Respoken

[Judas D'arc]

"You could try being dead," Shelley stated, a playful smirk upon her lips. "It has more advantages than you might realize." Late at night and in the privacy of her room at the Peg Leg Inn, these words were addressed to her long-time friend and employee, the bard known as Judas D'arc. He had journeyed to the pirate city of Buccaneer's Den to inform her that their mutual acquaintance, Captain Keiran Vane, had been slain. In life, the captain had carelessly swaggered the line between amusing and incompetence, the most glaring example being his inability to retain a ship for any length of time. However, Vane had been affiliated with Shelley's extra-legal network of merchants, rogues and scoundrels, and therefore was still one of them. Nor had he deserved such a violent death at the hands of the mysterious Comedy, a masked criminal and lunatic for hire that even Shelley, with all of her resources and contacts, knew only vaguely by reputation. After determining that she possessed no useful information regarding this killer or the missing Tokunese Empress that he had stolen away, Judas moved the discussion to other subjects.

"At least in death, I might find a decent night of sleep," the bard spoke as he retaliated with a smile of his own, before swallowing a long sip from a bottle of warm, cheap ale. The two of them sat at the foot of her bed, and Judas found himself grateful for her comforting presence. Not long ago, his trust for Shelley had been minimal, her actions during their conflict with the nobleman Julian Randall calling the sincerity of her intentions into question. But after she had faked death and surrendered her identity of Evelyn Crowley, owner of the Emerald Trading Company, small steps had been taken to restore their relationship. Moreover, it seemed that Shelley was surpisingly well-suited for the life of a dead woman.

"Were you ever sound of slumber?" She inquired, the speed of her follow-up indicating she already knew the answer. "I can think of many words to describe you, Judas, but happy was never one of them. Can you even recall a time that you were?"

"I suppose it was Magincia" the bard replied as he unconvincingly shrugged his shoulders.

"The way you followed around Claudia, a starved puppy begging for scraps of affection? I was there, try better."

He sighed, the irritation apparent in his exhale. "There was a month, after that business with Draven, when Jolicia and I lived apart from everything."

"Then why don't you return there?" Shelley asked.

"I --"

"Everyone needs a pause from time to time," she responded for him. "You can't find a life in that. But if you did have the opportunity, what path would you make for yourself?"

"Hmmm," the bard brought his bottle to his lips as he pondered this scenario for a few moments. "Truly, I believe I would choose to wander Sosaria. By foot and by sea (though not by horse because horses smell like feces and even ethereal horses smell like ethereal feces). I would spread tales and songs, using my wits to help others as I might. And drinking and fucking to my heart's content."

"And would these grand plans include Jolicia?"

"I suppose they would have to. She is open-minded, but not that open-minded," the bard laughed. "Regardless, it is nothing but a dream, for I am plagued by demon dreams and gypsy curses and all sorts of madness I am ill-equipped to face. Not to mention all of the obligations of leadership that you have forced me to contend with. There are days I wish I never heard of your Emerald Trading Company."

"There are days I look at you," Shelley narrowed her eyes as she paused to drink from her glass of vintage red wine, "and all I see is the whiniest cunt that ever did walk the lands of Sosaria. If you don't like your circumstances, there's only one thing to do with them."

"And what is that, my wise, dead friend?" Judas questioned in feigned curiosity.

"Change."

[Chanticleer]

For Chanticleer Reich, it began as yet another day lost to a routine that was a poor fit for both his temperament and his desires. He was a tall man, well-built and in the early years of his third decade, with facial expressions of limited range that rarely betrayed his true emotions. At first glance, he seemed ideally suited for the life of a warrior, eagerly wielding his blade on the field of battle. Instead, he found himself safely seated behind a large wooden desk that morning inside the Shimmering Jewel of Vesper, grudgingly sifting through piles of numerous documents that required his signature and seal. Yet this was where the path of honor had led this former knight of Ashencrosse, when he had exchanged the glorious for the tedious, in order to keep his word true. This was the consequence of a promise made to his uncle, Julian Randall of Vesper (once known as Lord Randall Reich of Magincia), a man that he despised with every aspect of his being. And this was all he had to look forward to for remainder of his miserable existence.

In addition to overseeing his uncle's gem trade in Vesper, Chanticleer's duties as Julian Randall's heir also included the expectation of wedding a woman of noble birth and proliferating a new generation of Reich children. This first part was almost complete, and the previous evening, he had finally been introduced to his bride-to-be, the Lady Sofia Elias of Nujel'm. Sofia was young, olive-skinned and pleasing to the eye, with fine birthing hips capable of fulfilling all of his uncle's ambitions. She came from a wealthy family that the former knight had never heard of, but he assumed their pedigree must be impressive if the proud Julian Randall had agreed to the match. The girl also seemed far too eager to embrace this arrangement, and Chanticleer looked forward to disabusing her of such childish notions on their wedding night. But according to his uncle, their pending nuptials would not occur until after the Summer Solstice.

As morning began transitioned into afternoon, the discontent gem trader's stomach alerted him to a growing need for sustenance. His patience for detail usually ebbed in the face of hunger, and he almost failed to notice the contract at the bottom of the pile before him. Normally, he might bring this glaring error to the attention of Erollisi Razil, his uncle's hireling tasked with assisting his work. She was also a friend, perhaps his only one left, but their relationship had been strained since Julian Randall's conflict with the Emerald Trading Company. It was clear that Erollisi no longer thought kindly of his uncle, just as it was obvious that Chanticleer was the sole reason she remained in his service. Sadly, the former warrior's circumstances limited his ability to repay her loyalty, and the news of his upcoming marriage was likely to disappoint her further. So he decided instead to peruse the offending document on his own.

Chanticleer considered his uncle practical and harsh, a man loathe to demonstrate even the slightest weakness or offer the smallest advantage to others. This, foremost of any other reason, was what caused him to wonder why Julian Randall had contracted to sell such a large supply of diamonds to an unknown party in Nujel'm for a price far below fair market value.

"Enough," a voice abruptly growled, and Chanticleer was surprised when he realized it was his own. Nor did he predict the rage that suddenly consumed him. He might have despised this half-life which he was condemned to, but oversight of his family's gem trade was still his duty, and he would not allow it to be stripped away like everything else he had once cherished.

No. Instead, he would act.

[Julian Randall]

A single candle flickered, brief spurts of illumination for his room at the Restful Slumber Inn of Nujel'm.

Once he had been Lord Randall Reich of Magincia, a man whose noble lineage could be traced back to the ancient days of Akalabeth. His wife, the Lady Maria Reich, was dutiful, and his children, Randall and Julia, were always mindful of the privilege and responsibility that they had inherited with their name. Then the demons destroyed the City of Pride, and with it his family, his legacy, and his purpose. Years had passed, and during the interim, he became Julian Randall, a trader of gems in the City of Vesper. Although he still held some power and influence, his ambitions were now largely dependent upon his low-born nephew, the consequence of his late sister's unfortunate union with a pig farmer from Skara Brae. A marriage had finally been arranged between his heir-by-necessity and the daughter of a prominent Nujel'm family, and Randall was cautiously optimistic that Chanticleer was at least capable of seeding her a new generation within her young, fertile womb. Still, despite these developments, this had never been what he had hoped for.

Julian Randall considered himself pure in both thought and deed. He had no taste for the vices and decadence exhibited by others in the Camorra, the secret gathering of the elite that he belonged to. Nor did he lend any credence to the superstition and mysticism that some of their number seemed to embrace. But this was his last opportunity to secure the future of his family, and this upcoming Offering of the Camorra was a means to this end that he had every intention of making use of.

[Judas D'arc]

"You claim to be a bard," Shelley smirked, "so begin at the beginning and end with an ending."

Once again, Judas had joined his old friend and employer inside her room at the Peg Leg Inn of Buccaneer's Den. They had gathered there to discuss the Emerald Trading Company's investigation into a recurring shipment of diamonds from Vesper to Nujel'm, and everything that had occurred as a consequence of this, including the amulet and map the bard now had in his possession.

"As you are aware," Judas began, "we learned of these shipments from Julian Randall's nephew, who told Deraj that he was suspicious of his uncle selling diamonds to an undisclosed party in Nujel'm for far less than their worth. This seemed quite unlike Randall, as did the name of the vessel he was using, Mondain's Member. Aingeal and Deraj went to Nujel'm disguised as a merchant and her bodyguard, and they learned that Captain Harold of Mondain's Member, also known as the Hairy Bastard, had some sort of dispute with a relative of the Sultan, and that his ship would not sail there."

"Which is when you and Faeryl came to me for help," Shelley added. "And I found Mondain's Member for you in Moonglow."

The bard nodded. "You also told us that this Captain Harold was hiring untouched maidens for a particular service, so we arranged for Faeryl and Jolicia to approach Mondain's Member under the pretense of fitting that description. Something that has not been true for either woman for quite some time, but I digress."

At this, she laughed. "Yet their ruse worked."

"For a time," he sighed, "until the Captain decided to examine whether they were truly virgins, and discovered a couple of familiar looking tattoos. And far too quickly, it turned rather violent."

"It's a good thing I plan for the worst, and hope for the best."

"Still, you could have warned us that you had sent your man Kensdrick to infiltrate the Camorra," Judas shook his head disapprovingly. "It would have spared me some worry, at least. Regardless, he helped them defeat the Hairy Bastard and his crew. Upon questioning him, they learned that his cargo bound for the Skull Island, where it would be given to the Camorra. Which, I assume, you knew?"

"I won't claim awareness, but neither am I surprised by it."

"Of course not," Judas smiled slightly. "We also learned that the diamonds were part of a so-called Offering, and that the women were being hired for a celebration. Then Kensdrick executed Harold, and then disguised himself as him. He promised Jolicia and Faeryl that he would pick up the next shipment from Vesper, and then remove Mondain's Member for good. Did he do so?"

"It's done," Shelley nodded.

"And that is when we decided to speak with Renthar, who has also had dealings with the Camorra."

"You'll need to watch that one," she suddenly spoke up, her expression one of concern.

"Is there something I should be made aware of?" He asked of her.

His old friend's response seemed conflicted. "Nothing I'd wager you don't already. He's up to no good, and you're an obstacle to that."

The bard merely shrugged. "All in good time, I suppose. Anyhow, during time spent at the Camorra library, Renthar learned that every decade, they hold a so-called Offering to some higher-power, believed to grant them good fortune for the next ten years. He did not know the specific details, but said that it occurred on the Summer solstice, and involved a ritual, an amulet, and a sacrifice."

Shelley pursed her lips, but said nothing.

"I then hired a recent acquaintance, Captain Paytience Fawn, to transport Deraj, Elendome, and the dwarf Beldin Brightaxe to Skull Island to see who was receiving the cargo from Mondain's Member. It was the Camorra, led by Julian Randall's henchman, Johnson, the one that "killed" you in Vesper. All were slain, except for a servant of theirs named Snideworth. According to him, this Offering is a ritual, conducted by a priestess called the Crystal Bishop with some sort of amulet, and that it involves the diamonds. The women are not part of the ritual itself, but take part in a celebration connected to it. Any children born of this orgy are then raised to serve the Camorra, as this Snideworth fellow was. He also identified three members for us. Julian Randall, who we knew. Trent Rutherford, who we encountered beneath Buccaneer's Den months ago and impaled himself upon Aingeal's blade when we attempted to interrogate him. And Sebastian Elias, who I am unfamiliar with."

"I've heard of him," she admitted. "Another high and mighty nobleman from a prominent Nujel'm family, like the rest of them."

"That is not unexpected," Judas agreed with her sentiment. "Snideworth also informed us of the Crystal Bishop's whereabouts, Teralt Zhelvesku in Ilshenar, a place we had previously uncovered a Camorra presence. I sent Aingeal, Faeryl, and Lucas there, and they slew the Crystal Bishop, and retrieved both this amulet and map. Without the amulet, the Camorra supposedly cannot complete their ritual, and the map provided us with enough information to identify the location of the Offering, as well as this higher-power."

"Don't keep me in suspense," his old friend grinned.

"The Shimmering Effusion, beneath Nujel'm," he stated as he concluded his tale. "We may have disrupted the ritual, but I intend to act further."

"Do tell."

"Randall Reich, or Julian Randall, or whatever he call himself, has been more active in the Camorra since he was nearly slain in Vesper," the bard explained. "Should the Offering fail utterly and spectacularly -- for example, if the Shimmering Effusion were to be slain by one carrying this amulet right before the Summer solstice -- then much of the blame will fall upon him."

"We've made a truce," her words were accompanied by a penetrating, green-eyed gaze. "Or are you ready for the trouble violating it might bring to us?"

Judas met her stare with a harsh one of his own. "Have you ever wondered, what might have been, had we only taken action, all those years ago?"

"Not a day goes by," came Shelley's hushed reply.

"Then I believe it is time that Randall Reich finally suffers a loss of his own."

[Julian Randall]

Word spread quickly, but it was not until nearly a week later that the pieces formed a whole. A merchant named Lady Mona Lott of Minoc had attempted to hire Captain Harold, unaffectionately referred to as the Hairy Bastard, and his ship, Mondain's Member. That very same vessel subsequently departed Vesper with a cargo of diamonds, but never arrived at Skull Island. The group sent to receive the diamonds, which included reliable and loyal hirelings such as Johnson and Snideworth, had also vanished. The mad priestess known as the Crystal Bishop was slain inside of Teralt Zhelvesku, and her amulet stolen from her corpse. Beneath Nujel'm, the sanctity of the Prism of Light had been breached, and the Shimmering Effusion had been assaulted prior to the Summer solstice.

But most importantly, the Offering had been ruined.

As he pondered these various threads within his room at the Restful Slumber Inn of Nujel'm, Julian Randall was interrupted by visitors. Five of them, in total. Lord Elias of Nujel'm. Lord de Hugh of Britain. Lady D'arc of Trinsic. Two of the Camorra's leather-clad hirelings, each with a blade sheathed at his side and a stance that indicated combat-readiness. They were uniform in their scowls and their cold and distant demeanors, which suggested that the encounter would not be a pleasant one. The flurry of accusations that they hurled forth only proved it so. According to his uninvited guests, he had been responsible for securing the diamonds and protecting the Offering. Under his watch, the ritual had failed for the first time in centuries, and the Camorra would know only misfortune for the decade to follow. Yet, for the sake of their order, an uncharacteristically calm Julian Randall endured their criticisms and insults with dignity. Or at least attempted to.

"We only allowed you back into the inner circle because of Trent Rutherford's trust," spoke Lord de Hugh of Britain, "and you repaid his kindness with treachery."

"The fall of Magincia was tragic," stated Lady D'arc of Trinsic, "as was your loss. None of us dispute that, but you wear your grief as if it was yesterday, not years past."

"It's made you weak," said Lord Elias of Nujel'm, "and I sorely regret promising my daughter to that mongrel nephew of yours."

Julian Randall retaliated with an icy blue stare, before casually reaching for his war hammer.

[Chanticleer]

There were sharp pains, but whether they were cause or effect of opening his eyes, Chanticleer was uncertain. Slowly, an emerging awareness turned unfamiliar surroundings less so, but it also served to reinforce a reality that he preferred to be otherwise. The wounded warrior was lying in a small room inside of Empath Abbey in the middle of the Deep Forest, perhaps the last place he would have chosen to die. He silently cursed Sofia for sending him there, instead of one of the larger, more civilized cities of Sosaria. Then again, if the girl had been capable of common sense over emotion, the Camorra ambush might have been avoided entirely. Part of him wished to slap her for her foolishness, and another part of him -- but he quickly swallowed the thought, this was no time for sentiment.

"You're very fortunate," spoke the middle-aged, balding monk with a swollen belly. He was seated across the room, a book in hand and a watchful gaze on his charge. "Those arrows we pulled from your body were tipped with poison."

"Bolts," Chanticleer sharply corrected him. The repeating crossbows wielded by the assassins were as distinct as their dark leather uniforms.

"Indeed," the older man replied. "I am Brother Salmon of the Brotherhood of the Rose. Perhaps you also have a name you'd like to share?"

"No," the wounded warrior grunted his refusal.

"I see," Brother Salmon responded with a distinct lack of enthusiasm to his ton. "Your secrets are your own then, we will not pry. You're welcome to remain with us as long as you feel is necessary we simply ask that you keep your troubles away from here."

Chanticleer looked at the monk, but said nothing. If this weakling Brother Salmon was to learn of his troubles, it would likely turn his robes a darker shade of brown. He had betrayed his uncle, the man known as Julian Randall, by informing his enemies about a suspicious supply of diamonds that Randall was shipping to Nujel'm. Deraj and the Emerald Trading Company had taken action, sabotaging these shipments and the ritual they were intended for. In turn, the Camorra, the secret society of noble-blooded behind this profane ceremony, attempted to kill Chanticleer's uncle for his failures. Randall had confronted his nephew and hireling Erollisi Razil with knowledge of their treachery, and disavowed them both. After warning the Emerald Trading Company of these events, the warrior and Erollisi had parted ways. She had fled to the Lost Lands, while he had returned to Vesper to find the Lady Sofia Elias, his betrothed and the daughter of Lord Sebastian Elias, one of his uncle's accusers in the Camorra. Unsurprisingly, Lord Elias had withdrawn his approval of their union, and he was probably responsible for the assassins that had struck as the two attempted to flee the city. His last glimpse of his former bride-to-be was through the moon gate she had summoned for his escape, and he only hoped that her father would leave her unharmed.

"I've left you some books," the monk's voice announced as he pointed to the end table next to the wounded warrior's bed. "Perhaps they'll help to ease your convalescence." He turned to where Brother Salmon indicated. There were three books in a pile: Virtue by Lord British, and Quest of the Virtues -- Volumes I and II, by Autenil. It seemed that the monk, just like everyone else he encountered, had intentions for Chanticleer. "Now, I must attend to my morning meditation, but I'll look in on you before our noon meal."

Before departing the room, the monk was determined to impart one last scrap of Empath Abbey wisdom. "Whoever you were, and whatever your past, it doesn't control who you will be, or your future. Your future path remains undecided, and everyone has the potential for change. To forgive, and be forgiven."

Alone once more, the wounded warrior did not bother to ponder these words, his injuries made coherent thought too difficult. Still, there was one obvious truth that he recognized in Brother Salmon's advice. His uncle had released him from his vow of service, and for the first time in nearly two years, Chanticleer's next decision belonged only to him.

[Julian Randall]

Julian Randall stood watching and waiting, with a war hammer in his hands. When the fat man finally stumbled home to the Ironwood Inn, drunk and accompanied by a prostitute -- young, elven, and male -- it was only a few hours before the sun was set for its daily appearance. At first the Magincia nobleman did not stir from his position of concealment, not until he had counted one thousand, equally measured moments in his head. Then at a deliberate pace, he followed in the footsteps of his prey.

Inside, he knocked upon the fat man's door, not with his knuckles but with his weapon, and with enough force to render meaningless the need for a response. The room was strong with the scent of sodomy and sweat, but this was easily disregarded. Before either the fat man or the elven prostitute could react to the intrusion, the war hammer had shattered the latter's skull into pieces. Randall was briefly distracted by a fragment, pointed ear still attached, flying across the room and landing on top of the armoire. But then he turned back to the fat man, whose fear had added yet another bodily fluid to the chaotic mixture that already stained his bed. The Magincian swung his weapon once again, but stopped short of making any contact.

"Cubbins," Randall growled angrily. "You will tell what I wish to know."

[Julian Randall]

As he stood inside the basement of the Salty Dog Tavern, Julian Randall pondered the attachment that his enemies in the Emerald Trading Company held for the place. More than likely, it was a reflection of their poor character and breeding, for there was nothing particularly impressive or enticing about the East Britain drinking establishment. Perhaps he would have garnered more insight if he was to visit their Salty Dog Tavern, but instead he was at the one that existed in the facet of Felucca. The original world. And he was not alone.

"Tell me of this latest death," the mage's voice commanded.

He saw the movement of lips, but Randall was uncertain if he heard the other man with his ears or with his mind. The words were also vaguely distorted, accentuated by the slight buzzing that seemed to accompany all of their recent interactions. "Lucas Drachen chose an end far worthier than the life that he lived."

"Truly a pity," his visitor noted, with the barest hint of sentiment. "I always did like Lucas Drachen, and was hoping he might survive all of this. How did he die?"

"I vowed not to harm him" the nobleman explained. "And I did not betray my promise. It was my hirelings that cut him down, with blade and with crossbow, once he decided to surrender his life for a clue to rescue the tavern bitch. A hero's death rather than a coward's life."

"And how did it compare to the others?" The mage inquired. "To Cubbins and Kensdrick."

"Cubbins and Kensdrick," Randall repeated, as his memory struggled to recall those encounters. His thoughts were often unclear in the presence of the other man, and he did not quite understand why. "It was a war hammer for the fat man in Vesper. And a hammer pick for the scout in Buccaneer's Den. Yet I took no enjoyment from either deed. They were simply necessity."

"But there is one whose death will bring you pleasure. Do you know of whom I speak?"

"The tavern bitch," the Magincian nodded eagerly. "Shelley. She deserves to die for her transgressions."

"No, that's not right at all." His visitor sighed, almost irritably. "How much longer will she last?"

"Two more days," Randall replied. "Perhaps three if I've underestimated her."

"Except that it's not her death you truly crave," the mage stated, almost desperately. "The first clue, for the life of Lucas Drachen, and the second clue, for the life of the bard. Once he's dead, you'll have your satisfaction. Shelley is just another means to that end."

"But why?" The nobleman questioned, not quite following the other man's reasoning. "She's the one I -- "

"No!" His visitor growled abruptly, his expression one of visible anger. "It's Judas that's to blame. Judas sent Claudia to kill you in Magincia! Judas sent the vampire to kill you in Vesper!! He cost you the Camorra and your nephew and everything you fought for!!! Judas! Judas! Judas! Judas! Judas! Judas! Judas! Judas! Can't you understand?!"

It did not make sense, and yet it did, and finally Julian Randall acquiesced. "Yes, Judas must die. But what if he refuses to trade his life for the second clue?"

"He won't," the mage grinned. "Not if he has incentive."

[Judas D'arc]

Once Jolicia was fast asleep, a half-naked and mostly confused Judas found himself wandering the secluded, Ilshenar structure. This had been Aingeal's special place, her place of power and serenity, and with every beleaguered step he took, he could still sense her presence in its wooden walls and floors. Until the bard reached the small wooden hut where her body lay, when he attempted a glimpse of his fallen friend, and could feel only nothing. After Judas and the rest of the Emerald Trading Company had disrupted the Camorra's Offering, the once a decade ritual that the secret society of nobility believed would bring them good fortune, some retaliation had been expected. But never this. Julian Randall, as Lord Randall Reich of Magincia called himself, had uncovered their involvement. Despite being hunted by the Camorra, who blamed him for the Offering's failure, Randall was determined to have his retribution. And in doing so, blood had flown.

First, there had been Cubbins. The bard had known the fat, balding merchant and associate of Shelley for over ten years, but could no longer remember his face, only the bloody, broken corpse that Randall had left on the floor of the Ironwood Inn. Judas never called Cubbins friend, but at that moment, he could not imagine a better word for the kinship they had shared. Unfortunately, the fat merchant's death had been more than simple punishment, the nobleman had also wanted the whereabouts of Cubbins' employer.

Second, there had been Kensdrick. The bard was not well-acquainted with the scout, but had always thought well of him. He had also worked for Shelley, and she had sent him to aid the Emerald Trading Company after she had faked her own death to escape the Camorra. Presumably, Randall had mortally wounded Kensdrick when he had stolen away with the scout's employer and her own prisoner, the mad mage Garrott, leaving the dying man as both taunt and trap. Judas could still hear the man's final words, and the stench of his burning form after the room had exploded into flames.

Third, there had been Lucas Drachen. A rogue, assassin, and former demon hunter, he had been one of the bard's oldest and closest friends. Months ago, Lucas had saved their enemy's life, and because of that, was offered a choice. As Judas and the others listened through a hidden communication crystal, Randall told the assassin that he would allow him to escape his vengeance, or surrender himself for a clue to the captive Shelley's location. Without hesitation, the loyal assassin had chosen the latter. True to his word, the nobleman had provided a hint that Shelley was held somewhere in the facet of Felucca. Although no body had been recovered, and some of their number believed Lucas was still alive, the bard knew otherwise.

And now, there was Aingeal. Gypsy. Witch. Warrior. They had always had their differences, but that was because Judas and Aingeal were very different people. She had been the staunchest of allies, the most frustrating of friendships, and for one brief night, even a lover. Less than a week prior, the bard had spoken harshly towards the gypsy witch, but he hoped she knew his true feelings better than that. Not that it mattered to her any longer, for she was dead, and beyond such concerns. There were still also questions regarding her death. Randall had apparently lured Aingeal into confrontation by threatening the Minoc camp she was sworn to protect. But nothing was certain, except that her body had been left, broken and burned, outside the Salty Dog. And that nothing would ever be the same.

Judas slowly turned from the sight of his fallen friend, and began his slow walk back to Jolicia. Soon enough, the Magincian would come for him as well, with a proposition similar to the one made to Lucas. The bard's life in exchange for that of Shelley. Perhaps she could be rescued another way. Perhaps Julian Randall's gambit would fail. Or perhaps the alliance Deraj had struck with Lord Sebasian Elias of the Camorra would put an end to their mutual opponent. Either way, Judas knew that death was coming --

-- and it would most likely be his own.

[Julian Randall]

The night before his death, Julian Randall of Vesper called upon the home of Dezera Blackwell, a friend and ally of his nephew, Chanticleer Reich. He was not entirely certain of the sudden compulsion behind this visit. Perhaps he wished for someone else to punish for his Chanticleer's betrayal, or maybe he simply missed his estranged nephew, and he desired to be close to someone that cared for him. Renthar, the wicked fiend and sorcerer, had described Blackwell as a vicious killer and wanton whore, but Randall found her to be neither. Their conversation turned far more pleasant than expected, and it ended with her agreeing to aid him in hunting the members of the Camorra, and keeping Chanticleer safe from their wrath. And relaying the message that Randall was truly sorry for how matters had ended between uncle and nephew.

The day of his death, Randall Reich of Magincia awoke in the bed of Dezera Blackwell. They made love a total of three times; she was the first woman he had been with since his wife's death some years prior. The nobleman was surprised that she never hesitated to let him finish inside of her. He wondered briefly if she was barren, or if she kept a supply of the sort of poisons that were useful for unwanted pregnancies. Prior to their final coupling, Randall had slipped from her home and journeyed to Britain, in order to ambush and capture the elven knight Faeryl Tyr'athem. Once the elf was secured and no longer a threat, the nobleman returned to Blackwell to bid farewell, and prepare for whatever fate the night would bring him.

The hour of his death, Lord Randall Reich of Magincia confronted his enemies inside the Salty Dog Tavern of Britain. His hirelings had preceded him, with crossbows and poison and flames, but they had only succeeded in harming one little girl. This did not surprise him, for neither were particularly skilled at a frontal assault. When Reich finally entered, the terms he offered were simple. First, he ingested a poison that only he possessed a cure for, in order to ruin any notions the Emerald Trading Company might have of overpowering and interrogating him. Second, he stated that he would reveal the whereabouts of the captive Shelley and Faeryl if the bard Judas D'arc surrendered his life. While the bard was willing, his friends were not, and the inevitable fighting and bickering followed. Then a duel was proposed, with the loser agreeing to submit to the winner's mercy, and Judas chose the paladin Deraj as his champion. Reich emerged victorious, an outcome that he never doubted, for his cause was just. Except some of the Emerald Trading Company never had any intention of being true to their word.

They attempted force. Manipulation. Threats. But the proud Magincian refused compromise, and pursued the prize that was rightfully his. The worst of them was the bard's woman, the mage Jolicia. Months ago, Reich had vowed to Renthar that he would never harm her, but her incessant spells and impudence eventually tried even his great patience. He attempted to subdue her, as quickly and painlessly as possible, but then the arrows struck from behind. An unknown female archer who had previously attacked him, but had no fallen like all of the others. Then more of the pointed missles came at the Magincian. Too many for one bow.

When he realized it was Judas, Reich was unsurprised. His acquiescence. His words of contrition. His willingness to die for his friends. Of course it had all been a deception. More lies from an honor-less and unvirtuous dog, too cowardly to act until his advantage was absolute. The Magincian had every intention of making him pay for this final treachery, but then one of the bard's arrows pierced his throat.

For a brief moment, everything turned dark. Then they were standing before him. His wife, Mary. His son, Randall. His daughter, Julia. No longer among the ashes of Magincia, they were whole and warm and welcoming to him. It was the first time in years that Lord Randall Reich of Magincia truly smiled. And then it was dark once more.

[Judas D'arc]

When they finally found her, Shelley was already a few hours dead. She appeared so quiet and peaceful and cold to the touch, smaller in death than she ever was in life, with hardly a sign of any stiffness or decay. For a few, brief moments, Judas wanted to scream and rage at the others, to tell-them-so that Julian Randall's ultimatum had been truthful, and if they had only allowed the bard to surrender his life, one of his oldest and closest friends would still possess hers. There was also a part of him that wanted to remain there with Shelley forever. But instead, they gathered her body off the bottom floor of Hythloth of Felucca and returned home.

********

The next day, the bard awoke half-drunk, dry-mouthed, and nauseous on the floor of his room at the Wayfarer's Inn. He vaguely recalled another bad dream, but with the week he had suffered, his mind could barely distinguish between waking and sleeping nightmares. Not bothering to change his clothing or groom his appearance, Judas stumbled his way into a summer afternoon already in-progress. He had a day of tasks ahead of him, including funeral arrangements and further alcohol indulgence. And the one that required his immediate attention.

It was an unsteady walk across the city to the First Bank of Britain. Once he arrived, the bard put on his best impersonation of sober and requested to view a particular bank box. After a careful search through some old records, the banker asked for a password, which was quickly provided. As he waited for the container to be retrieved, the half-drunk Judas contemplated how this had ended up a job for him. Normally, with Shelley's passing, it would have fallen to Cubbins or Lucas to take care of, but they were dead too. In some was, it was fortunate that the bard was still breathing, for neither Jolicia nor Faeryl had been instructed on what to do in the event of their employer's sudden death.

Half an hour later, and Judas was inside the Emerald Trading Company's Britain shop, seated behind the large desk in the second floor office. No matter how he shifted his weight, the chair felt perpetually uncomfortable, as if his body instinctively knew that this was Shelley's place, and he would always be an intruder. As he searched through the documentation of debts and credits, lists of contacts and employees, and other assorted secrets, the bard felt his nausea increase. He was a competent musician, a half-decent archer, and quite skilled at occupying a tavern bench, but in matters such as this, he was out of his element. Why did everyone else have to go and die on him?

Finally, when Judas reached the end, his face grew immediately pale. It was Shelley's will, her final word, and the last thing that the woman he had considered family would ever contribute to this world. "You foolish bitch," the bard found himself muttering as he read through it. "What were you *possibly* thinking?"

Shelley, a woman he had always considered clever and intelligent, had just demonstrated that she was, in fact, decidedly not. For she had chosen to leave everything she owned -- all of her possessions, her responsibilities, and even ownership of the Emerald Trading Company -- to Judas.

[Renthar]

Five months ago ...

The small wooden cabin outside of Minoc was quiet once again, and the tall, stranger-eyed sorcerer Renthar sat in contemplation. In his right hand, he held a piece of paper, the result of his earlier exercise in the art of Automatic Writing. With the fingers of his left, he absent-mindedly toyed with the gypsy eyeballs that remained in the small bowl on the desk. Already, his recently departed visitor had proven his unconscious predictions accurate. The thick-accented, leather-clad warrior named Johnson was employed by Julian Randall, the uncle of Chanticleer Reich, Renthar's unwilling servant. The Lord Uncle was part of a secret society called the Camorra, and he was after his nephew's freedom, as well as information about the Emerald Trading Company. Johnson made it clear there was a conflict coming, and the tall sorcerer's refusal was not an option, but that his compensation would be generous. Renthar was considering the offer, for he had grown tired of Chanticleer, and feared his influence over his other minion Dezera Blackwell. He also possessed no fondness for the Salty Dog Tavern's Club of Heroes. However, that was a decision for later, it was the parchment that required immediate attention.

Celestia
Red Minalan
Does Jon Abbott Taste Like Pork?
Shattered Emeralds
Duke of the Lost Lands
The Camorra
Jolicia
Unthinkable?!

These were the words he had written while under his trance. The sixth had already proven relevant, and it only stood to reason that the rest would come to be. Most made sense, but there was one in particular that vexed him. Why the mage, Jolicia? The strange-eyed sorcerer had known the female mage since his days in Ashencrosse, where he had aided the Countess Aurelia Bretane in curing the Malas settlement of its vampire infection. However, despite Renthar restoring her mortality, and later helping to cure her lover, the bard Judas D'arc, of his gender-bending curse, Jolicia had never demonstrated even the smallest bit of gratitude. She was a cold and unforgiving bitch, her light blue eyes always staring right through him, as if he was nothing. He hated the way that she teased him, the way her tight shirt framed her large, round breasts, and her short, black skirt permitted the briefest glimpse at just the right angle. During their encounters, the tall sorcerer wanted to strike at her, with fists and fireballs, and ... he wanted kiss her. To take her in his arms, tear off her clothing, and show her everything that he truly was and what he had kept hidden from the world.

At that very moment, it was an almost unrecognizable feeling that filled Renthar's heart. He was in love.

********

Four months ago ...

A gentle smile played upon his lips as Renthar watched Jolicia rest. They had just made love for the very first time, in that small, secluded tower which kept her safe from the outside world. In her perception, he had been Judas, and then both Judas and himself at once, but the specifics, they hardly mattered. She had given herself to him, finally returning the affection he had for her. The tall, strange-eyed sorcerer had traded Chanticleer Reich's freedom for a book from the Camorra's library, and most importantly, Jolicia's survival. When Johnson brought her to him, the poor mage was a broken woman. One of the Camorra's pawns had nearly raped her, and then she had witnessed the Lord Uncle nearly beat her bard to death. But during their weeks together, Renthar had slowly mended the pieces back together, subtly altering that which contradicted the new reality he was crafting for her. He had become her closest friend, her confidant, and even her lover.

In the beginning, the strange-eyed sorcerer was content to let Julian Randall execute Judas D'arc, but as he delved deeper into Jolicia's mind, he realized that the bard would be the key to his manipulations, and sparing him would only serve to strengthen his control of her, reinforcing the feelings she now possessed. Love was just funny that way.

********

Three months ago ...

"Ye dinna want ta' be crossin' us," Johnson warned him. Then the leather-clad warrior nodded to the eight other similarly uniformed enforcers that flanked him, and they all drew their weapons at once.

When Renthar and his Camorra escorts had emerged from the hidden library, the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer had informed them of his intention to keep Judas D'arc alive. Unfortunately, they had not reacted well to this news. "I fully intended to," he countered, "But then Jolica did her very best to convince me otherwise. Give me the opportunity to do the same for you."

"Doubtful," Johnson smirked. "Ye've a minute 'fore ye take 'is place."

"It's quite simple," the strange-eyed sorcerer confidently smiled as he began to explain. "Jolicia's completely under my control now. She will tell me anything I want -- do anything I want. However, the bard is the key to my spell, and if he dies, it will break it. Your Lord Uncle's already killed Crowley and defeated the Emerald Trading Company. My way, you'll always be privy to their secrets, in case they ever retaliate. One day, the bard will outlive his usefulness But that's not today."

"I'll 'ave ta' talk with Randall." The leather-clad warrior seemed intrigued. "But I'm expectin' we kin work with tha'."

********

Two months ago ...

For the first time, Renthar had Jolicia while she was completely awake. Of course, there had been some trickery involved, and he had accomplished it under the pretense of examining the effects of a dead, gypsy witch's curse. But she had removed her clothing for him, and allowed him inside of her, all while she dwelled in the true world, not in the place that he had constructed for them in her mind. This was no small victory for the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer. She trusted him. She desired him. And she loved him.

All that remained was to slowly erode her attachment to her bard.

********

One month ago ...

Hours after Jolicia and her friends had departed, Renthar was still undecided. According to his agreement with Johnson, the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer was supposed to warn the Lord Uncle that members of the Emerald Trading Company were intending to act against the secret society and its once-a-decade Offering ritual. Renthar hardly minded betraying the Camorra, their usefulness was limited to their ancient library, but he doubted they would provide him access again. If he did alert the Camorra, it was possible that Jolicia, or even her bard, might suffer harm. Since that recent night when she had given herself to him awake and willingly on the roof of Alana Wisperwind's home, he had noticed a slight discomfort in the female mage's demeanor towards him. The strange-eyed sorcerer also found it odd that earlier that evening, she had approached him with the others, instead of alone. It seemed best to approach the matter with subtlety, and the Lord Uncle's response would be anything but.

For now, Renthar would wait before choosing a side.

********

Three weeks ago ...

When the Lord Uncle surreptitiously fled from the City of Vesper, the hour was late, and the expression upon his face clearly indicated that he was in no mood to be trifled with. But for Renthar, this was the perfect moment to act. He stepped forward, shattering the illusion of his invisibility spell, and made his approach as obvious and unthreatening as possible.

"Foul sorcerer," Julian Randall hissed, as he reached for the war hammer strapped to his back. "Explain your presence!"

"Is that any way to greet a friend?" The tall, strange-eyed sorcerer asked with a grin. "From my understanding, there aren't many left to you that fall under the definition of that elusive word."

"What do you want?" The proud Magincian nobleman demanded, although his relaxed stance immediately undermind his bluster.

"I've heard all about your recent troubles," Renthar pouted. "And I'm here to tell you exactly who's to blame."

********

Two weeks ago ...

As Celestia slept soundly across the small island, trapped in the magically-induced stasis that would cause her to age further, Renthar and Jolicia once again made love. But as pleasurable as it was, it was also a failure, more akin to the fantasies they enjoyed in the small tower, not the waking world intimacy they had recently experienced. The female mage's mind was attempting to resist his control, and there was only one reason for that. That useless bard of hers must have done or said something!

It was then the strange-eyed sorcerer became determined to risk it all, to know for certain whether their love was real, and brought her back in the midst of their coupling. Her reaction, despite her memories dictating that she had initiated the act, was far from desirable. Jolicia screamed. She cried. And she blamed him for all that had occurred. A rage began to consume him, and he told the female mage that he tired of her manipulating his emotions, and no longer wanted anything to do with her. Then he summoned a moongate to Britain, and shoved the half-naked Jolicia through it as hard as he could.

Later, a calmer, more contemplative Renthar sat watching the haze that obscured the sleeping Celestia. One day, that little girl would be a woman grown, and she would make friends and dreams of her own, and perhaps even find love. But he could only hope that she would be spared the dull-aching pain of a broken heart.

********

One week ago ...

As he stood inside the basement of the Salty Dog Tavern, Renthar quietly watched the Lord Uncle. It was obvious that the proud Magincian looked upon this place with antipathy, much like he did almost everything else. "Tell me of this latest death," the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer requested, as he slowly worked his spell.

A confused, Julian Randall struggled with his response. "Lucas Drachen chose an end far worthier than the life that he lived."

"Truly a pity," Renthar sighed dramatically, a bit disappointment in this latest of murderous developments. "I always did like Lucas Drachen, and was hoping he might survive all of this. How did he die?"

"I vowed not to harm him" the Lord Uncle stumbled with his explanation. "And I did not betray my promise. It was my hirelings that cut him down, with blade and with crossbow, once he decided to surrender his life for a clue to rescue the tavern bitch. A hero's death rather than a coward's life."

"And how did it compare to the others?" Renthar asked curiously. There was something enjoyable about making the proud Magincian recite his many sins. "To Cubbins and Kensdrick."

"Cubbins and Kensdrick," the proud Magincian repeated, like a half-wit learning his letters. "It was a war hammer for the fat man in Vesper. And a hammer pick for the scout in Buccaneer's Den. Yet I took no enjoyment from either deed. They were simply necessity."

"But there is one whose death will bring you pleasure. Do you know of whom I speak?"

"The tavern bitch," Randall nodded dumbly. "Shelley. She deserves to die for her transgressions."

"No, that's not right at all." The tall, strange-eyed mage grew annoyed, but attempted to play along regardless. "How much longer will she last?"

"Two more days," the Lord Uncle replied. "Perhaps three if I've underestimated her."

"Except that it's not her death you truly crave," Renthar stated sharply, pushing harder with his magic. "The first clue, for the life of Lucas Drachen, and the second clue, for the life of the bard. Once he's dead, you'll have your satisfaction. Shelley is just another means to that end."

"But why?" The proud Magincian questioned, as if the sky had just turned pink. "She's the one I -- "

"No!" The tall, strange-eyed sorcerer shouted. Then he regained his exposure, and attempted to explain it as simply as possible. "It's Judas that's to blame. Judas sent Claudia to kill you in Magincia. Judas sent the vampire to kill you in Vesper. He cost you the Camorra and your nephew and everything you fought for. Judas. Judas. Judas. Judas. Judas. Judas. Judas. Judas. Can't you understand?"

Finally, the Lord Uncle seemed to comprehend his suggestions. "Yes, Judas must die. But what if he refuses to trade his life for the second clue?"

"He won't," Renthar smiled strangely. "Not if he has incentive."

********

Today ...

The Lord Uncle was dead. The bard had survived. And Renthar had come to a final decision. As a wise monk of Empath Abbey had once told him, shortly before the strange-eyed sorcerer had stripped and consumed the flesh from the old man's bones, "There is no life without love."

If he could not have Jolicia, then no one would.

[Judas D'arc]

"What would you have me do?" The bard Judas D'arc looked down at the urn that rested in his lap. It was a hot, summer day, as he sat upon the edge of the docks, trying his hardest to say good-bye. "What should I do?" He quietly asked her.

The small ornate jar contained the ashes of a woman called Shelley. During her thirty and five years, she had been known by various names and professions, yet somehow, all of those experiences had been reduced to the meager-sized container he now held. She had been his mentor, his friend, and even his employer, but most importantly, she had been his family, and because of that, the bard had been willing to allow Lord Randall Reich of Magincia to kill him so that Shelley might survive. But those closest to him -- Jolicia in particular -- had interfered, and now Reich was a corpse, Shelley was dust, and Judas was left with ghosts and regrets. Claudia. Sokus. Garrott. Cubbins. Kensdrick. Lucas. Aingeal. Too many had suffered in a conflict that had grown, twisted and torn, far beyond the reasons that had given birth to it. Perhaps a better man could have found another way, ending it before so many lives had been lost. But he had not.

The urn was silent, but if Shelley could have responded, he knew exactly what she might tell him. "There are days I look at at you, and all I see is the whiniest cunt that ever did walk the lands of Sosaria."

"But Shelley," the bard would have countered, "by attacking Reich, Jolicia forced my hand. I had to come to her defense and because I acted, you are dead. I understand her motives, and I able to forgive her, but ... I am uncertain I will ever forget."

His hypothetical friend rolled her eyes at him. "She loves you, Judas."

"I understand, but -- "

"Listen to me," the imaginary Shelley interrupted. "Just recently, you were forced with a similar choice. Jolicia and Alana, you could only save one of them from the old gypsy's wrath. And what'd you do?"

"I chose ..." Judas swallowed hard at the memory.

"You picked the woman you loved, and Alana paid for it," she reminded him. "But did Jolicia give you any blame?"

"No," he mumbled, mostly to himself. "She did not."

"I've told you before," the voice of Shelley continued, "you don't like your circumstances, change them. If you both really love each other, then that's a shame to waste it. But if that's your choice, don't sulk around blaming dead friends for your weakness."

"Fine," the now-chastised bard sighed deeply. "You are right. I need to -- "

" -- cease speaking with inanimate objects and find Jolicia," he found himself speaking aloud, much to the annoyance of a nearby fisherman, who eyed him suspiciously. Ignoring the other man, Judas slowly rose to his feet, and removed the lid from the urn. "Farewell, Shelley," he smiled faintly, watching as her ashes were dispersed by wind and by water.

********

Yet Judas could not find her. Jolicia was not in Yew. Nor in Britain. Nor even at the Shrine of Sacrifice. His only lead was a server at the Salty Dog, who had last seen her with Renthar. This was more than unsettling, given the power that the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer wielded over her. However, the bard refused to abandon his quest, and there was a final place to search, though it was one he would have preferred to avoid. When Alana Wisperwind opened the door to her Felucca home, he was again reminded of his fateful decision, and how Vada's gift had left the poor girl barren. He swallowed his guilt and offered her an apology that should have come weeks ago. Except Alana did not seem to mind his presence and seemed preoccupied by more present concerns.

"Did Renthar send you?" She asked, her expression more relieved than angry.

"Renthar?" Judas replied, somewhat confused by her question. "No, I am looking for Jolicia. I could not find her anywhere else, and need to tell her something. That I have been ... foolish."

A large smile appeared upon her face. "I knew you wouldn't leave her."

He sighed audibly. "Is that what she thought? No ... I just needed ... time."

"Oh, I don't know," the girl spoke with her usual lack of certainty, "Renthar thought that though. Or that's what he said."

"I have ... I have," The bard struggled to explain before he fully comprehended her words. "Wait, he was here? When?!"

She nodded quickly. "He ... brought her here ... last night."

"They are here ... now?!" He could hardly believe it.

"She's ... not well," Alana stated sadly. "He told me she thinks she's on an island with you."

"She likely does," he grudgingly admitted. "Where ... are they?"

"In my room."

"I do not mean to be rude, Alana," Judas said to her," "But perhaps I need to have a word with Renthar."

*******

An hour later, Renthar was gone, Jolicia was free, and Judas bled in places best left unmentioned. With everything the sorcerer had done, few would have been satisfied with anything less than his death. Yet the bard had not entered that room out of rage or vengeance, he did it for love. Once the first arrow had struck, Renthar saw what his opponent was willing to sacrifice and offered his terms for her release. Judas accepted them, unconditionally and without hesitation. Let the sorcerer keep his secrets and games, even his life. The bard was well-aware the cost of Jolicia's freedom, how Renthar's influence had been responsible for her sanity. He accepted he would need to care for her and that her broken mind might never recover. He understood they would have to leave Britain and the Emerald Trading Company all of their friends and responsibilities behind. And most importantly, he knew that he and Jolicia would be together.

"If you don't like your circumstances," he could hear Shelley in his ear, "there's only one thing to do with them. Change."

So the villain escaped unscathed, his victim anything but, and the tale had no true hero to speak of --

-- but Judas was okay with that.

THE END