HOME | DD

Description
One last stroke of the brush, and her hair was in place. She couldn't help a sigh at the sight, every last tress perfectly combed and parted, pulled back into a neat ponytail, while a few stray locks threatened to swoop over her left eye. Her green eyes, and those same stray hairs, were the sole things that passed for color on her form. The rest of her hair was the same white one would expect to see spread over the ground in winter, while her dress and shoes were pitch black, appropiate for the occasion.

She wrinkled her nose as she stepped outside of her room, the heavy aroma of spices spreading through the air. Why did people always bring food to these things? Even she, who had the appetite of a pregnant wildebeast on an average day, couldn't possibly consume all of it.

She recognized the smells as well. A fresh boar brought in from the hunt, from Valygar. Some overpriced pastries Nalia had no doubt procured, but only from a local bakery, no place that served through multiple locations, for a corporate taskmaster. Ale from Korgan, because as he put it, "Agh! Warriors shouldn' be mourned by the tears o' girls and women! They ought ter be mourned with a mug o' ale and a sword in their enemy's guts!"

Yes, they were gathered here. Most of them, anyway. Some couldn't make it, afterall. But those that could were more than happy to give their regards.

"Gods, Lyme…I…I can't really believe this." Imoen had whispered the first time she'd heard the news. "I mean…I never thought he'd…gods, I…"

She'd trailed off after that, but plenty more people had things to say.

"Mourn as you must, but continue on with your life." Jaheira had lectured.

She saw the druid now, not speaking to anyone, but quietly sitting, idly drumming her fingers against the quarterstaff she held in her right hand, her mouth clenched tight in a scowl. She almost pitied the next person that said something insensitive within range of her elven ears.

"Go to the beach, get drunk, and stay there. For at least a week." Her sister, Jhael, had given her this advice.

Jhael was there, of course, dressed in some dark gown that was probably all the rage in Waterdeep, chatting away with one of their other sisters about fashion and other airheaded subjects, no doubt.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry." Her sister Shar, had said so. Or maybe it was her friend, Eva. She couldn't remember which.

Shar was cooking, of course. Scrumptious things that would have pleased even the pickiest of eaters, she knew. But for some reason, everything tasted bland and dry as notebook paper to her. Eva would be chatting with some of the guests, cracking jokes, and keeping merry despite the situation.

"He was a great warrior. His passing will be mourned." Sarevok had said that alone. He, who had tried so hard to murder him, actually mourned his passing. The irony was great.

Naturally, he was standing in the corner, thick and tall as an oak tree as he nursed a glass of water, his gold eyes expressionless. He was always grave and cool, it seemed. No matter what the situation. She recalled the first time she had a moment alone with him. They were in the kitchen of some house in Amkethran, or Saradush—no, there was sand. It was Amkethran. She'd been attempting to reach a jar of mustard, when he'd walked in. Thinking quickly, she'd bid the warrior to hold still, then planted a boot on his hip, and climbed up onto his shoulders, easily grabbing the jar, then jumping down to the dirt floor. Seeing him quirk an eyebrow, she'd smiled, and informed him that she was making a sandwich, then offering to make him one as well. He'd merely rolled his eyes, and moved to another room. She in turn had commented on how he wasn't going to be nearly as fun or cuddly as Minsc.

She almost smiled at that, but couldn't seem to find the energy, instead moving into another room. It was a pretty house, she knew. She and he had picked it out together. Cozy, warm, hardwood floors rather than carpet, because she couldn't be counted on to clean up any messes she left, and situated not too far north of Port Llast. They might scowl at the sight of a drow, and smile at the paladin on her arm, but nothing much but idle gossip would emerge from the situation. There was no threat of unwanted fame, or danger. A perfect place to live, to raise a family.

They would expect visitors as well. And they had them. The paladin, Keldorn, for instant, was rather frequent, despite his great increase in years. He was an impressive human, after all. Nearing eighty, and still more than able to make the trip up north. She was not fond of the man, nor was she of Sariel, or the Angel of Death, or whatever the hell she called herself. Angelica? Was that her real name? No matter, she didn't care enough to figure it out. Still, despite her detestment of the paladin, and her quiet dislike of the avariel, she supposed she owed certain parts of her relationship to them. If Sariel hadn't captured her in Athkatla, she never would have met him. And if Keldorn weren't so keen on warning him away from her, he wouldn't have wanted to be close to her nearly as much.

Still, in this circumstance, they were quick to offer their words.

"I…I am sorry, Lymeeari. It is a great loss, to all of us." Keldorn had remarked in a quiet tone.

"If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask." Sariel had offered.

Some had not only offered condolensces, but sanctuary as well.

"Come back to Suldanesslar." Ellesime had implored. "All of the city shall mourn with you."

"You will be welcome in any inn in Baldur's Gate." Duke Eltan had assured her.

"You should be with us, your family. Come back to Sigil with me and Aiden." Ili had urged.

Yes, Ili. She'd always had the sneaking suspicion that her sister was a complete idiot. There, sitting at a table, looking so very solemn and serious, as if she had some great wisdom to dole out simply because she had been in a similar situation. As if she cared what her older sister had to say. There was more to life than loss. Even if she felt trapped in this moment, on this day, she knew it would pass. Ili was perpetually trapped in her own tragedies. Idiot.

Gods, why was she even out here? These things were so damn pointless. He was dead. She knew it, they knew it, why did they all need to be here? She hated large groups of people. Crowds. They made her nervous, tongue-tied, suffocated. They made her wish she could retreat into the very ground itself and hide until everyone passed by.

She wanted her house back. She wanted to curl up in their—her…her bed, and just sleep. Just sleep and sleep until she couldn't remember how she used to wake up next to him. How he'd place a kiss on her forehead, then her brow, then on the smile that had formed on her lips. And lately…on her stomach. One for her too, he'd said.

Shaking her head, she moved silently through the crowd, her presence miraculously hidden from attention. She heard bits and pieces of their conversation. Honest man. Good man. Shame he was going in the ground today.

Yes, good man. Honest man. Never cheated, lied, stole, or openly admitted that he would kill people simply for money and status, as she had. Never stained his blades with innocent blood, or persecuted people for their heritage. Good man. Virtuous man.

Her hand passed over a cold mug of ale as she headed for the wine cellar, the door opening with a considerable creak, and the old wooden stairs squeaking their protests every time her heels pressed down on the boards. The cup was deliciously cool against her lips. She'd missed booze, she had to admit. She thought she wouldn't be having any for another six months, but as she well knew, life was full of surprises.

Slowly, she approached the coffin, looking down at the man beneath. Death had made his sun-tanned complexion nothing short of alabaster. His blond hair was neatly combed by someone, she didn't know who. He was wearing his armor, pale blue plate mail that had been worn by the right hand man of a sinister god, ironically enough. His shield, silver and emblazoned with a wolf, rested at his left side, while his flail, and all five heads of it, decorated his right. By the handsome look of him, no one would ever guess that he'd had intestines pulled out through his mouth, all for the amusement of the crowd.

"Gabriel better slip in the good word fer ol' Kelemvor fer me." A familiar, husky voice, rasped out. "Got meself into a fit o' trouble tryin' ter get 'im out o' Luskan."

She almost smiled at that, but soon scowled, seeing several grimy fingers smooth over her cup. "Best ter keep that all inna kitchen, lass. Don' wan' ter spill on 'is pretty armor, eh?"

The woman nodded, and handed the mug to him. "I haven't seen you around, Tiger."

"Oh, I've been focusin' on me eyes." The pirate informed her, pointing to the right one, which was dark as a lump of coal, and the left, which was the same bright orange as a tangerine. "Been getting' a bit o' trouble from the lefty."

"Oh? What have you seen lately?"

"I see a pretty lass sidlin' up ter me. She's got 'ungry eyes. Green as leaves, they are. She's tellin' me about how she misses 'er 'usband, me best friend, yeh know. Says I'm the closest thing ter 'im she could get at the moment. She's leanin' toward me, lips all ripe 'n puckered. After that, I suppose yeh can guess."

Her frown etched deep lines into her face. "I'd smack you if I thought it'd do any good."

"It won'. Just tryin' ter put a smile on yer face, lass. Ye could use it." The pirate smiled warmly, as if trying to coax the same response out of her. "But I suppose yeh aren' in the mood?"

"You suppose right." She commented, reaching into the coffin and drawing a finger over his pale cheek. She'd positively itched for the first few weeks she'd traveled with him. He was just so…so pale. So golden. So holy. She'd randomly rap her fingers over his nose every so often, just to put a little color in them.

"I miss 'im too, lass." Tiger said quietly.

"So does every damn person in this place." She remarked, her irritation beginning to seep into her voice.

"Aye, I've no doubt o' that. Everyone's runnin' around, havin' fits o'er Gabriel's death, and his livin' widow, tryin' ter figure out just what ter tell 'er."

"That about sums it up, yes."

"Care ter 'ere what I 'ave ter say?"

"Go for it." The laugh she let out was devoid of any mirth. "Can't be any different than what I've already heard."

"O', yeh'd be wrong then, lass." The pirate smiled down at his departed friend. "Yeh see, growin' up in Luskan, I've never been much o' a fan o' those 'osttower mages. And seein' what they've done to me friend, 'ere, and to you, in his stead, I've decided that some new leadership is needed in me town. Care to 'elp me out in me endeavor?"

She arched a snowy eyebrow, intrigued. "And what would my role entail exactly?"

"Well, Eva cannae cull the mages all by 'er onesome. Need me someone who's good with a knife and such. Think yeh could 'elp me out?"

For the first time that day, she smiled. She not only smiled, but stood up right on her toes, and kissed the pirate right on the cheek. "When do we set sail?"

"Soon as yer 'usband's pushin' daisies up out o' the ground. Cannae waste time, savvy?"

He kissed the top of her head in a brotherly gesture, then clapped her on the shoulder, heading for the stairs. "Get yer stuff ready, aye?"

"Aye." She repeated in a husky imitation of his voice, before offering the man in the coffin a soft smile, and leaning down to press her lips to his brow, his skin snow-cold against her own.

"Darling, I have to tell you, you've definitely looked better than you do now." She lamented with a sorry chuckle, brushing back stray strands of blond.

Suddenly, she became quite aware of another prescence in the cellar. She knew immediately what, or who, more accurately, it was.

The knives she kept against her calves felt wonderfully cold, steely, and sharp against her, and she couldn't resist reaching down to cradle them in her fingers, and point them straight at the shadows.

Her smile was filled with so much malice, so much poison, it could have sent someone into toxic shock by the mere sight alone.

"Come on out, Ivy." She called to the shadows. "It would make my day."

Description
One last stroke of the brush, and her hair was in place. She couldn't help a sigh at the sight, every last tress perfectly combed and parted, pulled back into a neat ponytail, while a few stray locks threatened to swoop over her left eye. Her green eyes, and those same stray hairs, were the sole things that passed for color on her form. The rest of her hair was the same white one would expect to see spread over the ground in winter, while her dress and shoes were pitch black, appropiate for the occasion.

She wrinkled her nose as she stepped outside of her room, the heavy aroma of spices spreading through the air. Why did people always bring food to these things? Even she, who had the appetite of a pregnant wildebeast on an average day, couldn't possibly consume all of it.

She recognized the smells as well. A fresh boar brought in from the hunt, from Valygar. Some overpriced pastries Nalia had no doubt procured, but only from a local bakery, no place that served through multiple locations, for a corporate taskmaster. Ale from Korgan, because as he put it, "Agh! Warriors shouldn' be mourned by the tears o' girls and women! They ought ter be mourned with a mug o' ale and a sword in their enemy's guts!"

Yes, they were gathered here. Most of them, anyway. Some couldn't make it, afterall. But those that could were more than happy to give their regards.

"Gods, Lyme…I…I can't really believe this." Imoen had whispered the first time she'd heard the news. "I mean…I never thought he'd…gods, I…"

She'd trailed off after that, but plenty more people had things to say.

"Mourn as you must, but continue on with your life." Jaheira had lectured.

She saw the druid now, not speaking to anyone, but quietly sitting, idly drumming her fingers against the quarterstaff she held in her right hand, her mouth clenched tight in a scowl. She almost pitied the next person that said something insensitive within range of her elven ears.

"Go to the beach, get drunk, and stay there. For at least a week." Her sister, Jhael, had given her this advice.

Jhael was there, of course, dressed in some dark gown that was probably all the rage in Waterdeep, chatting away with one of their other sisters about fashion and other airheaded subjects, no doubt.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry." Her sister Shar, had said so. Or maybe it was her friend, Eva. She couldn't remember which.

Shar was cooking, of course. Scrumptious things that would have pleased even the pickiest of eaters, she knew. But for some reason, everything tasted bland and dry as notebook paper to her. Eva would be chatting with some of the guests, cracking jokes, and keeping merry despite the situation.

"He was a great warrior. His passing will be mourned." Sarevok had said that alone. He, who had tried so hard to murder him, actually mourned his passing. The irony was great.

Naturally, he was standing in the corner, thick and tall as an oak tree as he nursed a glass of water, his gold eyes expressionless. He was always grave and cool, it seemed. No matter what the situation. She recalled the first time she had a moment alone with him. They were in the kitchen of some house in Amkethran, or Saradush—no, there was sand. It was Amkethran. She'd been attempting to reach a jar of mustard, when he'd walked in. Thinking quickly, she'd bid the warrior to hold still, then planted a boot on his hip, and climbed up onto his shoulders, easily grabbing the jar, then jumping down to the dirt floor. Seeing him quirk an eyebrow, she'd smiled, and informed him that she was making a sandwich, then offering to make him one as well. He'd merely rolled his eyes, and moved to another room. She in turn had commented on how he wasn't going to be nearly as fun or cuddly as Minsc.

She almost smiled at that, but couldn't seem to find the energy, instead moving into another room. It was a pretty house, she knew. She and he had picked it out together. Cozy, warm, hardwood floors rather than carpet, because she couldn't be counted on to clean up any messes she left, and situated not too far north of Port Llast. They might scowl at the sight of a drow, and smile at the paladin on her arm, but nothing much but idle gossip would emerge from the situation. There was no threat of unwanted fame, or danger. A perfect place to live, to raise a family.

They would expect visitors as well. And they had them. The paladin, Keldorn, for instant, was rather frequent, despite his great increase in years. He was an impressive human, after all. Nearing eighty, and still more than able to make the trip up north. She was not fond of the man, nor was she of Sariel, or the Angel of Death, or whatever the hell she called herself. Angelica? Was that her real name? No matter, she didn't care enough to figure it out. Still, despite her detestment of the paladin, and her quiet dislike of the avariel, she supposed she owed certain parts of her relationship to them. If Sariel hadn't captured her in Athkatla, she never would have met him. And if Keldorn weren't so keen on warning him away from her, he wouldn't have wanted to be close to her nearly as much.

Still, in this circumstance, they were quick to offer their words.

"I…I am sorry, Lymeeari. It is a great loss, to all of us." Keldorn had remarked in a quiet tone.

"If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask." Sariel had offered.

Some had not only offered condolensces, but sanctuary as well.

"Come back to Suldanesslar." Ellesime had implored. "All of the city shall mourn with you."

"You will be welcome in any inn in Baldur's Gate." Duke Eltan had assured her.

"You should be with us, your family. Come back to Sigil with me and Aiden." Ili had urged.

Yes, Ili. She'd always had the sneaking suspicion that her sister was a complete idiot. There, sitting at a table, looking so very solemn and serious, as if she had some great wisdom to dole out simply because she had been in a similar situation. As if she cared what her older sister had to say. There was more to life than loss. Even if she felt trapped in this moment, on this day, she knew it would pass. Ili was perpetually trapped in her own tragedies. Idiot.

Gods, why was she even out here? These things were so damn pointless. He was dead. She knew it, they knew it, why did they all need to be here? She hated large groups of people. Crowds. They made her nervous, tongue-tied, suffocated. They made her wish she could retreat into the very ground itself and hide until everyone passed by.

She wanted her house back. She wanted to curl up in their—her…her bed, and just sleep. Just sleep and sleep until she couldn't remember how she used to wake up next to him. How he'd place a kiss on her forehead, then her brow, then on the smile that had formed on her lips. And lately…on her stomach. One for her too, he'd said.

Shaking her head, she moved silently through the crowd, her presence miraculously hidden from attention. She heard bits and pieces of their conversation. Honest man. Good man. Shame he was going in the ground today.

Yes, good man. Honest man. Never cheated, lied, stole, or openly admitted that he would kill people simply for money and status, as she had. Never stained his blades with innocent blood, or persecuted people for their heritage. Good man. Virtuous man.

Her hand passed over a cold mug of ale as she headed for the wine cellar, the door opening with a considerable creak, and the old wooden stairs squeaking their protests every time her heels pressed down on the boards. The cup was deliciously cool against her lips. She'd missed booze, she had to admit. She thought she wouldn't be having any for another six months, but as she well knew, life was full of surprises.

Slowly, she approached the coffin, looking down at the man beneath. Death had made his sun-tanned complexion nothing short of alabaster. His blond hair was neatly combed by someone, she didn't know who. He was wearing his armor, pale blue plate mail that had been worn by the right hand man of a sinister god, ironically enough. His shield, silver and emblazoned with a wolf, rested at his left side, while his flail, and all five heads of it, decorated his right. By the handsome look of him, no one would ever guess that he'd had intestines pulled out through his mouth, all for the amusement of the crowd.

"Gabriel better slip in the good word fer ol' Kelemvor fer me." A familiar, husky voice, rasped out. "Got meself into a fit o' trouble tryin' ter get 'im out o' Luskan."

She almost smiled at that, but soon scowled, seeing several grimy fingers smooth over her cup. "Best ter keep that all inna kitchen, lass. Don' wan' ter spill on 'is pretty armor, eh?"

The woman nodded, and handed the mug to him. "I haven't seen you around, Tiger."

"Oh, I've been focusin' on me eyes." The pirate informed her, pointing to the right one, which was dark as a lump of coal, and the left, which was the same bright orange as a tangerine. "Been getting' a bit o' trouble from the lefty."

"Oh? What have you seen lately?"

"I see a pretty lass sidlin' up ter me. She's got 'ungry eyes. Green as leaves, they are. She's tellin' me about how she misses 'er 'usband, me best friend, yeh know. Says I'm the closest thing ter 'im she could get at the moment. She's leanin' toward me, lips all ripe 'n puckered. After that, I suppose yeh can guess."

Her frown etched deep lines into her face. "I'd smack you if I thought it'd do any good."

"It won'. Just tryin' ter put a smile on yer face, lass. Ye could use it." The pirate smiled warmly, as if trying to coax the same response out of her. "But I suppose yeh aren' in the mood?"

"You suppose right." She commented, reaching into the coffin and drawing a finger over his pale cheek. She'd positively itched for the first few weeks she'd traveled with him. He was just so…so pale. So golden. So holy. She'd randomly rap her fingers over his nose every so often, just to put a little color in them.

"I miss 'im too, lass." Tiger said quietly.

"So does every damn person in this place." She remarked, her irritation beginning to seep into her voice.

"Aye, I've no doubt o' that. Everyone's runnin' around, havin' fits o'er Gabriel's death, and his livin' widow, tryin' ter figure out just what ter tell 'er."

"That about sums it up, yes."

"Care ter 'ere what I 'ave ter say?"

"Go for it." The laugh she let out was devoid of any mirth. "Can't be any different than what I've already heard."

"O', yeh'd be wrong then, lass." The pirate smiled down at his departed friend. "Yeh see, growin' up in Luskan, I've never been much o' a fan o' those 'osttower mages. And seein' what they've done to me friend, 'ere, and to you, in his stead, I've decided that some new leadership is needed in me town. Care to 'elp me out in me endeavor?"

She arched a snowy eyebrow, intrigued. "And what would my role entail exactly?"

"Well, Eva cannae cull the mages all by 'er onesome. Need me someone who's good with a knife and such. Think yeh could 'elp me out?"

For the first time that day, she smiled. She not only smiled, but stood up right on her toes, and kissed the pirate right on the cheek. "When do we set sail?"

"Soon as yer 'usband's pushin' daisies up out o' the ground. Cannae waste time, savvy?"

He kissed the top of her head in a brotherly gesture, then clapped her on the shoulder, heading for the stairs. "Get yer stuff ready, aye?"

"Aye." She repeated in a husky imitation of his voice, before offering the man in the coffin a soft smile, and leaning down to press her lips to his brow, his skin snow-cold against her own.

"Darling, I have to tell you, you've definitely looked better than you do now." She lamented with a sorry chuckle, brushing back stray strands of blond.

Suddenly, she became quite aware of another prescence in the cellar. She knew immediately what, or who, more accurately, it was.

The knives she kept against her calves felt wonderfully cold, steely, and sharp against her, and she couldn't resist reaching down to cradle them in her fingers, and point them straight at the shadows.

Her smile was filled with so much malice, so much poison, it could have sent someone into toxic shock by the mere sight alone.

"Come on out, Ivy." She called to the shadows. "It would make my day."