The Death of a Raven

[Aqua-chan]

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---
For the umpteenth time an unsteady hand absently wandered to his neck neck, fingers tracing the sore crease that now crossed the flesh just below the stranger’s jaw. Down the hall he could hear the maids and attendants whispering to one another, still trying to figure out this enigma that had fallen into their hands.

“A black day, indeed. His entire family just wiped out in seconds.”

“Well, did you see his wife? I don’t care for what reason, a woman that far along with child should be in bed, not traveling.”

“Hush yer’self. They were up here for a reason of their own an’ it ain’t your place to judge.”

The voices paused for a moment, the speakers mulling about silently and unsure of what to do.

“Well, do we know who they are?” one of the women offered weakly, “These folks got to have some family we can send for.”

These women were all servants to a wealthy estate owner. They likely thought they were out of his earshot all the way down the hall, but after years of having to endure the ridicule that came with his family name the stranger had developed a distinct talent for dropping in on hushed conversations. One of the braver and more curious girls had ventures so far as to bring him a basin of warm water and some towels, but her efforts to get information were lost when the wounded man didn’t even acknowledge her presense. She had left quietly; the water had gone cold hours ago.

Not that they knew about his family’s reputation, he mused absently. They didn’t know who he was, and even if they did it would matter to anyone this far north. The stranger decided to let the ladies draw their own conclusions about him. It was, in his experience, what people tended to do anyway.

While tracing the wound the man’s fingers hit a gouge on his neck that sent a sharp bite of pain coursing through his body. At first his hand instinctively drew back to stop the ache, but after it subsided he felt strangely hollow. Suddenly freak mentality took him over - that was his only feasible explanation for it - and again he was pressing his fingertips into wound, intentionally this time. The stinging of his nails reopening the healing flesh caused him to hiss unwillingly in response, but in this fit of rage he continued on. This ache was nothing compared to what she had endured; this suffering was nothing in comparison to how she had suffered.

The priest prayed in the back of his mind that the pain would magically stir him from the nightmare and would return things to normal. He and his wife would both be back in Maztica, soon expecting their first child, and never would she have proposed that they travel to Candlekeep for the birthing.
But, as he had expected, he was deprived that relief. He felt his pulse in his hand, the numbness in his throat, and the warmth of the dripping blood running between his fingers. All of this on top of the grief swelling in his chest, and it was then he realized what was truly happening. The joke’s was all on him. No tests this time; no games or dreams. He was surrounded by an entire household of handmaidens and servants, yet he was entirely alone.



In earlier days Anomen had learned many lessons from the people he had traveled with. Besides the knights of the Order of the Radiant Heart, there was Caprina and her merry band of asylum escapees. At first glance the mismatched group of highwaymen, thieves, and gits would draw the immediate attention of law enforcement merely for how suspicious they looked, but after the then-squire had been accepted as one of the group’s own it occurred to him that they had no ulterior motives; they just knew something the rest of the world didn’t. One of Delryn’s most frequent teachers of lessons learned the hard way was an ever-vexed woman named Jaheira.

The secret to surviving massive manhunts while on the road, she had once told him, was to merely become some one else. Should something bad happen, shut up and think before accidentally causing you own downfall.

Anomen, much wiser now, looked back and had to think the statement was more directed towards his tendency to make his name and exploits publicly known wherever he went. Regardless, it was because of Jaheira’s words that when one of the attendants outright asked the stranger’s name he lied without a second thought.

“Arath.” His voice cracked at being used for the first time in at least a day. If it had been another time he knew Caprina would have made a joke about him never having had that problem in the past.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Arath,” she said sympathetically. Anomen didn’t know why he chose that specific name in the spur of the moment - Arath Sigor had been a Bhaalspawn that Caprina’s party had met during the wars in Tethyr. Last they’d seen him was in Saradush, and everyone on the Prime Material who had ever heard a bard sing knew what happened to all the Bhaalspawn in that city when Yaga-Shura overran it.

‘Arath’ looked up and realized that the attendant was waiting for him to say something. He had missed her question.

“I apologize, my lady. I am… distracted.” Unfitting as it was, he scrubbed at his eyes with his palms; the ill-founded hope that the action would rouse him somewhat awake failed. Like it or not, Anomen thought, he was among the living.

“Oh, goodness, no! Considering what you’ve been through, I think you’re entitled to reside in your own mind.” He hadn’t been very observant at the time, but the girl seemed to relax a little right then. Getting this man to speak assured her that he wasn’t going to go on a grief-induced homicidal rage on the first person who dared get too close. “I’ve only come to ask if you have anyone whom we can send a messenger for.”

She rested on a stool across from the bed on which he sat and neatly folded her hands in her lap. In her grasp were some bloodied ribbons of fabric. It took Anomen a moment to realize that she had furtively changed the wound dressings on his forearm while he had been daydreaming. Distracted, indeed.

The maid waited patiently for a reply, which was good as it took Anomen a moment to decide to tell the truth in this once instance.

“We had planned to go to Candlekeep. They aren’t expecting us, and I don’t know anyone there personally who could come.”

“Candlekeep?” Her young face furrowed like she was trying to understand something incomprehensible, “If you were going there, why did you not just stick to the roads?”

Because we were foolish.

“We had wanted to avoid the towns. Ca…” He stopped himself abruptly, but the maid likely mistook it for grief. “Katrina didn’t care for towns much.”

That was only a partial truth. His wife, much to his dismay, was a kleptomaniac who often went on pick pocketing sprees when in a crowd. Caprina loved civilization, and the only reason the two had traveled through the wilderness was to keep from being recognized, renowned as they were for various reasons. Caprina would have undoubtedly been recognized eventually, and the pair truly didn’t want anyone to know of their presence in the Gate region until they had arrived in the sanctity of Candlekeep.

The girl, who’s name Anomen hadn’t caught, opened her mouth like she was about to say or ask something but then decided against it.

“My... husband is home now. I can send him out on horse to request some one come claim you. They won’t let him inside without a tome for payment, but perhaps the Keeper will hear him out?” To Anomen she looked only eighteen and she was married. After getting past this thought he shook his head at the suggestion.

“Our attackers may still be out there,” he said in place of an excuse. The girl appeared to be quite relieved.

“The Lord is away, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you staying here until you are ready to move. I’m sorry that we can’t get a priest to take care of you,” she sympathized, examining the stab wound on his arm and the slit across his upper neck. She couldn’t have had any idea that Anomen was more than capable of healing himself. His only identification as a cleric, a simple necklace with the symbol of Helm, had been lost in the attack. He didn’t bother correcting her, leaving an awkward silence. “Well, is… is there anything I can get or do for you now, sir?”

“I would like to be alone with my wife,” he said without missing a beat, surprising even himself. The maid had asked the question out of routine, so would have been offset with any answer, much less that one. She tried not to make him feel too uncomfortable by casting an uneasy stare at the floor.

“The others are cleaning her up, I believe, sir. If you will wait a while longer?”
The girl whirled on a heel and darted out, leading Anomen to believe that he really didn’t have much of a choice. She would go on to help wash the dirt and mud off Caprina, but more importantly she intended to clean away the blood and stitch together the open wounds. Maybe the girl felt that it would be improper to let this ‘Arath’, who had practically carried his dead wife across a monster infested wood to this city, see her in such a condition. Perhaps she feared that he would do something drastic if he was to see the desecrated corpse.

Anomen knew that he was going to do something very drastic, regardless.



(Continued)

[Aqua-chan]

Later, another maiden came to the priest and, clearly uncomfortable around the stranger, instructed him to follow. She led him through a labyrinth of musty and dark halls. Most of the oil lamps had been put out for the evening, and Anomen couldn’t help but notice how the servant kept a constant reaction distance from him at all times and looking at him every so often to keep him in check. Around one last corner, down two doors, and she stopped far in front of him. The woman, perhaps in her thirties, waved to a closed door. This is it. Have fun.

Anomen let himself into the small chamber, not waiting for the maid to move. Once inside he shut it gently behind him until the latch clicked secure. Moon light poured in from window, signaling that Anomen had been residing in this house without any sense of time for at least a full day. So detached was he with grief that he hadn’t even noticed that the world was still moving. Besides the lunar illumination there were candle arrangements about the room, and the only noises were that of the floor boards creaking beneath his weight and the occasional spatter of melted wax dripping to the floor. This was his world now, dark with the heavy smell of death in the air, and nothing outside of it concerned him. All that mattered was the woman before him, swaddled in cloth and wounded beyond even his healing. The handmaidens had done a lot of work to cover the slashed throat with fine stitches and powder make up.

Anomen kneeled next to the bed, not wanting to disturb Caprina in her rest. It was something so unreal to be sitting next to the body of one who seemed to be so invincible. This woman who couldn’t be killed by drow or dragons or mind flayers had been taken down by some cowardly, honor less assassins who used surprise to make their kills. They left a swatch of black cloth upon both of the bodies, likely to lay some claim to the killings in the underground. They were even such amateurs that the one who had ambushed Anomen couldn’t even cut a throat efficiently. After their targets had been taken down the murderers had whooped in celebration as they fled the scene of their crimes, completely unaware that they had done a pretty half-assed job.

Anomen, for the first time braving it, rested his hand over Caprina’s. It was cold, and the simple band on her finger that he had given to her upon engagement scratched against his calloused palm. What added to his anger was the fact that it had happened to quickly that Anomen couldn’t even think to take action before it was over. Forcefully dismounted from their horses, there was no chance to reach for their holstered weapons in the saddles. There was no chance, and Caprina must have known this just before it happened. The echoing memories of her scream when the bastards stabbed into her stomach - not so much because of pain, but rather because she had known that her baby was murdered. That scream haunted Anomen as he seethed. He wasn’t sure if he had spoken the words aloud or not, but he swore on her and the unborn child within her stabbed abdomen that he would make fools also feel haunted by her anguish before he was through with them.

Hours flew by like minutes and lagged on for an eternity all at once. When the house began to stir at dawn Anomen shamelessly requested steeds and an escort to Candlekeep. His mind was stirred with thoughts primarily of retribution and bringing the foul criminals to justice, but he did have the sense to set aside his drive for revenge. There were other things that needed to be done. He would stop and would consider all options before running off blindly into conflict, just as Caprina had taught him to.

Candlekeep had been the first home she had ever known. They had wanted their child to be born within the same walls in which she had spent her entire childhood. It seemed only fitting that they be buried there.

---

‘Torrential downpour’ was the only way to describe the weather when Imoen rode up to Candlekeep’s portal gate. Anomen had only been outdoors long enough to dash across the small complex to her and had already been drenched to the core. Overhead, thunder raged on, and the wind was enough to rip apart the flower gardens and send brightly colored petals flying aimlessly among the gloom.

He could have just waited for her to get to the Inn, but Anomen had felt a discerning knot form upon her arrival. It would have been better for him to tell her what had happened before anyone else gave her the entire scope of things. Given, he hadn’t really spoken much of what had happened to the residents of Candlekeep, but obviously had to let them know the basics. Even after a full day of recalling the core body of events he still felt suspicious eyes always on his back. It was their right, though: here he was, a practical stranger barely known to them by name, bringing the body of their hero who had been most brutally slaughtered. It was because of Anomen’s lack of merit among these people, among other reasons, did he suggest that some one be sent for his sister-in-law.

When he approached the portal gate Imoen had still hadn’t passed into the town. Anomen clutched the hem of his cloak in a balled fist in a vain attempt to shield himself from the rain; stupid, he realized, because it was so soaked that it just clung to his skin.

He hadn’t seen Imoen in nearly two years, but they had been in light contact with her, receiving or sending a letter every few months during Caprina’s pregnancy. Though she joked about it, Anomen had come to understand that the pink-haired rogue mainly operated her little “goods shipping” enterprise out of Baldur’s Gate. It was rumored that she and her Shadow Thieves had dealings in regions obscenely far north where it was much colder than any place a tropical-climate raised Amnian like Anomen would ever care to go, so he thought it would be a small chance that Imoen would actually be in the Gate. It seemed that small chance had proven to be enough: the messenger dispatched to find her brought her back after only a couple days’ time.

After a few moments he began to worry that Imoen may have forgotten the peculiar entrance fee to the library-town and would be denied entry, but that fear was quelled when the rippling portal to the outside came to an even more erratic life, giving way to a living force warping through. It was as though the surface of a pond was being broken by the protruding face of, first a horse, and then its body and the rider. It was the messenger who had been cast, and not long after he rode through did another. It was Imoen.

She must have recognized Anomen in the brief moment of eye contact they had, for she quickly shoved the reigns of her steed into the hands of the runner and dismounted. Even in the gray veil of rain she hadn’t changed from what Anomen had remembered her as: an energetic, very distinguished young woman with only slight age tagged on. A woman who could just read a person's aura to find out something was wrong. Anomen never could understand how Imoen managed to always see into him so easily in the past, but unless the messenger had said something then there was no way in hell she was going to get answers by just looking at him.

Hurriedly, she came up to Anomen and, before he had even the time to react, threw her arms about him a grieved hug. He had expected her to not barrage him with questions like most others did. Imoen was a rarity who was typically more concerned with people rather than events. Still, he hadn’t been ready for that sudden display of contact and felt quite helpless when he was unable to summon up the energy to return it.

She was just tall enough to wrap her arms around the priest’s neck, and her check rested against Anomen’s cold skin. He began to wonder if she saw his healing wound, but cast aside the thought upon feeling her hot tears on him. She knew.

“The messenger told you?” It really wasn’t a question. Who else would have known? She nodded, not thinking as deeply into the logic of the question.

“Gods. You’re alright, right?” She pulled away from him, not that hard of a task, and examined the Helmite with a once-over glance. As typical for Imoen, she plastered a false grin on her face at her own ranting. Despite trying to lighten the mood she wasn’t able to choke back a racking sob.

Anomen grinned about as convincingly as she and nodded. He was hardly “alright” either physically or mentally, but he felt that was his own problem to deal with. She was obviously dissatisfied with this, and he realized he would have to put up a little more to keep her from panicking.

“It’s been… trying.” It was weak, but it would have to do. The words even felt wrong as they were being said, but it was better that he evade the question rather than telling the truth.

“Caprina?”

The simple question hung heavily between them, making the conversation so uncomfortable that the rainstorm drenching the two was completely forgotten in their minds. Imoen looked at Anomen as though she was hoping that he would under some miracle say something different than what she had been told. Oh, her? She’s at the inn, downing an ale. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted such watery beers than these you people drink here at the Gate.

All she got was, “We really should go inside.”



(Continued)

[Aqua-chan]

Caprina had been buried the day before, only hours before the storms had hit the coastal town. Her funeral, along with the nameless child's, had been held in a strong rain but had gone mostly undisturbed by the elements. The weather didn't seem to deter mourners as it had turned out to be an unusually large procession for such a small area, Anomen thought. The grave had been separated from the others near a temple within Candlekeep, dug and arranged quickly as the body, difficult as it was for Anomen to take in, was beginning to decay. Having seen a lot of dead things in his life, the priest wouldn’t have ever thought it so hard to accept the fact that death had the same disgusting effects on Caprina just as it did on everyone else. Upon the hasty burial her grave was headed by a wooden marker; it would take a fair amount of time for the craftsmen to create a suitable headstone.

The pair passed by the site on the way back to the Inn. Imoen didn’t notice it. Anomen didn’t bother pointing it out.

It really never occured to her that Anomen was chilled to the bone from freezing rain which she was pretty accustomed to. Had he not the will Anomen was sure his teeth would have started chattering when the wind gave a warning of the oncoming winter. This was lost on Imoen, however, who had been living on the Sword Coast and even further north for a long time, returning to this ‘home’ many times after the Bhaalspawn era at her leisure. Unlike Caprina, Anomen sulked in his mind, whom I had managed to drag all the way to Maztica because I had a crisis of faith.

They passed the great library without incident or notice. Imoen had been within the building many times, and was disappointed to find that it hadn’t been as big and grand as she had remembered it as a child. Anomen had not entered the library, despite having been in Candlekeep for two days. The place itself seemed so sacred that he hesitated to even go there. It was a strange concept for a priest: a place that too holy for a servant of a god to go? Despite the dark humor and irony, respect was maintained with distance.
Perhaps someday, when he felt as though he’d repented for the failure to protect his family, he would feel…worthy of entering. But not then.

In fact, it was very possible that Anomen would never step foot into that library.

[Aqua-chan]

If Gorion was Caprina's adoptive father, then the innkeep Winthrop was Imoen's. After the girls had left Candlekeep for the first time Imoen would often pester then-party members to tell her stories like he had. She missed his stories greately throughout all their adventures, the Gate region and Amn alike. The maddened necromancer, Xzar (who had apparently been killed by a Harper later in Athkatla while Imoen was a resident of Spellhold) often had gone into ferocious shouting sprees in the middle of telling the impressionable girl about dragons he had known who'd had feet like a rabbit's.

Unfortunately, old Puffguts had been getting on in the years, and his gluttonous lifestyle likely never helped his health. Like every other visit Imoen grew slightly saddened by the fact that Winthrop was no longer the one lounging behind the front desk, but rather a skinny stinge of a merchant named Arker Furen. Winthrop had died after Irenecus' move on the former Bhaal daughters. A heartbroken Imoen, who had dreamt of returning the inn and telling him a grand story for once, now failed to see the glitter that used to shower honorable Candlekeep.

Upon entrance of the inn the pair received a few warding glances from Innkeeper Furen and a few of the tavern patrons. Imoen was known well enough in the small sanctuary, but Anomen seemed to have not earned the small town folks' trust just yet. She guided Anomen up the stairs by the shoulder, not hesitating in response to the wary looks. She knew Arker was bucking to give them - at least Imoen - some sort of trouble like asking for a room fee before they occupied a space. His dislike for the mage was rooted in the fact that she had turned down his offers to go to dinner several times before finally telling him to 'shove off', but a mere sideways glance dispelled his thirst for vengeance when she and the stranger passed. Together they ascended the stairs without incident.

The room they took to was a mere peasant's suite with few distracting frills. Intended to house one occupant in a compact space, the narrow room offered a hay straw bed, a rounded table that wobbled on a short leg, and an equally shoddy chair. Chained to the table was an oil lamp, but the window let in enough gray light into the room for the two to just barely see without the extra lighting.

"Should I get some drinks?"

Anomen took his seat in the chair, yet his downcast eyes never seemed to move off the floor. "I've already put away enough alcohol to stun an ox."

With a slight frown playing on her lips Imoen weakly declared "You seem sober enough." Anomen snickered lightly. He never drank so excessively that he would become intoxicated, even if Caprina had made quite a show of the practice a few times during their travels. His father was a constant reminder of a few good reasons not to do so.

The priest sighed, bringing his hand over his eyes. "I stopped drinking when I realized that it wasn't helping matters any."

"Good," her tone changed from half-hearted to very firm as she took seat on the pathetic bed. It creaked gently under her weight. "There's plenty to do now without having to deal with you drooling drunk. Recanting the full tale would be a good start," she prodded.

Unlike how he had been with the other occupants of Candlekeep Anomen was completely honest in his telling to Imoen. She, of course, knew of the pregnancy, and Anomen filled her in as to why they had docked in Amn as opposed to sailing farther along to coast to the Walled Library: it had been their intention to pay a visit to ranger Valygar Corthala at his estate in the old Docks District, but as luck would have it their former companion had apparently traded Athkatla for Waterdeep. Their route, as Caprina insisted Anomen must see her homeland for himself, took them through the Cloudpeak Mountains to Nashkell. There they stayed for only one night before hitting the beaten paths and less patrolled roads to the North. To save time they left the routes to cut through a place called High Hedge to get to their location, and it was in this wilderness they were attacked.

Imoen had listened to his explanation intently, and waited for him to continue after his short pause. The silence, however, lagged on.

"And then what?"

"What do you mean 'and then what,'? We were ambushed, I fell unconscious, awoke and used most of my remaining energy to heal myself to where I was able to pull myself over to Caprina," he growled defensively, obviously not at ease with reliving the event once more. Whether the emotion originated in his fatigue, intoxication, or behavior result of his pompous upbringing, Imoen ignored the snap and moved on.

"It seems unlikely that you were attacked by common bounty hunters," she said, "If there was some sort of price openly placed on your heads by anyone from the Spine of the World to Tethyr I would have known about it.
It seems to have been a professional hit in nature. No wandering mercenaries would have just run into you there unless they had been tracking you since -or before- you arrived in Amn. Bandits rarely frequent the area now, and even then they stay on the main roads."

"I saw them flee before blacking out. We weren't looted," he offered, confirming her thoughts about a random raid.

"Lucky you that they didn't. You might not be alive now if they had." The look he gave her was tired; bitter, and it practically spoke his thoughts of that comment. Instead of dwelling on it she pressed forward. "Were they model assassins?"

"I doubt it. Experts to sneak, but amateurs to killing. They hid well until our guard was dropped, and stealth was about all they used."

Imoen leaned forward and picked at the folds of her armor, a studded piece called the Deep Night. Studying mageries had been interesting for a while, but once she had returned to normal life in the cities Imoen couldn't help but revert to her old cutpurse ways. Still an arch mage who could cast a fine Bigby's Crushing Hand, of course, but only when she decided to trade the leathers for the spell book.

"There are only so many organizations past The Guild that hire out services. So... what do we know?" Upon her speaking of 'The Guild' Anomen cringed openly; a response due to his years of training to oppose such corruption. Of course Imoen was referring to the Shadow Thieves which she had quite successfully worked her way into the upper ranks of, and she was now spreading business all along the land. Imoen noticed the priest's grimace. With a roll of her eyes she spoke as if exasperated, "Yes, Anomen, I am still a thief, and no, I still have not robbed a single peasant for the benefit of myself since the last time we had this exact same discussion."

"You only operate a subclass society that condones it." If it were another time or a different situation Delryn's retort would have had some sort of venom. This time around he could barely muster the energy to put some bite into the argument. It mattered not; they'd had this fight before and never had it come to any avail.

"Again, I ask," she gritted through a slightly clenched jaw. Were it not for her sympathy and own grieving for Caprina the cleric would have been experiencing the light hearted woman’s true wrath. "...What do we know?"

The next few moments were that of almost silence. Neither of them said anything, and the muffled applause to a minstrel's performance ending came through the floor below them. Anomen tapped his fingers on the table systematically for the next few moments. Both minds were busy pulling out ideas and theories, but ultimately neither could establish a positive fact or lead.

"It seems like we know very little." Another pause for silence.

"Then we'll have to change that," she replied steadily. Looking as if she was about to stand, Imoen slapped her hands on her knees firmly. "We'll start with the scene of the ambush."