Imoen story - Work in Progress (please read and reply!)

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I was going crazy to play BG or BG2 again, but I'm on vacation and left it at home so I decided to write a story instead... it was going to be an adventure with lots a fighting and good ol times but it turned into a sappy romance (Imoen and Char. cause I like Imoen). It was going to be short, but is getting kinda long, with no end in site... man, I do dumb things sometimes. So, I have no clue if its any good... let me know, truthfully, I can handle it.

It takes place post BG2, possibly post ToB, really doesn't matter...


Work In Progress

The sun shone brightly into the little clearing the two youths sat in, its rays making dancing patterns on the ground as it passed through the oak and maple leaves that seemed to cover the sky with their abundance. One of the figures stood, circling a particularly tall tree, looking for the source of the unknown sound coming from the more lofty branches, but finding no more enlightenment here than from her spot on the ground she plunked back down. The boy of about 17 that sat next to her continued to stare in silence around the clearing, trying to focus his energies on the latest lesson the scholars of Candlekeep had taught him.
“Come on, you!” The girl, Imoen, blurted, imploringly, shoving the boy’s shoulder with a small hand, “could you try to not work, for once, please Merrick?!” She added, waving a hand in front of his face, coming into contact with his nose - on purpose. This, accompanied with her high, sweet voice, had brought him out of his trance and he sighed, pulling a hand through his disheveled blondish hair, looking over. “I just can’t get it, Im.” Merrick said, a downcast look overcoming his features, “maybe magic isn’t for me… I like dueling better anyway.” Imoen shrugged, her hand still on her friend’s shoulder, “I can try to help you.” She offered, a hesitant look on her face, her voice soft and slow. She already knew what his answer would be; no. “Nah, you’re the magician, not I.” Merrick replied, his mood suddenly lightening, as though now that he had finally admitted to being terrible he didn’t mind it at all. “I’ll just have to tell Gorion…”
“Magician?!” Imoen implored, a scandalized look on her delicate face, “who do you think you are, mister?” She got to her feet again, and still she was noticeably smaller than her companion. “I think I’ve let you off one to many times – this time you’re mine!” She lunged at him, but Merrick smoothly avoided her “attack”, his fighting instincts sharper than his magical ones. “Nice try, Imoen.” He called back to her as he leapt to his feet and dashed away into the trees surrounding the circular field. Merrick quickly scanned the foliage for somewhere to hide; he could certainly out fight his best friend but not out run her. The petite girl was fast, and she knew it, but the boy rapidly found a fallen tree to climb and he crouched down low using the skills Imoen herself, also a budding thief, had taught him. Merrick gave a little laugh but then quietly scanned the woods for her. Before long he heard her enter the forest, the crunching of leaves and sticks giving her away. “Hey, Ogre-breath?! You can’t hide from me!” She called, but Merrick saw her tell-tale mauve tunic approach his hiding place long before she knew he was there. “BOO!” The boy yelled, jumping from the fallen tree next to Imoen, as she screamed, “dumbbell!” She cried, taking off after him. The two friends chased each other around the clearing for awhile, throwing witty quips back and forth. Imoen fired a few blazes of color from her fingertips to chase Merrick, and the old man in the trees laughed to himself as he leaned on his stick, watching the girl’s brown hair flow behind her in the wind as she tried to catch her taller, but slower friend. The wizard dressed in mostly red shook his head and sighed as he headed back to the path, on his way precisely where these two had come from -the hallowed halls of Candlekeep. Elminster, for that was his name, sighed again, thinking of how these two young people’s lives would turn. Of course he didn’t know what loops fate had in store for them, but he did know something they did not. Though neither child knew it yet they were connected by more than friendship and orphan-hood, but by blood, of a sort. Both Imoen and Merrick were Bhaalspawn, products of the time of troubles. They both had the taint of the God of Murder in their veins, for he was their father. The wizard knew that this fact would lead their lives far from here and Candlekeep one day and he sighed for the trouble that was coming for them, but for now he let them stay children and hobbled off down the path to their home.
“I WILL get you!” Imoen vowed, diving for Merrick again and missing. “Really?” asked the boy, lazily. Usually the girl would have caught him by now, being more agile and quick than he, but today she seemed off so he was enjoying the victory. “Yeah,” Imoen replied, a resolve in her voice that worried Merrick into dashing away from his stationary spot, “you bet I will.” Catching up to him Imoen leaped ahead and her hands came into contact with her friend, pushing him over as the two of them fell to the ground, laughing. Imoen looked down at Merrick from her spot atop of the boy, one arm on either side of him, keeping him prisoner. “Told ya,” she said simply, sticking out her tongue, a smug smile of victory on her face. Slowly a grin crept onto Merrick’s face too and Imoen thought it was simply him admitting defeat, but another thought had crossed the teen’s mind. “Yeah you win, Im.” He said, before swiftly smashing a leg into her own, knocking her flat onto him, her arms the only thing keeping her up as Merrick laughed to kill himself. “Ooooffff.” Imoen blurted the wind knocked from her as landed on Merrick with a thud, “why I outta…” She trailed off, the frustrated look on her face gradually dissipating as she looked into his grey eyes; suddenly they were so full of light she had never noticed before, and without warning she realized how toned his body felt through his tunic; how pleasant it felt against her. A funny half bubbly half nervous feeling snuck into her stomach she licked her lips uncertainly, her throat very dry. “Merrick I think we better head home…” She said, but somehow -Imoen never did fully realize how, even years later- somehow she seemed to be moving in the opposite direction, closer to him, not further away. Her sentence trailed off as their lips met, gently, in a softly tentative adolescent kiss. The potential mage marveled at how nice he tasted and Merrick, who was just as surprised at the embrace, wondered how his heart could actually beat so fast without leaping out of his chest. Running his fingers through her dark hair Merrick shifted his weight and the two rolled over in the grass, continuing their now almost passionate embrace with fervor neither knew they had in them. And then suddenly it was over; both youths had opened their eyes and were staring at each other, in a happy disbelieving sort of way, which quickly became an awkward silence. Merrick’s hands lingered on her body but then he hastily sat up, sensing the nervousness in the air, and moved next to Imoen. Both of them spoke not a word, but instead stared straight ahead, numb. They stayed like that for awhile until Imoen couldn’t take it any longer and decided to be the one to break the quiet, “Merrick.” She started, but was cut off by Merrick’s “Imoen,” spoken at the same instant. The silly blunder seemed to break the ice and the friends laughed, uneasily at first, but then harder until they were both on their feet and taking the trail back to Candlekeep, their romp apparently forgotten… although when Imoen looked over at the boy, blushing slightly as she remembered his hands on her skin, she thought she saw him quickly look away… They did not discuss the kiss…

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Imoen awoke abruptly from her dream, rubbing a hand over her sleeping face as her muddled thoughts slowly came into focus. Although time and battle had taken their toll, leaving scars and weariness on the women she was still plainly the same Imoen she had been ten years earlier in the clearing; the same brightness shone from her eyes. The clearing. It was then she remembered what she had been dreaming about -her and Merrick, before their lives had become so twisted and sour; of a time when they were free to run around in the sunshine without worrying what was behind the next bend. The young woman slowly got to her feet, her tiny house filled with the dewy light of the morning. The house was really no more than a hut, with a thatched roof and simple board floors; it was L-shaped and contained her bed and night-table, a small table and chairs, a hearth with a large caldron on the fire and, in the far corner, a working apothecary and magic lab. Shuffling to restock the fire Imoen wondered about her dream; about why she was dreaming of Merrick so often, she hadn’t seen him in years -more importantly she wondered why she was dreaming of the kiss. The friends had never shared another and had always become awkward when one would try to breach the subject, the other pulling the conversation in another direction; in fact Imoen had almost forgotten that it was a real memory and not a dream itself it. Years had passed and the subject seemed even more taboo when the best friends had learned, through the murder of their foster father Gorion and their epic travels through Faerun, that they were in fact brother and sister, of a sort, linked through the lineage of Bhaal. In reality they shared little blood, but the names stuck and Merrick suddenly became Big Brother as far as Imoen was concerned. Smiling at this memory Imoen shook her head slowly, the kiss floating back into her head as she prepared a small breakfast. She couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed that kiss, the truth was she had always had feelings outside comradery for Merrick, but friendship, and their shared fathers, both adoptive and deity, seemed to cloud it, and looking back on it now it had been so long ago. “Oh you’re a grown woman.” She spat at herself, “what would Jos say if he knew what was running through your mind? Anyway, Merrick’s got Jaheria. Just stop thinking about it!” The fact was she couldn’t, she had missed Merrick since they parted ways outside of Athkatla almost four years ago and in the brief visits they’d shared since nothing seemed to have changed. Sighing and trying to put the memory behind her Imoen chalked the lucid dream up to a mixture of latenight food and missing her friend, and went about making breakfast.

As she was finishing up there was a soft knock at the door and Imoen didn’t even have time to stand up when a young man, with a distinctly boyish look and charm about him, entered the home. “Jos!” Imoen greeted, a wide smile breaking her stony demeanor, “good morning!” The thin, dark hared man made his way to the table and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Morning, love.” He said, grinning, placing both hands on the table. “Did I ever tell you how much your eyes sparkle and-”
“Jos…” Imoen cut him off, embarrassed, raising her eyes to the ceiling, a blush climbing over her face, “don’t.”
“Ah, but sunflower, it is what we bards do.” Jos was indeed a bard; one who had stopped into Candlekeep years ago and never left, finding he enjoyed the library as much as the open road. “I can find as much song material in those tomes as I can out in the wild.” He had once told Imoen, “So here I shall stay.” The youth was slightly younger than the mage but had taken an instant shining to her; composing for her songs and sonnets he would recite at Winthrop’s tavern and slowly winning over Imoen’s heart. Imoen had never been a harlot but she had had her share of men come and go through Candlekeep, and she knew that it was different with Jos. He had somehow filled in where Merrick had left, her lifelong feelings for her best friend shifting to the musician, although she knew they would never fully dissipate… she loved Jos and knew they would have a life together. Getting up to take her things to the basin next to the caldron Imoen was caught in her admirer’s arms as she was returning to the table and he kissed her. “Why so glum?” He asked, brushing a lock of hair from her face, lovingly, “what’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing… Had an odd dream last night is all.” She half lied, putting on a smile which was quickly replaced by a genuine one as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her again, more single-mindedly this time. Soon they were fumbling with each other’s clothing and fervently making their way towards her bed – all thoughts of Merrick and his kiss forgotten for the time being.

Lying in her lover’s arms Imoen smiled, her arms tightly holding Jos to her. Their lovemaking had been passionate and swift and the young man had his eyes closed, his head resting against her naked chest, which was still slightly damp from their encounter. “Im?” He suddenly spoke and Imoen was startled out of dreaming, a frown crossing her face for a moment before clearing, “Imoen,” She adjusted, trying not to sound finicky. That was Merrick’s name for her, and his alone. It may have sounded trivial and small to an onlooker but to her it meant everything. “Sunflower.” Jos corrected, now smiling and looking up at her, at an odd angle, before rolling over, half draped over her. “Yes?” She asked, wondering why a man of such fluent language suddenly had so few words. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.” She replied, drawing the word out in a questioning manner, brow furrowed, “why, Jos?”
“Because I love you,” He answered simply, his dark eyes glossing with affection, “and I want to spend the rest of my mortal years with you.” He added, leaning off to one side of the bed and returning into her view a second later. Imoen could almost see what was coming but her brain wouldn’t let it sink it. “He’s not… he can’t… he – oh my god he is…” She thought, tears welling in her eyes as he produced a simple, but beautiful ring, with a single small diamond inlayed right into the gold. “Will you spend the rest of yours with me, Imoen?” Jos asked, biting his lip nervously. A smile that started small and grew to envelope Imoen’s entire face put his mind at ease and the mage broke into tears as she nodded, too choked with emotion to reply. “Yes,” She finally said, quietly, “yes, yes!” Jos let out breath he didn’t know he had been holding and leaned up to kiss her tear streaming face before slipping the ring onto her finger. The pair started at each other for a moment before slowly becoming one again.

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In the next few weeks people around Candlekeep were kept busy with gossip of the two lovers. Word of their wedding spread through the tiny Keep like wildfire and soon Imoen and Jos had their hands full with well-wishers and were at wits end from the constant smiles and pseudo-discreet pointing and whispers.
“Have you seen Gorion’s girl?” People would ask, “Why I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen the ring with my own two eyes!”
“Her, settle down?”
“Well I say it’s about time. No more of this adventurer nonsense, thank Torm.”
“If you ask me she’s a sweet girl, just had her head in the wrong place…” These comments tailed the woman wherever she went, and it had been nice, at first, all the attention and gifts and laughter that followed them around town, but now even Jos was getting a little antsy.
“Sunflower, lets go away.” Imoen looked up from her scroll and turned to see him standing in the doorway of her (“soon to be our” she mentally corrected) home. “What Jos?” She asked, returning to her studies, one ear on her fiancé. “Let’s go away.” Jos repeated, letting out a despondent sigh as he walked further into the hut, approaching Imoen from behind. “Just for awhile, the weddings not for some time and I’m getting sick of being this place’s personal gossip column… lets just go out on the road…” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, “what do you say?”
“Jos,” Imoen started, a tiny bit exasperated, “we can’t just pack up and leave, and its dangerous on the road.” She added, remembering Irenicus as her thoughts shifted to the many scars lining her body, “and we’ve got a wedding to plan; I have to hunt down all the guests and find a dress and-” This time Jos cut her off, “oh, we don’t have to go far.” He implored, “Only to the Friendly Arms Inn… it’ll be like a pre-wedding honeymoon.” He added, with a grin and a playful nip at her ear, but the woman didn’t really hear him. The Friendly Arms Inn is where she and Merrick had begun the journey that changed both their lives. There they had met Jaheria and Khalid, two dear friends. Khalid was now long gone, but Jaheria… well she and Merrick had found comfort and solace in each other’s arms. Imoen loved Jaheria dearly but still she couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that stabbed at her when she thought of the two. Shaking off this memory her thoughts floated back to The Friendly Arm, where she had in fact died for a time, when a sorcerer had ambushed her and Merrick on the steps of the Inn, posing as a friend… not true death, of course, for the priestess there had been able to resurrect her, but she remembered how overcome she had been to see Merrick again. More than that she recalled his tear stricken face peering into hers as she awoke, and the new stream that had followed once her friend had realized she was indeed alive. That was the first time Imoen had seen Merrick weep since they had been small children. Sure she knew he had on occasion, like when she found him after Gorion had been killed; she saw it in his face but he never shed a tear in front of her… Imoen suddenly snapped back to reality and felt a twinge of guilt as she realized it was Jos’ arms that were around her as she thought fondly of Merrick. “Imoen?” Merrick called her name, “Imoen, you in there?” He smiled and Imoen let out a little laugh, “sorry, I was thinking…” He shrugged and kissed her shoulder where her robe had slid off. “Just think about the offer, okay?” He called as he exited the home, “I have to go see Winthrop.” With that he was gone and Imoen was left with her dreaded thoughts… “Oh, stop.” She reprimanded aloud, “You’re marrying Jos because you love him, not Merrick. You never loved Merrick, not in that way… you’re just nervous…”

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Imoen exited the tavern, smiling to herself and waving to one of the Brothers as they crossed paths. She had found Jos as planned and told him that she had changed her mind; she would love to go to the Friendly Arms with him. They had agreed to meet again that night at the tavern, once his shift was done. Whistling a happy tune she went for a stroll around Candlekeep, the circular main road passing all shops and houses she needed to visit. Rounding a bend, arms loaded with supplies for her magic, she saw the main gate come into view. She saw the head guard, Thrar, a large burly fellow, arguing with someone. Grinning at the guard’s foul temper, which she knew to be nothing more than talk, she made her way over to give him a piece of her mind. She called out in her sweet voice, “Heya, Thrar, who are you botheri-” As she passed the supply wagon blocking her complete view she gasped, jaw agape, dropping the contents of her armload. There in the gateway stood a large man, covered in scars and bruises and dressed in what seemed to be all that remained of a once grand showing of plate mail. His hair was slightly matted with dirt, sweat and what looked like blood, but it was still an unmistakable blond color and his eyes were a piercing steely grey. “Merrick?” Imoen managed to voice, softly, her lips trembling, barely keeping her emotion bottled up. “Hey, Im.” The man spoke, his voice deeper than she remembered, but unmistakably his. He gave a mischievous grin, “You want to tell this guy to let me in?”

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The two friends sat in Imoen’s hut, the fire flickering off the walls and casting weird shadows onto their faces. Imoen’s near state of shock had almost worn off and the two were sitting in an uncomfortable silence. She had convinced Thrar to let Merrick in then she had sent him to the baths and rushed over to Winthrop’s to purchase him some clothes. She thanked the gods that she didn’t see Jos at the tavern, guessing he was probably in the cellar getting more wine, and she hurried out, packages in hand. When she returned to the house Merrick was there, sitting with his back to her, next to the fire. Through his tattered shirt she could see the taunt muscles in his back and unwillingly her hear skipped a beat. “When did I start feeling things like that for him?” Imoen thought incredulously, stepping in. Kicking herself she cleared her throat and offered the packages to him. Now they both sat next to the fire, not speaking for a long time. “Merrick… what are you doing here?” She finally asked bluntly. “Well that wasn’t the greeting I was expecting.” He replied, grinning. “No, I mean… I’m glad you’re here… but it’s been, what, three years?” The swordsman shrugged, “I missed it here, and I needed a visit… I missed you.” He added, a small, embarrassed smile playing on his lips. “Merrick… I missed you too.” The two started at each other for a minute, “I can’t believe this…” Imoen finally gasped, a grin breaking her face, and the tension that seemed to fill the room. “You’re actually here.”
“Yeah, I am,” The man replied, looking around, “nice place, by the way, it looks cozy…” His eyes scanned the room, moving from the bed to the flickering flames to the potion table and finally coming to rest on her. She couldn’t but notice as he gazed at her, looking her up and down. “You look… great.” Merrick said, truthfully, a small hint of… something in his voice. “Thanks,” She replied, meekly, “you look great too… well okay you look like ****, but…” She smiled, taking in his newer scars, ugly bruising and bandaged arm. “Sorry.” Imoen added, laughing. “No, no, its okay, I know I’m not exactly a pleasant sight.” He interjected, raising his hands to signal his approval. “Well there you are wrong…” The mage thought, blushing and smiling in a self-conscious sort of way. “What?” Merrick asked, noticing the flush. Imoen shook her head, “nothing… hey where’s Jaheria?” She asked, innocently, trying to change the subject. A dark look came over Merrick’s features, angry and hurt at the same time, and she instantly regretted inquiring. “Jaheria is dead.” He replied, gruffly, standing up and walking to the stone fireplace. “Oh, Merr, I’m so sorry…” Imoen replied, her gaze vacant. She felt like a ton of bricks had hit her square in the gut. Dead? Jaheria? It couldn’t be. She felt a swell of tears and let a few leak out as she stared off into space, numb with skepticism she knew to be false. “Six months ago,” Merrick spoke in a hushed voice, as if the grief would escalate with his voice, “bandits… the attack, it was sudden… we fought and I thought we’d got them all…” He trailed off for a moment, “we were standing on the road, holding each other, trying to recover from it when and arrow, it came from the woods, went through her back, clean through, I could see the tip through her shirt… it was like slow motion, the way it hit her, how she flinched and cried out… but, it was,” his voice broke, “too late… She died in my arms.” Imoen looked up and saw Merrick had his back to her and was standing with his hands against the stone of the fireplace. The swordsman continued, telling the story in a slow, vacant voice. “She told me it was her time, that nature had intended for it to be this way, that I couldn’t change the course of fate, and that she would always love me… I held her, rocked her, and she kissed me and then she slipped away… she died how she wanted to, fighting… but more importantly outdoors… she loved it outside… she’s gone, Im… she’s really gone.” Merrick broke down, his body wretched with sobs as he wept against the stone. Imoen wiped her eyes and got to her feet, making her way towards her best friend. She wrapped her arms around his body and he let his head fall to her shoulder. The two stayed like that for a long time, until Merrick’s tears stopped, and Imoen realized this was the first time they had embrace for years. She squeezed him tighter, making it into a real hug and he flinched. She looked down over his shoulder and saw his back was covered in long gashes. Gazing at his arms she saw the same thing. “Merrick, you’re really hurt.” She said, surprised, stepping back, “let me see.” She outstretched her hands,
“No, Imoen, I’m fine.” He said avoiding her touch for reasons he didn’t fully understand. “You are not, liar.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes and reaching for his tunic again. It came off easily and she looked down at his bare chest, which was cut and battered as well. “Geeze Merrick what did you do?” Imoen asked her voice low and shocked. His whole body seemed to be a living stab wound. There were gashes, burns, claw marks and even what Imoen believed to be lashes on almost every surface if his body that she could see. “I was a slave, Imoen…” He replied simply, to her stunned face, “in the spice mines in the south… I was caught and sold as a slave miner.” She didn’t reply, too taken back to answer. He winced at every touch and Imoen went to the cabinet in the corner and brought out a vial of acid green ointment that she began to rub onto the more serious wounds. Imoen tried not to think about what she was doing; in touching Merrick this way, coupled with her dreams and thoughts about him of late she felt a rising of heat and urges she was shameful to think about, let alone admit. His back done, Imoen began to rub the ointment into Merrick’s arms and then chest, trying hard to focus on medicine, not anything else. She could smell him she was so close, smell the woods and metal and dirt off him –smell the blood off him. Something in that smell… she rested her hands against his chest, feeling him move under her fingers she ran her hands over him. She wasn’t rubbing ointment any longer, just touching Merrick and suddenly she found herself crying. Merrick was breathing harder than normal; it was such a rush to be in Imoen’s presence again, and these new emotions…he mentally shook himself and his eyes met the girl’s – no woman’s – gaze. He brushed a tear from her cheek and took her hands in his, the touch more than he ever remembered. Running his fingers through hers he found his voice again, “Imoen, don’t cry… I’m fine… it’s not as bad as it looks…”
“No, not that.” Imoen replied, feeling silly for being so soft. All her life she had tried to make Merrick see she was as tough as he was; that she wasn’t just a little girl that he had to look after. “It’s… I honestly thought I was never going to see you again…” She spat out, “and now you’re here – you’re here.” She looked up at him again, feeling silly once more. “You must think that’s pretty dumb, heh? Big, tough, Imoen, Mage-extraordinaire crying over… nothing. I just thought I’d lost you…” She saw him smiled. Merrick shook his head, still caressing her hands with his own. “Nah, Im… I’m really here. You think I wouldn’t come back and drag you back out there? You think I would just leave? After all we’ve been through and done… I’ve known you forever, Im, since before I could walk… you’re my best friend, I wouldn’t do that.” He said, truthfully. It hurt him to see her cry, especially because it was over him. He grinned to hide his emotions and she leaned in against him, comforted to be back with him again. “Imoen, what’s that?” Merrick suddenly spoke. He had her hand in his and was gazing down at the ring that she was wearing. Imoen bit her lip; she had forgotten she had Jos’ ring on… The woman raised her eyes to his, “I’m getting married, Merrick.” Merrick’s response was hardly what she had imagined. She had pictured a tough, older brother spiel about “this man of yours” and “life”; instead Merrick’s face went uncommonly blank. He stared ahead for awhile, opening and closing his mouth slightly every so often, nostrils flaring a little. “You’re what?” He asked, inquisitively, face scrunched up a little as he tilted his head, wondering if he had made it up in his mind. “I’m getting married.” She repeated, a little thrown off.
“What?!” He bellowed, taking a step back and releasing her hand. “Why?” Imoen couldn’t believe her ears. Angrily she slammed the ointment bottle down on the table, “what do you mean why? Because I’m in love with someone, Merrick!”
“No you’re not!” He yelled back, eyes narrowed as he surveyed his friend.
“I’m not? Oh how the bloody hell would you know? You don’t know anything.” She spat, the two of them now feet apart. “You just storm in here with no explanation, into my life again, pulling the old ‘I’m your best friend, and I’d never leave’ ****, just because Jaheria got herself killed and you’ve got nowhere to go and no one-”
“You leave her out of this!” Merrick roared, slamming his fist down onto the table, “and what ****? I’m sorry if I thought that maybe my friend would want a visit.”
“A visit? You come here acting like everything is normal, like everything should just go back to exactly how it should be; well it can’t, Merrick, it can’t. You drop me like a sack of wheat and then just expect for things to be good when you decide to come back? I have feelings too! We haven’t seen each other for years, Merrick, and there was a time when we went days and it seemed like forever… you did leave me, so don’t give me that crap like you didn’t or wont.” Old emotions had clearly arisen and the two of them stared at each other, Imoen seriously debating which spell would work fastest on him, Merrick wondering how fast he could get out of Candlekeep. “You just left, like I was nothing. You don’t even know me anymore, Merrick, and you tell me I’m not in love with someone!” She spat, enraged, fire leaping from her eyes. “How in the abyss would you know?!”
“Because I do know you, Imoen,” He retorted, not screaming anymore, but talking in a firm, matter of fact way, “and if you were in love I would have known the second I walked through that door, without you telling me!” This shut Imoen up fast; she closed her mouth, no retort seeming enough. Finally she uncovered her words and said, “You’re wrong… I do love him…” Sinking onto her bed she covered her face with her hands and started crying again. Feeling deflated Merrick made his way quietly towards her bed and crouched down in front of it. “Im, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make you cry… I’m happy for you, I am, I was just taken back.” He pried her hands open and lifted her chin with a finger, “really, I am…” He looked into her deep brown eyes with his own and found himself tilting his head towards her, lips giving way to mouth and tongue. Suddenly she pulled back, “Merrick, I can’t…don’t make me do this…” She whimpered, her voice pitiful and flat, tears coming again. “I can’t… Jos.”
“Yes, what about Jos?” Came the bard’s voice from the nearby door, uncommonly cold. “Who are you?” He demanded as Merrick stood slowly and Imoen jumped back, the pit in her stomach growing larger. “Jos!” She cried, jumping from the bed, “this is Merrick…” She hoped that maybe his name would make the whole situation seem a little less scandalous. “Ah… Merrick.” Jos said, the name rolling off his tongue like poison, “so nice to meet you.” He added, and Merrick got the idea that Jos would rather have met a basilisk, despite what he said. “Same.” The sell sword said, gruffly. “Imoen,” Jos suddenly looked over at his fiancée, “could I talk to you outside, perchance?” The two lovers exited the house and Merrick sunk into a chair, feeling drained and dim-witted. From outside he could hear snippets of Imoen and Jos’ conversation, carrying on the night air. “Imoen, what’s going on?” Came the bard’s voice, suddenly meeker than it had been. “Nothing, Jos, he just showed up… I had no idea, and it’s just a bit emotional…”
“Really?” Said the other man, his voice disbelieving, “since when did you solve emotional problems with kissing?” Merrick heard Imoen groan, “you saw?” She asked, weakly, “it… it was, it was only a friendship kiss…”
“Friendship? Well then what are we, chums? You’ve never kissed me like that and we’re getting married!” Jos spat at her, clearly losing his temper. Merrick thought that such angry words sounded so odd coming from such a well versed and melodical tongue. “Jos, please, could you not overreact?”
“Overreact?! Well next time you walk in on your fiancée and another man let me know how you handle it!”
“Jos! It was nothing…” Imoen said.
“Yeah” thought Merrick, “nothing…”

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Merrick didn’t even look at Imoen as he left, he simply slipped out the door as the sparing lovers reentered the hut and hightailed it to Winthrop’s where he was met with many a loud voices welcoming him home. Too tired and upset to talk to anyone he downed a quick ale with the bartender, “on the house, Merrick!”, of course, and rented a room in the upper Inn. The next morning he awoke with a start and looked around. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and another before he remembered what had happened with Imoen. This was not he had had planned at all. He wanted their reunion to be sweet and happy. He had wanted them to going out on the road again, to terrorize the town with their antics and jokes; he wanted to reknow his friend. Now they weren’t talking, he had probably split up her not even in existence marriage and gotten further away from her than he had been… but they had kissed… just like so long ago in that clearing.

Merrick wasn’t sure when his feelings for Imoen had started to change, but he was willing to bet his last gold piece it was before last night. There had always been something between them, being best friends, practical siblings and adventuring companions together for so long and Merrick could rememeber times on the road where he was drawn to her, but only in passing… it was a different kind of love he had for Imoen, a constant one. He remembered last night; their hasty embrace, and he sighed, and was surprised when he found himself longing for it again, for her lips against hers, for her body to be pressed into his- “Woah, man, stop.” He said aloud, getting up from the bed and pacing around the room. He wandered over to the window and stuck his head out into the morning air overlooking the town; his eyes couldn’t help but go to the little hut on the Westside. Resolve hit Merrick like a bucket of icewater and he pulled the window closed and got hastily dressed, determined to make amends with Imoen. Racing down the stairs Winthrop looked up from where he stood on a small stepstool, apparently trying to reach something high up. “Where you goin’ so fast like?” He asked, in his usual chipper manner, “to see Imoen.” Merrick replied, racing out the door, Winthrop calling after him, “if ya sees Jos tell him I needs him in today, in case he forgot it.” Merrick stopped dead in his tracks, “what?” He called back, from the door. “Jos, ya know, Imoen’s sweet thing, he gots to work today, let’m know.” Merrick nodded silently and slowly left the Inn. So he would have to avoid both places he thought he was welcome: Imoen’s and The Inn. “Great.” He muttered, walking the rest of the way to the house.

Merrick received no answer when he knocked softly on Imoen’s door, and he peered in the darkened window and saw no movement from inside so he knocked again. Upon getting no answer the second time he looked around, debating whether or not to go inside. “Ah hell, she’s my best friend, after all.” He told himself, and he pushed open the door without a sound. His eyes took a minute to get used to the dim light of the home, for the fire had burned down and both windows were covered almost completely. He scanned the room and saw Imoen’s bed, still occupied. “Sleepyhead.” He thought, smiling, but his smile quickly went sour when he saw that it was indeed occupied, by Imoen and Jos. Trying to not think about what this entailed he stared for a minute, the mental images making his stomach do funny jealous flips. His eyes fell upon the sleeping Imoen and lingered. She was draped as though ready for a portrait: obviously naked but tastefully covered. The blankets fell in such a way that Merrick had to pry his eyes away from her soft shoulders and the tiny bit of her side that was visible through the gaps in the sheet. Merrick had never noticed how long her legs were, especially for her being so tiny, or how soft her skin looked; how much he wanted to touch her and hold her. Merrick suddenly realized why he had never known he had feelings for this petite woman; he had always been in love with her. There was no build to the relationship, no getting to know her, no gradual feelings turning slowly into love, like there had been with Jaheria or anyone else: it had always been just love, plain and simple – constant. “I’m in love with you, Imoen Gorion.” He spoke softly, in a dejected sort of way, “and I came too late…” He looked to the sleeping form of Jos, who was buried completely under the mountain of blankets he seemed to have unknowingly pulled from his lover’s body, and swordsman had the urge to kick him. Merrick then did a daring thing and approached the bed, leaning in and kissing the sleeping brow of his friend. She didn’t stir and he smiled, leaving the house to its quiet and dark.

**************************

Merrick whistled to himself cheerfully as he left the library catacombs. He had visited the plaque bearing his father’s name, talking to Gorion as if he was still alive. He had told his father’s grave all about his quest through the Sword Coast down to Amn; the same one that had claimed his father’s life. He spoke of Irenicus and Bodhi, of Jaheria, Khalid, Yoshimo, every single other figure that had come and gone, and of Athkatla, and how he felt Gorion would have loved to stay there. Merrick had also spent a great deal of time talking about Imoen; first telling him how proud he would be of her and telling of how grand a woman she had become, and then relating the tale of the last few days to the grave, as if it somehow was going to remedy all that had gone wrong between the two of them. Finally he had said a prayer for his father’s soul and promised he would return. Kissing the plaque lightly and touching it with his palm he left, ascended the stairs up to the main library and found his way out into Candlekeep. The sun still wasn’t high enough to fully breach the walls of the city and Merrick wondered if Imoen was awake yet as he strolled back to the Inn, gathered his few belongings and made it a point of stopping at Winthrop’s bar before leaving the Keep. He had unfinished business to attend to…

**************************

Imoen was dreaming. She dreamt of the clearing again, where she and Merrick had shared the kiss. In this dream the sky was black though, not blue and cheerful, and Merrick was nowhere to be seen. As the mage circled the field she called her friend’s name, but no sound came out, as if she was mute. Suddenly he came rushing in; but not on his own accord. Merrick was naked and tied at ankles and wrists with rope, locked with chains and behind him were twelve kolbolds, running at him with whips. In her dream Imoen ran to Merrick and saw he was bleeding fresh from wounds not healed. She knelt beside the place he had half collapsed in the grass and helped him up, looking up to see not kolbolds but ghosts of bandits everywhere. Imoen tried to scream but found that in this place sound made no difference and she shut her mouth, keeping close to Merrick. Merrick had gotten to his feet now, but with difficulty, and blood poured freely from the wounds he sported, splashing onto Imoen’s clothes. She wrapped her arms around him, crying soundlessly, her tears mixing on his chest with his blood. Suddenly Imoen heard the first noise in this place: the wiz of an arrow as it came soaring through the air, striking Merrick through the back. The man cried out soundlessly in pain and fell to the ground; Imoen screamed and dropped down, holding the warrior in her frail arms. Merrick looked up at her, his eyes half glazed and she leaned down to kiss him. This embrace was soft and delicate but also full of a passion she couldn’t begin to explain. They both knew this would be the last they shared and it was as urgent and needy as it was fair and simple. Imoen felt his lips go slack against hers and she opened her eyes to see Merrick doubled over, life gone from his body. The mage let out a scream of fury, that shook the clearing to its core, even though it was silent and she felt a rage like no other come over her. Her hair had turned jet black, her eyes following suit and she stood, lightning coming from her fingertips as she stared down at the body of her slain friend and lover. Seeking revenge she spotted a figure in the distance which was immediately drawn towards her by some unknown force. Lifting her hands to induce pain on the one who had stolen so much from her she found herself face to face with Gorion. As sudden as the change had come over her it vanished and she felt drained and overcome. “Come child.” Gorion spoke, his voice as soft as she remembered it, “revenge is not always the wisest course, is it?” He smiled, “and maybe that’s not a lesson you should have to learn.” Gorion looked pointedly at the fallen shape of Merrick. “If you do not wish to lose more the way others have lost go, my child, and find him… teach him what I have taught you…” Suddenly he was gone. Imoen looked around for her foster father but found she was now alone in the vastness of the clearing. She broke down and cried, heart retching sobs before throwing up in the grass, sheer exhaustion overcoming her body. In the stages before waking from this hellish dream Imoen knew what Gorion had meant. Merrick had gone… he had gone to find revenge, and if she did not find him first and persuade him otherwise she would not only lose him, but lose herself as well…

**************************
Imoen awoke with a gasp and clung to the bed as if her life depended on it. Jos was already gone, apparently to the tavern, so she had the bed to herself. It was odd of him to leave without waking her but she remembered the words exchanged the night before and sighed. “He didn’t seem to have a problem with me last night…” She said aloud, bitterly, a little angry at him, but as she climbed out of bed, wrapping the sheet around herself, she didn’t dwell. “At least now I can go talk to Merrick without Jos thinking anything of it…” She thought. She shook her head, sadly, remembering a time when she had been so carefree and happy. Nothing like this would have ever bothered her… but that was before Merrick had started to weigh on her mind and, she shuddered at this thought, before Irenicus. Climbing slowly into her clothes she noticed the second pack of things she had bought at Winthrop’s the night before – supplies she had intended to give to Merrick. With this thought she suddenly remembered why she had awoken so abruptly, “Merrick.” She said aloud, recalling the horrible dream, “I have to go after him…”

It took Imoen less than an hour to pack her supplies and find her old leather armor and weapons, to tidy up the house incase she was gone for long, and to write Jos a letter, explaining. She couldn’t bear to do it in person half because she knew he would protest and think she was running off with Merrick and half because she didn’t want to face him… her note was simple and to the point:

Jos,

I have to leave for awhile… I don’t know where
I am going or for how long I will be away but I
know I must find Merrick. I have to stop him from
doing something terrible, for myself as much as he.
I promise I will come back, and do not worry, I
love you still. Please do not be angry, or come
after me… I know what I am doing.

Take care, my love
Imoen

She left the note lying on the table and looked around the tiny house, surveying it for anything missed. Noting nothing she opened the door and marched out of Candlekeep, telling Thrar she was merely going for a picnic lunch in the woods, to which he promptly complained about. “Darn ants, always getting in my sandwiches…” he grumbled, opening the gate and waving. “See you tonight, Imoen.”
“Yeah, see ya.” She called, looking back at the Keep’s walls and for the first time ever wondering if she would see them again.

**************************


It will continue (its moving along at a rapid rate...) PLEASE let me know what you think!

 

Here's a little more

The first day of travels had gone very well for Imoen. She hadn’t run into anything bigger than a squirrel and had slept out under the stars, happy to be out on the road again. Her thoughts drifted back to her first time outside of Candlekeep on a real adventure. It was the night Gorion was murdered; she had followed Merrick out of the Keep, keeping to the shadows. She had watched as Merrick and Gorion were attacked, clinging to a tree in part to keep safe, in part to stop herself from running into the fray to save the two men. But what good would’ve an apprentice mage done against someone who could take down Gorion: nothing, so she stayed in the tree and watched. The next day she had caught up with Merrick and pleaded with him to let her stay. She knew he wanted her to come, but was just afraid she may get hurt… but she had gone and not long after that they came to The Friendly Arms… remembering this once more Imoen made up her mind that the Inn was where she would head to see if anyone had heard anything of Merrick. “I’ve got friends there who may help.” She thought and the last thing that went through her head before she fell asleep to the sound of crickets and owls, was that is was kind of ironic that she was headed to The Friendly Arms, as it was where she was planning on heading anyway, only with Jos…

 

this is interesting, please continue it!

 

Quick Question: How are you able to double post? i thought that was disabled?

[It is but sometimes posts slip by. In any event, your remark is off topic and I've already talked about it with him via PM.] -Tal

[ July 14, 2003, 23:30: Message edited by: Taluntain ]

 

I'm new here, so I didn't even know...

 

That's one really big monolith of words. My eyes hurt. Break it down, please.

 

Maybe so Oaz, but i .like it, it's very interesting... hope more is to come soon

 

Heres the update. Thanks Ameorn!

The two figures moved soundlessly through the early dawn; not even the animals that called the wooded lot their home noticed as the women slipped back onto the road. “Kneve, is that-”
“A campfire” Kneve finished, looking over at her friend and motioning for her to take the other side, encircling the potential campsite. The other woman, Rora, nodded and took off through the trees on the opposite side of the road, making swift work of the distance, while Kneve, who was slightly slower, scanned the horizon for any unwanted company. Approaching the camp Rora saw that the encampment held only one occupant, a single fire, burning low, and a pack. Staying in the trees she hooted once, like a barn owl, to signal to Kneve that all was safe and she watched the opposite tree-line, her elf eyes picking out her friend emerging. Following suit the tall thief approached the sleeping woman. “You take the bag, I’ll go for the pockets.” Kneve spoke, her brown eyes lit in the firelight she bent low to begin work on the unlucky camper. Rora nodded, a sly grin on her features as she lifted the pack. Suddenly there was a blast of air and a airsplitting noise and Rora found herself ten feet from where she had begun, frozen with pack in hand. Barely in her line of sight she saw Kneve, also thrown back onto the ground, stuck in an awkward position with her arms outstretched. “Spell Sequencer” The elf thought, bitterly, “just our luck to target a ready mage.” Kneve looked over at Rora, eyes wide in surprise, before fixing her gaze back on the sleeping mage; who was no longer on the ground.

Imoen’s trained thieving had heightened she senses and she instantly felt the hands of Kneve upon her a, setting off a chain of ready spells before opening her eyes and leaping to her feet, dagger in hand. “Who is it?” She called into the night, adrenaline waking her up faster than the cold night air, “show yourselves.”
“We would,” thought Kneve, cynically, “If you’d unhold us…” Getting no response Imoen flicked her hand and an area of the forest lit up, as if a gigantic fire had leaped forth, and the mage saw who her attackers were: two women, a human and an elf by the looks of it. The first was dressed in green and hooded, her dark hair visible only due to her uncomfortable pose, and her brown eyes looked directly at her, the gaze was confident and unforgiving -Imoen could see several daggers gleaming at her side. The second thief was tall and dressed in tight fitting black clothes, showing off her figure, and unlike her friend her hair was left loose, cascading down past her shoulders in wavy scarlet tresses. Imoen could see her light green eyes shining in the dark, full of malice, but also a certain bit of respect. The adventurer ran several scenarios through her mind, trying to find a way to converse with these two, without putting herself in danger. She was intrigued by them and, as much as she hated to admit it, was desperate for some actual companionship, even if it turned out to be hostile. Finally she settled on dispelling the magic, followed by a quick entangle spell and she stepped back, out of the radius. Soon the two women were free of their silent bonds, but constrained at the legs and waist by crawling plant life. “Who are you?” Imoen asked, stepping closer to the girls, holding her short sword in her hand, “don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you…” She added, getting no response.

Rora looked to Kneve and the human gave her friend a ‘don’t even think about speaking’ look, to which she smirked and turned back to the strange mage. The redhead was also intrigued by this woman so she would be the one to break the silence. “I’m Rora… that’s Kneve…” She said in a coolly nonchalant way, to which Kneve groaned and shot Rora a look full of anger. “We’re thieves…”
“Obviously.” Imoen replied, nodding at the girls chatter, “as am I.” She added as an after thought, pointing to herself with the tip of her sword. “From where?”
“I’d rather not have that disclosed…” Kneve broke in, shattering her silent vow, “but please, could you dispel this enchantment, you’re obviously not hostile, and we promise not to be considering you’ve let us live…” Imoen laughed a little, sizing the two up. This one, Kneve, seemed to be more sensible and business like, while the elf seemed easier going, maybe a little darker and riskier… “I learned a long time ago to never trust a thief…” She replied, smiling, “but, why not…” She waved her wrist and the trap disappeared, leaving the two women to stand and stretch. “Thanks.” Rora replied, running a hand through her thick hair while Kneve slowly made her way closer to the fire and Imoen’s makeshift camp. The mage noted the pained look on the young girl’s face when she spied the loaf of bread and slab of cheese poking out from Imoen’s pack, “hey help yourself.” She said, motioning for the two of them to sit. “So, Rora, Kneve… I’m Imoen Gorion… nice to meet you, although I do wish the circumstances to be better…” The older woman gave a small smile, to indicate she meant no harm in this comment, “Although, don’t get me wrong, I am glad for any company…” Imoen looked up and saw Rora was staring at her in disbelief, a hunk of bread hanging out of her mouth. “Imoen Gorion? The same Imoen Gorion who helped save Baldur’s Gate? The famous thief turned mage we’ve heard so much about? The Imoen who is a Bhaalspa-” Rora choked on her food and stopped midword as Kneve elbowed her hard in the ribs, and a dawning realization that the words she chose might not have been wise crossed the elf’s face. “Uh…” She tried to regain her sentence, but Imoen cut her off, “yeah, that’s me…” She said with a heavy sigh, a little taken back that she had been noted as ‘famous’. “Excuse her.” Kneve said with the first smile Imoen had seen from the girl, “shes… well… odd.” The thief said, with a snort and a fond look at Rora, who rolled her eyes and went back to her meal. Imoen saw that the girl’s strict manner of dealing with things was ebbing away, and her true personality was shining through. Imoen was strongly reminded by the two companions of Merrick and herself and she felt a pang of urgency when she thought of wasting time while she didn’t know where he was. But, as Imoen knew she wouldn’t get far with so little sleep she resisted the urge to pack up and continue to the Friendly Arm.
“We’re really sorry about the whole trying to take your stuff, but ya know, that’s what we do…” Rora said after the three sat in silence for awhile, “being thieves and all…” The elf had finished eating now and was gazing at Imoen as if she was a God. Imoen met the girl’s gaze, a little unnerved by the attention, and said, “well I know how it goes, having done it many a time before.” She smiled as memories of the past adventures flickered through her head. She looked to Kneve and saw that she was also eating rapidly, shoving the bread and cheese into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten in days –which, in fact, she hadn’t. “Take it easy, friend,” Imoen eased, holding up her hands, “it looks like you two have been out here for awhile, where are you heading?” Kneve continued to chew, silently, but looked over at Rora, who met her gaze instinctively. There seemed to be an unheard conversation going on between the two of them, which Imoen assumed was about whether or not to tell her what they were up to. Looking awkwardly from one to the other she saw her fellow human swallow and nod at Rora without a sound. She turned to Imoen and opened her mouth, “we’re on our way to a forest further north, to find a necromancer…” She said, slowly, being careful not to give much away. Imoen understood this act of caution; she had learned through the many mistakes to be careful with her words, even to new friends. “A job we have to do…” Kneve finished and Imoen nodded, guessing that the necromancer would soon be missing something dear to him and she smiled. “What about you? Why are you out on the road, all alone?” Rora suddenly asked, unable to contain her curiosity. The flame-hared elf leaned forward in interest, thinking if this woman was anything compared to her reputation this story would be a good one. Imoen faltered, biting her lip and wondering if she should tell the two girls the true story, or just tell them where she was headed. “Well I’m heading to The Friendly Arm Inn…” She started, hesitantly, “I’m trying to find an…” She let the word fall quiet, looking for the right one to follow it, “old friend. First at The Inn, then, who knows where…” She settled on, her gaze returning to the fire’s flickering flames, which seemed to swallow her whole as she thought of Merrick. “Ah, an old friend, right.” Rora replied, with a snicker; she was noticeably warming up to Imoen. “Who is he?” She persisted, resting her chin on her cupped hands, “and is he cute?” Imoen heard Kneve snort almost indignantly, as if she almost couldn’t believe Rora actually said what she had –almost. It was her turn to speak, “don’t even get her started on men…” She cautioned, standing and stretching her limbs, “She’ll never stop.” Rora shot her friend an offended look but just turned back to Imoen and waited for a response. Imoen sighed, trying to figure out if she wanted to go into details and, more importantly, how she would. “He’s my best friend…” She started, to which the elf gave a sympathetic grunt, “and… well, he’s a big moron.” She spat, exasperated at Merrick. “I just can’t even begin to explain him.”
“Try.” Came Rora’s reply and Imoen looked over to see her grinning, “Believe me, you came to the right woman to discuss the male gender with.” She added, patiently waiting for Imoen’s reply. The mage then proceeded to spout off ten years of negative thinking, sexual frustration and unwanted feelings towards Merrick. She ranted, barely taking time to breath between accusations and anecdotes, eventually ending up on her feet, pacing around the fire. “…so he goes off with Jaheria, not even giving a thought about my well being or feelings as his friend… or otherwise.” She continued, after almost twenty minutes of relaying stories of shared looks and conversations, emotional outbursts and harrowing experiences; and, of course, the kiss. “He had me right under his nose for so long and he never even gave me a second glance… until I just dismissed any feelings I ever had as just natural little blips and nothing more… and now I’m getting married and he has the nerve to tell me I don’t love my fiancé and then just take off… oh Gods I hate that man…” Imoen took a deep, angry breath and flopped down on a log next to the fire, looking up at Rora and flushing when she realized how much she had spewed at the girl. Rora just laughed when she grasped that Imoen was done. “You don’t hate him, you love him.” She said simply, “but you won’t let yourself admit it.”
“No I don’t.” Imoen protested, angrily brushing her hair out of her face with her finger, “I love Jos.” Kneve, who had been alternating between listening silently and staring off into the fire piped up, saying softly, “if you love him, the bard that is, why are you out here, after Merrick-”
“Because he’s going to die if I don’t, and I need him in my life.” Imoen admitted, “He’s my best friend after all.”
“Alone.” Kneve finished, ignoring Imoen’s comment. “Where’s Jos?” She asked, rhetorically. Imoen had nothing to say to this and just stared up at the night sky for a time. She was surprised this ‘girl talk’ had come so easily, and how nice it was, especially when the other women were fellow thieves. She missed that part of her life, more than ever now that magic had become her focus; she couldn’t very well start plundering her neighbors in Candlekeep. Finally Kneve broke the silence, “Imoen, we’re ahead of schedule-”
“Surprisingly” quipped Rora,
“So why not have us accompany you to the Inn? You can see if he’s there, or if anyone knows where he is.” The young thief finished,
“And we can get ourselves some extra pocket money, if you get my drift.” Rora added, grinning at Imoen and getting a tiny smile from Kneve.

**************************

So that’s how the three women ended up at the Inn three days later, road weary and hungry but noticeably better acquainted; friends even. The Inn, which was run by the infamous ex-explorers Bentley and Gellana Mirrorshade, was a haven for fatigued travelers and injured adventurers and the inn keepers always had a pot of stew, a warm bed and a mug to drown sorrows in ready on hand. A pleasant air lingered around the large stone fortress and while within the walls of the Keep there were unspoken rules of kindness and peace; which was, perhaps, where the inn earned its name. If there was anywhere Imoen would find voluntarily given information and friendly faces if would be there. A friendly face was certainly welcome as the three thieves staggered into the softly lit bar room which greeted patrons. Shaking off the rain from their cloaks and hoods they found a table and sat down, shivering. Soon a bubbly woman came over to them, “my dears, what a state you three are in.” She said, her voice jumping pitch with concern, “I’ll get you some stew and bread right away, and mead for all.” Rora’s stomach growled on cue and the barmaid wandered away, shaking her head and tutting, disapprovingly. Imoen sighed and looked around, taking in the sights she hadn’t seen for almost seven years. The Inn was just as she remembered it, down to the very same smells, and Imoen gazed over at the smallest bar; little Bentley Mirrorshade still stood behind it, tending it as ever. He was the first person Imoen wanted to talk to, but right now all she could think about was food and rest. Even if Merrick was or had been here recently she knew she was too tired to pursue him any further, or even confront him, tonight. The barmaid, Nessie, returned with three piping hot bowls of think stew and tall mugs of mead and the three women devoured their meal in silence, rented rooms and wearily crawled up the stairs, barely able to lift their feet. After saying goodnight to the other two Imoen closed her room’s door and looked around; it was a simple, affordable room, with a set of drawers, a night table, a chest and, most importantly, a bed. A bed so comfortable looking that Imoen’s eyes closed as soon as she hit the pillow, drifting off to sleep right after.

**************************

She wasted no time in finding Bentley the next day. The gnome was once again behind the bar and Imoen had to wait in line behind a large, and rather smelly, half-orc, and a dwarf while being ogled by a seedy looking fellow at the bar, before coming to his attention. “May I help you- my stars… Imoen? Is that you?” He asked, his voice unbelieving, “I remember you in here years ago, before you were all famous…” He reminisced, giving the woman an uncharacteristic hug, “what brings you back to my little inn?” He chuckled, as Imoen smiled and said, “Actually, Bentley, I was looking for someone; I was wondering if he passed through.” She gave a slightly annoyed look to the man at the bar who gave her a nasty, black-toothed grin from behind his mug. Imoen shuddered inwardly and continued talking to Bentley, “Merrick Gorion, remember?”
“Remember him? Of course I do, how could I forget Merrick?” The gnome squinted his eyes and stared at the ceiling absentmindedly, “nah, Merrick ain’t been here for a good six months or more….” He replied shrugging and giving Imoen and little smile, “sorry.” He turned back to his bar and began whistling and Imoen turned away, her face reflecting her downcast heart. She had been so sure that Merrick would be here… now she had hit a dead end. As she wandered away from the bar, not exactly sure where she was going she didn’t notice the grimy man at the bar wipe the spittle and beer from his chin, slide off his stool and follow her out the door. As she was on her way down the stairs when a rough hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “Where ya goin’, lovey?” Imoen stared into the face of the slime ball who had been watching her from behind the bar. “Stay awhile.” He leered, showing a full mouth of rotten teeth. The woman could smell the stables on him and she almost retched as she looked down at the hand that held her. “Let me go!” She screamed. Jerking away Imoen found herself slammed back up against the cold stone wall. “Relax honey, I got some information for you.” The man whispered, leaning into Imoen’s neck and flicking away a stray lock of hair with his finger. Imoen could feel his breath against her skin and pulled away, her neck taunt against the strain, but her petite figure could not shake off his hands which held her arms to her sides. “You see I’ve seen your little missing boy, and I can tell you where he is now… for a price.” He pressed himself up against her and Imoen began to shake, pulling away and looking around desperately for someone – anyone- to help her; but the ground were unmercifully empty. “What do you want?” She managed to stutter, “anything…”
“10,000 gold.” He replied, inches from her face. “I don’t have that kind of money.” She spat back, trying to hide her terror. The man laughed, picking his teeth with one finger; unwillingly letting one of Imoen’s arms go; she reached for her dagger and realized to her horror that she had left it in her room. “Well you could always give me something else, sweetheart, I’m a very lonely man…” He hissed, rubbing his hand up Imoen’s thigh. To this Imoen slapped him hard on the face, making him reel backwards. “Not going to come willingly? Well then we’ll just see what ol’ Khaar can do about that.” Imoen pressed her eyes closed, her stomach flipping over as she felt his rancid lips press against hers, which were drawn closed into a tight line. Shaking her head and back and forth she bashed her own forehead against his, making stars dance in the darkness; but she heard him give a yelp of pain, to which she smiled inwardly – until she heard the sharp zing of steel being drawn and felt the cold, hard knife against her abdomen. Imoen peered out at him, her eyes wide in fright. “One more move and I’ll slide this thing so far into your belly you’ll taste it, girl.” He snarled, grabbing her throat with his free hand, choking her hard. “Understand?” She shut her eyes tight again, waiting for the prick of knife through flesh she knew was coming; it didn’t come. Instead she heard a vaguely familiar voice which was both powerful and soothing say, “You make one more move and you die.” She flung her eyes open and saw a tall elf man with his bow drawn, arrow pressed against Khaar’s head. The smelly barfly let his dagger clatter to the stone and let Imoen’s neck go, raising his arms to the sky. The elf gave a high whistle and three guards came running from around the side of the building minutes later, surprised to see the scene that was played before them. Taking Khaar roughly into their custody Imoen was finally free to take and shuddering breath and let out a dry sob, sinking into the wall while awaiting her attacker’s departure. Meanwhile the elf had quivered his arrow and was walking back towards Imoen and she finally saw his face. “Kivan?” She gasped, wide eyed and she tried to stand, but her trembling legs wouldn’t let her. “Hail. It is not often I meet such a welcome face, Imoen. Though better circumstances would be called for if I had my way…” He bent down and held out a hand, which Imoen grabbed eagerly, pulling her to her feet. “Kivan, what are you doing here?” Imoen replied, her face showing her shock. Kivan laughed quietly and held up a hand, “you’ve been through too much to be asking me questions, come let us go inside, where it is safe, you need some rest.” He led her into the Inn and marched her upstairs, “rest, my good Imoen, I’ll still be here when you awake.” He said before shutting her door and Imoen nodded, still a little dazed from her attack and the fact that her old companion was here, of all places.

**************************

When she awoke night had fallen over the Inn and she could hear the racket coming from the tavern downstairs. She quickly and quietly made her way through the dimly lit hallway and traversed the stairs downward to the bar, nervously looking around the corner for Kivan. The two had met almost immediately after Gorion died and quickly formed a bond. They had both lost people at the hands of The Iron Throne and its allies; for Imoen it had been her foster father, for the elf: his life mate Deheriana, and they shared their grief, becoming friends, and even lovers. Confused and unsure about her relationship and feelings for Merrick, and unwilling to step forward and tell her best friend how she felt Kivan had filled in where Merrick could not; and although he never said it, Imoen was sure she was also filling in for Kivan’s lost wife. They had never really loved one another, but they had comforted each other, in soul and in body. As these memories raced through her head Imoen reached the bottom on the stairs and scanned the room for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nessie bustled up to the young mage, apparently seeing the troubled look on her face. “Looking for your two friends, dear? They left this morning, thought I’d let you know.” Imoen gave a start as she realized she in fact hadn’t even thought to find Rora and Kneve all day; with the attack and Kivan and the shock of not finding any trace of Merrick they had completely slipped her mind. “Uh, thanks, but I’m looking for a ranger named Kivan. He’s an elf, tall-”
“Dark and handsome?” Nessie finished with a sly smile, “yep, I seen him. He went up to his room about twenty minutes ago. Third floor, second door on the left.” Imoen nodded her thanks and scratched her head, wondering if she should go and see the elf, or just wait until morning. Deciding that seeing as was now wide awake from her nap and restless as it was there was no way she was going to be content to sit at the bar all night, knowing she could be conversing with an old friend, so she hiked back on up the stairs. Finding the door to his room with ease Imoen then stood outside it for ten minutes, lifting her hand to knock and then letting it fall to her side a good twenty times, muttering to herself about being silly and tense. Finally she rapped against the wood, loudly, and waited. A moment later Kivan opened the door and smiled. He was holding a long dagger in one hand and a cloth in the other. “Imoen, come in. I apologize for not greeting you down in the tavern, but I did not know how long you would sleep, so I came back up here for a time.” He gestured for the woman to sit down and she entered the room and sat down on the tiny bed, across from a chair he was obviously using. “Kivan, why are you here?” She asked, right out, smiling as the elf sat down, “don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing to see you again, but I never thought…” She trailed off, grinning again. Seeing him was different than seeing Merrick again; just as delightful, but less of an impact. “I’m actually on my way back to Shilmista.”
“You mean you’ve been wandering around the Sword Coast all this time?” Imoen implored, a look of incredulity on her features. “Sword Coast, Amn, even Neverwinter.” He replied, smiling. Imoen noted that the dreary and mournfully quiet air that surrounded Kivan when they had met was now gone; although still a man of few words and by no means animated in character, he was happier – he smiled more. “I guess time does heal…” Imoen thought, smiling to match his. “Wow…” She replied. Kivan went on to retell story after story of what had happened to him during the years they were apart and Imoen was torn between laughter at some moments and intent listening at others. “Well, I ramble on and it is unneeded for I am the one who should be praising you, my good woman. I have heard of the continued deeds you and Merrick and your allies have done. Bhaalspawn and facing Irenicus-“
“Irenicus was a fool.” Imoen replied, sharply, silently cursing his name, her face growing dark. Kivan noticed this changed and leaned over from his chair, lifting her chin with one finger. Imoen was strongly reminded of her and Merrick’s encounter on the edge of her bed, days before, and for a moment could not look Kivan in the eyes. “He has left his marks upon you.” The elf said, simply. “I can see it in your eyes, aside from the scars…” He traced his finger along her forehead and down the long scar that ran from her eyebrow to the bottom of her eye. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of her hands on her face go right to her core, letting her self go numb for a moment. She felt his hand on her shoulder, the other was cradling her face as he brought it close to his. Imoen could feel his breath upon her when she let out an unintentional whisper. “Merrick…” Kivan drew back and Imoen opened her eyes to see him doing the same. She expected to see anger on the elf’s face but instead she saw a sad light in his eyes she recognized from days gone by. “I should not be doing this.” He said simply and he smiled, softly. “I am truly sorry… times gone by should be left to the past.” Imoen nodded. She knew what he meant and agreed. They had not loved each other then, and they would not love each other now, not even in the physical sense. “Merrick?” Kivan asked, his thoughts seeming to clear. “I see you have finally realized what we all knew all along…” He said, lifting an eyebrow in an inquisitive manner. Imoen was a little taken back, and then ashamed as she recognized that she once again had thought of Merrick, not Jos. “Maybe…” She replied, simply, not sure why she did not go into details with Kivan. The pair sat in silence for a time, Kivan once again picking up the cloth and knife and polishing, and Imoen staring out the open window into the night sky. It was Kivan who broke the silence, “Imoen, I know of where you can find Merrick.” He said, as if it was a great burden he needed to let off his chest, “although I do not know the exact location he was seen in Baldur’s Gate not long ago.” Imoen didn’t bother to ask how Kivan knew she was looking for their old companion, but instead looked over at him, her face alight with surprise and delight. “Where in Baldur’s Gate? Why is he there?” She asked quickly and Kivan held up a hand, “That I do not know, but a group of adventurers, not unlike ourselves so long ago, is leaving on a caravan tomorrow, and heading for The City. I could get you aboard, if you wish.”
“Yes, please, Kivan.” Imoen replied, nodding as the spark of hope she had harbored returned once more.

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Patiently waiting for the next update

 

Monolith.

 

Oaz, do what i do... mark the whole text then it will be easier for the eyes with a white background

 

Nice going Sydney!!
Story is good, but why dont you try breaking it up a bit. Put a blank line between passages. Its not much, but it will visually break the story into managable pieces. Afterall we all have pretty short attention spans.

 

Thanks for all the support, and I will definetly break up the further updates! Don't want it to be hard on the eyes!