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A Fortuitous Day to be Abducted
It was barely after dawn when Rhea woke. She opened a bleary eye and groaned as she glared at her open window. Her stomach grumbled at the smell of fresh bread, which floated through the air. As the sorcerer yawned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, her ears adjusted to the sounds of the streets below her. Baldur’s Gate was already alive with noise. The hawkers were out flogging their wares, shouting most unhelpfully for the still sleepy tiefling. Their presence on the streets was her signal to get up. The shop wouldn’t open itself and there was still plenty to do before the day started.
Rhea yawned and stretched again, rising from her bed and raising an eyebrow at an emboldened mouse that was scurrying in the corner of her bedroom. It froze as it caught her watching, before darting into a hole in the wall. An issue for another day. Today she had too much to do, and she was excited to see it done.
The tiefling crossed the small floor space, passing the cracked mirror as she stretched for a third time. As she noticed her reflection, Rhea let out a short breath, arms above her head. There were a few new grey hairs peeling their way through the dark crimson, and the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth looked no deeper than yesterday. The summer sun had brought out her freckles, indigo against lilac skin, and the longer she looked at them the more she thought of how her mother had adored them when she’d been a child.
Her hand dropped to her stomach as her top exposed the skin there. A finger slowly traced the ragged line across the base of her belly; a crude smile carved in her flesh. Rhea’s smile fell into a thin line as she sniffed and waved off the feeling of past ghosts watching her. She turned from the mirror, grabbing a cloth and brass basin – which she filled with water with a flick of her wrist. After a rudimentary wash, she dressed, pulling on forest-coloured robes that would complement the air of professionalism she was going for . By the time she had sorted her hair into a low bun, the noises from outside had grown in volume.
With a final check in the mirror, she grabbed her staff and coin purse and set off down the stairs. Before stepping out into the world, Rhea tried flashing a smile at her landlady. The older human woman eyed her sceptically, so the smile dropped. It had been hard enough getting her to agree to letting her the room...she didn’t need to give the woman an excuse to throw her out on account of her “devilish” nature. What she really needed was a little good luck that would make the landlady less standoffish.
Deciding not to grab an apple – which should have been included in her room-and-board fee – Rhea left her lodging house. The city was bright and chaotic despite the early hour, and Rhea soon slipped seamlessly into the crowds. The thrum of it all reminded her of Elturel. If she ignored the wary looks and occasional slurs, it was almost as if she were back in the city, she’d once called home. She could hardly believe it had been over a year since she’d left her life there behind to start again...nor could she believe the fate that had befallen Elturel shortly after she’d gone.
The sorcerer decided to follow her nose towards the smell of baked goods, eventually ending up at the doorstep of a small bakery. She was relieved when she saw that the owner was another tiefling, and quickly entered with a smile. Every day it seemed that more of her people were making their way into the Lower City, however, if she chose to believe the local gossip then some Upper City Lordling was hoping to put a stop to that with a metal army.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. The other tiefling turned and smiled at her.
“And to you also, sister,” the baker replied.
The shop was quiet, so Rhea felt brave enough to engage in further conversation . “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the baker said, squinting out the window. She was an older tiefling woman, grey-haired with wizened eyes. “My knees are aching. Must be a storm brewing.”
Rhea didn’t have the heart to admit that she knew better than most about storms.
“I don’t think the weather will break for some time yet,” she tried. She was met by a wide grin which seem to take years off the woman for an instant.
“Maybe not, but a storm is coming, nonetheless. But they’re not always bad now, are they?”
Rhea wanted to reply, but from her experience – magic aside – storms were usually devastating this close to the sea. Instead, she nodded and asked for a collection of sweet and savoury buns to tide her over the day’s work ahead. As she paid, the older woman took her hand and held it for a moment.
“Remember to take the hand that is offered to you.”
The sorcerer blinked wordlessly, unsure how to react to such a cryptic response. So, she just grabbed her newly acquired baked goods and turned to go.
“Trust in yourself, Rhea. Do not fear the storm.”
Rhea frowned, wondering when she told the baker her name. But the other tiefling was now smiling mysteriously and waving her away, clearly finished with her attempts of imbibing wisdom onto unsuspecting patrons. Tucking her parcel of deliciousness under her arm, Rhea shook off the strange encounter and started walking in the direction of her shop. She found herself fiddling with the pendant around her neck, the symbol dedicated to Tymora glinting every so often. Soon, she was standing in front of her small shopfront, pulling the key from the pouch on her belt to open the door.
The shop was always a comfort to step into. Though not as flashy as some of the other tailors in the Lower City, it was entirely hers – the crippling debt it had inflicted on her was proof enough of that. And it was the only tailor she knew of that catered specifically to enchanted clothes for the magically minded.
Rhea closed the door behind her and went to the counter to double-check her diary. As she remembered, there were several orders to be fulfilled, plus the larger project she had been working on for some bigwig at Sorcerous Sundries - something needing a lot of magical protection against – as the poor messenger boy had informed her - “bad things”. The sorcerer had been working on the garb for the last month, and the love and passion she had channelled into it had been very cathartic.
Her eye drew to the pile of letters she had been ignoring over the week. She recognised the scrawl of her father’s hand, plus her ex-husband's poor penmanship...Rhea wondered how Dammon was getting on after...well, everything.
She bit her lip, looking at his letter and wondering whether she should open it. Since she’d left Elturel, they’d barely corresponded, but everything had ended between them much earlier than that. Not that there was anything real between them. It had been a marriage of convenience after all. After Bronwyn...
Rhea tossed the letter back on the pile, ignoring it for another day. She carefully deposited her breakfast as she grabbed her apron and donned it, mussing up her hair a little. The tiefling then went about watering her plants and creating the perfect gust of wind to keep the shop cool as the day continued to get warmer. She sighed contentedly as the breeze rippled around the space, her magic caressing and comforting her. The sorcerer bit into a jam-filled tart, smiling as citrus and sweet mingled in her mouth. She licked a little jam from her thumb and checked the diary for a final time.
“Right,” she said to no one in particular, “Time to open.”
...
Gale was bored, but what else was new?
He sighed and grumbled to nobody, for his tower was empty save all but himself. Normally, the quiet wouldn’t have upset him so , but today he felt its presence weigh on him. Reminding him that this solitude he had self-inflicted was deserved. On any other day, he would have pressed upon Tara’s goodwill and asked her for stories of what was going on in the world beyond his tower.
How were Waterdeep’s markets looking, now that the summer flowers had finally bloomed?
What was his mother up to? Did she miss him?
Was Elminster working on anything grand? Had his cheese project finally matured enough to warrant a grand tasting?
Did Elminster mention Mystra? Did the goddess ever ask of him?
Did she miss him?
Did she still love him as she promised she always would?
Unfortunately, today was one of those days where Tara was absent. The tressym was abroad in search of another magical item for Gale’s condition. Guilt gnawed at the wizard as he thought of all the dire situations his most beloved friend might be facing . He already pictured a hundred ways in which Tara might get hurt, which only served as fuel to the orb that was pulsing in the cavern of his chest. What he really needed was a little good luck...and for Tara to be safe at home with him.
Gale hadn’t noticed that he’d started pacing the confines of the tower’s upper floor, his inner sanctum, so distracted was he by his imaginings. He jumped when the door below him knocked loudly, startling a small firebolt from his hand which ricocheted off a protected bookshelf and out a window.
“Shit.” He made for the window to see where the offending spell had landed, but the door sounded again. Not one for poor manners, he reluctantly turned away and descended to the front door.
The wizard hesitated at the handle. He had neither seen nor spoken to any of his friends or colleagues in a year or more, so he could not imagine who was waiting behind the wood. He also worried for their safety, and the word they would carry with them that Gale of Waterdeep – wizard prodigy and Mystra’s former favourite – was nearly a wreck of a man who hid in his tower waiting for death.
Another knock.
Shaking his concerns for the sake of polite decorum, Gale quickly tossed the blanket from his shoulders aside and pulled the door open with a flourish. Sunshine, fresh air, people – Gale wanted to reap it all, but he was drawn to the site before him.
An old woman...with a basket of bread. She smiled, holding up a sweet roll.
“Good morning, young man. Might I interest you in some of my wares? I’ve got sweet rolls, custard buns, treacle tarts...”
Gale was about to politely decline when his stomach rumbled loudly. When was the last time he’d eaten? Definitely not today. The woman chuckled, pressing a bun into his hands.
“Here, no charge.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” he started quickly, desperately patting himself down in the hopes of finding a few coins, but she waved him off with a wrinkled hand.
“Consider it a treat. You look like you could use one.”
“That is very shrewd of you, and most kind. I will admit, it has been some time since I indulged myself in something so nectareous.”
The woman patted his hand. “It will bolster you for the storm. My knees say it isn’t far away now.”
The wizard frowned, stepping out from his tower a little and squinting up at the sky. The sun winked back at him, piercing and hot in the vastness of the empty, blue sky. A few seabirds cried noisily and there was a pleasant breeze in the air.
“I think your knees might be mistaken today, my lady. Doesn’t look like there will be a storm today unless Talos suddenly has a disagreement with the rest of the cosmos.”
The woman muttered something under her breath, soundly vaguely akin to “wouldn’t be the first time”, before smiling widely at him again. “Perhaps,” she said, “but remember, Gale Dekarios, trust the hand that takes yours. And do not be afraid of the storm.”
With her cryptic message left at his feet, the old woman shuffled off and was soon lost from Gale’s view. He wanted to call after her, to try and divine some clue to her words but did not for fear of drawing attention to himself – something he had successfully been avoiding since Mystra had spurned him. The wizard slowly retreated into his tower, clutching the bun that had been forced on him in his hands. He bit into it as he climbed back the stairs, his mouth filling with tart jam filling that caused him to hum in approval.
It was only then that it occurred to Gale that he hadn’t told the woman his name.
...
The goddess grinned to herself as she shed her disguise and bit into one of the delectable goods she had summoned into existence. Creamy and sweet. She hummed happily as she devoured the treat, sitting atop the roof of the wizard’s tower and swinging her legs childishly in the direction of the sea.
Her champions had been chosen, albeit unknowingly on their part. The vampire spawn had been particularly tricksy to locate, as had the barbarian who ploughed her way through the Hells. They were a random assortment, but then again Ao always loved an eclectic group.
“And what a merry bunch they shall make,” she said to herself , giggling as she squeezed the custard from the bun directly onto her tongue.
She saw the wizard sneak from his tower, Stardock his destination.
She saw the sorcerer locking up her shop and heading homeward, stalked by both vampire and cultists alike. Who would prey on her first, she wondered.
She saw the Sharran infiltrating the githyanki creche, the young fighter patrolling the halls without seeing her.
She saw the cast-out Duke-ling racing through the fires of Avernus on the heels of the steel-hearted one.
Yes, the pieces were coming together now. All that needed to happen now was the implantation. The nautiloid rumbled as it crossed the unseen planes of existence.