Posted on: Monday, 02 February 2009
It had been a long day, and it showed no signs of ending any time soon. The test of retribution within the Pocket Plane had been spiritually and emotionally draining; they'd banked on a simple arrival in Saradush and instead found themselves thrown into conflict within seconds upon materializing on the fortress steps. Gromnir's guards had proven tougher than anyone expected and the encounter had left the group battered, bloody, and exhausted. Worse yet, it had coaxed Arkadi's murderous taint to the surface and left the Priest of Talos in a black mood that rivaled that of the god he worshipped. The Bhaalspawn strode ahead of the party with a glower frozen into his features. Korgan and his battleaxe braced him to the left; Sarevok's muscular form to his right. The crowds of people parted before them with careful whispers and fearful looks.
A hushed giggle deepened Arkadi's frown. He turned and saw the females of the party fighting to quell their grins as they shared conspiratorial looks.
"By Talos' beard, can you not shut up?" he growled.
The three mages all narrowed their eyes slightly and obediently fell silent once again, but the exasperated roll of Imoen's eyes expressed more than words could say. Another catapult ballast slammed into the walls of the city, sending a cloud of pulverized stone and screams of agony spiraling into the air. A plume of thick black smoke marked the point of impact.
"If I'd known Arkadi was going to be this much of an ill-mannered grouch, I'd have just married Isaea," Nalia muttered under her breath. "I'd get the same treatment."
Aerie smiled but managed not to giggle this time. "Nalia, Isaea Roenall was a complete bastard. I believe those were your exact words."
"He is, but I'd say the same of Arkadi. He gets more and more unpleasant every day."
"He use to be a lot nicer," Imoen interjected somewhat defensively. "It's just that the taint–"
A strangled yelp yanked the trio's attention back to the front of the group. A wiry teenage boy, barely of age to have scruff on his chin, dangled a full foot above the ground with Sarevok's hand clasped around his neck. His hands scrambled to loosen the hold and his feet kicked ineffectually at empty air. The boy's too-thin form spoke of long, hungry nights and his dirt-smudged face was livid with fear.
"Sorry! Don't–" he gasped as he fought to breathe "–don't–"
"Put him down, Sarevok," Arkadi ordered sharply.
The massive warrior simply opened his hand and dropped the boy onto the filthy Saradush street, still frowning. "He's a thief."
"Strangling is not the appropriate punishment for someone snitching your pouch, Sarevok." Arkadi reached out and snatched the boy's hand before he could make a run for it. "Korgan? Please demonstrate."
