LOST TRAILS: Epilogue

[ewancummins]

GUIDELINES

One post per PC, please.

It should occur in the same tail end of autumn or later, sometime in the winter.

Don't move the PC to a different world. Different part of Faerun is just fine.

No need to stay near other PCs, unless you want to.

Have fun.

[Wolfglide of the Fraternity]

In a dormitory room at the Black Altar, Klokulf Blix sits at a desk with two books open before him. On his left is one of his journals, pages filled with passages of Draconic nonsense. His former superiors knew how to play his little word game, but they are worlds away now. Translation for his current superiors is in order. Phoneme by phoneme, he writes rough Vaasi equivalents into the second book.

A wail from the periphery of the room breaks his concentration. The child is his responsibility at this time, with Alwina away at the lessons he arranged. He had been reticent to have her taught some of Bane’s doctrine, worried that her opinion of him might suffer, but still he asked her to learn of the Black Lord for the sake of the child’s upbringing.

He closes his work and goes to the infant, lifting her out of the simple, woven bassinet. She isn’t soiled or hungry, so he just holds her against his shoulder and begins to pace the room. The motion is clearly not sufficient, so he begins to recite a poem, Ansgar’s Fare imod den Aften. The little girl responds well, slowly becoming quiet.

With no warning, the door to the hall swings open, admitting Theophilus. “Master!” he says, “I—”

“Quiet!” the priest hisses. They stand still for a tense moment, but the baby does not start crying again. Klokulf’s eyes fix on a roll of parchment his slave carries. “When I told you to deliver my proposal to the High Doom, did it cross your mind that you shouldn’t still have it when you return?”

Theophilus’ eyes drop to the floor, and he takes a step back. “I am sorry, Master, but one of the Zhentilar gave me a message for you. He said a woman in the dungeons said she knew you. A woman with red hair.”

Klokulf’s expression of exasperation morphs into one of mild surprise. “I spoke in haste. That is quite important.” He takes the parchment off of Theophilus’ hands, and tucks it away in the desk. “An expedition to Vaasa can wait.” He hands the baby over to the boy. “Watch over her until Alwina comes back. I have a prisoner to visit.”

He strides out of the room with purpose, but insufficient care. The door shuts a mite too hard, and Theophilus is left with a bawling infant.

[kintire]

She slipped the hairpin into the lock, and began to twist, sweat forming on her brow. She missed her fine tools, but smuggling them in to the temple had seemed too risky. Everything was cached, and all she had was a dagger, two hairpins and some sturdy peasant clothes. Infiltrate, obtain, exfiltrate. Easy. The other two members of her company were ready to back her up...

“This is taking too long. Most of the real worshippers have left. Your cover is fading. Get out, I'll handle it.”

Or to get her back up. She thought wistfully of Raen. Skilled, much more powerful than this fool, reliable in a crisis, and actually nice. She missed him, more than any other of her friends. But efforts to find him had been unavailing so far. And Alric's acceptance of a job near Zhentil Keep without consulting anyone had taken them miles in the wrong direction. Maybe she should feed him that Rod of Sending.

“Its fine. Larger than expected catacomb. Big base under this small temple. I have it, I'll be out in five. Do Not Come In.”

The lock clicked. There were the papers: evidence apparently of doings so dodgy even the Baneites wanted to keep them under wraps. Into the sack and done. She began to slip out, sliding past the guards, delicately slipping through doors. Slow and caref...

“You are out of time. An expert hand is needed. Leave directly from wherever you have reached. My power will resolve this.”

The other thing about Raen that she missed was that he wasn't convinced that arcane magic was the supreme solution to every problem and everyone else were wannabes. She hadn't given him enough credit for that, and mentally apologised. Apparently it was rare among wizards.

“No! I have the stuff! I'm almost out! Stay...”

The alarm bells began to ring. Already? He must have just turned invisible and tried to stroll through the front door!

Still, now was not the time to panic. She was almost out. They would be sweeping the temple for confederates, and it was too small to hide for more than a few moments, but they had a plan for this. Edran, their warrior companion, would shoot at the walls, bellowing as if there was about to be an attack. That distraction would buy her the time she needed to reach the side door. She slipped out of the shrine building and behind a pillar to see Alric's arrow riddled corpse just one step over the threshold of the outer court... and Edric sky lining himself as he rode full tilt for the west, her and Alric's horses running behind him. He had abandoned her.

Now was the time to panic. No distraction, and the guards were beginning their sweep, all their attention inward, towards her. She turned for a desperate dash for the side door... and froze motionless ten feet from it. She could hear pounding feet as she struggled against the spell. They were slow, in heavy armour. If she could just...

Even as she broke out of the spell, heavy hands descended on her from all sides, and wrestled her to the floor.

Klokulf’s expression of exasperation morphs into one of mild surprise. “I spoke in haste. That is quite important.” He takes the parchment off of Theophilus’ hands, and tucks it away in the desk. “An expedition to Vaasa can wait.” He hands the baby over to the boy. “Watch over her until Alwina comes back. I have a prisoner to visit.”

Legends speak of the dungeons of Zhentil keep: of darkness, noisome things and screams of the tortured and the sacrificed. This, however is one of the more conventional sections: the place where those who will see the light of day again are kept. The ones of some value to the cult. The place is clean, efficient, and reasonably humane; if only to maintain the value of the stock.

Klokulf is led along a corridor just wide enough for two guards side by side. Cell after cell is passed. At about the twentieth he pauses and raps sharply on the small hatch in the upper part of the door before pulling it aside. He looks through the barred window into a face he knows well.

“Klokulf! Its good to see you again. Glad you got out. Nasty business wasn't it? But we've been through a few scrapes, you and I. Take more than that to finish us, right?”

The appeal to their history is transparent. But it is not empty. The memories of travelling with this woman are positive, for the most part. Pragmatic enough to accept his magic, and as they drifted apart polite enough not to voice concerns in public. Efficient. Effective. Useful.

“As you can see, I'm in a bit of a scrape this time too. I could use an old comrade's help. I know you're a big noise around here... can you pull a few strings?”

He considers it. But there are a few things he needs to know.

“Kat. I suppose its good to see you, though it would be better in other circumstances. What have you been convicted of?”

She is keeping her cool, not panicking or flailing pointlessly, carefully assessing the best course of action. Nevertheless, the whiteness of her knuckles as she grips the bars and the brittle tension in her eyes tells him she knows how dismal even her best course is at this point. She considers what she knows of him, and correctly assesses that trying to prevaricate now would not serve her.

“Theft. From a temple of Bane. Not this one of course. A smaller, outlying one.”

Klokulf nods.

“Are you guilty?”

Her eyes don't waver for an instant.

“Yes.”

He nods again, appreciating her honesty.

“What sentence?”

She takes a deep breath.

“Slavery. For life. I'm scheduled for the auction the day after tomorrow. Klokulf, I think there's a really good chance that won't end well for me. Please. You have to be able to do something. We were comrades!”

He considers. Her beauty, still remarkable even in the dungeon cell, will not sit in her favour in these circumstances, its true. He recalls some of the things he has seen here. A stirring of sympathy does begin within him, but...

“You were condemned by the authority of the High Doom. Not in person, I assume, but delegated authority remains authority. I cannot reverse or oppose his decision.”

She grips the bars tighter, and begins to say something, but he holds up his hand.

“but perhaps I can... manage the consequences of his decision. I can promise nothing. But I will see what I can do.”

She nods silently, apparently disappointed, but in her eyes a spark of hope has kindled.


The day is clear and bright, and quite warm. This happens, sometimes, as autumn becomes winter and the unruly northern weather has decided to be kind. She remembers the first time she visited this city, fresh out of the mists. If she was still with that group... but maybe that was the mistake. She'd seen the slave auction, disapproved, but wandered off, done nothing. Maybe this was her punishment for that. For here she was again, same square, same stone platform, same auctioneer she was pretty sure. But her perspective on the proceedings was very different. There was at least one relief though, other than the weather. She glances down at the red numeral on her chest, a single vertical stroke. At least this will be over soon.

“Our first offer, a rare beauty! I'm sure...”

She tunes the garishly dressed auctioneer out as he unleashes his patter, staring out over the heads of the crowd at the city rooftops beyond. She only starts paying a little attention again when he gets towards the end.

“...such as this we couldn't start the bidding at less than one hundred golden glories. Do I hear...?”

A hand goes up at once. She glances to assess the bidder... Klokulf. Her knees go slightly weak at the sudden surge of hope, which only increases when she hears the slight shift in the auctioneers tone that suggests he is none too pleased. She soon sees why. Few are prepared to bid against a priest of Bane, and his second call, proving he is serious, clinches the deal. She is breathing shuddering sighs of relief as she is led over to him.

“Klokulf, I owe you big time for this.”

He smiles slightly, but behind his eyes she sees his knowledge of all the people, enemies and allies, who will be noting this act, assessing it, its reasons...and its consequences.

“Yes” he replies “You do.”

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

She turns over the mossy rock and sighs in relief. Her cache is untouched. The rapier, the chain shirt, the amulet, the rings... all the magic equipment that might have given her away. She hauls it all up and straightens. Taking a deep breath. Disaster: survived.

Now to face the consequences. She turns, and descends back down to the waiting Klokulf.

“Ready.”

He just nods.