Created: 7/09/2007 -- Last Updated: 7/18/2007
Chapter 1 -- Ill Met by Starlight
Chapter 2 -- Sand and Glass
Chapter 3 -- Interlude, with Foreshadowing
Epilog -- Turnabout, Game, and Match
Interlude, with Foreshadowing
A NWN2 / Elder Scrolls crossover
“Casavir? Ah, there you are. That pestilent child Wolfe just burst into my shop with a message from Duncan.”
“A message, Sand?” Turning from his appraisal of Neverwinter’s waterfront at sunset, the Paladin turned an expectant eye on the moon elf hurrying toward him across the docks. “Is the Harborman back?”
“Hardly,” sniffed the wizard, dashing hope. “It seems, however, that my ‘girlfriend’ is, and I am to scurry back to the Flagon or I’ll ‘miss the show’.”
“Sand, I scarcely see…”
“I was not expecting any such announcement, either. However, when I questioned the ragamuffin for details, I was informed that ‘the really tall lady’ who’s ‘bluey’ like me, ‘but with red eyes’ was back with ‘new friends.’ And that she had asked for the ‘scryer’. Since you were the one who insisted…”
“You need say no more, Sand. I am the one who asked you to remotely observe the strangers, for reasons that seemed valid at the time. If she… they feel they have been ‘spied’ on and have taken offense, I am more than willing to shoulder the blame.”
“How very noble of you,” Sand drawled, punctuating the comment by slapping at the growing cloud of gnats and mosquitoes called up by stagnant water and twilight. “You know, you really don’t have to help patrol the docks while we wait for the Harborman. Now that we’ve turned back the Sea Ghost, I really cannot see Luskin attacking from this direction…”
Casavir’s composed his features to conceal most, but not all, of the discomfort he felt as he followed Sand across the rune-protected threshold of the Sunken Flagon. While a part of him fully accepted that his suspicions of conveniently appearing strangers had been prudent and his actions regarding them had been more than justified by the direness of the current threat to Neverwinter, his idealism still whinged at having turned a gift into a tool to spy upon the giver.
“Well, now. I wondered why it was taking you so long, Sand. Needed a Paladin to back you up, eh?” Duncan Farlong’s West Harbor accent boomed across the near-empty taproom when he noticed the pair making their way toward him. At this time of day, the Sunken Flagon was neither crowded nor noisy, but years of shouting over bards at work and tavern rowdies had had a permanent effect on the innkeeper’s modulation. “Her friends said they had to head out and meet up with someone. But Sera’s waiting over on the other side of the fireplace, swapping tales with Grobner."
“Her name isn’t…” Casavir began to protest, nodding a greeting as he did so.
“He tried to get her to sing for him.” Duncan ignored the attempted correction. “The woman couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but at least she has the sense to know it. Unlike some,” he added, wincing and rubbing his right ear. “She finally got Grobner to quiet down by distracting him with some sort of weird story about a whale and a dirt bird.”
“A ‘dirt-bird,’ Duncan?” Sand inquired, his tones awash with the special tone of sham incredulity he reserved for unsuffered fools and the owner of the Sunken Flagon.
“I didn’t say it, Sand, she did,” the half-elf snorted in response. “If you have questions, the lady’s right over…” Duncan stood a little straighter and shot a meaningful look toward the scruffy ranger nursing an ale in front of the Flagon’s massive hearth, then flicked the sopcloth he’d been using to clean tables in the general direction of the far side of the room. “…there.”
“Ah, then. Another mystery of the planes, I suppose. Shall we, Casavir?”