire burned all the hotter, where it engulfed her. Engulfed her and called to her. Called to her in whispers and song.
Distantly she noticed his eyes turn away, to focus on her foster father. They began speaking. She could hear them, but could not focus well enough to comprehend their words. She could still feel his eyes. The memory of them continued to call to her.
And she felt something inside her answer.
She shut her eyes, not expecting it to help, wishing she could shut her ears as well. To her surprise his fiery eyes disappeared in the darkness behind her eyelids, but the whispers continued, grew louder. Whispers inside her now. They beckoned her to open her eyes again. When she did his eyes did not return, but neither did her vision.
She saw darkness all around her. Darkness greater than any she had ever known, yet even in it there were shades. Shades in the shape of trees, and grass, and leaves, and ogres. Flecks of red moved through the darkness, seeming to concentrate where the shadows were lightest. But more than flecks covered the shape of the man with eyes of fire.
Like a second armor, like a lover, the red encased him, embraced him. More than mere color, the red covering him took on substance. A pulsing, living mass of veined red crystal. It was beautiful.
Gorion’s voice cut through her fascination. "Run daughter, get out of here!"
She did. She ran. She ran as fast as she could. Ran from the eyes of fire. Tried to run from the whispers echoing in her mind. Tried to run from the black and the red, and the white that was now ground and sky. Barely dodging trees and branches, almost jumping from the icy sensation of stepping into a puddle, indistinguishable to her sight from the dry ground around it.
She fell hard onto her shoulder when her keen ears picked up the gurgling scream of a dying ogre. But it was not the scream her ears heard that made her fall, but the scream that tore through her mind along with it. She desperately pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, only to fall again as another ogre died and another scream stabbed at her.
She pulled herself up once more, and this time managed to start running again. And keep running. She listened to the pounding of her feet, gained comfort from it, comfort from the normality of hearing to counter the madness in her sight. As she counted the fortieth footfall colors began to return and the whispers fade. Joy filled her at the thought that everything was returning to normal.
Her joy vanished as another death stabbed through her, and she blacked out completely before hitting the ground.
--
"Feldurking mage." Sarevok held his side as he limped away from the body of Gorion. "I’ve got to find some magic resistance," he grumbled as he pulled himself onto a horse. He was in no condition now to go chasing through the woods after some spry elven tart. He grudgingly guided the horse onto the road going east and began thinking of who he would take out his frustration on.
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