Oloth: Dramatis Personae

The shadows loomed oppressively in the tavern, as the two men sat together by the cold hearth. But then, this was quite natural, considering the nature of the owner, and in fact, the nature of most of the city of Arcana. Yet, ironically, The Wandering Path, even enshrouded in darkness was quite a pull, one of the most popular places this side of the sphere of Oloth. And yet, at the moment, this bastion of comfort, where merry tales and dark dealings were traded in equal measure, was empty save for those two men.

They sat and stared at the empty fireplace. The lack of a roaring fire made the act seem very unnatural, but neither one seemed to mind. They were very different men, with but one thing connecting them.

One held a mug of the almond liquor known as zzar. He seemed a plain enough man: Strong, but not impressively so. Old, but not so much that one would call him a graybeard. In point of fact, no hair, gray or otherwise, adorned his face. His robes, his staff laid against the arm of the chair, and even his very fingers spoke of his profession as a spell-slinger, but he could not be said to appear like a particularly powerful one. Only one thing made him stand out, but that one thing overshadowed all other deficiencies.

He had no eyes.

Or, not quite. There was something present in his sockets, but not like the eyes of a normal man. It was like looking into chaos, the orbs present endless swirlings of colors. Like looking at rogue-stones that were not content to remain of one pattern, of one mixture of hues.

The other held a goblet of the finest elverquisst, elven wine brought from the far sphere of Abeir-Toril. His midnight skin proclaimed him drow to all educated travelers, but even that was not enough to describe him. The Dark elf's aura bespoke of death, of past acts of unspoken evil, of betrayal. The darkness seemed to embrace him like a lover, as if he belonged within it. The living shadows at the corners of his eyes made his countenance seem even darker. His expressionless face betrayed no emotion, save a mild irritation that seemed to be directed at the other man. Yet, he did not speak, seeming to be waiting on the other to break the silence. Finally, after the eyeless man took another sip from his mug, he did so.

"Elminster once said, 'Magic creates, but it also destroys. Whatever ye use it for, it always, always transforms the user and that upon which it acts. Forget that at thy everlasting peril. Remember also that the mage who slays with Art carries the weight of every slain soul around him from the moment of killing onward. It is not a burden to be lightly assumed,'" quoth the mage. He then turned his rainbow gaze to the drow, his mouth turning up into a sad smile.

The drow, Alois Teken'duis, called Chosen of Vhaeraun, drow God of Night and Thievery, shrugged. "Fortunately, I am no wizard. It does not serve me, as an assassin, to carry the noisome burden of the lives I have taken, just because of the way I have brought them to their deaths."

The mage nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "And yet you carry them with you nonetheless, just in another fashion. They do haunt you, no matter that you have grown quite adept at ignoring them."

The drow sighed, his irritation growing. They had argued about this before, to no clear resolution. This was why they did not get along: their views of life and of people were far too dissimilar. "Were you planning on getting to the point, Xandros?"

The god, Xandros Denseran, called Master of Wild Magic, grinned. "Ah, the young have no patience," he chortled. Then he grew somber again. "But you are right, my comment was not meant to be directed towards you and your life... or unlife, as 'twere."

"Kern." It was a statement, not a question, that was uttered from Alois' lips.

Xandros nodded. "Kern."

"Kern Denseran," murmured Alois, as if Xandros had not spoken. "Mage, hero, a once-Harper, and what you and your fellow masters of magic call Weaveborn. A human with an otherworldly connection to the source of all magic, giving him powers rivaling the gods. And hunted because of it. Yes, I'd say magic has changed his life."

"Mmmmm." Xandros grunted. "But more importantly, it has changed him. And it is because of the burden I mentioned earlier."

Alois raised an eyebrow, a spark of curiosity in his dark eyes. "I've never seen him to have any aversion to killing with magic. He may be more merciful than some, including myself, but I've seen him rain down fire and shoot forth spells to fell foes in spectacular, and sometimes even gory, fashion."

"Just because one is capable, and even willing, it does not mean that they must enjoy it. More often than not, necessity and even understandable fits of righteous anger have prompted him to slay. But you see, even though he may be willing to offer violence in equal measures as his enemies, it can never be worse than the crime he carries within his heart."

"Crime?" Alois scoffed, placing his goblet down on a small table beside his chair. "Kern is capable of no crime. Of the years I have known him, sometimes better than himself, I have seen the depths of his kindness, his compassion, his desire to do good even when the cause seems hopeless. His conscience would not allow him to harm except in accident. And good intentions, while some say they pave the road to the Abyss, are never criminal."

The drow did not flinch as Xandros turned his unblinking gaze at him. Alois, in truth, feared few things. He had faced down more potent beings than even this newly appointed demigod of wild magic. And yet, as he stared into those chaotic pools that were Xandros' eyes, he coolly noted that though death had no sway over him because of the curse he bore that made him dead and yet still alive, Xandros might very well be capable of making his unlife even worse than it already was. Or at the very least, a little more entertaining.

"I am his father. I have known him even longer than you. And once, I was given the opportunity to experience his mind as if it were my own. When he was in the pit of utmost self-loathing. Were in not for the love I had for him, it might very well be that he would still be that way today." The god's voice seemed to come at once from very far away and infinitesimally close as he spoke, his words reverberating only in Alois' mind.

Alois blinked, folding his hands in his lap, showing more interest than before. "What does this have to do with me?" he finally asked.

Xandros smiled grimly. "Everything, actually. Do you know the story about the tragedy that brought Kern back to the world of animal-men called Furry Prime, and ultimately here?"

Alois thought back, to a time at this very hearth, when Kern had confided this tale to him. "Yes."

"No." replied Xandros, settling deeper into his chair. "You do not. You cannot, because he offered you but a few descriptive crumbs. He, like the mother bird, flapped his wings in a wounded fashion to attract the attention of the predators, in order to keep the truth, his 'baby chicks', safe."

Alois raised both eyebrows. "I thought Kern was a wolf, not a bird." He said mock-seriously.

Xandros sighed. If he had pupils, he might have rolled them in frustration. "This is important. Will you do me the respect of treating it as such?"

Alois finally nodded. "I know you don't care for me, Denseran. That you would seek out my presence tell me that what you have to say is important. But," he added, picking up his goblet again, "why do you tell me of this? I respect a man's privacy, and if he did not wish to tell me all the truth, why do you not respect his wishes in the matter?"

Xandros sighed again, nursing his drink. "Because... it is needful. I realize that is not much of an answer, but if you trust me..." The mage paused, a wry smile crossing his lips, "...a difficult task, I'll bet, the story itself will reveal the need for telling it."

Alois chewed on this, and then he finally nodded. "Tell on, then."

White Ford. A small farming village, just south of Highmoon in the Dalelands. Far off the beaten path, of interest to few, save the traders interested in hawking the crops they grew or the lumber they chopped down.

An idyllic place where many a man and maid lived simple, unadorned lives, where the quiet and peacefulness of the town remained unmarred by the conflicts that raged throughout most of the rest of Faerun.

Until one day in spring. One day when the small, insular world of White Ford was shattered, never to be rebuilt.

What remained of the town looked as though the gods themselves had made war upon it. Here and there, it seemed fires still burned among the wreckage of homes, the local tavern, and the mill at the edge of town. But were the buildings of White Ford merely burned to ashes, it would not have been so strange.

In one case, it looked as if a section of the north wall of the tavern had been turned into steel. Elsewhere, what remained of what should have been a brick chimney now appeared to be made of black, volcanic rock. In yet another place, bales of what had probably once been hay, and would most likely have burned in an ordinary fire, were now bushels of thorny vines. Even the ground itself was asymmetrical; the normal dirt floor was present in some places, but surrounded by anathema counterparts: Wood, metal, sand, sheer rock, and even... bone.

Storm Silverhand, one of Mystra's Chosen, Bard of Shadowdale, old enough to have left her six hundredth birthday in the distant past... had never seen anything like it before in all her life.

She had felt the magical devastation even as far away as her home in Shadowdale, its existence cutting into her perception as she practiced her fighting skill with her sister, Sylune. Taking only a moment to go to Elminster's tower and determine that he was not present to join her in investigating this disruption, she left Sylune behind to contact the Harpers and Elminster. She herself threw on clothes and arms, using the considerable magic at her disposal to track down the 'explosion.'

Her searching brought her here, to White Ford, where she now stood and grimly surveyed the devastation with a naked blade in her fist. Although she was taken aback by the appearance of things, she had faced many such circumstances before and pushed aside her curiosity in search of her first objective: survivors.

She searched among the wreckage, but no signs of life could be found, nor even bodily remains. What could have caused such chaotic destruction? she asked herself, frustrated that there might be no survivors... and none left to shed light on the situation.

Then she heard something. It was faint, and unidentifiable over the crackling of a nearby leftover fire, but it sounded vaguely human, and she followed it. As she drew nearer, she recognized the sound as crying, and she sped up in her pace, rounding what used to be the corner of a building... and she saw.

It sat on its knees in the shallow center of a small crater. At first sight, it seemed to be the huddled, bipedal form of a werewolf. It (he, Storm realized as she walked closer) was naked, his gray fur matted with blood. His flesh was cut open and bruised in several places, looking have been put in chains and scoured with a spiked flail or a barbed whip. The furred male hugged himself tightly as he cried, rocking back and forth as if in some mental distress.

Storm slowly approached the man-wolf, thinking to herself, What connection could a lycanthrope have to this occurrence? Was he transformed by the magical explosion? Then it came to her. "Kern? What happened??" she asked urgently, finally recognizing the Harper mage.

Kern did not respond as hot tears ran freely into his fur. Storm gently reached down to lift his chin, and then gasped at what she saw. His eyes were swirling rainbow vortices, much like the mighty Weave that was the stuff of all magic.

"Fire." Storm was suddenly aware that Kern had been muttering to himself the whole time, and she leaned closer to try and make out his words. "Weave. Burns. Death. All dead... my fault. My fault. Dead."

Storm could only stare, mystified by his words...

"You're dead, you hear me, Kern?! Dead!"

The young mage laughed, running jauntily away with an angry, half-naked female hot on his heels. "'Scuze me, pardon me!" he said hurriedly as he dodged around a warrior who was sharpening his long sword, and then vaulted right over another man who was tending the fire, landing on the other side of the flames.

The warrior, a grizzle-bearded Harper veteran named Gareth, got up and interposed himself before the female could dart around him as well. "All right, Laida, what's this all about?" he said gruffly, placing a calming hand on her shoulder.

Laida, who was currently only clad in damp (and getting damper) white shirt, was flushed, emitting equal parts of embarrassment and anger. "He was-" she snarled, and then stopped, knowing that Gareth would not be impressed by anger. "He was spying on me while I was bathing in the river."

Gareth raised an eyebrow and looked in the direction of Kern, who had stopped running when he saw that Laida's chase had stopped, and was walking slowly back. "You got a reply to that accusation, Denseran?" he queried, using the young man's surname, something he tended to do in order to gravitate the seriousness of what he was saying.

Kern coughed a little nervously. Despite his sometimes childish actions he was a decent man, his fellow Harpers comparing him to the rogue Torm of the Knights of Myth Drannor on more than one occasion. "Yes sir," he replied. "I freely admit to that, and I'm sorry if Laida was embarrassed. But," he added, pointing a finger at another woman, maybe ten years Laida's senior, "For the record, it was all her fault."

Gareth's eyebrow raised higher, glancing at the woman they all knew as Sevnara, a semi-famous ranger of Meilikki who had been with the Harpers a long while. "'Nara?"

The muscular woman's lips twitched, and she finally broke out into a full-fledged smile. "I told our young pup here that Laida had an interesting shaped birthmark on her left inner thigh. I suppose he decided to go see the proof of it himself."

"Sevnara!" Laida protested, her face going redder.

Kern, however, had used the distraction to approach the blond beauty, and took her hand genteelly in his own. "Milady, I am sorry for the hurts I have caused you. It was not my intent, nor even expected, at least not to such a degree. After all, we Harpers are a close knit group, are we not? There should be nothing we cannot share with each other, be it flesh or feelings. Perhaps that is an idealistic view, but then, ideals are what we fight for, are they not?" He then kissed Laida's hand.

She stared at him in perplexed bemusement, searching his eyes. Finding nothing but sincerity, she finally had to give in to a laugh of her own. "Oh you..." she chuckled, looking to the others. "I think 'young pup' is quite the correct nickname for him. It's impossible to hate him when he looks at you with those big eyes of his."

Kern rose, his smile lighting up his face. "You forgive me, then?"

Laida started to speak, but just then, Sevnara breezed in, whispered something quick into the younger woman's ear, and then walked back away with a smile on her face. Laida regarded the retreating ranger for a moment, and then turned back to look at Kern. "I will if you answer one question." she replied archly.

Kern blinked, now wondering what Sevnara told her. "Which is?" he asked cautiously.

Laida's smile turned into a seductive smirk. She pressed her ample chest out at the young mage, more than a little visible because of where the water has soaked through in revealing places, her hands sliding down over her form, making the swordswoman's shift cling to her body a little more fully. "Did you like what you saw?" she asked breathily, looking at him directly.

Kern blinked in shock, his face turning beet red, feeling his heart speed up as it beat valiantly in his chest. "Ah..." he said, his brain not working properly, unable to form intelligent words.

Ladia's smile seemed to form this triumphant cast as she moved closer, pressing her firm, athletic body against Kern's. "Perhaps you'd like to look... a bit closer?" she cooed, pressing her advantage.

Kern swallowed. "You know, you should probably finish your bath. Matter of a fact, why don't I send you back, to apologize." He said hurriedly, abruptly weaving his hands in the motions of a spell. She disappeared in a flash of light. He breathed a sigh of relief. He then looked accusingly at Sevnara. She of all people would know this unusual quirk of his -- when he was the aggressor in matters of flirtation, nothing could faze him. If the woman took control, however, he was stunned into embarrassed inaction. This was not an affectation of sexism, however. The rumor was, however, that his mother was a very strong-willed woman, and his reaction in the matter stemmed from that.

Sevnara just shrugged cheerfully at Kern. "Just helping the girl get some of her own back."

Kern heard some of the other Harpers watching chuckle, including his best friend, Beldan. Finally, he laughed himself at his own embarrassment. "Touché', 'Nara. I deserved it. I just hope you appreciate just how powerful a weapon you've given her to use against me."

The well-muscled ranger grinned wolfishly. "I know. But you need to be reigned in once in a while, pup. And besides," she continued, giving him a sly wink, "Maybe she'll take further advantage of it and discover what other Art you're talented in."

Kern blinked, and felt his face burning once again. He didn't have to look around to know that he was probably getting some interesting looks from the other spectators as a result of Sevnara's comment. He had no real way to reply to that, so instead he just turned away, muttering, "I should go pack up my gear."

Sevnara chuckled, but did not reply with further embarrassments, content to allow Kern the chance to retreat with his dignity still semi-intact.

An hour or so later, the seven Harpers were saddled up and on the road. They were on the road linking Highmoon to a small farming town called White Ford. They had originally been returning from a successful assignment to deal with a pack of marauding gnolls who had been causing trouble on the nearby trade routes. However, one of their party, Daer of Lathander, had found some evidence of vampires on the road to Highmoon -- a handful of highwaymen drained of blood, their bodies left to rot not far off the road. Sevnara and Gareth, the supervisors of this young band of Harpers, decided to look into it before returning to Twilight Hall, the base of operations for the Eastern Harpers. Since the number of dead seemed to indicated more than one of the undead bloodsuckers, it was not meet that the task of finding and destroying them be left to others, for fear that innocents might fall to their fangs during the time lapse.

Their party was well rounded: Sevnara, Gareth, Beldan and Laida, all rangers of considerable talent, made up the muscle of the party. Daer was a cleric of Lathander, God of the Dawn and Renewal, and Jaid Smallfist, a scrappy female halfling, was a priestess of Tymora, Goddess of Luck.

Kern himself was defined as the party mage, but as the sword at his side bespoke, he was far more than that. He had started his training as a youngster with the goal of becoming a ranger in service to Meilikki, the Patron God of Rangers, but for some reason unspoken of in the Harper rumor circuit, he changed his direction, working instead to become a mage like his father. His aptitude became such that he was now able to wield sword and spell with equal accuracy.

As was typical for wizards, he could wear no natural armor, but instead wore a set of runed bracers on his wrists containing powerful defensive magic to deflect oncoming attacks. He was not, however, dressed as a normal mage, with robes or hats or even a staff in hand. He wore simple clothing: earthy colored tunic and cloak, brown leather breeches, and riding boots. The only indication that he may be anything other than a simple traveler was the sword at his side in a scabbard, and an unusual amount of pouches about his waist, which secretly contained his spell components.

This deceptive appearance was one that Kern used to his advantage on many an occasion in his two years of service as a Harper. He was one of those breed of Harpers who was not asked to join as a result of bravery or service done that order, but one who specifically sought out membership, because of his desire to serve those goodly ideals which the Harpers represented.

Kern found himself wondering if they would ever find these elusive vampires. It was unusual in and of itself to find the desiccated bodies of humanoid victims drained of blood by the side of the road. In all instances that that I ever heard, vampires tend not to travel unless it is absolutely necessary. More often than not, they choose a safe haven that they always return to after going out to feed.

Nonetheless, the evidence was there, and more than one occurrence of it. And yet, still the undead could not be found. Kern used what divinatory spells he had to try and seek them out, but they were limited in range, and as a result had proven unfruitful. Fortunately, Jaid, as a servant to Tymora, had a special intuition beyond the ken of normal men and women. She had directed them away from the city of Highmoon itself, and instead to this less traveled road which led to the village of White Ford. There, she asserted, was where they would find the answers they all sought.

As Kern rode, lost in his thoughts, he abruptly noted that Beldan was lagging behind, eventually enough to trot side by side with his friend. "You never told me about that," the brawny man began accusingly, his face a mixture of curiosity and humor.

"About what?"

Beldan thrust his chin out at the upright form of Sevnara leading the way. "You know. You and her..." He left it hanging with a suggestive grin.

Kern rolled his eyes. He knew this would be coming eventually. "Yes, well, I didn't feel like adding grist to the rumor mill."

Beldan's grin was undaunted. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Sure, she's an awful flirt, but it was always my assumption that that was as far as it went with her. So... tell me. How was she?"

Kern gave Beldan a direct look. "You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?"

Beldan's face melted into an entirely false pout. "I'm hurt, Kern. We've never had any secrets between us."

"First time for everything."

Beldan laughed delightedly. "You're such an enigma, Kern. You go from playing practical jokes to a kind of intense thoughtfulness that rivals the Blackstaff. One minute you're peeking on ladies bathing, and the next minute you clam up when the woman you just saw completely naked starts acting seductive toward you."

Kern looked a little huffy. "If you must know, I really was curious about Laida's birthmark. There was no real lewd interest in her body."

Beldan smirked. "Oh, of course not. It was just an added bonus, right?"

Kern glanced out of the corner of his eye over to where Laida was sitting. She'd been sending amused glances his way ever since she gotten back from her bath, but the moment, she was concentrating on the road ahead. She really was a striking beauty: lustrous golden hair, deep blue eyes, a face that just shone when she smiled, and a full, attractive figure. He found, in retrospect, that he could remember every detail of her unclad form. "Can you blame me?" he almost whispered.

Beldan followed Kern's eyes, and relented in his teasing. "No, and I'm sorry. I know you never meant any harm. And I'm pretty sure she knows that as well. Your feelings are plainly visible to anyone who would care to look."

Kern chuckled wryly. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Beldan shrugged. "You're an astute guy. You can control yourself when you want. But we're your friends. As you say, there shouldn't be anything we can't share... together." Beldan leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping a notch. "Speaking of secrets though, something occurred to me. Is it possible you could sniff these vampires out?"

Kern sighed internally. They both knew what he referred to. For Kern did indeed have secrets which he held close to his breast. The secret which Beldan referred to was that Kern, for all appearances, was not entirely human. The conflicting magics of his mother, who was a Mielikkian druidess, and his father, a purported wildmage, ended up changing the young Kern in the womb to the point where his body was stuck in the halfway form of a lycanthrope: half man and half wolf. Afraid of causing further problems, his parents chose not to try and reverse his altered form.

Because of the common fear of man for the unnatural, however, and also because of repeated assumptions that was he was a 'true' werewolf, and therefore inherently evil, he chose to hide his actual appearance from most others, including his own Harper allies. A special necklace which had an enchantment to polymorph him between his real form, and a more human guise, which he wore now. It wasn't a true polymorphing, however, as his musculature and body structure was much the same, save for a lack of fur, fangs, and claws. On the other hand, his senses were still as sharp as a wolf's in this form, even his sense of smell. It was this ability that Beldan now referred to; he had found out long ago Kern's secret by accident. However, he accepted the young mage for who he was, not what he looked like, and that only helped to further cement their strong friendship.

Which is not to say Beldan didn't joke about it. Kern sighed and chuckled in response. "Sure. I can do that. Once you tell me what vampires smell like."

Beldan smiled wryly. "Good point. Damn. So all we got to go on is the vague hunches of Jaid. I just get the feeling that, at the rate we're going, we'll never find the gods-damned bloodsuckers."

"We have to keep looking. Travelling vampires bespeaks a greater danger."

"Oh really, Kern? How so?"

Kern held up a gloved fist, extending his fingers one by one. "First, why are they travelling? Is it to escape a greater evil that threatens even one such as them? Second, if they are travelling by choice, is it because they are somehow protected, or even powerful enough to overcome their natural vulnerabilities, such as to sunlight? Third, why do they leave the bodies behind as evidence of their passing? Is it arrogance or a trap? Fourth, if it's a trap, then for who? Maybe us?"

"Enough, enough, I get your point my friend," Beldan surrendered, holding up his hands. "You always were the thinker of the group. I see a smooth stone, and you see a multi-faceted gem."

"Well, you're going to have to polish your mental blade up real shiny, my friend," Kern cautioned with a grim smile. "We're all going to need to be on our toes for the time being."

They arrived in White Ford at dusk, the hazy purple and pink skyline glowing down upon the moderate-sized town. The small stronghold of the Archendale patrols, called Arch Hold, came into view almost immediately, with the far more impressive Beacon Tor rising up behind it. The town seemed relatively quiet, which was not too strange in and of itself. The fact that there were no torches lit about the streets and small houses was also not alarming, considering that almost all the houses were made of wood and thatch, and therefore, very susceptible to fire. What was strange, however, is that it seemed as though, on first glance, there were no lights inside any of the houses as well. Not even inside Arch Hold.

The small band of Harpers, already on edge, smelled trouble afoot.

Gareth looked to Jaid and Daer. "You sense anything?" he asked them as one.

Daer took hold of his holy symbol, an amulet painted with the rosy dawn that signified his god, Lathander, and muttered a prayer to detect undead. After a moment, he shook his head. Jaid, after performing a similar call to Tymora, grunted, "Nothing. If the vampires came this way, they're not in town now."

Gareth sat up in his saddle. "I don't like it, nonetheless." He scratched his beard, and then turned to look at Kern. "Could vampires avoid magical detection by any means?"

Kern considered the matter. "Vampires do have some innate magic resistance, but only against spells cast directly at them. On the other hand, any sentient being can avoid detection with the proper spells or magical devices. Moreover, I have heard tell of vampiric magic-users, not to mention some actual vampiric priests, devoted to gods such as Shar, Lady of Night, or Velsharoon, the Lich-God. As to the likelihood of it? Hard to tell. The fact that this bunch travel already speaks of something unusual."

Gareth nodded. "Right. We assume then that they could have already infiltrated the town, or worse, munched on it pretty good. Daer, pass out that holy water you had prepared. Laida, you get those sharpened stakes?"

Laida passed out seven stakes made of oak. "Remember, don't try and attack with these first off. You'd need to hit the heart on the first try, and if you miss, you're close enough for them to do some real harm. Take them down with ensorcelled blades or fire first, and then use the stakes to keep them down. Hopefully, there won't be enough to have to use all seven." Sevnara warned.

"Stay mounted, or no?" inquired Beldan.

"Dismount. Even if we're expecting an ambush, it's always better to be on the ground when you don't know where the enemy will come from. And especially when the enemy can fly." Sevnara grunted, drawing forth a gleaming runic blade of Mielikki, her patron goddess.

The other Harpers nodded, each drawing weapons of their own and jumping down off horseback. Kern dismounted as well, but kept his own blade sheathed. They had warriors a-plenty for the nonce, and he knew that he would be more valuable for his spell casting. The small band moved as one through the wide dirt streets, looking for signs of life.

Then Jaid abruptly facepalmed. "Lady Bless! I should have thought of it first off." She grasped her holy symbol, digging in her pouch for something.

"What are you doing, lass?!" Gareth demanded in a whisper, who had stubbed his toe in surprise when the halfling priestess first called out.

"Well, instead of casting a spell to detect undeath, I could cast a spell to detect life... that would at least tell us if there was anyone still alive around here... here's the component I need." Jaid began casting without another word, calling on her goddess' power. Kern fought back a smile. Jaid was always the impulsive sort. True, it can lead to as many problems as it might solve, but being a Luckbringer of Tymora seems to protect her from anything bad coming from her impulsiveness.

A moment later, Jaid completed her prayer, and then held her symbol out like a divining rod. "Huh. Whaddya know. Life signs and lots of em. This way, all you tall folk." She grinned, pulling her pony ahead of the others. The rest of the party just looked at each other a moment, and then mutely followed. They did not, however, re-sheath their weapons. All following the young halfling, as they rounded what looked to be the black smith's shop, the Harpers found themselves suddenly aware of the distant sound of music and laughter.

"Maybe it's just me, but that doesn't sound like vampires having a snack." Kern murmured wryly, glancing at Gareth and Sevnara.

Gareth didn't turn his head, but the chiding tone in his voice was all too audible. "You're the mage, Kern, but a simple noise like that could also be the result of a spell. You should know that."

Kern nodded solemnly, mentally kicking himself for saying anything. Having just given advice that the vampires might have spell casters among them, he should have been the first to remember one of the lessons taught to all Harpers: "When magic is involved, your senses can always be lied to. Trust your gut more than you trust your eyes and ears."

Of course, Kern absently thought to himself, -most spellcasters aren't always that crafty. They rely on brute magical power rather than subtleties. But then, what was that quote Dad was always throwing around? Oh yeah. "You must prepare for the enemy's capabilities, and not necessarily his intentions." Who was it that said that? Klaus... Klauswich or something like that. Mystra's wound, if I tried to remember all the sayings and bits of wisdom my father had learned from travelling the Primes, I wouldn't have any room left for my spells...

Just then, two figures darted out from between two dwellings, just in front of the Harpers. Sevnara hissed in surprise and the air suddenly filled with the sound of the two lead horses rearing up and whinnying. Fortunately the figures responded to the sound by looking directly at the adventurers. Their faces were lit up by the glowing moon, revealing at least at first sight their very young, human (and more than a little frightened) countenances. This prevented Sevnara and Gareth from immediately bringing down their swords on the heads of the two youngsters. They still, however, held their blades at the ready as they brought their horses under control.

"Who are you people?" one of the teenagers, the male, finally spoke. The two looked apprehensive, their clothes more than a little rumpled. Kern absently wondered if they had been in, or running from, a battle.

Sevnara looked at Daer, who shook his head in response. Kern, unlike the man and maid in front of them, knew the significance of that look. Daer's holy medallion was especially enchanted to detect evil. It notified the wearer silently of the presence of potent auras of evil, such as were often the sustaining power of undead. These two, at least, appeared not to be vampires. Assuming, Kern wryly reminded himself, that our divinations can be trusted.

"We're an adventurer's band called the Forest Blades, hired by the Cormyrian crown." Sevnara replied gruffly, leaning forward in the saddle. Which was not quite a lie. It was, in fact, their current cover as Harpers, and as a result they had official papers signed by the royal wizard Vangerdahast, who was a trusted ally, if not One Who Harps himself.

The two villagers visibly relaxed. There were adventurers a-plenty in Faerun, and not all aligned one the side of good. However, King Azoun was not in the habit of hiring just any adventurers, when he did make use of them and not Cormyr's own soldiers, the Purple Dragons.

"Where is everyone? The town looks rather... deserted." Gareth added after a moment.

The young man smiled, taking the lass's hand. "Oh, they're all celebrating at the Hanged Hobgoblin House, sirrah. That's the town tavern, just around the bend."

"Celebrating? What for?"

"Oh, it was so incredible!" the girl gushed, a blooming blond with a figure to rival Laida. "There was this pack of vampires that snuck into town, but these men in Tyr's service that came with one of the Rides not long after found them and destroyed them! The whole thing was so scary: they said the undead could withstand sunlight! But now they're all dead, praise the gods!"

Kern blinked in surprise. The Archendale patrols, called The Rides, were not known to be the most capable warriors in the Dales. Against common foes, or even warriors and mages come from the Zhentarim (the Dales' greatest foe), they did well enough. But against undead resistant to sunlight? That's hard to swallow... then again, if they had the aid of potent clerics and paladins of Tyr, come from the Abbey of the Just Hammer, it is possible. Perhaps the vampires were even known foes of the followers of the God of Justice.

Gareth, who appeared to be thinking something alone similar lines, probed further. "Are any who participated in this... 'momentous' battle still in the town?"

The two nodded emphatically. "Sir Rombert stayed behind along with four of the other Ride warriors to protect the town, while the priests and senior Ridemen returned to Archendale to report the battle. They're all at the tavern, sirrah." Replied the young man. He cocked his head curiously, "Why? Were you hired by the king to exterminate the undead yourselves?"

Gareth grunted. "Something like that."

Sevnara grinned. "Oh, don't be grumpy now, Gareth. In a way, I'm certainly not disappointed to leave the work to experienced holy warriors." She looked back at the couple and winked. "Go on now, you two. We won't hold up your tryst any longer. We'll get all the answers we need from this Sir Rombert."

Both man and maid seemed to blush and duck their heads as one as they mumbled good-byes and scampered off.

"Not hard to tell where your mind is, 'Nara." Beldan grinned, sheathing his sword. "Teasing those two like you did."

Sevnara smirked back at Beldan, doing the same with her own blade. "My mind had nothing to do with it. It's obvious what those two were up to. Clothes may be easy to rumple, but it'd have been very hard for the girl's vest to be 'accidentally' unbuttoned, as it was. My guess is the lad couldn't wait and started exploring the girl's bosom before they could get to a hay barn."

"I didn't see any hay barns on the way in." Beldan protested mildly. "That may make things a tad difficult. Kern, why don't you follow those two and conjure up a hay barn for them? I'm sure they'll be most grateful."

Kern looked dourly, though not unamusedly, at Beldan. "Actually, for my first trick, I was planning on conjuring you up some wit."

"All right, enough you two," said Gareth, who seemed to be struggling not to smile. "You can joke later after we've talked to this paladin and satisfied my curiosity about the vampires. Once we're certain there are no fangs waiting out there in the darkness, then you can relax and joke all you like.

A few moments later, Gareth was struggling no longer. In fact, he was roaring with laughter at a bawdy joke, told by Hiram Rombert, Paladin-Knight of Tyr, of all people!

"By Meilikki's swords, you've got to be one of the most personable Tyrrans I've ever met!" Gareth added once his laughter, and the laughter of some of the other Harpers, died down. Ironically, Kern was not among them. Oh, aye, I can appreciate the joke, Kern thought to himself, trying to enjoy himself along with the others, but strangely enough, being plagued by uncertainty. But coming from him? He must be the most irregular paladin, let alone Tyrran paladin, that's ever lived!

Hiram smiled, showing a row of white teeth. "There are always times when seriousness and duty must be paramount, my friends. And I would be the first to meet those times head on. But one must also enjoy the simpler times in life when they come -- for indeed, too often your portion of the Realms can be plunged into chaos by Zhents or dragons or power-hungry wizards." He glanced in Kern's direction, and, seeing his less than hearty cast, seemed to assume insult. "No offense, young mage." He added, smiling kindly.

Kern was a little surprised at first. He didn't remember introducing himself as a spell-caster. Then again, for all I've been paying attention they could have been talking of the Moonsea drying up, and I'd not have noticed. He tried a smile back, but for some reason, his heart wasn't really in it. And that made him feel bad, because Hiram seemed to be a genuinely nice fellow. "None taken, Sir Knight."

Beldan slapped Kern unexpectedly on the back. "Lighten up, Kern, old bean! You look stiffer than an iron golem after it frolicked with a rust monster! Relax, my friend! Right now, those vampires we were chasing are so much dust, scattered to the wind!"

Kern started to respond, but at that moment Laida fell into his lap, giving Kern a sultry look, and showing off more than a little of her milky bosom under the mageling's nose. "Matter of fact, why don't you go conjure up that hay barn, Kern? I hear tell they're especially good for... 'relaxing' in." she purred.

With some effort, Kern raised his head, to stare incredulously at Laida's eyes, as opposed to her chest, trying to ignore the way his body shivered in reaction to Laida's touch and her manner. He cleared his throat, and finally said, "You're not serious, right?"

Laida just grinned enigmatically at him, to the amusement of all at the table. "Are you?" Kern finally said, pleased that his voice did not crack..

The beautiful ranger giggled and slapped him on the thigh, and licked his nose before getting up and moving back to her seat "That's for me to know and you to find out, sugar," she called behind her back.

Kern sat there, his face flaming. The rest of the tavern seemed to be in full roar, but to the young mage, it seemed as though there was a wall of silence at the table where he and the other Harpers sat, as they grinned at his embarrassment.

Kern felt mortified.

He stood unceremoniously. "I'm going to get some fresh air." He rasped, and turned away from the table.

"Hey, now wait a minute, Kern..." said Beldan behind him, sounding ashamed.

Kern ignored him. It's not as if he hated him, or Lydia, or any of them, but he couldn't trust himself to remain and not say something he might regret.

Suddenly he was outside, away from the cacophony of the partying. He took a few steps away from the door, dropping to his knees and taking several deep breaths, trying to still his beating heart. After several seconds he felt those potent feelings that haunted him in the tavern fading.

They couldn't understand. None of them. Not even Beldan. They've never experienced being... different. Unleashing his will, Kern silently told the amulet around his neck to change him back to his natural form. It was a gradual change. His arms and face -- indeed, his entire body -- growing a coating of gray fur... his face elongating and becoming a wolven muzzle... his fingernails becoming sharp claws that could rend flesh.

Kern looked at his hands, recognizable to him... and yet, so unreal. Even half-elves do not experience the rejection that I have. How can they know what it is like to be laughed at in derision... even feared because of what I am by birth? Half man, half wolf. And neither half welcome on my own home.

Kern knew his companions meant no such harm to him. Indeed, their amusement at his situation was not even remotely connected to his bad experiences. Except in the smiles. Those rows of teeth that seemed to mock him. Just like the cruel men, women, and children of his past.

The mageling took another deep, cleansing breath. Better. In and out. Inhale the good, exhale the bad. Just like my mother taught...

Kern clamped his mind down on that thought. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was his mother in his disheveled state of mind. The thoughts would eventually turn dark, and leave him in a worse state than he came out in. Maybe I should take Sir Rombert aside and unburden myself to him. Surely, as a holy man, and as a seemingly decent man, he could understand my plight and offer his wisdom and his blessing... true, not all Tyrrans are so accepting, but this one reminds me of Brother Tarl in Phlan...

Kern's thought suddenly froze. On impulse, he turned back towards the tavern but did not enter, his hands weaving in the pattern of a greater spell he'd had the occasion to learn recently: a spell to see through solid objects. Within moments, with the proper words and gestures, he found he could gaze through the front of the Hanged Hobgoblin. He swiveled his gaze from side to side, until he found the laughing form of Sir Rombert. He took a step closer, focusing the spell and his eyes, making sure that what he saw was indeed what was there.

Or in this case, what was not there.

Brother Tarl always wore his holy symbol. Always, in rest or in battle. Some Tyrrans wore pendants, other wore a single blessed bracer or gauntlet, inscribed with Tyr's symbol. So why does this paladin not wear any of those??

Indeed, the only thing that Sir Rombert wore that identified him as of the faith of the God of Justice was the surcoat he wore. But any man can wear a piece of clothing.

On the other hand, so could the medallion be worn by anyone... except by those to whom the touch of such a blessed object would be anathema, even burn their flesh.

Kern hoped he was wrong; dearly hoped so. But this did not stop him from weaving a second spell: this time, a spell to detect goodness. If Kern was wrong, 'Sir' Rombert would light up brilliantly from the spell, as all paladins are holy warriors of their patron gods of good, and therefore very potent in their devotion to all things decent.

The final word was spoke, the final gesture made. Yet... there was nothing. No glimmer anywhere, not from Rombert, not from the other Harpers, not even from himself as he looked down at his body. The mageling was confused at first, but then, like the spark that lights a fire, he understood.

The spell detected nothing because his spell of divination was being blocked. And if it was being blocked, it was because something out there bore ill will, and did not want to be discovered.

If it's Rombert, that can be easily determined. I take out a vial of holy water, and splash it on him. If he starts screaming and burning, we know he's a vampire, and we can take him out. Then again, there are a lot of innocent people there, they could be hurt if we attack. Plus, what if there's another vampire in there? We kept finding substantial evidence that there was more than one of them...

"Don't worry yourself, handsome one," cooed a sultry voice. Kern spun around and found his eyes locked with the girl that they had nearly run into earlier. And yet it wasn't her, exactly. Where the girl had once been shy, now she was brazen, bold, and deliberately showing off a wide expanse of cream-colored cleavage. She raised a finger deliberately to her lips and licked it in an extremely tantalizing way. "If you find not the Hobgoblin Tavern to your taste, I'm sure you and I can find some much more enjoyable... entertainment."

Kern found himself taking one step, and then another, towards this incredibly enticing being. The girl spread out her arms, as if to welcome him into an embrace, her smile wide and more than a little triumphant.

This isn't right.

Why? Kern replied to the fleeting thought. She wants me, I want her. What could be more right than that?

But what about the vampires? the inner voice replied, persistent.

There are no vampires. The Ridesmen killed them. Now shut up.

You know that's not true.

Don't care what you think. I need this girl...

All right then! The voice shouted in his head. But if everything's okay, then why the hell aren't you nervous about this girl coming on to you?

Kern stopped in his tracks suddenly, incredibly self-aware. His conscience was correct. He wasn't acting normal. He was acting as though he were...

"Charmed." The mageling spat, suddenly, grabbing at his belt. For a few precious moments, at least, he was free of the magical compulsion he was under. So he took steps to make sure he couldn't be put back under the girl's spell. He grabbed one of the vials of holy water and flung it all in one motion. The thin glass broke, and the contents splattered all over the girl, making her shriek in horrific agony, covering her eyes as the blessed liquid set her afire with pain, steam rising from where holy water touched skin.

A loud hiss from behind was Kern's only warning. Before even drawing his sword, he grabbed his belt buckle, engraved with a circle of stars. "Mystra forfend," he breathed, invoking the power of the belt. In a flash of light, he was suddenly ten yards behind where had been, and directly in front of him as what appeared to be a man dressed in rags, hissing and looking about in confusion. His skin was pale white, like the girl's, and his fingertips were elongated into pointed claws.

Kern didn't even hesitate. He drew forth his sword, which burst into unnatural flame as he brandished it and attacked the vampire. The gaunt figure seemed to sense his attack, however, and even as the mageling swung his flaming blade, he dodged to one side, making a potentially devastating blow to the neck instead cleave into the vampire's shoulder. The burning steel dug deep, however, and the being cried in agony as the magical fire seared his skin. The vampire somersaulted away, and rose up now to face him, finally revealing his face to the Harper. Kern almost cringed at the almost animal-like visage of this monstrosity, as it grinned at him with two long, gleaming fangs.

Then, the vampire did something atypical. He heard the being's red lips spit out something in the language of the magic, and watched as the vampire's hands seemed to harden before his eyes... turning the color of tempered steel. Vampire mages. Dammit, I hate it when I'm right...

The animalistic vampire attacked then, lashing out with claws. Kern did his best to defend himself against the furious onslaught, parrying those steel-hard hands as though they were blades, and doing what he could to dodge those blows he could not parry. He failed at least twice, the vampire's claws darting in and gouging his sides. Finally Kern let out with an underhand swipe that slashed across the vampire's torso at a diagonal, from belly to shoulder, making the undead being stumble back, snarling sulphurously in pain.

Before Kern could follow up on his advantage, however, he was abruptly tackled by the screaming vampire-girl as she tried to pin him down. The girl's strength was surprising as she twisted his wrist, making him drop his magical blade from pain. They struggled for several seconds, rolling around on the ground as Kern tried to gain leverage. But his strength was no match for the girl's, he eventually found himself held fast to the ground. She grinned then, showing her fangs and licking her lips. "You're mine now..." she crooned in a mock-seductive tone as she held him fast, her touch sending Kern shivering from horrible, mind numbing cold.

"I just have to know," grunted Kern, playing for time as his mind raced. "Who was the vampire before? You or the boy?"

The vampire-girl chuckled throatily, amused. "Me. Gavin was so young, and so luscious... I let him have his way with me... and then I fed on him, at the moment of climax, when his blood boiled and gushed through his body. It was so sweet." Her inhuman eyes bored into his skull. "Your blood will be sweeter."

The girl wasted no more time, leaning down to bite at his neck, but Kern was already in motion. Mentally directing his amulet, he had morphed only his hands back to wolven form. With a burst of diminishing strength, he twisted his wrists up enough to claw at the girl's wrists. It was not enough to cause any lasting damage, but the girl didn't know this, rearing up in surprise and clutching at her wounds with a cry of shock. Murmuring a quick plea to Lady Luck, he grabbed the wooden stake at his belt, drew it back, and plunged it into the vampire-girl's chest.

His blow was true. Blood fountained out of the girl's mouth as she let out an unweening cry of mortal agony... and then she fell over, spasming in the last moments of undeath. Kern kicked the dying vampire off of him, slowly rising as warmth returned to his limbs.

But as Kern went to retrieve his sword he saw the feral vampire-mage standing in front of where the sword lay, grinning that awful smile at him. "Naughty, naughty boy." The undead thing laughed derisively. "No more swordplay for you."

Kern's eyes narrowed. He knew he could not manage to get past the vampire to retrieve his sword. The undead's strength and speed more than matched his. But in matters of Art, Kern knew that he held sway, even if the vampire did not.

He called forth the magic burning in his body as he unleashed a spell invented long ago by his father, a power word as yet unknown to many who wielded Art.

"Burn."

The vampire's eyes widened in surprise and then agony as his entire body lit aflame, as commanded by the spell, turning him into a living, wailing ball of fire. The vampire-mage gestured, probably trying desperately to call upon his Art in desperate defense, but was in too much pain to make the magic work. After a few moments the vampire's body collapsed, his unholy flesh and bones turning to dust from the magical conflagration.

Wearied, clutching at his side as it wet his tunic with his blood, Kern retrieved his sword, putting it back in its sheath. Uncorking an other vial, this one a healing potion, he drank the contents in full, moving back towards the inn as the magic of it coursed through his veins, healing some of his wounds. Now to deal with 'Sir Rombert'... thankfully, I won't have to take him on alone...

But as his hand hit the doorknob, a thought suddenly struck the mageling. Why didn't the others come out to help me? Surely they heard the sounds of battle?

As he turned the knob, he was suddenly aware of how quiet it was. And then, as he opened the door he saw. And knew the answer to his question.

To say the tavern had become a slaughterhouse would not be quite accurate. After all, there are appeared to be many farm folk still alive, either staring at nothing with glazed looks on their eyes, or huddled and whimpering quietly. But there was blood and carnage present, and more than enough of it. Jaid, poor Jaid, lay on a table near to the door with staring, dead eyes and her throat ripped out. Daer was pinioned against a far wall, one of the wooden stakes driven through his chest, and with a young girl-child actually greedily drinking the blood that fountained from the wound. He seemed to still be alive... though at the rate he was going, not for much longer.

Kern did not see Sevnara, Beldan, or Laida, but Gareth was weakly struggling against the iron grip of a breathtakingly beautiful woman that held him by the neck. By her side stood Rombert, and two other men, one big and muscular, the other gaunt and wiry. All four had red, luminescent eyes, pale skin, and all had the look of arrogant malevolence.

It was now, Kern saw, that 'Sir' Rombert did indeed have a holy symbol, a pendant wrapped around his forearm which he rose for Kern to see with a smirk. But the symbol it bore was not the scales of the God of Justice, but the dark moon of Shar, the evil Goddess of Night. "Looking for this?" he sneered.

The woman stepped forward at this point, with a blood red smile that would have been seductive, had it not been mixed with obvious malice. "So you're the one we're supposed to get," she drawled, her eyes glowing brighter. "Weaveborn..."

Kern's blood froze. All this... his friends, companions, cut down like so much wheat. Because of him.

No... no not again...

The vampiress stepped back behind the three men once more, and the girl, who had stopped feeding from the dying Daer, came as well to join the others. "Take him," the woman purred, flashing her ivory fangs at the mage.

But even before the undead could complete a single step to carry out their matriarch's orders, Kern's eyes suddenly burned red hot and burst into rainbow hued flames, his face a mask of unbridled anger. Kern's fury was enough to make three of the attacking vampires pause in shock. The brawny one, however, lumbered forward, perhaps to try and stop the Harper mage from whatever spell he seemed to be casting.

However, he only succeeded in being the third to fall that night to the Weaveborn's fury.

As the hulking vampire's claws swiped through the air, Kern dodged backward, spitting words of Art even as he grabbed one of the other vials of holy water at his belt. Before the other could lay a hand on him, Kern tossed the vial at the vampire as he completed the spell. When it struck, the blessed liquid did not seem to harm the vampire, to the surprise of all. Then the brawny one's entire body seemed to glow white hot. He did not even have time to scream as he was instantly turned to dust. The others gaped in horror at the power of this unnatural spell, looking at him now with new respect for his chances against them.

"Next?" Kern snarled, feeling his animal instincts, if not his animal body, usurping his consciousness.

Rombert was already in motion, calling on his dark Goddess, creating a sphere of inky darkness to encapsulate and capture the enraged Harper mage. Kern studied the effect of the spell for but a moment before calling on a bit of wild magery that he had invented himself. From the outside, the vampires started to exult as the mortal seemed to succumb to the spell. Suddenly his entire body became surrounded in rainbow fire, which exploded outward, tearing the darkness into mere wisps of shadows. The vampire priest Rombert started and actually looked afraid, never having seen that potent spell be so completely disrupted before.

The vampiress, however, focused her red eyes on Kern in intense concentration, seemingly unperturbed by Kern's victories thus far. Seeing this, Kern returned her intense gaze. "Let Gareth go." He said in a low, dangerous voice. "Or I will make you burn just like I did the vampire wizard."

The blood red lips of the female vampire smiled. "No. You will instead submit yourself to me," she replied with amusement.

Kern suddenly felt the pressure of the woman's words pressing into his skull, with a force that seemed to be beyond even the power vampires had to induce magical charm. He mustered his will, trying to fight back the compulsion to obey. "No."

The vampiress' eyes shone more brightly. "Submit."

Kern found himself in utter confusion. She seemed to use no Art to add this unnatural power to her words, and yet he still felt her command trying to batter its way into his consciousness like a siege engine against a castle gate. "N-n-no." he shot back, feeling his nerves afire with pain as he desperately tried to resist. He could not even call upon his own magic, nor even take a step forward to strike down this evil creature. It took all his mental and physical strength simply to hold his mind against her.

Her eyes glinted angrily, redoubling her attack on his mind. "You will submit!"

"NO!" Kern thought back at his enemy in stubborn anger, trying to hold her off enough to grab at the wand at his belt. All it would take is to point it, and speak the command word...

Suddenly, Rombert leapt into action, lashing out with a crude iron mace. Unable to see or sense the evil priest's attack until it was too late, Kern went down in a heap as the mace struck him at the base of his neck.

Suddenly, all was darkness.

And for a long while, that was all Kern remembered...

As the image in the memory sphere faded, the people surrounding it looked at each other grimly. There were five in all, all Harpers. One, in fact, was Cylyria Dragonbreast, Lady of Twilight Hall and the leader of the Harpers. On either side she was flanked by Storm Silverhand and Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunson, both Master Harpers and Chosen of Mystra, Goddess of All Magic. Also present was the High Priest of Mystra attached to Twilight Hall, Halin Gavrisom.

The fifth member was of far less importance or political stature in the Harpers, but her value here and now was inarguable. Tlara Stillwater, a priestess of Eldath, Goddess of Healing, was one of the few trained not only in healing of the body, but also healing of the mind. In all of Faerun, true psionic ability was rare, and potent ability even rarer. When Storm brought the huddled Kern back to Twilight Hall, however, it was quickly determined that the young mage was in no mental condition to provide answers as to what had happened: he appeared to be in some sort of traumatic shock. And so Tlara was called for, in the hopes that she might be able to gently probe his mind and seek those answers. The crystal sphere that they surrounded, called a memory sphere, allowed Tlara to project those memories that she gleaned from Kern, so that all could view them for themselves.

"Is that all?" Cylyria inquired of Tlara.

The dark-haired woman shook her head, her dark curls dancing against her pale skin. "No. But I chose not to probe over much into the memories following those you have seen."

The lady bard looked bemusedly at the Eldathyn. "Why ever not? We are, after all, trying to determine what happened to young Denseran that we might aid him."

Tlara's lips pursed into a thin line. "I am not saying that I don't know what happened to him. I'm saying I chose not to immerse myself into those memories. Besides, what happened immediately after would not be... pleasant to watch."

"You mean he was tortured." Storm guessed tersely.

Tlara looked at the Master Harper in surprise. "How did you...?"

"Remember, I'm the one who found him. And I have some familiarity with the techniques. The way his flesh was laid open looked much like he had attained those wounds while bound, and not while in battle."

"His wounds, yes... he had been struck by a barbed flail, and also by the vampires claws themselves. But the torture he underwent was far more than mere physical injury." The Eldathyn healer replied.

"Psionic, you mean? You think she was a telepath like you, and tried using her powers on him to break his will?" Cylyria replied.

"Yes, there are the tell-tale marks of telepathic intrusion on his mind," agreed Tlara, "-which would bear out those memories Kern had before the Sharran priest hit him."

"But you don't mean just that either, do you, Stillwater." It was Gavrisom, who had spoken for the first time since this meeting had convened.

The priestess licked her lips nervously. "This one was very talented. One wonders if she was a follower of Loviatar, Mistress of Pain, in life. Yes, she used pain in plenty measure. But this one did not simply want Kern to submit, she wanted to control him. So she used pain in conjunction with pleasure."

This earned the mind-healer several blank stares from all involved. She blew air through her lips in frustration and added. "She raped him."

Cylyria blinked in confusion. "What? Is that even possible? For a... female to force intercourse on a man?"

"It is encountered seldom, but it is known to happen." Tlara confirmed. "In the vampiress' case, seeing as she already had a foothold in Kern's mind, she could very easily influence his body enough to cause arousal. Lady's Tears, even if she wasn't a telepath, she could have probably very easily done the same thing by feeding from him: from what I know, a vampire's bite stimulates sexual desire in the prey. It's supposed to be a way of keeping the vampire's prey docile."

The Mystran high priest cocked his head. "I will most likely reveal my dearth of knowledge of such things, but... what is the significance of this? Enough torture, surely, can break a man, but... would not pleasure only alleviate his suffering?"

Tlara's lips thinned now into a grimace. "Enough torture can break a man, yes. Enough pleasure... can enslave him. And this is true of even non-physical pleasures. Like with alcohol or those few illegal addictive substances that travel through criminal circles. In the case of forcing carnal acts upon Kern, it serves as both pleasure and pain."

Gavrisom's forehead creased in thought. "I'm not certain I understand that last bit."

The Eldathyn healer started to reply, but Storm spoke up faster than her. "Rape is more than the physical pain of forced intercourse. It is about power. And submission. The rapist is taking power away from the victim, making her... or him, feel helpless and powerless. Powerless to stop the rapist, and, in the case of a male, unable to keep his body from reacting in the way the female desires. For, unlike a man raping a woman, who can penetrate regardless of the woman's desires, the man must become aroused in order for the woman to do the same to him."

The Mystran priest sketched a half-bow. "I acquiesce to your superior insight, Chosen. So Denseran was tortured with pain and pleasure. My next question is simply this: did the vampiric temptress succeed? Is he broken beyond repair?"

Tlara steepled her fingers, pressing the tips of her index fingers against her pursed lips. "Broken? Not precisely. Were he truly broken, I would have been able to glean whatever memories lay between the torture and now. But he keeps even me blocked out. I could, of course, force my way in, but not without doing more harm to Kern." She lifted her chin at that, looking steely at those gathered. "And that, I will not do."

"Keep your hackles down, healer," growled Blackstaff. "Despite who and what he is, we would never ask such a thing of anyone, let alone an Eldathyn."

"Speaking of which," said Cylyria coolly, leveling her intense eyes at Khelben, "We must speak further on, as you say, 'who' and 'what' he is. This band of vampires seemed to have garnered much personal power. But they came after young Denseran. The why of it is unknown to me, but I'd guessed when you brought me to this gathering that you knew more than you'd told me. And now I am sure of it."

"Cyl..." said Storm placatingly.

The High Lady Harper waved Storm off. "Well, Blackstaff? Will you divulge this secret? Or must I call together a council to force you to do so?"

"There is no need for such threats, Lady." Khelben finally replied. "I deemed it necessary not to let anyone know about Kern's unique capacity for his sake. After the mistakes made with Shandril Shessair, it was my decision that only the Chosen be aware of his unique capacities. If I had not followed my conscience in this matter, we might have had this crisis happen much earlier, and lost more than a farming town."

"If you had told us that he was capable of, like Shandril, wielding the destructive essence of spellfire, this might not have happened at all," said Cylyria acidly.

"I will not apologize for acts that are moot now, Lady." Khelben sighed. "And in point of fact, spellfire is not among his powers. But indeed, his secret has already been revealed, via the visions shown us in the crystal. The vampiress called him Weaveborn, a term referenced in no tomes of magic or history save one -- the librams containing the soothsaying of Alaundo."

The others started. Alaundo was said to be the only Trueseer, gifted with his sight by Savras, God of Divination. Everything he had ever said had been carefully documented, and none of it had ever been proven false.

Khelben nodded, seemingly approving of the sudden silence in response to his words. "For reasons that no mage has ever been able to determine, Kern was born with a physical link to the Weave. As a result, he has the ability to be more powerful than young Shandril. He is able to cast spells without the need for any costly material components, and without having to memorize the spells beforehand: any spell he knows and he can cast simply through shaping the stored Weave in his body into the desired shape. He is, like Shandril, a magic battery. Unlike a Spellfire wielder, however, the Weave is ever flowing into his body, filling him up with its energy. As a result, there are deleterious side effects."

"Such as?" Cylyria prodded.

"Kern and his father, Xandros, learned at an early age that Kern would have to be trained how to properly shape his body into a receptacle for the Weave, else it would spill out of him and cause magical surges with potentially lethal consequences. This is why Kern abandoned the path of a ranger to become a mage. But even after his training was accomplished, it was further discovered that Kern had to take further steps to protect those around him. First, certain mental blocks had to be placed in his subconscious to prevent the possibility that he might accidentally release the Weave stored in his body. Keeping such power inside his body is akin to tensing a muscle. Normally, in order to do so required a direct martialing of the will. The mental compulsions allowed him to circumvent the need to be directly concentrating on keeping the Weave in check, rather like the valve in the throat that closes up instinctively to prevent food or drink from pouring into the lungs. Secondly, he had to use magic on a regular basis, or it's entirely possible that too much Weave stored in his body would cause him lasting harm."

"Are you saying that the psionic vampiress unwittingly dissolved the mental blocks? And that it just... exploded out of him?"

Khelben nodded to Lady Dragonsbreast. "That is our best guess, yes. I had directed Stillwater's initial mental probe, and the blocks are gone."

Storm frowned. "Wouldn't that mean we are in danger, then?"

Blackstaff shook his head. "Kern released all of the Weave-energy contained within him, and it will take him a while to build back up to a point where it would spill out again. Moreover, I have created, with Mystra's favor and permission, a temporary magic dead-zone that encompasses Kern's room, as further precaution. That way, any Weave that escaped would be automatically nullified."

The high priest looked somewhat dumbfounded. "The Lady of Mysteries would allow this? I mean, yes the circumstances are somewhat dire, but she has decreed the magic-dead zones as anathema and to be healed at all cost..."

"Normally, this would be true, Gavrisom." Khelben nodded, absently sliding his hand up and down his staff. "But this is a special circumstance. And for reasons that Mystra has not shared with me, she seems to have some interest in protecting young Denseran."

"Oh, isn't it a pity, Blackstaff. " chirped an airy voice laced with sarcasm. "Someone keeping secrets from you. Now you know how frustrating it is."

Khelben groaned as t looked around in puzzlement for the voice. "Her. Of all people, she had to be present."

There was a laugh as a halfling maiden dressed in blue adventuring garb appeared seemingly from nowhere, hopping up on the table and doing a small dance step. Her freckle-laden smile was infectious despite the somberness of the moment as her short, blond curls bobbed with her small frame. She skipped forward and curtseyed to Lady Cylyria. "He means me, Lady Harper. Kyria Stoneslinger, Luckbringer of Tymora at your service."

Cylyria nodded curiously at the halfling, the hint of a smile quirking around her lips. "A pleasure." She then looked at Khelben, seemingly enjoying his discomfiture. "I think?"

"She's a troublemaker." The elder Chosen grunted.

The halfling priestess put her hands on her hips and looked wryly at Khelben. "It's not my fault that you didn't listen to me when I told you the 'Flame was a Tymoran holy relic. I was given orders by the church to retrieve the artifact at any cost, and the incident could have been avoided had you just taken me at my word." She cocked her head to one side as she grinned impishly. "By the way, how long did it take for you to get the stink off?"

Storm hid a grin as Cylyria's eyes lit up in recognition, and she barked out a laugh. Khelben scowled but said nothing. For his part, Father Gavrisom continued to look puzzled. "Of what incident does she speak?" said the aged man to the others gathered.

Cylyria's eyes twinkled, but she did not laugh again. "There was what seemed to be a particularly curious murder case in Waterdeep a few months back... a merchant and members of his staff had been burned to death. As it turned out, the watch discovered that a small flame-shaped gem was responsible. Anyone who touched it erupted into flame. Khelben had confiscated the gem, and taken it to his tower for further study. Maybe a day later, there was tell of a halfling priestess -- Kyria, apparently -- who had come on behalf of the Tymora church, claiming it was called the Flame of the Spirit, an ancient spell artifact made by Lady Luck for her worshippers. Blackstaff had rebuffed her, and as a result, Kyria took it upon herself to steal the artifact away from him, managing to break into Blackstaff Tower to do so. As it happened, before she could escape with the artifact, she was spotted. Blackstaff gave chase... and well, the details are sketchy but they say that somehow, he got drenched by the contents of a cesspool."

"Ah." said Gavrisom. If he too found humor in the story, he was wise enough not to display it on his features. Blackstaff scowled nonetheless. Before the uncomfortable silence persisted further, Tlara quietly spoke up. "Did you have any success, Kyria."

Before the eyes of all those gathered, the ebullience ran out of the halfling like water from an upturned glass. "No," she breathed as she slowly climbed down off the table and flopped into a nearby chair. "At first, he seemed to recognize me, but then I was foolish enough to bring up Jaid. He knows we are... were... friends, even in this unresponsive state. He huddled back in on himself as if the mention of her name was another wound inflicted on him. Even though, technically, she was dead long before he lost control, he blames himself."

The Eldathyn sighed. "That would be consistent with what I've learned from his mind."

Khelben glared at Tlara. "You brought a non-Harper into a Harper stronghold? And told her about a matter that was deemed highly classified?"

"Oh, button it, you rules-lawyer." Kyria growled, sitting up. "She didn't have to tell me anything. I already had most of the story from other sources. And I knew about Kern's powers over a year ago. I came to help."

Tlara nodded, her own soft eyes becoming steel once again as she faced the elder Chosen. "Moreover, she is a healer and a friend of Kern's. She sought me out, and I deemed her presence an asset in terms of Kern's recovery. I had hoped she might be able to get through to him where I could not. Besides, as a noteworthy heroine among the Tymoran clergy, she knows how to keep secrets. She wasn't going to go running off her mouth, much less sell the information to the Zhentarim."

Cylyria nodded brusquely. "She did right, Blackstaff. Ease down."

Blackstaff snorted. "Forgive me if I take umbrage with that conclusion. This is no mere case of mental shock or psychological trauma. We have the added wrinkle of his status as Weaveborn."

"In other words, you desire that all others speak to you first before deciding on a course of action, because you know so much more than anyone else on Kern's condition."

Khelben nodded firmly. "Exactly so. In the absence of Elminster, I am the most qualified to..." He paused, confused for a moment, suddenly realizing that the voice that just spoke did not belong to any of those present. "Wait a minute, who said that?"

The others looked around at each other in similar bemusement, and then the voice spoke again as its owner was suddenly present among them, between one second and the next. "Someone who is intimately familiar with the situation, Blackstaff. And might be the only one who can succeed where healers and friends cannot get through to him on their own."

Khelben and Storm just stared, as if catapulted into a sort of shock of their own. Tlara, Gavrisom and Cylyria blinked at this strange man who was suddenly there without any warning, not shocked, but also not aware of his identity. Of those gathered, only Kyria seemed nonplussed by the solemn figure, getting up from her seat and formally bowing to him. "Come with me, Sir Mage. I'll take you to his room."

Darkness.

Quiet.

Good. Very good.

In darkness there is no pain.

In quiet there are no screams.

In the void there is no... me.

Sudden, bright light. I cringe, wrapping my arms around my head, trying to block out the hurtful glow. Cover my ears, to block out all sound.

"Kern?"

No, no Kern here. Kern is dead. I am nothing.

"Kern, it's Kyria. Can you hear me?"

Nope, can't hear. Nothing to hear in the void. Stop talking, no one can hear you.

A sigh. "He's all yours, Sir Mage. He'll either acknowledge you, or he won't."

At first, blessed quiet once more. Then something strange. A touch. I can still feel? How curious. A touch... a caress. On my cheek. What is it?

"Oh, my son... my poor, poor child... what did they do to you..."

Son?

Slowly, I bare my eyes to the horrid light. At first, only a haze marred by tears. Then... a man. A familiar man. A familiar voice. He smiles sadly.

"Hello, son."

Father?

"Yes, Kern. It's your father."

did I say that aloud?

"Kern, I am here to help you. Let me."

You can't help. If you are here to help, it means I must face what I... what happened.

"Kern, I love you. Let me help to carry your burden. Share your mind with mine."

...

all right

Contact.

PAIN!pleasure

Mocking laughter -- the whip strikes!

iwillnotsubmit -- Filthypleasuregrindingflesh, bloodandsemen -- pleasestop!!!

Iwillnotsubmit!!!!

thestenchofsex

igasp for breath -- I

fangsbite, clawsrend

cold... whysocold??? WILL

Bloodtricklingdownmyforehead

NOT Wirecuttingintomywrists

Smokeburnsmythroat

SUBMIT

Quiet.

Dark.

No pain.

No.

NO.

NO!

NO!!!!!

fireburnshotcoveringmybody

burnsthepaingivers

burnsmyfriends

burnstheguilty

burnstheinnocent

burnsallsaveme

Fire.

All is fire.

All is death.

My fault.

MYFAULT!!!

"No."

ITWASMYFAULTIAMSOSOSOSOSORRY...

"Kern. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault."

yes it was

"Then you will atone! But I will not have you like this, son! You are better than that! And you are needed! I need you!"

I will not be alone?

"Never that, son. I will stand with you. Kyria will stand with you. You will not bear either the pain or the burden alone. Accept your life once more. You are Kern Denseran. You are my son."

...

all right

"He did it."

Storm exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding as Kyria spoke the words she most wanted to hear. The rest of those gathered exchanged sighs of relief, save for Khelben, who wore an expression that was a mixture of puzzlement and annoyance. "Just like that? His father arrives and he is better?"

Tlara tsked. "Of course not. But now, at least, the door is open to heal him. And that process will more than likely take a great deal longer." She then turned to look speculatively at Kyria. "You are good friends with Kern?"

Kyria nodded firmly. "How close?" Tlara prodded further.

The halfling shrugged. "Up there with Beldan and his father, I'd guess. I mean, he told me things he shared with few others."

"That's not what I meant. Were the two of you... intimate?"

Kyria blinked, and then actually blushed. "I don't see where that's any of your business," she said belligerently.

"Amazing," said Khelben dryly. "I hear her reputation has quite a hedonistic caste to it, and yet she blushes when asked about her sexual history with someone she's already admitted she's friends with."

"How'd you like me to string you up by your entrails, Blackstaff?" Kyria retorted tartly.

"Thank you, no. Good of you to ask though."

"I only ask," Tlara cut in, "because of Kern's recovery. Since some of the damage done to him was sexual, the healing also must be sexual. I could do it myself, if needs be, but a known lover would help the process considerably."

Kyria didn't even hesitate. "All right, I'm your girl, then. Provided stodgy old gray-beards don't get to watch."

"I don't know," said Cylyria impishly, looking sidelong at Khelben. "It might do him some good. Who knows? He might even learn something he can take back to Laeral."

Khelben did not blush, but he did stiffen slightly at the mention of his wife's name. "That will not necessary; I have every bit of confidence in Kyria's... abilities."

"And after Kern's recovery... what then, Blackstaff?" the Harper leader inquired, he tone turning more somber.

"For myself, or for young Kern?" Khelben rumbled.

Lady Cylyria sighed. "Your culpability in this is perhaps understandable, now that we all know the story. But it remains that Kern would appear to be as much a threat as asset. In the case of Shandril Shessair, she is best protected by never staying in one place at a time for too long. Should we abandon this child of the Weave to the same fate? Should we hold him accountable for the loss of life in White Ford?"

"Let him recover. There will be time enough to hold a tribunal once he is more or less psychologically whole." The elder Chosen murmured. Then, uttering a few magical syllables, he was gone in a flash of light.

"More or less is the word, Lady Cylyria." Tlara replied quietly in the wake of Blackstaff's departure. "Delving into Kern's psyche has revealed a deep sense of self-blame for what happened. One wonders that you could sentence him to anything worse than he already has and is putting himself through. One also wonders if he ever could recover from the hurts done him."

"Don't worry about Kern's fate in the Harpers, lady healer." Cylyria sighed, sitting in a high-backed chair. "Just do what you can."

Kern stood in the very center of the Harper meeting hall, facing the three Justicars presiding over Kern's case. Due to the nature of the case, the Justicars chosen were of the highest ranking officials in the Harper order -- Khelben Arunsun, Belhuar Thantarth, the Master of Twilight Hall, and Lady Cylyria Dragonbreast herself. There were few other people present due to the secretive nature of Kern's abilities. Storm, and the ghostly essence of her sister Sylune, sat together wrapped in a serene quiet. Xandros and Kyria sat together, the elder mage patting the young halfling's hand and trying to quietly assuage her worry. Also present was Danilo Thann, Khelben's nephew and a fellow Harper agent. He was a close friend of Kern and had found out what had happened in spite of the Master Harpers' attempts to keep it quiet. Tlara was there as well, insisting that Kern was still fragile and might still need her support.

The tribunal was mostly over now. Kern, himself, had elected to stand mute, and face whatever charges the Justicars would pronounce upon him. Most others did not choose this, however, and Xandros, Tlara, Kyria, and even Storm had spoken eloquently on his behalf. Kern stood expressionless through all of it. To most, he seemed quite calm and resolute. Those who knew him best, however, could sense the difference. While he may have regained his sanity during the healing process, he had not smiled once since before the White Ford incident. The lightness that was once such an integral part of his demeanor was lost, and, as his father kept a steady eye on him, Xandros wondered if it would ever return. He hoped so.

Moreover, Kern had elected not accept any enchantment or device to give him human guise. "Let them see me for who I am," he had said. "I will not hide what I am to gain favor in the decision." So there he stood, in that humanoid, thickly-furred, half-wolven form, clothed only in his formal mage robes.

Lady Dragonbreast stood, looking squarely at Kern despite his inhuman appearance. "Harper Kern Denseran, the deliberation had come to an end. Are you ready to hear the council's verdict?"

Kern raised his head, squaring his shoulders. "I am."

The Harper leader cleared her throat. "Kern it is your burden to be possessing of power of the most formidable kind. Because of this, it is the opinion that your nature should have been, at least, not hid from the rest of the Master Harpers. However, this decision was also taken away from you at the bidding of the Blackstaff, so you are not to be blamed for this. It has also been taken into consideration that you have served faithfully as one of our order for more than two years, and have performed your duty as one of Those Who Harp in an exemplary fashion."

"Although it is not clear how the vampires discovered who you were, you had no way of knowing until the battle was already joined that it was you they were after. It is the opinion of one of us that, knowing this, you should have retreated to a Harper stronghold to confer with your superiors, perhaps to return with reinforcements."

Xandros' eyes narrowed even as he made a move to quiet Kyria, who look like she was about to protest. He himself suspected Khelben of making this judgement, as he always tended to be the voice of rules in Harper matters.

"However," Lady Cylyria continued, "-both myself and Khelben Arunsun feel that, without knowing the fate of your group nor the psionic capabilities for their leader, your decision to stay and attempt to save the lives of the villagers and your comrades was the best decision you could have made under the circumstances."

Xandros raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking to the third Justicar, Master Thantarth, who seemed to scowl at being overruled. In retrospect, the taking of sides made sense to the wild mage. This was not really a case of rule breaking, and besides which, Khelben would look awful foolish for advocating that Kern should have told others about his abilities after the initial attack, when he himself had taken such pains to keep them a secret. On the other hand, Master Thantarth, though good at heart, had certain opinions on the way things should be done that did not often coincide with Khelben's own methods. In that way, he had a great deal in common with the elder Chosen.

"Granted, the cost of staying behind resulted in the deaths of all in White Ford. However, from what we have gleaned about the events between your capture and the explosion of Weave that encompassed the town, it has been decided that you are not to be held responsible for the loss of life... and it is due entirely to the damage done you by the vampiress that you could not hold the Weave within."

Kern blinked seemingly in shock, and broke protocol for a moment to stare incredulously, even accusingly, at his father. Xandros sighed. He knew this would come, but he made a 'not now' gesture to his son. Kern's nostrils flared and his eyes went hard for a moment, but then he too sighed and turned back to face Lady Dragonbreast -- who had noticed his breach of protocol, but let it go unchastised.

"Kern Denseran, it is the judgement of the Justicars that you be cleared of all charges of wrongdoing, and be allowed to once more take your place in the Harper fold," Cylyria pronounced, a smile finally lighting her features. "The only stipulation is that you will be moved to active duty in Waterdeep, where Khelben and Larael Arunsun can keep an eye on you and protect you from ever having this tragedy happen again."

Kyria barked a laugh of relief, and all those gathered started clapping enthusiastically at the pronouncement. Even Khelben offered a rare smile as he stood. Kern, however, did not relax, and his father stood as he eyed his son with a worried countenance. Finally, Kern spoke. "Lady Dragonbreast, may I address the council?"

Cylyria blinked with a modicum of surprise. "You may, sir Denseran. What would you say to us?"

"I would say, Lady Dragonbreast, that your judgement is merciful, but it is not just."

Khelben frowned, his forehead creasing. Cylyria blinked, flabbergasted. Even Master Thantarth seemed taken aback. Undaunted, Kern continued. "Many died because of what happened, Lady Dragonbreast. Harpers and innocents both. And while it can be argued that their deaths were not my fault, I would submit that I did not do everything I could to save their lives. And while that could be forgiven in a lesser man, I have sworn an oath as a Harper to safeguard the lives of my comrades and those in danger, even at the cost of my own life. And to proclaim me blameless in this matter is an insult to the dead."

Kern reached up and removed the Harper pin from his robe, placing it on the table in front of the Justicars. "It is my judgement, Lords and Lady, that I be discharged from service until such time as I feel I have done the penance required to acquit myself of my crime. I am not fit to wear this badge of honor. To be honest, I would not be able to serve to the best of my ability if I were to stay, for I have also forsworn the use of magic until it is my satisfaction that this will never happen again. With your permission, I will gather my things and leave, to reflect on the events that have brought about this chain of destructive events and make peace within myself."

"Forgive me, Sir Denseran, but this is not altogether your decision to make." Khelben intoned ominously as he stepped around the table to face Kern. "Your identity may no longer be a secret to the Zhentarim or the Maulagrym, or others who might try to kidnap and use you to their own ends. You are at risk if you leave the influence and protection of the Harpers. Therefore, I'm afraid I must order you to join me in Waterdeep."

Kern's wolven eyes narrowed. "I am no longer a Harper, Blackstaff. I have given up my status, so technically, you no longer have any authority over me. And you need not worry about any danger I pose to others, or to the danger others may pose to me. My father has given me a ring that, among other things, allows me to channel the Weave inside me safely into the ether, where it will do no harm to anyone, including myself. And when I said that I mean to leave, I mean that in the sense that I will leave this planet and this sphere entirely, to return to the far away place where I was born."

Lady Cylyria stared at Kern, looking slightly hurt. "Kern, we are not trying to drive you away. Nor are we trying to make light of what happened. We are merely trying to help you without doing more damage in the process."

Kern nodded in acknowledgement. "I appreciate your kindness, Lady. But this is something I feel I must deal with alone."

Kern turned to leave, but Khelben snorted and grabbed his wrist. "Kern, don't be a fool..."

"Let go of my wrist, Blackstaff," Kern snarled, his eyes glinting.

"You're not thinking straight. We need you too much for you to go traipsing off on some quest of self-pity," the elder Chosen continued as if Kern had not spoken. "You..."

Whatever else Khelben was going to say was lost, as the young half-wolf mage whirled around and lunged a fist right at Khelben's jaw. Of course, the archmage was no slouch and could have deflected the punch had he been prepared for it. Moreover, he had a dozen different protective spells already in effect on his person. Ironically, none of them provided defense against the power of a naked fist. As knuckle met jaw, there was a satisfying crack of bone and Khelben went down on his posterior, momentarily stunned. Everyone else stared at the two of them unbelievingly, save Kyria, who actually seemed to take some small pleasure in the blow. Before anyone reacted further, however, Kern strode from the meeting room and closed the door behind him.

"Well," Lady Cylyria finally said, "-he did warn him."

Kern sighed as he gathered what few belongings he had in his personal quarters at Twilight Hall. Many of his personal possessions, including his weapons, bracers, and other favored magic items had been destroyed in the uncontrolled blast of Weave. He would miss them a little, perhaps, but he expected that he would more than likely not need them where he was going. He did not want to see any more combat for a long, long time.

As he stuffed the last of his things into his backpack and magical Bag of Holding, he turned and exited the room, making his way to the front gates. Thankfully, he did not run into any others Harpers in the process, as he was still in half-wolven form. In the main hall, however, Kern found several folk waiting for him besides his father: Kyria, Storm, and Danilo. Sylune was there as well, but she remained a disembodied spirit.

Kern glared at his father for the second time that day, but Xandros just shrugged. "They wanted to wish you well before I Gated you to Furry Prime. Friends have a tendency to do that."

You didn't tell them everything about what happened, did you, father. Kern thought at his father, utilizing one of the powers of his ring, the ability to speak telepathically with whomever he chose.

The wildmage sighed internally. I did not tell them because it was not relevant, my son. Whatever happened... was not any part of you, but occurred because you were stressed to the breaking point by torture.

I'm not so confident as you, father. If it is not a part of me, then how could I be forced to it? I think we all have dark sides, father... and I must somehow come to peace with mine before I can do anything else.

Cutting off further mental contact, he turned to face the others, his mind searching for appropriate words to say even as he instinctively refused to look any of them in the eyes. It was Kyria, however, who first made contact. She reached into a small bag, and rather impressively drew out a sword that was far too large for the bag. Clearly, she had a magical Bag just like Kern's. "This is for you," she said simply.

Kern took it in his hands, and looked at it. It was a long sword with a silver-colored blade ending in a golden hilt, and set with a large, spherically cut emerald as the pommel. Then he Looked at it, with his inborn sight to see magical auras, and was moderately astonished by how it gleamed. "What is it?"

Kyria scuffed her feet, looking solemn. "She is called the Lady's Shard. It is a potent magic weapon sacred to Tymora herself. In addition to its offensive power, it also is imbued with a bit of the Lady's divine Luck. Though the wielder of the Shard cannot control the time and place of when Her luck takes effect, it is always in a timely fashion. And not always when in combat."

Kern blinked. "Impressive. But this is too princely a gift. Surely this should be saved for Tymora's faithful."

The strangely sober halfling shook her head. "The Lady told me in a dream to give it to you, Kern. Apparently, she feels you will have need of it."

Kern looked somberly down at Kyria and knelt to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Then thank her for me, short-stuff."

Kyria, for her own part, unashamedly wrapped her arms around Kern's neck and gave him a powerful hug. "Take care of yourself, hon." She murmured before releasing him.

Storm approached the young mage next, and handed him a bundle wrapped in leather. "Here's my gift. Elven chainmail, to replace your bracers. It should fit you well."

Kern smiled humorlessly back at Storm. "I hope I won't have need of it, my teacher."

Storm nodded, reaching out to clasp Kern's forearm in farewell. "I as well. But you'll come back, eventually... and when you do, you'll need something between you and the Zhents." She said thickly. Sylune did not speak nor even coalesce into visible form, but she seemed to echo Storm's well-wishings as Kern felt a small kiss on his furred cheek.

Kern then turned to Danilo, who grinned at him. "You know, I envy you," the young bard remarked brightly.

Kern blinked, confused. "What are you talking about? This is not exactly an enviable situation."

Danilo winced, but then tried to laugh it off. "I'm not talking about that. But I've wanted to smack my uncle upside the head for a long time. At least I got to see it. I've never seen him so stunned!"

Kern grimaced wryly. "I'm sorry for that, actually."

Danilo shook his head and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Don't be. Uncle Khelben had it coming to him. Anyway, here's my gift." He handed what appeared to be a small wooden cube-shaped box carved with runes and intricate designs.

Kern stared at the thing curiously. "What is it?"

The impish smile returned. "Something to brighten your spirits. Open it, silly."

Kern did as he was bade, and blinked as the box suddenly erupted with the gentle tones of his favorite elven ballad. Moreover, winking back at him inside the box with five small gems embedded in the wood, each a different color. "It's a music box, but a far more potent one than most on the market. I'd crafted most of it, and played all the music recorded by the magic. Gently touch a different gem for a few seconds, and it will play a different tune." Danilo explained.

Kern looked up at his friend skeptically. "You want tell me you made this just within the last few weeks..."

Danilo grinned sheepishly. "Actually, it was meant to be your birthday gift. But as I might not see you for a long while, I figured I'd best make it a going away present."

Kern finally broke out into a real smile. His first in almost a month. "Thank you, my friend. I'm sure I'll have need of it." And then he enveloped Danilo in a tremendous hug of his own, which the young bard enthusiastically returned.

Then Kern turned to his father once more. "I'm ready."

Xandros nodded, pulling forth four double terminated quartz crystals from a pouch as he started speaking a fluid string of arcane syllables. As the spell took shape, the crystals floated from his hands and into the air. As two crystals moved into place, a blue line of magical energy shot from the tip of one crystal to the tip of another. As the third and the fourth crystals lined up with the others, further rays shot forth, connecting the quartz shards into a square. Then there was a flash of light as the gate suddenly opened, the hovering square in space become a myriad of swirling colors, seemingly the trademark effect of wild magic spells.

Once the gate was formed, Xandros lowered his hands. Kern had already placed the gifts in his Bag of Holding, and stood by his father, watching the colors of the gate weave back and forth, seeming like an artist's work gone mad. "I will come to visit you, if you wish it... my son." He said tentatively, as if unsure as to how the overture would be received.

Kern looked at his father, his green eyes reflecting the brilliance of the gate. "You brought me back from madness, father. You are my link to the real world. If you don't show up from time to time, I'll be quite put out with you." He replied with a small smile decorating his features once again. "But... do give me my space, all right?"

Xandros nodded solemnly. Then, without a look back, as if it might weaken his resolve, Kern stepped into the portal. There was a flash once again as, once used, the Gate collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing of itself behind, not even the crystals.

The group stood silently with each other for a moment. Xandros had, for a moment, the impression of being at a funeral. Then, almost as one, Kyria and Danilo turned to leave together, leaving only the two Sisters standing with him.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Storm suddenly spoke after several minutes of further silence. A hint of doubt now colored her words, where none had existed earlier when speaking with Kern.

"Yes." A new voice suddenly spoke, deep and filled with Power, but unattached to any of those present. A figure slowly materialized between the two -- a bald, aged man dressed simply in long, flowing robes of green. As he turned to face the others, both were suddenly very certain of his identity, as a third eye on the 'man's forehead stared back at them unblinkingly.

"This is not the end of the Weaveborn's tale," said Savras, the God of Truth and Divination. "It is merely a transition, a transformation. For in time the Weaveborn will be drawn back into the trappings of his past. And broken as he is, he will be welcomed into darkness. But it is there in darkness that he will rekindle his inner light. In deception, he will find truth. In those who would be enemies, he will find friends. And in becoming whole, he will heal another."

"So... this was meant to be, Divine One?" whispered Sylune tentatively, her spirit form coalescing into a translucent replica of her once-body.

Savras nodded. "It will not be an easy time for him nonetheless. His greatest challenges lie ahead, and Death yet looms over him. But he will have allies to help him, even so far away as he is. Devote yourself to the tasks at hand each of you, Chosen and Wyldmage. You have your own paths to follow, and for now, your paths and Kern's will not intersect. For now."

"How do you know so surely?" Xandros suddenly demanded angrily. "Even I was not so sure Kern would survive this. Do you control him like an amused master puppeteer, not allowing him to live his own life such because of some birth defect? Is he a plaything for the gods, Savras?!"

The aged deity did not seem offended, and even heaved a sigh. "I do not make the future, Wyldmage. I only predict it. And the future will always come to pass. The only thing I do not know is the how of it. The only certainty is the fallibility of mortals. The only refuge is hope, lest all -- mortals and immortals alike -- go mad."

With that Savras dissolved into motes of light, which quickly died, leaving the Sisters and Xandros alone with the weight of their thoughts.

Alois quietly regarded Xandros. He had not interrupted the fledgling god once in the telling of his tale, and in fact seemed captivated; it was a virtual cornucopia of information in comparison to the tale Kern had told him. But a few questions remained unanswered.

"I don't suppose the onset of divinity has afforded you further information," the drow said dryly, voicing the first of these to Xandros.

The other shook his head. "No. The future is primarily still Savras' domain, and he speaks of it seldom. Only the passage of time has brought illumination. Obviously this, the Night City, a piece of rock adrift in the heavens where the sun is light-years away, is the darkness that Savras spoke of. And you, the Chosen of the drow god Vhaeraun, are his friend where you should be his enemy."

"And aren't you just heart broken that I've taken him under my wing." Alois sneered.

Xandros did not rise to the jibe. "I'm sure you have your own agenda. But you've done well by him, so I've nothing to complain about." He replied to the drow dourly.

Alois sat back in his chair, absently noticing that his wineglass was mostly full. Setting it on an end table, he tapped thoughtfully at the end of his chin. "There's one thing I still don't understand. From what you said, Kern was angry at you for not revealing something you had learned to the Harpers. Something that might have changed their minds as to the weight of their sentence. And that something, I'll bet, is why you summoned me in the first place. But I'll be damned as to what it can be."

"Some might say you're already damned."

Alois snorted. "If you're going to play word games, I have better things to occupy my time with. Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Not tell," the god replied. "Some things can only be shown."

Suddenly, all was dark. It was not as if what light existed in the Wandering Path had failed, or even as if a sudden spell of Darkness had overcome the drow. It was merely as if, between one second and the next, Alois was suddenly Elsewhere. Calling upon his dark powers, he tried to draw the shadows into him, to reveal his surroundings. Astonishingly enough, the inky void remained. The only evidence that he was, in fact, still someplace tangible, was the firm feel of ground beneath his feet, and the soft measured breaths of something living.

"Xandros? What game are you playing now?" shouted Alois.

Nothing.

Cursing in drow, Alois tried another tactic, pulling a glow stone from his pouch and invoking the magic. It emitted a soft glow, but as he used the stone to illuminate his surroundings, it became clear that he was no longer in the Path. The floor beneath his feet was solid stone; the walls unadorned wood. Alois sniffed, and flinched slightly at the smells assaulting his senses. They were all disturbingly familiar: the stench of human sweat and urine... and the putrid aroma of stale blood.

Turning fully around, Alois' eyes widened as he came face to face with...

"Kern?!"

The human made no answer. He was bound to the wall with heavy chains, totally naked, save for an iron collar around his neck. His body was a maze of pain: laced with haphazard lacerations, several still open and dribbling blood down to the cold stone, but none serious. His mouth hung half open, and his eyes stared unseeingly into nothingness.

His eyes still trying to accept what he saw before him, Alois reached out a hand to lift Kern's head up, try to get his attention, but right as his fingers were about to make contact, his hand suddenly passed through the human's face. Alois started, and tried again, but with no success. It was as though he were a ghost.

There was the creaking of an opening door then, and the drow warrior whirled, drawing a hand crossbow with a quarrel blessed by his god already nocked. At the far end of the room a pale, dark beauty entered the room, with a small glowball of magic preceding her that fully illuminated the room. She stared straight at Alois, her generous mouth suddenly widening into an open smile. And revealing two glittering ivory fangs.

"Kern..." She drawled, gliding forward towards Alois. Muttering a prayer to Vhaeraun, he let the unholy bolt fly, but it passed through her with no effect, physical or otherwise. Before Alois could recover, she passed through him as well, making no show that she knew the drow was even there.

Suddenly, Alois knew where he was. Somehow, through magic or other design, he was experiencing the memories that Kern had shared with his father. Since this is what Xandros had apparently wanted him to see, he stepped back at that point to watch the events unfold once more as they had years ago.

"Wake up, Kern..." the vampiress cooed, gently stroking his scarred face, as if she were a lover. And then, drawing her arm back, slapped him fiercely, giving the lie to her earlier gesture. After a moment, Kern's neck moved, not to loll back into position, but to look the lovely undead temptress in the eyes.

"Ah, good. Awake again. Are you ready to submit?" she said teasingly.

Kern said nothing at first, his eyes not wavering. Then, a dry, almost painful whisper emitted from his throat. Apparently, the vampiress could not hear the content of his words anymore than Alois could, so she bent closer. "What was that, sweet toy?" she purred, sensing triumph.

And then, seemingly from nowhere, Kern erupted with a burst of strength, drawing his head back and thrusting it forward, his skull striking with a satisfying *crack* against his tormentor's forehead. The vampiress reeled backward, hissing in surprise and pain.

Kern's lips creased into a smile, opening up a split lip. "I. Will. Not. Submit." He rasped with satisfaction.

The vampiress sighed dismissively. "You are a most annoying mortal, even for one imbued with such power as yours. But we all have our weaknesses. And I bet I've guessed yours..." She turned to the far doorway. "Bring her in." she called into the shadows.

A handsome man appeared, seemingly dressed in the livery of a warrior or Tyr, but with an iron medallion about his neck, set with a depiction of a dark moon. "'Sir ' Rombert." Alois said to himself, identifying the man from the tale Xandros had confided to him. In his hands, he carried a girl dressed in rags, weakly struggling against the dark priest. Kern's eyes opened wide in horror, but from recognition or dread, Alois did not know.

The lady reached out and grasped the girl's face, her talons almost caressing as she regarded the girl, who's countenance was wide with fear. "She's delicious, Kern. I can see why you wanted her."

"Let her go, Kes!" Kern would have shouted, but his throat was apparent too tortured to manage more than an intense whisper, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit, spitting up blood in the process.

The woman called 'Kes' smiled cruelly at the coughing mage. "Or you'll do what, brave Kern. You have no weapons, and the collar inhibits your powerful magic." She turned to look at Rombert. "What do you think, Hiram? Should we bind her and start flaying her skin off? Or do you think Kern would enjoy seeing you take her maidenhood... the blood of new virginity is always sweet..."

Kern almost sobbed, tears boiling at the edges of his eyes as he strained against his bonds. Alois' cold heart almost went out to Kern, in his pain. But the assassin had seen far worse, and even this was nothing terribly new to him. "Gods, damn you, Kes! I'll tear your heart out!"

Kes laughed malevolently. "Such pain you must be in, young Kern. It's even sweeter than blood." She purred, moving back towards him. "But there's only one way you can stop Hiram. Just two little words, Kern, is all I ask -- and your beloved Laida will remain unmarred. Just two little words..."

Kern bowed his head, choking back tears. The vampiress and the vampire just watched, confident that he would break. Alois watched as well, intrigued by what might happen next. For a handful of seconds, there was nothing but the sound of Kern's dying sobs. For another double handful, there was almost no sound at all. Even Kes looked perplexed. She started to speak again, and then the last thing she ever would have expected happened.

Kern laughed.

Not his normal hearty laugh, or even the mild chuckle that Alois was accustomed to, but this piercing, high pitched giggle that he had only heard one time before.

In an insane asylum.

Kern lifted his head then, his face split wide with a toothy, bloody smile, and his eyes awash with the vortices of color that decorated Xandros' own face. And he spoke then. Just two words. But not the words that Kes wanted.

"Die, bitch." Kern giggled. His chains burst then, showering all with metal fragments as the young mage's body came afire with what could only be the cold fire of the Weave stored in his body, now released, and at his disposal.

"How...?" Kes sputtered, too stunned to react.

"The collar inhibited magic, bloodslut." Kern cackled. "But its paltry dweomers are no match for Weave any more than a drop of water could quench an inferno.

Rombert reacted then, calling upon a prayer of defense. Before he could even get halfway through, however, Kern gestured, and a spike of pure silver suddenly materialized, hurtling towards the vampire and lodging deep in Rombert's throat. While the undead priest no longer needed air to survive and it was not a mortal blow, still it quite effectively prevented him from further spellcasting for the moment.

Kes' eyes bulged wide with, perhaps, true fear. But fear of Kern's power? Or the crazed personality that directed it? Alois, for his own part, was astonished at this sudden turn of events. He watched as Kern gestured and Kes' body went flying up against the wall, encircled by 'chains' of pure energy and now bound to the wall much as he had been himself. Kern's visage was a leer of satisfaction as his naked body suddenly changed, the rainbow fires seemingly 'melting' away the false human body and revealing his half-wolf body. His grin was now much more savage, backed up with two rows of fangs, and eyes like burning flames.

He turned to Rombert. "You first," he cooed, grabbing the silver stake and pulling the impaled vampire up by it. The undead priest of Shar had been trying to remove the stake, but his hands were set afire with pain every time he tried, as the stake was made of a metal anathema to vampires. Pinning the terrified Rombert to the wall, he struck the end of the spike driving it deeper and piercing the wood behind it, holding the Sharran priest in place even as he flailed.

"Burn." Kern purred in a throaty voice that mimicked Kes'. As before, with the vampire mage, Rombert burst into open flame. But even Alois could tell there was something different about this fire: it burned blue and white instead of red and orange. Plus, the drow saw, the dead flesh beneath the flames did not char, nor the wood behind the vampire. But it surely caused much pain, if the screams that emitted from Rombert's throat were any evidence.

Kern turned back, and chuckled cruelly at the agape Kes. "A slight modification of the earlier spell. His body won't burn, but it will sure feel like it is. I could keep him like that for days, seeing as his dead body can't die from sheer pain like mortals can. Besides, a little light 'music' is good to torture by." The half-wolf gestured again, and, seemingly created from nothingness, produced a pair of wicked looking military picks in each fist.

The curved metal spikes attached to the handles gleamed in the light, and both Alois and Kes knew that they were also made of solid silver, and would do lasting harm to even a vampire.

Kern's muzzle came up with that toothy smile once more. The smile devoid of compassion or mercy. A smile Alois never thought he'd see on his friend's face. "Now then. Let's see if you really can only be killed by a wooden stake through the heart..."

Alois watched Kern's face glow with what could only be described as perverse pleasure, as he laid into Kes' body with the picks. Her screams joined Rombert's.

One bloody pick lifted up into the air as the other slammed home into Kes' body. Then again, with the other hand. Blood spurted.

Again. A sobbing shriek.

It was almost methodical, as if Kern were chopping away at nothing more unusual than a rock face. Alois watched it all impassively. This was yet next to nothing compared to what he had seen... and what he had done.

And yet...

...strangely enough...

...a single tear welled up in his eye...

...and slowly ran, unfettered, down his cheek.

It seemed to last forever. But finally, it was over. Kes, or what was left of her, certainly no longer looked like there was a spark of life -- or unlife -- left in her. Kern, nonetheless, shaped a wooden stake out of the air, and plunged it deep into her black, bleeding heart.

The room stank of blood as Kern tossed both picks away, and, turning back to Rombert, strode across the room and lashed out with a clawed hand. The dark priest, whose mouth was still hanging open in silent agony as the blue flames 'burned' him, was abruptly headless from the force of the blow.

Kern grimly surveyed the room and the carnage that had brought about, as if a craftsman taking pride in his work. Just then, there was a muted whimper, and both Kern and Alois whirled in surprise. Huddled in a corner, completely forgotten by both of them, was the tattered form of Laida.

And she was staring at Kern in utter horror.

Suddenly, as if her eyes were like a slap in the face or a splash of icy cold water, Kern's facial expression changed from the cold sadist that had dealt revenge...

Suddenly, Kern looked back at what he had wrought, and he clutched his stomach, as if he were suddenly going to be sick...

"no." he said in a small voice, his head whirling to look back at Laida, who's own expression had not changed. She shrank back from Kern, trembling violently and her breath staccato as if she was having a hard time filling her lungs. Alois' nostrils flared as he gazed down at the girl, the shadows around his eyes flaring a little as his hunger stirred. He knew what was happening to her. He had seen it, even caused it, many times before.

Kern tried to form words, but the realization that she had watched it all - watched Kern become this literally inhuman beast -- was like a vise in his throat, and he could not speak. He reached out a hand to her, his eyes pleading, but she screamed long and loud in abject terror as he did so -- then suddenly she clutched at her chest, struggling for breath -- and then her arms went limp. Both Alois and Kern watched as her breath emptied from her lungs for the last time, the paralyzing fear claiming her life.

"No." Kern breathed, a little louder, as if in disbelief of what he saw. He reached out and touched her cheek, but the warmth in her cheek was yet waning.

"NO." Kern said again, in defiance of what he was seeing. But this time his voice seemed distorted, as if it did not even belong to his own mouth, but through alien vocal chords. Kern shook Laida's lifeless body, looking up to the ceiling, and Alois could see his friend's eyes tear up as his body seemed to mutely beg the powers above to undo what he had done.

"NO!" Kern repeated a fourth time, sobbing now and dropping his face into his spread hands even as his body shook with sorrow. But then, when Kern lifted his head again, his eyes were like the Weave, and indeed, his whole body started to shimmer and shine with that rainbow energy... becoming something other than man or werewolf.

Becoming as the Weave itself, Alois thought in the depths of his mind, remembering how, in times past, Kern had submerged himself in the Weave raging in his body, and becoming akin to a golem made of pure magic.

The Weave burned brightly now, almost painful to watch, and then Kern cried out a final time, this time his voice an unending, incoherent shriek... and then, astonishingly, he seemed to explode! Alois shielded his face as he caught a glimpse of what seemed to be jets of flaming weave shooting off into all directions... engulfing everything... Alois clutched at his face, afraid for a moment that he might go blind and deaf as the stimuli assaulted his senses...

And then, just a suddenly, all was quiet. Alois tentatively parted his hands, and discovered himself back in the Path, with Xandros regarding him solemnly. "Now you know," the old mage said. "Kern does not simply bear the guilt of friends and innocents dead because of an accident he was the source of. But instead, he is yet stricken with self-hatred at this thing of violence he became. And moreover, at the very end, when the Weave exploded from him... he had done this deliberately, because he wanted to kill himself. But what he forgot in his grief is that he is one with the magic; he could not turn it on himself. But it could, and did, destroy everything and everyone else around him."

For his own part, Alois found that he could not speak, his mind reeling with the implications of what he had just seen. Finally, his mental facilities reasserted themselves, and he spoke. Asking the only question he could.

"Why did you show this to me?"

Alois grimaced internally, as he had not managed to posit the question in as calm a tone as he would have liked. Xandros, however, did not seem to take umbrage, and made a move to stand as he replied.

"It's no accident that Kern sought you out as a friend, Alois. And no, not because of any prophecy. Kern is a good man, despite this one stain on his soul. And yet he cannot reconcile it... cannot make peace with his darker half. In you, however, he saw something... in spite of who you are, what you are, he thought he saw a glimmer of decency, a spark of goodness in you. And it was his hope, his personal challenge, that if he might somehow bring you to recognize and embrace that spark inside you... to fan it to a flame... that he might, in turn, be able to embrace the shadow inside him... and, perhaps, no longer be ashamed."

Alois blinked, caught completely flatfooted for the second time that day. His pursed lips trembled, as if once more trying to find words, and unable to.

For his part, Xandros lowered his head slightly as he watched Alois in his silence. "I pray - if demigods can, in fact, pray - that Kern's faith in you is not misplaced. I would say that you, quite literally, have Kern's life in your hands."

And then, between one second and the next, Xandros was gone without a whisper, as if he'd never been.

Long seconds passed. Alois absently reached out and picked up the goblet of wine he had set down and sipped from it. From all outward appearances, Alois was as calm and poised as ever.

As he set the wine back down however, his hand absently touched his ebony cheek, still able to feel the drying trail that his single tear had made across his face.

And he wondered then, if the tear he shed was for Kern...

Or for himself.

- - The End - -

Last modified: 2002-Mar-24 19:32:12

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