Story XIX - Fractures 11/11/2021
The vapors faded into the springtime sun warmed the solarium of a mansion, somewhere in a forest. Rafelor turned around in confusion; he had never been anywhere like this. It was elegant, and the wood that framed the glass seemed to be not carved but encouraged to grow in place. Looking out the glass roof, his draw dropped as he realized the room was an extension of an elven mansion that wrapped itself a mammoth oak. Looking out the windows, he saw other oaks, and other homes, but they appeared different. The ones nearby seemed to be graceful extensions of the tree with little else added. This home integrated smooth marbled stone with subtle notes of silver and gold. But none of trees that he saw had the stature of the one he stood in now. As Rafelor stepped to closer to the window, he heard a soft sound. Turning he saw seated on a divan, Arnara humming to herself and reading, while soaking in the warm rays of the sun
Rafelor took a look at Arnara and let his eyes begin to wander around his environment. “Damn, Arnara, you
live here? I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
To see Arnara with a book in her hand was not a surprise to the half-elf. He had journeyed with her enough to see an occasional text on magical theory, or a tome about a school of arcanum, and even once a journal of outlandish experiments from Lantan. But now as she hummed and giggled, it was evident to Rafelor that she read for the simple purpose of pleasure. The smile on her face was pure and unconcerned. It was unlike the Arnara he travelled with who’s troubles with family, or missing friends, or compatriots at risk always placed a calm and sometimes aloof countenance on her face. But now, the look of joy was clear as she smiled bemused at the story she read, her thoughts most likely busy conjuring images in her head. Rafelor was curious on what she was reading, and started to move closer to her, when he heard soft boots, approaching from the hall. And a quick glance told him, that Arnara was oblivious to either him or the imposing figure that stepped into the room, with the sound of grumbling disapproval of her selection of texts.
Rafelor stiffened, as he saw it was Arnara’s father Kylan that had entered the solarium. His eyes bore into his only daughter with a look of disdain on his face, as he waited to see if his daughter was even aware of his arrival. But Arnara’s attention was elsewhere in the story, and her father’s presence went unnoticed by the young elf. Rafelor walked in front of Arnara’s field of view, blocking the sun. “Psst, Arnara, behind you” he quietly whispered.
To Rafelor’s dismay, Arnara did not react to his words at all. Additionally, despite his relative position to Arnara and the sun, his body did nothing to stop the beams of light from hitting her.
“Arnara,” Kylan said in a soft yet commanding tone, startling the young elf.
Arnara jumped up from her divan, and quickly hid the book behind her back, as she looked her father in the eyes. Her breathing was quickened, and her arms shook, as she answered timidly, “Yes…father. I…I…was not expecting you.” Rafelor looked at the two elves, and he could feel the tension in the air that hung between the two. But he was more struck by Arnara’s behavior as it had none of the confidence, or calm that he normally saw in his mentor.
“Reading trivialities?” Kylan said disapprovingly. “A story of forbidden love, or heroic exploits? I expect the Third Daughter to be a bit more studious and disciplined.”
“I…I’m not neglecting my studies! I just…wanted to read here in the sun this afternoon,” and Arnara pulled the book in front of her and clutched it as if it would deflect her father’s glare at her.
Kylan stared at his daughter, his face a mask. “Arnara, you are fortunate. I had breakfast with Corlia Xiloscient, and we have agreed on your future.”
Arnara blinked confused, “My…my…future? I thought I was continuing my studies so I could assist Casia—”
“The First Daughter is in good hands as it stands now,” Kylan waved his hand dismissively at his daughter. “You are to be
Sonalta for Morlea Xiloscient in the near future, so you should start preparing for your role in their house.”
Arnara looked at her father still confused, “But…I should be Casia’s…or Zyana’s—”
“As
Third daughter, you will be strengthening our bonds with House Xiloscient,” His tone even but with a hint of annoyance. “So it is…best that you perform as a
Sonalta for them.”
Arnara awkwardly probed her father, “Xiloscient is a…fine wood elf house of course. But I do not understand—”
“—And perhaps you will find someone…compatible…and you join—” Kylan continued.
Arnara’s eyes widened, and her face flushed with anger, “Join? Join!? You mean
leave, I think. Give up my name and claim to the Ustina house so you can be rid of me. All because I am an inconvenient reminder for you!”
“Arnara, you are to fulfill your obligations to this House, and that will be the end of it.” Kylan said his voice showing a hint of anger. “And that obligation is to…ingratiate yourself to House Xiloscient. And if you don’t, I will find another house. And another if I must. As many as it takes.”
Rafelor turned and barked at her father. “Kylan, you naughty word! Don’t go giving your kids away like that! Don’t care how fancy this house is, it’s no excuse to cast off your daughter…and be a dick about it too.” And much like Arnara, Kylan did not react to Rafelor in any capacity. Rafelor threw his hands in the air “WHY ISN’T ANYONE LISTENING TO ME!?”
Arnara stood there fuming a moment before responding, “Very well, father. If that is what you desire.”
“The needs of House Ustina come first,” Kylan coldly reminded his daughter.
“Of course it does,” Arnara said bowing her head. She stood there quietly before lifting her head and giving her father a withering glare, “If me leaving will…cure you of your hatred towards me. Towards what I did 115 years ago. When I cut out of your life a cherished part of you. One I never got to know. So be it.” Arnara said, walking briskly to the doorway to exit the solarium. But before she left, she turned to look at her father again.
“But at least
she loved me in that brief moment. But it seems the soul of House Ustina died with her then too.”
Rafelor turned back over to Arnara. “Wait, huh? Arnara, what are you talking about? You never mentioned anything about...what the? Hey!” Rafelor found himself engulphed in mist, as whirls of mist and vapor crept all around the room. As it spread and thickened, Rafelor’s vision of everything around him rapidly dissolved. “Hey. Hey! Wait! Cut it out! I can’t see anything!”
He began rapidly swinging his arms through the air, trying to move the mist out of the way. Eventually, his vision was completely obscured by it. His environment was nothing but the quiet, mystifying vapor for a few short moments until it cleared, revealing an entirely new environment.
___
The white tendrils of vapor swirled and whipped around Rafelor before his vision was blinded by the light of the sun. Looking around, Rafelor knew where he was, a slum called Rivington, on the outside edge of Baldur’s Gate. It was loud and bustling as it always had been, and it was well-known haven for crime and smuggling. There was much to see and much to forget about if you were smart. One forgotten young man shuffled his way through the streets, anxiously looking at all the people passing by.
Rafelor stared at the man and felt his stomach drop. “OH NO…”
He was dressed in some dirty, plain clothes, but he gave off the impression that he still cared about his hygiene. His hair was smooth and crept down to his shoulders and his face, bearing no scars or scratches, looked as though it was washed regularly. He didn’t look bad. He didn’t look good. He only looked like another bystander trying to find his own footing in town. Finding a clearing between the crowd of people, he found who he was looking for: a towering goliath and a strong, but not quite as large, half-orc. Taking a deep breath, he approached the half-orc and spoke to her.
“Excuse me, uh, are you…Carrie?”
She turned her head to meet him. “It’s ‘KAR-ri’, actually. What do you want?”
He began to mumble “I…heard you were, um, looking for people that might be good for uh…“
“What’s that? Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“Sorry! You’re looking for people to help smuggle stuff?”
Rafelor watched the trio until his palm met his face and he turned his head away. “It was so long ago...I really, really, don’t want to watch this.”
The half-orc raised a brow, not expecting someone to be familiar with her line of work, nor discuss it openly, “Yeah, we are. Do you know anybody that could do the job?”
He looked down sheepishly, “Yeah, actually. Uh…me.”
There was a brief period of silence. A look of shock and bewilderment froze on her face. Shortly afterward, the silence was broken by an eruption of laughter from Kari and the goliath.
“Stop it! Don’t blow it, you idiot!” Rafelor shouted at the man. However, his words fell on the same deaf ears, just as they did with Kylan and Arnara.
“You can’t be serious; you want to be a part of the ring? You’d have to be able to stand up to people like my pal here to stand a chance. And you? Hate to break it to you, but you don’t even look like you have the guts to squash a bug.”
The man let out a sigh of defeat.
“What’s your name, boy?” she continued.
He didn’t respond; he had nothing to respond with. After an awkward period of silence, she kept talking once more.
“…Okay then. Tell you what, why don’t you run along home and make some better use for your time than bothering us.”
Without another word, he left in silence. Even with no home to go to, he disappeared into the streets, leaving behind the goliath and half-orc to ridicule him behind his back.
Back into the bustling, crowded streets he walked. Blending into the crowd gave him some time to think about himself. At this point of his life, he had nowhere else to go. Nobody gave him the opportunity for a job in Baldur’s Gate, nor did he believe he had any exceptional skills for one. He thought there was no chance he could survive anywhere outside the streets of the city; any chance at braving the unknown past Baldur’s Gate would lead to his death. On top of all that, there was never a single piece of reassurance given to him by anyone in his life, which led him to believe that even if he could pick himself up, would he even deserve it? The man had no clue what this smuggling job meant to him, but he thought if there was any chance that he could escape his personal hell, this lowlife job was his only chance to do so. Despite this, he failed to apply himself when it mattered the most, allowing that opportunity to waste away like everything else he knew.
The half-elf watching all of this continued to pout. “This blows, why do I have to see this?”
A growing anger began to grow inside of him. Despite his best efforts, he could never seem to accomplish anything in his life. This latest interaction with the smugglers had only proven to himself how much of a failure he thought he was. It was impossible for him to get anything he wanted by himself.
So, he began to think about what would happen if he tried to be someone else.
Meanwhile, Kari and the Goliath were talking amongst each other, having forgotten about the man that approached them before. That was, until Kari turned her head and saw the same person marching towards them.
“Hey, you, what did I tell you? You don’t have the guts for this” she hollered to him.
He ignored her and kept moving towards them.
“Are you deaf? Scram!” she barked.
Rafelor breathed in “And so it begins…”
With a furious intensity growing inside of him, he quickly made his way over to the goliath, and before either of them could react, he punched the goliath square in the face with all his strength. The force of the blow was strong enough to knock the goliath down to the floor. The man put his foot on the goliath’s chest and leaned towards his head.
“Don’t have what it takes, huh? Well, it looks like your weak-ass goliath is currently stuck beneath my heel. So, get your priorities straight and know talent when you see it, bitch.”
Stunned for a moment, she let out another fit of laughter. “Look at that, he smacked your naughty word, Spulitz.”
The man looked down at the goliath beneath his foot, only to realize that it was no longer a goliath that lay beneath. Instead, there beneath his heel was the lanky figure of a changeling.
“Zat was one of many recruitment tests, and you passed” the changeling spoke to the man.
Kari chimed in. “In the ring, you need to be someone that isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty like that. Could have had me fooled the first time you showed up. Welcome to the team.”
She held out her hand, which the man took for a solid handshake. The rage that festered inside of him began to fade. Instead, confidence and a small feeling of pride began to build inside of him, something that he had not felt in several years.
Meanwhile, the opposite effect was happening on Rafelor. “Come on, just get on with it already!”
“Now, what did you say your name was?” Kari asked him.
Despite everything, he still did not have an answer for her. He thought of the many stories he had read about people of great might, strength, prestige, and charisma. Trying to emulate the heroes of his past, he decided to say the name he thought best emulated that kind of person…
“It’s pretty simple, not too hard to remember. The name’s…”
The same mist and smoke returned from before crept all around Rafelor. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, eagerly waiting for it to whisk him somewhere far away from here.
When Rafelor opened his eyes again, he found himself in yet another place. However, this environment was another place he wished to forget. A rectangular chamber with benches and cages of different shapes and sizes. Dolls sat on shelves and looked down with empty eyes from their perches. Near the middle of the room a corroded brass cauldron sat, with wisps of green smoke billowed forth. The sickly vapor flowed across the floor, with wispy tendrils grasping at nothing in the air. Along one wall was a massive door bronze door, with five bronze seals, that Rafelor remembered, concealed locking mechanisms. And beyond it lay the remains of a never born god, now hungering for all the souls in Toril.
As Rafelor looked around, he heard a soft groan. Turning he saw a familiar mishappen elf laying on the stone table. She groaned again and her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head to look around in confusion. It was clear that to her, that the stone chamber was unfamiliar. Rafelor stepped closer to the elf, and he realized this must have been shortly after Apolyta had been ‘born’. Her skin was smooth and unblemished like Arnara’s. And while it wore her face, he cringed at what the elf was about to discover.
The elf grimaced in pain and then tried to sit up. But she stopped short when as she looked at her own hand. Her hand was folded up against her forearm, the fingers locked together barely able to flex or wiggle. Shivering, she then looked down at herself, to find that she was naked on this table. But beyond that shock, was that somehow her other limbs were also twisted and bent. One foot was turned inwards as a club foot, while her legs seemed to be of different lengths.
“What…happened…to me? Where am I?” the elf said confused and the barest hint of fear in her voice.
“Oooo…you are so much improved. Much better than before,” a gritty voice in the shadows said. “You were a hideous elf. The most hideous I have seen in quite a spell.” Turning she saw the voices owner trundle into the light. A tall lanky woman with purple skin, and patchy bristle like hair. Over her skin crawled a multitude of ants, and her eyes were covered with crust laden gold coins.
Rafelor grimaced at the sight of the grotesque woman that stood over the elf that had in the real world just named herself Apolyta. Despite its absence in the ritual, he noticed his morningstar back in its usual spot at his waist. “Nope. We’re not having this. Not letting jackasses like you have any fun. EAT THIS!”
The best-looking half-elf in the room swung his morningstar, aiming for the woman’s head. But, what would have been a direct hit to the skull, ended up being a whiff as his morningstar simply passed through her head. He shouted angrily to deaf ears once more. “Oh, you’ve got to be
kidding me! Is there
anything I can do here!?”
“Not just any Arnara. The REAL Arnara is here to bare her soul and tell us all the truths,” said another voice, and another woman, with a peg leg, and a necklace of chattering teeth around her neck. As she spoke, yellow vapors escaped from her nose and ears. “Poor dear, look how she cowers like a rabbit for stew.”
Three bolts of fire soared through the second woman’s chest, going straight through her. No damage or reaction occurred from her or the room. Rafelor clenched his teeth out of anger. “It’s like I don’t exist. And now the hags get to do whatever they want to her.”
“Well, stew she’ll be if she doesn’t talk, but I am sure…” Said a third voice, muffled by a squirming leather sack worn on the head of a third woman. From beneath the sack, a snake slithered out and looked at the broken elf and spoke. “…Ssshe’ll tell usss sssisters all we need to know.”
Apolyta shivered in fear, as she realized she was amongst a coven of night hags. She wasn’t going to just lay there for their amusement however, and she laid back down and raised a hand and said, “
Vas Flam!” But nothing happened, no bead of light, no eruption of heat and flame. She looked at her hand in puzzlement, and then at the hags in fear.
“Tsk tsk…and we haven’t even started to chat,” the one with coins on her eyes said with malice and mockery. “She has no manners does she Peggy?”
“No,” the one called ‘Peggy’ answered with a cruel smile on her lips. “That’s why we said no Weave for her. Hard to chat when the rabbit is trying to roast the cook! Isn’t that right Nanna?”
“The guilt you carry…that makes you so delicious. And with a beautiful form now to match! You are exquisite! Unlike that ugly guilt trip of a woman
calling herself Arnara,” the one called ‘Nanna’ said with a smile full of rotten teeth. “But no…she will never see you…never know you…”
“Hmph. If that were true, then we wouldn’t really be here, would we?” Rafelor interjected.
“…you are here for two reasons. First, you are here to tell us all about…yourself…and your friends, right Widow Groat?”
“Yes,” the coined eyed one said. “And then…we eat you. Maybe fast, maybe slow, maybe a little at a time if we want to snack.”
“Elves chewy…will need to cook a while,” Peggy complained.
“True,” Nanna said with a vicious gleam in her eye. “But a slow roast as will help loosen her tongue and make her tender.”
“No…No…I…No!” Arnara said trying to shrink back away from the hags as they approached. Her malformed body was strange her and didn’t move as she wanted. But in truth there was nowhere to run from the fiends in front of her. She saw that in Widow Groat’s hands was a cat-o-nine tails, made of strands of rusty wire with bits of sharp metal bits along the length, dripping with green ichor.
“Questions first, and snacking later,” Widow Groat said with a crooked grin holding up the wicked instrument so that Apolyta could understand her fate to come. “This will soften her up a bit. Now let’s start with you telling us all about the ugly one with that morningstar.”
“Was that really necessary? You’re one to talk, it looks like I’m looking at a backed-up privy!” Rafelor interrupted again. As usual, there was no reply. His eyes rolled to the side as he silently commented to himself “This is a lot funner when someone can hear you…”
“Let’s see what pain can tell us.” Widow Groat continued. Her arm quickly twisted, casting the tails across Apolyta’s flesh, tearing open wounds with the jagged bits. The future Apolyta screamed as the ichor seeped into her wounds. Acrid smoke rose from where the ichor met blood and boiled on her skin. Her eyes were wide in horror as she realized that this was only an opening round in a long battle that she was likely to lose.
“Such lovely music!” Nanna said with an evil grin. “We’re going to have such a lovely dinner party dearie.”
The mist returned, and as everything began to fade away, Rafelor spoke once more.
“I don’t care what bargain we made back in the tomb, when I find that last surviving hag again, I’m gonna give what’s coming to her.”
The mist cleared to the now familiar wood and marble of House Ustina. The hallway was a graceful curve around the trunk of the oak, lined with statuettes and paintings. Rafelor nodded a moment and grinned. This was a place of luxury that had already taken a liking to. He felt a bit of relief returning to a nicer area, but his smile faded once he saw the scene before him.
Running through the intangible half-elf, Arnara stormed down the hall, her face a torrent of anger and shame as tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. Her dress whipped around her as she ran, and her sobbing echoed through the ancient halls of the Ustina mansion. Rafelor saw that she was dressed in the same dress as before, and still carried the same book. Sighing, he realized that she was dealing with the sad reality of being removed from the only home she had known. That she was to be cast out, stripped of her family name, and essentially forced to join another House. Banished for something she had no control of.
“I wish I could say something to her, but there’s no point in trying,” Rafelor said glumly trotting behind her. He followed her as she ran through the halls, seeking succor to her inner turmoil. Soon, they found themselves far from the living areas, and had what appeared to be an armory. The room was round, with the roof open to the sky, and a ring of flagstone stone in the center. Around the edges were pells, and racks of blunted training blades, spears, and shields. Arnara stomped into the ring and dropped her book to the floor. She then pulled a long sword from the rack and gripped it tightly. She then turned, and marched over to a battered pell, and swung at it, shouting in incoherent fury.
Like all elves, It was clear to Rafelor that Arnara had been trained in the use of the sword. But it was also clear that her lack of strength made her a less than skilled wielder with the heavy blade. But most surprising was the raw open emotion on her face as she unleased her fury on the defenseless pole of wood. She showed none of the discipline she showed when she danced the Bladesong. She instead swung wildly with both hands at the pell. She tried to cleave it into two bringing the sword down on the target, only to have it bounce off the sturdy wood, barely notching it with her blow. She swung again and again, tears still streaming, but the wood refused to yield to her, as it stood resolutely against her weak blows. Eventually, her swings became slower and slower, until finally she swung at the pell in a great sweeping arc. The blade struck the wood, denting it and bounced off. The jarring blow caused Arnara to lose her grip and the sword sprang out of her hand and spun across the flagstone. She then collapsed onto the floor, her hair matted, and her dress dripping in sweat as her tears flowed freely.
“Now that is a pitiful sight. Laid low by a practice target,” came a voice from behind them. Rafelor turned, as Arnara wiped the tears from her eyes. There he saw another elf standing, leaning against another pell. He was dressed in fine silks, and high leather boots, with a gleaming longsword at his side. He was muscular for an elf and was a bit shorter than most. His reddish hair was an odd cut, that swept around his head. But he wore a look of concern, as he knelt down to the crying elf.
“Oh, come on, Arnara, I do not look like that!” Rafelor shouted.
He hesitated after speaking. “Or…do I?” he questioned. Suddenly morbidly curious about Arnara’s previous claim, he crept back into the hall. On the wall, a small, decorated mirror hung. Rafelor peered into it, trying to confirm whether there was a resemblance. However, even the mirror refused to respond to Rafelor’s presence, for his reflection was completely absent.
There was an annoyed look on Rafelor’s face as he grumbled, “Now that’s just cruel.”
He walked back into the armory, Rafelor saw the elf had taken her into his arms and held her, as she cried into his chest.
“I can only assume your father…has told you about the arrangements?” the elf said with a sigh.
Arnara sat up and looked up at him in confusion and after a couple of sniffles asked, “Pallas…you…you knew?”
Pallas nodded, “My father told me this morning. Kylan had announced his intention to the heads of the lines last night.”
Arnara shook her head in disbelief, “So I’m…the last to know.”
“Well, not by much. Casia and Zyana are away at Greenpine, but I’m sure a missive to them is being penned.”
Arnara looked down again and said bitterly, “How…how can he do this?”
Pallas sat down next to her and let her lean onto him, “I am not taking his side, and I know you hate this, but as you have grown, your similarities that you have with your mother are many. And as I watched you mature; I saw how you two became more distant to each other.”
“It’s not fair,” Arnara said softly. “That constant comparison, and the…surprise. No disappointment that I am not her. She was a poet, and a skilled swordswoman, and wise. An elf that everyone looked to for guidance. I’m none of those things.”
Pallas sighed, “No, your sense of rhythm is terrible and your skill with the longsword…well…you might as well use a mace or morningstar. No finesse whatsoever,” and a wave of mist erupted from the ground and covered the form of Pallas. As it dissipated, the elf now took the form of a bulkier half-elf who now pet Arnara on the shoulder.
The spectator grinned. “Ha! This guy knows where it’s at! You tell her, Rafelor! Wait…what!?” As he looked at the figure, it was no longer the elf dressed in silk, but himself in his white cloth duster, and dark muslin shirt, his Morningstar in easy reach.
Arnara playfully punched the half-elf, “I had to settle for a teacher that half trained me and was terrible at any attempt at wit or verbal sparring.”
“Well, as I said. There’s only room for one naughty word in this family. And that’s me!”
Arnara softly chuckled and was quiet a moment. The then spoke quietly again, “It’s been hard since the drawing of the veil for me. The Reverie was such a comfort, now all I have are just my own memories. And just I want to forget them. I wish you didn’t have to leave for Whitepetal so soon. I wish you could stay and brighten my…dwindling days here.”
Rafelor’s doppelganger grimaced and said, “You deserve to be happy in life without getting swallowed in guilt and unyielding burdens. I want to help you overcome your challenges. It is the least I can do for you.”
“I mean, he’s right, but he doesn’t have to sound like such a dweeb saying it.” Rafelor commented as he watched this interaction.
“You have no idea how bad the last couple of weeks have been...how...broken I feel. I... I thought we would have time to…but...it’s too fast...everything feels rushed.”
“…have I heard this somewhere before?” asked the spectating Rafelor.
“Nothing ever bothers or flusters you.” The image of Rafelor accused.
“Frustrated or Jealous?” Arnara retorted.
“What difference does it make?” came the familiar response.
“I suppose none, I do get…frustrated…” Arnara’s voice trailed off a moment and she shook her head.
“Alright, time out. Time out. Time out,” the spectating Rafelor said, “I don’t know what the hells is going on here, but I’m pretty sure this is all naughty word. There’s no way I was ever here before; I think I’d remember a house as awesome as this. And that right there, that is not me. That’s her cousin that she’s always compared me too. Cool guy and all, but there’s only one Rafelor and he’s currently very annoyed that he can’t seem to do anything.” And he glared at himself standing there. But after he spoke the mist began to surround the Rafelor that Arnara was talking to. It covered him completely, and once the mist faded away, Pallas had returned in Rafelor’s position.
“Holy crap, did I do that?” Rafelor asked, “Well then, maybe I can do something here after all.”
“No, not it…I’m…lost. What should I do?”
“Perhaps your father is right,” Pallas said softly with a note of reluctance as he cringed.
“What!?!”
“You need time away from each other. Perhaps his perspective will change after some separation. And you would be a
Sonalta for Morlea, right? You always did like her. Maybe being away from the house is a good idea, and perhaps someone in Xiloscient may have good advice.
Arnara sighed, “Feels like I’m losing somehow…but perhaps you are right Pallas.”
“I don’t know about that,” Pallas said lifting Arnara’s chin to look at him. “I just know that unless something changes, you aren’t going to be happy.”
From the door to the armory, the white mist rose again to cover the scene. Rafelor’s expression became serious. “So you want to play rough, huh? Well, no matter what, I’m ready for whatever comes next.”
As the Mists cleared, Rafelor quickly realized he was wrong.
Morningstar clashed with scimitar as Rafelor attempted to hold his own against the lizardfolk in vain. As the ship they stood on rocked back and forth, Rafelor was successful in parrying various slices, but he was not in any place to gain the upper hand. With every parry, Rafelor could feel his energy deplete more and more. Knowing full well of Rafelor’s limits, his opponent spun around with a great swing, strong enough to send the morningstar flying out of Rafelor’s hands. With Rafelor having no means of defending himself, the Lizardfolk lunged forward for the killing blow. In that moment, the best Rafelor could do was scramble backwards, twisting around to avoid being slashed. Fortunately, it was just enough for a fatal blow to be turned instead, into a deep scar across his cheek.
He yelped in pain as blood gushed out of his face. Desperately, he held his face, trying to stop the blood from oozing out. At that point, all he could do was taunt the victor.
“Oh great. This sucks; can we go back to Arnara and Apolyta now?” Rafelor complained as he watched.
“You...you’re a psychopath Garzuxl, you know that, right?” Rafelor watched himself say.
Garzuxl snarled, slowly pacing the deck of the ship. “Sssso, what if I am? I’m the one who’ssss walking awayzzz with my prizzzze today.”
“Why even bother with all of this? I didn’t have any beef with you. I’m just minding my own business.”
Garzuxl pointed his scimitar at Rafelor and began walking closer to him. “It’s sssimple. You are an object that ssstands in my way. The Ring is mine to do azzz I zzzsee fit. I kill when I wantsss, I take when I wantsss, I feassst when I wantsss, and I kill whiny actorssss like you when I wantsss.”
“I... didn’t…didn’t want it to be like this--” the weary Rafelor stammered.
“I. Don’t.
CARE.” Garzuxl yelled pointedly, and he thrust the scimitar forward, aiming for the half-elf’s throat. With the last bit of his strength, Rafelor frantically twisted out of the way, trying to keep his footing. However, with little room to work with, he ended up throwing his body over the side of the ship. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was hitting the water below.
When he woke up, his face hurt. As he felt where he was cut, he noticed that a bandage had been applied by someone. Observing his environment, he found himself on a wrecked ship in the middle of a large cavern. Sitting in the middle of the deck, around a makeshift fire pit, was Spulitz, the only person in The Ring that was close to a friend.
“Oh, thank goodness! You are awake! I am so glad to see zat you are not dead!” exclaimed Spulitz in his half-elf form.
“Huh, I haven’t heard from Spulitz in a while. I wonder how he’s doing” said the observing Rafelor.
With every thought that rushed into Spulitz’s head, he changed his body into a different shape with a different personality to compliment it. To Rafelor, he knew the one that stood before him as ‘Mr. Happy.’
“I take it you saved me?” Rafelor replied glumly.
Mr. Happy’s body morphed back into the same, lanky changeling that Rafelor knew from the start. His true form was who Rafelor referred to as Spulitz.
“Correct, I fear that had I not come sooner, you would have perished. And us two are the only survivors. The rest were tragically slaughtered.”
“Yeah? Sure, as hell don’t feel like a survivor. That naughty word got under my skin and then got the best of me. Made a fool out of myself in front of everyone too…”
“Yes, but does it matter since everyone else died?” Spulitz pointed out.
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?”
Spulitz changed into Mr. Happy. “Now, now, turn zat scar upside down!” and just as quickly started to change again, but this time a wave of mist covered the figure. It quickly disappeared and left behind the image of Arnara.“ But the important thing is that you’re still alive. Garzuxl is a deadly foe, one where most people who meet him don’t come back alive. That alone, is something you can be proud of.”
Still watching, the spectating Rafelor shook his head and held up his index finger. “Either Spulitz knows something, I don’t, or this is completely wrong.”
Rafelor clenched his fist in anger. “Damn it...I don’t understand; why can’t I seem to be the person I want to be? Every second someone’s out to destroy me no matter what. It’s not fair! It’s naughty word!”
Arnara looked at Rafelor squinting, as if she was deciphering what Rafelor really wanted, before asking “Well, Rafelor, what kind of person
do you want to be?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted. Hearing the sound of his voice echo across the cavern, he calmed himself down, speaking in a somber voice once more. “Nothing ever changes, even when I do.”
“From what I can see, this line of work is cruel and unforgiving. Might I suggest you try going on your own for a little while? When my friend Myrai was still here, she spent a good amount of time in the Misty Forest with me…” she trailed off a bit, letting out a deep sigh, “...although not enough time. Either way, the change in environment seemed to ease some of the terrors she faced every night...”
The younger Rafelor sat there quietly as he meditated on Arnara’s words.
“...When I first left my home, I attempted to do the same. However, once I left, I found that I couldn’t bring myself to come back home. Perhaps you’ll feel differently depending on the path you take,” her eyes looked at Rafelor from top to bottom before she began to speak again, “A solo mercenary seems like a good fit for you. It’s possible going on your own may make you strong enough to stand up to Garzuxl, but the decision is up to you. This is your choice; not mine.”
“You know, as interesting as it is seeing Arnara in this scenario, I should probably do something about this,” said the spectating half-elf has he concentrated on fixing the scene, “naughty word, do I even remember what form Spulitz was in right here?”
He focused on Arnara and thought hard about what he actually remembered. Recognizing Spulitz in his own thoughts, the mist immediately surrounded Arnara and turned her back into Spulitz.
The other Rafelor broke his silence. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I would like to cave that dude’s head in.” he looked up at the cavern. “We should lay low here until he thinks he’s dead. Then, we sneak out and regroup with the others on land.”
He nodded, stood up, and made his way below the deck of the ship. This left Rafelor alone with his thoughts.
The silence was broken only by the Rafelor watching “Seriously!? All that brainpower to fix this vision, and Spulitz just gets up and walks away? Thanks a lot…”’
Rafelor in the vision broke the silence he heard by himself. “That mercenary idea doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll try it someday. If there’s answers to any of these things in my head, I’ll find them. Someway...somehow…”
The mist began to dissolve the scene for yet another time.
“And now we’re already out of here! You already made me sit through this crap. Would it kill you to let me enjoy the fruits of my labor? Whatever, the next one better be nice…”
The cage that Apolyta hung in was covered with dried blood and reeked of her own filth. It was so small that she couldn’t stand in it nor lie in it with comfort. She had to twist herself to lay in the cage, unable to straighten out fully. Her malformed arms, legs and hips made it impossible to get comfortable. Her silver hair was a fright, matted into knots and sticking out in places. Her skin was covered in sores from lying on the iron bars, burns from rods, and cuts from various implements. Her eyes were sunken in as she lay there in a daze. Rafelor had to guess that she hadn’t rested in some time. As bad as things sometimes seemed for Arnara, it was clear that Apolyta; had endured a lot more. And yet, she never said a word to anyone about it. Not even as they travelled to Candlekeep.
“What did I expect? Of course it’s not nice; it’s everybody’s favorite tomb. What disturbing horrors await us today?” Rafelor growled to himself.
She lazily looked over at a tray that sat withing easy reach of her cage. There was sliced roast boar, a bowl of cooling squash stew, and iced cakes with a sugary glaze. She licked her dry lips and then closed her eyes and turned away trying to ignore it. Rafelor heard footsteps, and he saw a tall thin man coming down from the landing above, bearing a fresh new tray. The warm spiced smells were welcome relief to Rafelor compared to the stink coming from the cage. He watched the servant, swap out her old tray of cold untouched food for a new one. And then he stood and gestured with a smile at the new tray. But Apolyta laid there silently and glanced at the meal with hungering eyes. She moistened her lips again, the haunting look of want and desire on her face. But she again closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No…no…” she whispered feverishly. “A trap. A trap. You’re just trying to fatten me up. Like calf on a human farm. I won’t do it. I’ll starve first. I won’t give them the…” and she spat on the floor, “…the satisfaction. I will bear the pain as I give up all I know. I can’t stop them.” And she closed her eyes and a tear dripped from her eye down her cheek before falling to the ground. She and sighed and continued, “How I tried not to talk, not so say anything. But..the..pain,” and she sniffed and started to cry again as she had for many of the days. “And now they are here in the tomb…somewhere…I don’t think they can—”
“—Aw…does our pretty Arnara feel sorry for herself…again? How pathetic.” Widow Groat said as she materialized from the ether. She reached into the cage and grasped the elf by the chin, holding her head still so Arnara was forced to look at the hideous hag. From behind the veil of coins, ants descended down her arm, and crawled on the elf. Apolyta ignored them crawling over her, as she was caught up in her shivering fear.
“And she’s a naughty, naughty girl,” Peggy Deadbells said as she materialized. She then limped over to the workbench near the cage on her stumpy wooden leg while she talked, “You don’t get to choose to starve. No no no. That will not do.” In her hands she carried a machine, full of grinding gears, with a funnel on the top, and a curved tube hanging downwards. She placed it on the workbench, and Baggy Nanna giggled as she moved to the machine and hung a pail underneath the tube. She then took a funnel off the workbench and moved to the cage wearing a wicked grin.
Baggy Nanna approached the cage and from under her leather hood, the snout of a dirty terrier emerged, “Bark bark…well we can’t question her on an empty stomach, can we? Mister Threadneedle, could you be so…kind,” she said with a tone of dripping sarcasm, “To prepare our fine dining for poor poor hungry Arnara?” The human servant said nothing, but took the contents of the serving tray, and dumped it into the hopper of the grinder, and he cheerfully began to turn the crank.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I didn’t know it was this bad. Apolyta…I’m sorry,” Rafelor said as an anger began to build inside of him, “You’d have to be an absolute monster to be a part of this. Who would possibly think this is, okay?” as he watched the hag grind the food into a thick, uneven paste.
“Well then,” said a familiar voice. Turning he saw the faintest tendrils of mist fade, revealing himself, holding Apolyta’s head and chin in place with an iron grip. . “Open wide!”
“WHAT THE naughty word!?”
A shadow stepped forward, and this time the hag Peggy Deadbells now appeared as Kylan. He looked down at Apolyta and then forced the funnel’s small end into Apolyta’s mouth. “The Third Daughter of House Ustina will eat as she is told to. The needs of the House come first.” The image of Kylan said. Threadneedle had stopped grinding and carried the now full pail of liquified boar, squash and cake over to the cage.
“Wait, wait, wait, it was
me!? And now it’s Kylan? I need to sit down…” said Rafelor, as he hopped on top of a workbench nearby. However, in that moment, he forgot about his previous attempts to interact with the environment. As his rear touched the workbench, Rafelor phased right through it and fell to the floor.
“…I hate this” he said as he got up on one knee, when he heard the pail being removed from the machine. His heart sank as he saw a familiar elf, in a flowing green dress holding it, and moving over to the helpless Apolyta. Arnara then took the food and held it above the funnel with a wicked gleam in her eye, “And you’re wrong. Not a calf. A goose. This the best way to fatten you and your liver. You could have done this the easy way, but you were always so…difficult!” the elf said with a sneer and she began to tip the pail to pour the contents into the wide opening of the funnel. Apolyta was beyond screaming or crying. All she could do was whimper as she faced her end, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Just as Apolyta started to swallow for her life, the image of Rafelor then suddenly looked up and raised his hand before barking, “What the naughty word is that noise?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be me? Figure it out, dipshit” said the Rafelor watching, as he got up from the floor.
“Oh, come on! I thought this would work!” a voice exclaimed bitterly in the distance from the direction of the stairs.
The spectating Rafelor groaned. “Oh god, is that Hawthorne? Oh gods, go away, Hawthorne. I feel like whenever I’m around you, everything is a hundred times more confusing. You are
not going to be a help as I try to fix this.”
“Told you; nothing to see here. NOTHING!” came a jibe in retort.
“I hate this cursed place!” another voice said.
Kylan frowned and pulled the funnel from Apolyta’s mouth and Rafelor released her head. Apolyta then turned her head and started to cough violently, as the image of Rafelor spoke. “It seems that our guests have arrived early. We will have to finish our meal…after we finish them.”
Arnara handed the pail to Mister Threadneedle and leaned down to whisper to Apolyta, “I thought you were made of stronger stuff. But it seems you are weak willed as well. Your tears aren’t going to save anyone. Didn’t save Pyrite. Or Ametrine, and certainly not Toddy now. You’re just a failure waiting…to be eaten.”
Rafelor sighed. “I better fix this before they all arrive and make this even more confusing.” On that note, Rafelor began to recall the appearance of the three. He winced as he recalled all the grotesque details of their faces. As he did so, the mist rolled in and restored the sisters to their proper places.
The Sewn Sisters looked at the helpless elf and the hags cackled as they held their hands in a circle. Then they faded from view, and all Apolyta could do was to lay in her cage and cry in joy as the voices on the stairs grew louder.
Like clockwork, the mist rolled in. Rafelor watched as it slowly crawled across the floor and into the air.
“Come on, can’t you roll in any faster? I got places to go, things to do, and I want to get out of here before I have to see Yaka again.” Fortunately for him, the scene disappeared before any of them could come down the stairs, and the next scene appeared before him.
_____
“Alright, what do we have this time?” asked Rafelor.
It was raining outside the shrine, as Arnara knelt in front of the stone bier, her eyes red from tears, that still flowed down her cheeks. Ralefor was shocked to see himself as a corpse, laying there peacefully although his corpse had signs of a violent end. His body was pierced and slashed by many blades. His eyes were now closed forever, his broken form a shadow of its former self.
“…well naughty word. Wait a moment, this isn’t right.”
She was so absorbed in her grief she didn’t hear the person approaching the small chapel that Rafelor lay in state.
“Arnarrra,” the lizardfolk said simply.
The elf turned her head slightly, “So what disfavor have I done now for you to visit me? Perhaps I breathed too close to you? Did my scent offend? My lack of respect perhaps?”
Garzuxl growled, “Yourrr tone with me isssss beneath you. Neverthelessss we mussst talk.”
The Rafelor that was not dead took a double take at his corpse and Garzuxl. “Oh what the hell, who invited
you here? Get out of here, Garzxul. Don’t care how much you want to see it, you’re never gonna get to see my corpse.”
“Sorry father, but…I am a little preoccupied with my grief, and preparing for my new duties” Arnara continued.
“Garzuxl as Arnara’s father? Ew. EWWWWWW. I don’t want to think about that! This sounds like a nightmare after a really bad hangover.”
“It isss about that; thingssss have changed.”
“What? Must I leave the Misty Forest now? Will I still be too close for your fragile memory to handle?” Arnara said with venom in her voice.
“Arnara!” the lizardfolk hissed causing Arnara to look at him with hate. “The hobgoblins have ssstruck again.”
“Where?” Arnara said, her face looking forlorn as readied herself for bad news.
“Whitepetal again, and also Greenpine,” the mists flew through the chamber and the lizardfolk was replaced by the figure of Pallas. But this Pallas we covered the wounds of battle, with a deep cut below the breastbone; a fatal blow. The image of Pallas then said. “Many Tel’Quessir have been lost. Including Morlea.”
Rafelor scratched his head. “Did that corpse just talk? Wasn’t that Garzuxl a moment ago, not Pallas? With all due respect, Arnara, I think I’d rather see Pallas dead than my corpse.”
Arnara’s shoulder’s slumped, “Oh…I…see. So…what house are you banishing me to now?” as she turned to the body of Kylan on the bier.
Rafelor could only shake his head trying to clear the confusion swimming in his head. “And now Kylan’s dead!? At this point, why not have Arnara die and join the party?”
The form of Pallas shimmered as ghostly mist quickly enveloped the elf, and it was now Rafelor who stepped over and forcibly pulled on Arnara’s shoulder and turned her around, “ Zyana and Casia were killed.”
“It’s really confusing when I’m watching myself do things. Guess this is how Arnara felt when she met Apolyta? Why couldn’t they have just cloned Biff or something? It would’ve so much easier…”
Arnara’s face drained of color and she took a step backward. “What? No…No…No.”
“And since Wyan has already…chosen another path, you are now…” Rafelor continued.
Arnara moved over to the body of Kylan who lay in repose and looked at him with a look of helplessness. “The First Heir,” she said bitterly. “I’m not sure who’s being punished here, you or me. All I can say is you deserve it.” She then turned around, she gasped in shock as she received a hard slap.
Rafelor turned in surprise, and saw it was now Apolyta standing there who had swung with her flipper like hand and had struck Arnara. Arnara rubbed her cheek and stared at Apolyta in shock.
“DAAAAMNNN. That’s cold from both of them. Except I know all of this totally messed up because there’s no way that slap actually hurt.”
“You will show some respect,” Apolyta said. As she spoke her form shifted to the lizard folk once again, “And you will act like the Firssssssssst Daughter. I have been too lenient with you, and it is clearrr I have a lot of work ahead of me to forrrge you into a proper heirrr.
Arnara rubbed her cheek, and looked at Garzuxl incredulously, “You…how dare you—”
“Silence,” and the form again shifted to the corpse like Pallas who said. “You will do your duty, and as will I finding you a proper husband. Our lives have changed, and despite that, the duty to the House comes first.” He then turned and strode to the door and turned his head to glance at Arnara. But to Rafelor’s surprise there a different woman stood there. She was dressed in an elven breastplate and wore a rapier on her hip. She had hair of the color of beaten gold, but it was her eyes that stood out. They were like mirrored orbs of silver, reflecting everything that they saw. “So, start acting like the Daughter of the House that you are.” Pallas said pointedly, and he strode off into the rain fading from view.
The woman face was full of anger and hate, but instead of following she turned and sank to her knees in front of the bier. On it now lay the lifeless body of Arnara. The woman spoke, with an unfamiliar lilt, “I…I…don’t know how to sodding do this. You said you would always be there. I…need…your help. I…need…you.”
“So
that’s Myrai. Holy crap, was not expecting those eyes. I wonder if I’d be able to see myself in them if my reflection worked here. Nice to meet you…sorta, but I got to put everything back now.”
Rafelor began to think but hesitated on his own thoughts.
“Now that I think about it, this was way more jumbled than anything else I’ve seen thus far. Do I even know who’s actually supposed to be there?”
For a short while, Rafelor stood there, trying to think of who could belong where. “Given that Pallas was here, and not mentioned anywhere else, I can assume he is the corpse. Garzuxl is being a prick as usual, and Pallas walking around is just wrong, so that must be Kylan.”
The thoughts raced into his head and transformed the scene in front of him, matching his assumptions about everyone’s placement. He grinned at the success of his logic. “Now we’re talking, now I just need to put Arnara back in her true form.”
He concentrated in his mind. Then, Myrai was replaced by a fish flopping on the floor. Rafelor blinked in surprise, as he realized it was the same fish that Arnara briefly transformed into back in the tomb because of a magic trap. Almost immediately, mist began to sweep across the room.
“WAIT! naughty word! NO! WRONG ARNARA! HOLD ON! WAIT!” he yelled in a panic. Just before the mist covered everything, he could see Arnara turn back into her normal self.
“Oh thank goodness” Rafelor said with a sigh of relief. As another scene appeared before him, Rafelor thought about how the memories were starting to become more and more scrambled. He was unsure if this was the job he was supposed to do, but concluded that he better do it or else something bad would happen.
After all the confusion that transpired in the scene before, Rafelor was somewhat relieved to see a much more recent, familiar memory of his.
He found himself in the middle of the Misty Forest, where a stone circle lied beneath his feet. Although this memory was recent, Rafelor felt he stepped into that circle to travel to Candlekeep a long time ago.
"We're here. The attendants will bring my daughter here presently," Kylan said dismounting from his horse. "You might want to stretch your legs."
"Right. Stretching legs. That's good." Rafelor said, following behind Kylan.
Watching himself, Rafelor poked fun at his double’s attempts at socialization. “Smooth, Rafelor. Real smooth.”
Kylan arched an eyebrow and said nothing as the half-elf hopped off his horse to get a good stretch in. He clasped his hands behind him, and looked south down the forest pathway.
To help alleviate the awkward tension he felt, Rafelor resorted to small talk. "So...I've heard a lot about Candlekeep. What's it like?"
"A human's idea of a library. A collection of haphazard towers, surrounded by a curtain wall to keep the Sea of Swords at bay. But I have heard the towers descend deep into the earth, where they store vast vaults of forgotten knowledge. I have only been on the outskirts once...what two centuries ago? I have never been beyond the gate."
"Wow. That's really something." He looked around awkwardly, trying to keep the conversation going. “So that's a human's idea then? What's an elf's?” Once again, a misty column swirled around Kylan, and replaced the figure with another image.
"Sssssimply put, Sssssilverymoon. My daughtersss considered going there insssstead, but they felt that it would not be likely that Netheresssse texts would be found there. Candlekeep, desssspite its organization, hasss the larger collection of bookssss. Sssilverymoon is better if you want to usssse it. Though, I agree with my daughterssss; the softskinsss do not possess the knowledge that is sought.” Garzuxl commented.
At this point, the observing Rafelor stopped watching. “No. NO! No thank you! I’ve already had to deal with the image of Daddy Garzuxl once today, not putting myself through that turmoil a second time.”
"Well, good thing we can go to Candlekeep then..." an elvish voice said, and Rafelor’s annoyance, his past self was replaced by the mists, with Pallas.
Garzuxl’s head turned from the circle towards Pallas. "You've never heard of Sssilverymoon have you, ssssoftskin?"
"Wh-what? NO! No, of course I have” he replied quickly, with a drop of sweat rolling down his neck.
“You know, it’s not so bad when they swap you out for the embarrassing parts” chimed in Rafelor.
"And you know that it on the outskirtsss of the Misty Foressst to the ssssouth, off the trade road."
Rafelor remembered this gambit clearly. He knew this area well, for he had passed it many times before. And he knew that there were no major cities until Baldur’s Gate. Also, he had known that Silverymoon was not on the same trade way north to Waterdeep or even up to Mirabar and Baron Althon’s keep. But he watched himself as Spultz answer has he tried to refute Kylan.
“Wait for a moment, zat can't be right. ‘zere's nothing out there.”
The lizardfolks form wavered in the mist, which then revealed Arnara who gave a wan smile, "Pride enough to lie, and travelled well enough to cover his tracks."
Caught in the act the mist once again swirled around revealing the hideous hag, Peggy Deadbells. Lamely they could only emit a gulp.
“Seriously!? I DON’T WANT TO BE THE HAG!” shouted Rafelor.
"Half of something is still something I suppose” Arnara continued.
Peggy Deadbells regained her composure for a brief second. "Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that the gaps in your skills...your knowledge...your capabilities can be, with effort, improved” Arnara circled the hag, and the mists changed her into the form of Kylan.
"I...I...yeah okay..." The hideous hag belched forth a mist and coughed. It faded away leaving behind a quiet, Spulitz, in the sea-elf form known as ‘Mr. Sad’, who looked down in defeat. But as they did so, Rafelor realized that the mist did not dissipate as before. It now was a constant stream, flowing over their forms, changing them as it did.
Rafelor facepalmed. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve reached my limit. You know what sounds really great right now? Drowning myself in that wine from earlier. In fact, I think I’ll do that for the rest of the week at this point.”
The stream of mist changed the hag into Garzuxl once again who noticed ‘Mr. Sad’s’ crestfallen spirit. "Interessssting. You were more...feissssty in your office."
Challenged, the feistiness in Rafelor’s past self-began to awaken within the image of the sea elf as they became more upset. “Oh come on, I can't win, can I? I'm feisty and I'm still fighting an uphill battle. I keep my mouth shut and now I'm not feisty enough.”
Rafelor watched himself as Mr. Sad complain to Garzuxl who’s forms was morphing into the hag Widow Groat, Rafelor then replied to the other Rafelor who was still Mr. Sad for the moment, if only to distract himself from the rapidly changing people before him. “Buddy, you think you’re confused? Think about what’s gonna happen to you in just a couple tendays.”
Mr. Sad did not react to Widow Groat’s sudden change in demeanor. "To whom are you trying to prove yourself? To myself? Or to you?" Kylan as the hag asked.
“HA! Now it’s your turn to be a hag, Kylan!” said Rafelor, perking up at the latest change.
Once again unable to find the right words to express himself or rather herself as the mists swirled and replaced Mr. Sad with the form of the half-orc Kari, while this hag changed again into the Lizardfolk Garzuxl. The image of Kari simply shrugged and said, "Both, I guess."
Garzuxl shook his head, "You already have for...both my daughterssss. That should be enough. Otherwise, you are just wallowing in self-absorbed pity."
Those words stung at Rafelor in a way he could not understand. Desperately, he wanted to reply to Kylan in some way, but he had no clue where to even begin. To Rafelor, Kylan felt simultaneously correct and incorrect. All he could do was stand there and be lost in his own mind. Even when he was watching this from the future, Rafelor could recall the feeling in that moment well.
With no response to reply to, Garzuxl form changed into Baggy Nanna and continued to speak on his own trail of thought. "For all of her mistakes, she wallowed in her own self-pity only briefly. I wonder if the other one will be..."
Spulitz snapped out of his train of thought, changing into the tiefling form, Mr. Angry. "Briefly!? You think Arnara felt zat briefly!?”
“Then she is better at keeping it to herself than I thought.” Kylan as Baggy Nanna replied.
“So zat’s what you think, ja?” retorted, ‘Mr. Angry’ as the past image of Rafelor.
The Sewn Sister remained silent.
“I’ve had enough of this.” Rafelor said bluntly, as he focused on restoring everything to its normal state, focusing on his fleeting memories of Kylan and himself, and pushing away the rest..
“Well, I'm gonna be honest about something: I'm kind of stupid. But if someone like me can see that Arnara is struggling, then that should say something about how much those feelings are seeping out of her” said Rafelor, finally in the correct position.
Baggy Nana was slowly changing into the form of Widow Groat, but the mist quickly swirled and revealed Kylan in his normal place once again. The elf considered this until he broke his silence, “Perhaps it is more accurate to say, I was no longer looking for it. And now with two of them...”
“Two of them what?”
“A burden now doubled.”
Kylan looked away from Rafelor. “I did not expect to have another child. I certainly did not expect...this.” he gestured to the south, where in the distance, Rafelor could that Apolyta was approaching, laying on a disc with some attendants escorting her.
“Even as twisted as the hags made her, I can still see
her.”
In his limited time with Kylan, Rafelor barely knew this side of him: the side of being a father. That was a kindness Rafelor never got to know himself, and he didn’t expect to see it emerge spontaneously in the Kylan he knew. This gave Rafelor the words he was looking for. He moved towards Kylan and spoke once more.
“You know you said my knowledge has gaps in it? Well, one of those gaps is family. I don't think I fully understand what she's feeling, or what you are. Perhaps you both have your reasons.”
He stood next to Kylan, turning his head to look at him. “Somewhere through this whole charade, you'll make it work.”
"Perhaps." Kylan said, looking at Garzuxl, “You might not have had a family. I am at risk of losing it all. I'm not sure which is the better condition.”
Rafelor did a double take. “Hang on a second, I thought I fixed that! Oh, so this scene’s a fighter, huh? Well, you can’t fool me. You really think I could mistake these looks with someone else?” remarked Rafelor as the Garzuxl in the scene changed back to Rafelor once more.
“Hard to say, but I’m not about to let you lose your kids” concluded the restored Rafelor.
"And for that...I am grateful."
Rafelor smiled, feeling content after getting unexpected kindness from Kylan.
Their conversation came to a halt when Apolyta approached the pair atop a floating disk. She was accompanied by an attendant. “You two seemed to have gotten along,” she remarked.
“One can...have hope in... either my daughter's successes.” Kylan remarked as he approached Apolyta. He stopped next to her as she dismounted the disc and stood on the forest floor.
“Find what you seek...for your sake.” Kylan continued.
"Thank you. I hope for your success as well." Apolyta asked in response.
“That...that as well.” Kylan nodded as spoke softly.
Rafelor wiped his brow, watching the mist come back again. “Phew, this is wearing me out. Oh well, what’s next for cleanup duty?”
The mists cleared, and he found himself in some sort of guest house. The design and architecture were different than the Ustina mansion, being more subdued, and somehow even more ancient. Glancing around he found Apolyta lying on a divan, attempting to trance. But it was apparent she was distracted, and more to the point uncomfortable. She lay there frustrated, but suddenly she looked around with curiosity. As she did this, suddenly she smiled in recognition. It seemed clear to Rafelor, that this cottage held some significance to her, as the fond smile told him.
As she looked around, it appeared that another thought occurred to her, and she spoke aloud, “I wonder if it is still here. Maybe if I lie down…”, and then she stood. She started to limp painfully heading deeper into the interior of the cottage. She entered a hall and turned, following a memory. She came to a door and opened it slowly, her face nodding with satisfaction as she looked inside. Beyond was a study with a desk and chair in a corner, while in the center of the room, was a large ornate bed, decorated with carved images of flowers, and prancing deer and stags. Apolyta looked at it and sighed.
“Hmph. Nice room” Rafelor plainly remarked.
Apolyta’s forms shifted ever so slightly, and now it was Arnara who stood there.
Rafelor sighed. “Great. Feels like I’ve been here for five seconds, and things are already starting to change. Ever heard of a break?”
She closed the door behind her, and then walked over to the bed. She undid her rapier belt and hung it on a bed post. She then took off her boots and then climbed up and lay on the mattress flat on her back. Finding a measure of comfort, she looked like she was about to prepare herself to start a Reverie, but before she began, there was the sound of the front door opening, and she heard a pair of voices arguing.
“I know this sounds strange but listen—” Rafelor heard a voice say.
“—You run away from your responsibilities and now
I have to listen to
you? We should be talking in private, but instead you drag me across Melandrach’s home like a child with no self-control!”
“You need to see—”
Rafelor heard the voices grow closer and the door was thrown open, by Apolyta, limping ahead of the figure of Myrai with a stern, almost imperial look on her face.
“What? The sordid little love nest that you and that b—” Myrai said angrily, before stopping in her tracks, her mouth agape.
Arnara struggled to sit up on the bed, and she stared in confusion at Myrai and Apolyta. Myrai turned to look at Apolyta. “Who…who is that?”
“Yeah...this is what how I imagined this interaction going,” stated Rafelor. “Although I guess I had hoped it they would’ve bickered about it and then come to a resolution. Boy, families sure love to make naughty word complicated”
“My…clone,” Apolyta said calmly. “A coven called the Sewn Sisters, created her…and—
“—She should be destroyed then,” Myrai said coldly. “The products of a hag’s coven is a dangerous thing.” And the Aasimar then drew her rapier.
“We can’t!” and Apolyta blocked her path, preventing her from approaching the supine Arnara.
Rafelor had become invested in his own thoughts, and paid little attention to the fracas next to him.. “Myrai…no..wait…Kylan has a point here. If it was my clone, I know I would’ve felt the same way he does. I think my clone and I would both understand, even if we didn’t understand the whole ‘connected souls’ mumbo jumbo. Even if Kylan and I were both wrong…I know how he feels.”
“—Get out of my way,” the Aasimar said as she lunged to plunge her rapier into the helpless image of Arnara. But Apolyta leapt in front of the blade before it could reach her. As the blade slid deeply into Apolyta’s ribs and out the other side, she and Arnara screamed in pain. Erupting from the other side her ribcage, Apolyta’s blood splattered the bed sheets and poured onto the floor. She slowly slid down onto her knees struggling for breath, her eyes open wide in disbelief.
Myrai stood there, her hands shaking, and she dropped her rapier, which clattered onto the stone tiles. She then leaned over and held the gravely wounded Apolyta, who was slumping down to the floor. “What…why…?”
Apolyta blinked and her brows knit in confused pain, “We’re…connect...connected,” she said as she passed out on in Myrai’s arms.
“What the….what the hell!? Did that actually happen? Is this another false memory? Oh gods, Arnara. You weren’t kidding…”
“What…what is happening…?” said Myrai, holding the malformed elf. She looked at the figure of Rafelor, who now lay the bed doubled over in pain.
“We think we are sharing…our soul. I know and feel what she does, jackass.” Rafelor said clutching his stomach and looking to be on the edge of passing out.
“Calling Kylan out to your last breath. I know this is fake and all, but I’m proud of you, fake Rafelor” said the half-elf.
Myrai screamed over her shoulder at the open door, “I need a healer, quickly!” Her mirrored eyes set loose a torrent of tears streaming down her cheeks as she stroked Apolyta’s hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never…never did.” Outside there was frantic calling across the grounds, calling for a healer. Myrai clutched Apolyta’s form close to herself as she watched her breathing slow and become shallow. Her eyes were now unfocused, and half closed as her breathing started to slow to nothing.
Myrai continued to cry and held Apolyta tightly, talking to herself mostly, “No, no, no…Nerina didn’t want this. I never…never told you…. How she begged me to…to..to... How I cut her out from.... How she smiled to see her only daughter in that brief moment of time. How I cursed myself for being so afraid that I…
Myrai hung her head, her face contorted in pain as she whispered, “I killed Nerina…not you. Not you…I loved you…I always have…”
Quicker than ever, the mist began to roll in. Rafelor was stunned. Not at the false memories but the real ones behind them. He had so many realizations which led to so many questions. These overwhelming thoughts made him almost forget to restore everything to their former state. Realizing his inaction, Rafelor immediately went through the same process to correct the vision. However, the mist was so dense, that he could not tell whether or not he succeeded.
“I can’t believe this. Does she know this? Do any of them? Arnara? Apolyta? Kylan? Where are you guys? My head is…burning.”
The three figures on the bier, Arnara, Rafelor and Apolyta twitched, convulsed and shivered. Rafelor’s breathing was labored, and his teeth was clenched tightly as he breathed through them, creating hissing sounds as he coped with pain. Zinetra, her part done, watched the trio on the bier. She took turns caressing each one’s face in turn, as she looked over each with growing alarm. Salensyna continued her song, her eyes rolled back into her head in rapture. But her voice had now the hint of strain as the ritual continued.
Kylan stood by his arms crossed near Salensyna as he watched his daughters and Rafelor struggle. He looked at the
Selu’tar and realized that something was amiss. Kylan then moved from his place and walked quietly over to Zinetra as she cared for the struggling figures.
“What is wrong?” Kylan whispered.
“It was as I feared; the hags changed the ritual so when they split Arnara’s soul, not only did it not split entirely, but they ensured it could not heal. Coupled with severing Apolyta’s portion from the weave, and only allowing energy flowing from Arnara…” the Eladrin shook her head. “…It is worse that I imagined.”
“How exactly?” Kylan demanded.
“As we suspected, Arnara was dying, slowly, and inexorably. Apolyta’s soal was consuming Arnara’s as her half tried to survive. If either part of the soul had been allowed to heal, the hags could not have used Apolyta to spy on Arnara and her party. Severing the pair apart, has broken that part of the magic. But in doing so, I created a wound for them both; one they cannot heal. Apolyta’s soul can’t connect with the Weave to heal itself fully. Arnara’s side is even weaker, and while he has the Weave, but not time. In fact, as far as I can tell, they are trying to consume Rafefor’s soul. The
Selu’tar’s ritual cannot be ended yet until all of their souls are healed and stable.”
“And? Will he endure?” Kylan asked in an even tone.
“He is strong,” Zinetra said looking Kylan in the eyes. “But he does not have an elven soul. They will try to consume it, like how a banshee consumes an unwary traveler’s soul. All it means here is that it will just take him longer to die. And then they will start to tear each other’s souls apart.”
The Eladrin sighed and looked at the anguished Kylan, “And there is nothing I can do about it. I’m sorry.”
notes:
There is a lot here;
Wilpower784 and I share a love of tragic backstories. And the DM, leveraged a lot of it; Garzuxl was a rival from Rafelor's past, and that dastardly Lich actually summoned him, and several other character's nemsises during the Tomb of Anniliation. Apolyta, wasn't a throw away person for Arnara; as an elf she was horrrfied at the hag's work and wanted to save her, and this was woven into the fabirc of Dead in Thay. The DM and I had a long discussion on Kylan; what was he likely to do?
But we rarely had a reason to discuss this with the other players; Some of them were down right intimdated by Arnara the character, so she wasn't a part of the banter (faithfully reproduced above). Rafelor started a bit too edgelord like, and became more interesting as he and I worked out our characters issues. So it's fun being able to write about and lay bare the secrets of the Ustina household and share how being a noble, doesn't give you a free pass in life.
