Untitled Work: Six Mages (BG2)

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|Preface: Char Stats and Bio|
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NAME : _Necre_____ STR: 07 INT: 16
RACE : _Elf_______ DEX: 08 WIS: 06
CLASS: _Wild_Mage_ CON: 07 CHA: 08
ALIGNMENT: ___________
BIOGRAPHY: I know no more about Necre than he knows about himself. So, this is what we do know.

Irenicus' experiments on the Bhaalspawn resembled more torture than inquiry. All Joneleth knew for certain was his tests weren't fatal. He could not allow that; he hadn't the time to capture another. And yet his work on this one progressed far too slowly! He set himself fully to testing the Bhaalspawn, never giving it time to recover. If it was wounded, it was healed. If it lost consciousness, magic awakened it. If it refused to answer his questions, Joneleth showed it no mercy. He magically forced himself into its mind and removed any information he found useful. He relented only when the alarms within his complex required him to center his attentions elsewhere.

Irenicus' mental assault left the Bhaalspawn's mind shattered. Knowledge, memories, and self were set adrift, disconnected from each other. What once was Necre was no more, neither in mind... nor in body. Joneleth's physical experiments ran the gamut from basic thumbscrews to various acids. Necre, once a healthy young elf, might now be mistaken for a ghoul if the light is favorable. It is in this condition that we join him.


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~From the Scribblings of Necre~
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**Day ?

OHHAAGG!! ALIVE! Living! Not dead! Still not dead! Arrryl... tweroog?

DAUMNO! NO! FLESH my FLESH... wrong. WRONG! TwisTED! Green... sickly. Infected is? 'Renicus infected I? DISEASED! Ugly thing! Foul thing I! HURTing PAINing... flesh ache. tired I...

**Day ??

Moen set free I. Caged was. All was. Freed.

**Day ???

esssscape!

LIIIIGHT!!! BRIGHT! Burn I! Burning burning I! Burning eye!

Moen gone! Saw not! Hear... spzzit! spzzit! spzzit! spzzit! spzzit! Battle! Battle?! Moen battle gone? Moen...

Lone I.


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~From the Scribblings of Necre~
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Sad. Wander I. Moen gone. Met man.

Says Man, "Coo! 15000 gold! See Moen!"
"Do not HAVE," says I.
Says Man, "Follow boy."

Boy leads I... city. Large city. lost boy. Met Gnome. Gnome talked to I. Gnome TALKS. Agghhyyl...

Says Gnome, "Will help I." Help Moen!
Says Kelsey, "Help Moen!"

KelSEY? Kelsey. Saw I. Saw Moen. Told I, "Moen taken." TAKEN! Moen!

Gnome, Kelsey help I.


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From the Diary of Jan Jansen
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My my! My mother told me there'd be days like this. I wake up in the morning bright-eyed and bushy-bearded, ready to sell my illicit (though I prefer "misunderstood") tinkerings, but wouldn't you know it? By afternoon I'm off on an adventure - with a most unusual fellow.

Earlier today, just after my breakfast turnip, a rather gangly creature -- "creature" being what he calls himself -- stumbled next to my Jansen Adventurewear stand in Athkatla's Government District. I thought he was lost, and right I was, but he was far more lost than I realized. He's one bulb short of a turnip, if you catch my meaning. Anyway, I figure, "No time to miss a sale like the present" and not being one to miss a sale, I made my pitch.

Just my luck, that weed-in-a-turnip-patch /Trax/ shows up, guard in tow, ready to throw me in the slammer for peddling my completely harmless (and brilliantly innovative) adventurewear. "Too big for small minds to fathom," that's my motto -- and that's not saying much given Jansen Adventurewear comes only in "One size fits Gnome." Was I worried? Not this time. I felt I was in pretty good hands. The zombie standing in front of me had barely uttered a sound - aside from the intermittent "Agghryl" - the whole eighty minutes I'd been talking to him.

"Has this GNOME been peddling his illegal and illicit wares to you... citizen?" Ugh, that Trax. Talks down to everyone.

"Moen?" the zombie wondered back. (Haha! I had him now!)

"You WILL answer or you WILL be found mentally deficient and confined for the duration of your natural life. Now, was this GNOME selling something to you?"

"Sell to I? Not. Not sell to I..." the creature calmly muttered, holding long vowel sounds more than necessary.

And then Trax the detestable radish stomped up and down, shot me a nasty look, and went on his way, leaving me alone with the sickly-looking... whatever he is. Now, it doesn't take a genius to know bureaucrats strike twice in the same place. I guessed my business was officially on hiatus, so I figured I may as well ask the creature's story. I'm sure he wasn't born this way. Somebody must've lost him.

"Can't thank you enough for that, boss. So, what brings you to Athkatla?"

That became the most unfortunate question I ever asked.


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~From the Scribblings of Necre~
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Says Gnome, "Circus."
"Circus?" says I.
Says Kelsey, "Tent. Illusion."

Gnome into circus follows I.
Palace! Ogre. Spiders. Wolvens. Shades.

Says Ogre, "Help!"
"Moen?" says I.
Says Ogre, "Peasant. Illusion."

Fights illusion. Peasant orcs. Find sword. Ogre's.

SORCERY! Ogre fools I? Fooled Ogre? Ogre Elf.

Says Elf, "Help Quayle."
"Help Moen?" says I.
Says Elf, "Quayle first."

Help Quayle I. Then Moen.


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% From the Diary of Kelsey #
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Well, I don't know where to begin. Tuesday I was loitering around Waukeen's Promenade when all of a sudden the most GORGEOUS princess of eye-melting beauty appeared before my very eyes. Immmmoen. I didn't know her name at the time, of course, but I caught up with the fellow she was with later that day.

Strange man, really. I think there's something wrong with him. He seems oblivious to his surroundings and completely obsesses over Imoen. Heh heh, well, I guess obsessing over Imoen isn't that bizarre, but with him, I think it's more a
dependency. Maybe he's her retarded brother. But Down Syndrome or no, he's my ticket to Imoen! And that's far more exiting than, uh, minding the family business.

Our first task happened to be a rather heroic act, if I do say so myself. I recommended it, actually. buffs nails on vest We valiantly rescued a circus from a crazed Gnome with a Kobold-deity complex. You know, it's only a kobold, but the way it acts it may as well be AO himself? Yeah. Anyway, within the tent we found an elven woman, Aerie, who helped us save the day, and Aerie even remained with us after all the do-gooding was do-gooded (word?).

Frankly, I think it's good Aerie's with us. The Gnome following Imoen's friend isn't exactly someone whom I'd call a "good influence." But he isn't malicious either, so I guess that works out.

Tomorrow the Strange Man (I'll need to get his name one of these days) says we should go to the Docks District. He thinks someone there may have knowledge of Imoen's whereabouts. At least, that's what Jan (the Gnome) could understand from the creature's mumblings. But, all things considered, I can't fathom how anything at the Docks might help us. I saw Imoen carted off by Cowled Wizards, and I've never heard of leniency on their part.

But that only hardens my resolve to find and rescue Imoen from injustice! Tally-ho!

Yeah, yeah, only Paladins can say that without sounding stupid. I need a better battle cry.


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~ From the Diary of Aerie ~
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Oh, the circus has finally been saved! I'm almost marginally delighted! But my wings are still gone and I'm an UGLY THING!

cries
sniffle

And I've finally left Uncle Quayle. He was so good to me, but he won't pity me anymore! Now I need to find another man just like him. I did meet another Gnome, but he has more noxious turnip breath than any horse I've ever known. And he's certainly no comparison to Quayle.

But enough about him. It's "me" time again. Boo hoo. Pout pout. I want my wings back!! Oh, what it is to fly! Winged Elves are the most superiorest, majesticest creatures on earth! And I'm not anymore!

bawls
*wipes nose on sleeve, leaving obvious wet streak*

The Gnome, who is most certainly not and will never EVER be my once-precious Quayle, came accompanied by a human sorcerer-merchant. Sorcerer-Merchant?? What does he do, I wonder? "Conjure" useless trinkets to peddle rather than making them with his own two hands? Well, I haven't had the gall to ask him yet, not that I've had a chance. The Gnome never shuts up, and he talks right over being interrupted. I think somebody cursed him with a geas. Nobody talks that much on purpose.

...wings? Where are my wings? I miss my beautiful feathery wigs... Er, wings... Oh how silly I'd seem if I ever told them the real reason I'm upset is the lack of quality wigs down here. Wings shed all over the place. But I don't have any!

sobs
drools slightly

The last person in the Gnome's company was a... creature. He talks funny. I think he is, or used to be, an elf. He seems "mentally disadvantaged." He needs all the friends he can get.

*shrill gasp!*

By whatever "nobody" gods I worship, I think he's needier than even me! Legitimately needier! Well, we'll see who the neediest of us is! If he really is needier than me, he won't be able to comfort me when I complain to him! Haha! He won't even see it coming, and I'll be the pitied one again!


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; From the Diary of Edwin Odesserian ;
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Diary?! Journal, you simians! I am no weepy-eyed, puffy-faced child scribbling about wetting himself in front of his peers at Thay's Wizardry Academy!

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; From the JOURNAL of Edwin Odesserian ;
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Much better. (Self note: Maim printer.)

Unfortunately, it seems I have fallen into the company of that Bhaalspawn again. (Bah! I thought I was rid of him when I abandoned his party at Sarevok's temple! How was I supposed to know he would survive?)

No matter. I must honor our deal: one dead Dynaheir, one shudder YEAR of servitude. (Does he KNOW what he is interrupting!?) Why do I make such stupid deals? More importantly, why do my plans ALWAYS fail!?

Where to begin this disgusting narrative...

After deserting Necre's party shortly before he confronted Sarevok, I went straight to Amn carrying as much gold as I managed to squirrel away from those monkeys. Through a tragic turn of events, I was caught by a SINGLE red-arsed Kobold and, my spells having been cast for the day, I had no choice but to pelt him with coins until he fled. Everything seemed fine.

But you know as well as I do my life never works out "fine." The Kobold was somebody's child dressed in a costume. I was jailed and branded a criminal!

"Me?! What about the snot-nosed brigand?!" I railed at the mentally-unendowed jailkeeper. "I demand him imprisoned for attempted robbery!"

"Who, you mean my son?" the simian jailkeep said as -- so it appeared to me -- he scraped the last bits of his brain onto his fingernail via the digit exploring in his nasal cavity.

Fortunately my cellmate, a Shadow Thief from Athkatla, broke out that night. I followed him... into a cadre of his brethren.

"Mage," the footpads addressed me, "the constable confiscated your mound of gold when he brought you in. If you'd like a job, we've an opening for a mage in our operation."

(Work with these fools?) "I ended my partnership with hollow-skulled lemurs back in Baldur's Gate. I am fully capable of recovering my gold."

"We, ah, confiscated it from the fair constable." (Livid does not begin to describe my feelings on this matter!)

But I needed the money, or opportunity to reclaim it at the very least. And so I was in the employ of the Shadow Thieves for no less than a fortnight when who should cross the threshhold into my room? The biggest monkey of them all: The Bhaalspawn! I so hoped his presence was some extraordinarily unhappy hallucination.

Something was wrong about him. No, something was done to him. (Simian-reversal process, perhaps? Hmm...) His eyes glazed with more vacancy than normal. He appeared a deathly creature, and the whole lot of them smelled like elephants. The elven carnie was by far the most pungent.

"Moen? Find Moen? Trryyl..." Necre gargled.

He referred to his "sister," a wily brat from Candlekeep. Soft-hearted fool never had the heart to tell her to scram. Now something has happened to her and he requests my help?

"MOEN! Find! One year!"

It remembers?! Bah, well, longer story short: I convinced the monkeys to do some dangerous tasks for me -- which they bafflingly survived -- before... ugh... "honoring" my bargain.

I hate my life.


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% From the Diary of Kelsey #
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Well, it's another day, another murder in this ragtag group I've invovled myself with. I know the last quest we did was honorable, but we've fallen in with the ... shadow thieves! And Imoen is still out of reach! I'd cross flaming coals for her, but cold-blooded murder? I'm... I feel terrible. Aerie cried that night at the inn. Oh, I need to backtrack.

After saving the circus our group went to the Docks District. Now, I know that's a bad idea from the start. But, according to Jan, the Shadow Thieves know where Imoen is -- and only they can get us there. From experience (which I explicitly told him never to tell me about), Jan says they often offer other jobs to those who catch their interest -- paying jobs. And, I'm sorry to say, we were hired.

Sure, it seemed innocuous enough. Gather information on a traitor within the guild. I know a bit about market structure, but I don't know if a monopoly in the thieving trade is worse than competition. At any rate, the pay was good... (by Waukeen, I wish to never utter those words again.) ...and we were siphoned off as transfers to the suspect's guild. A few menial tasks later we'd "proven" ourselves and were assigned to the second-in-command: a red wizard of Thay.

The wizard, Edwin, threatened to kill us if we didn't -*gulp*- murder a Cowled Wizard who was keeping tabs on him. And we did it, darnit! It was MY fireball that incinerated him. I-I saw him, his robes catching fire, his face twisted in an anguished scream. I can still smell the stench of his burning flesh! It won't go away! I killed an innocent man! ME! I DID IT! What the hells is the matter with me? I'm willing to murder another being for... for what!?

It didn't bother Jan. The creature, Necre, doesn't seem capable of making moral distinctions. Aerie... it hurt her. I tried talking to her, but I have a horrible feeling when she looks at me. She helped too, but, DARN IT, it's like she sees me as the murderer. I've killed before... but never like this. It... I... I need to stop. This is overwhelming me.

sigh Where was I? Um, right. After another task (which Jan alone performed), Edwin revealed he knew our intentions. He knew we were gathering evidence. Worse, he was under contract to Necre already! He's joined us. A Red Wizard of THAY is in my adventuring party! This is BAD. This is wrong!

"Edwin," I approached him, "I don't think we need the likes of you in our party. We can rescue Imoen without you. I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"Of course I do, fool! I am not in this for my health! Necre will not release me from my contract! Leave me be unless you have something less unintelligent to say."

I'm beginning to hate this. But I can't leave Imoen in the hands of... these people. By Waukeen, all this is over a girl I don't even know!? So be it. I will not waver. I'll keep the Thayvian in line.


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~From the Scribblings of Necre~
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EDwin found. Accident. Fate?

Says Edwin, "(Not want help monkeys!)"
"Deal forGOT?" says I.
Says Edwin, "Fine! Fine!
"Moen taken. Help Moen," says I.
Says Edwin, "Kill Mae'Var. Then help Moen."

EAWHGHT! Mae'Var. May var? May not var. No Var. Deaded.

Moen? MOney. Moen money. Paid Bayle. Did not give MOEN to I!

"Dax viy houl ekin!" says I.
Says Aerie, "No! No no!"
"Moen?" says I.
Says Aerie, "Later."
Says Kelsey, "Moen?"
Says Edwin, "Monkeys!"
Says Jan, "Turnips?"
Says Bayle, "Don't have Moen! Gold rescue Moen. Boss help Moen."

MESSenger for Aerie. Airie? Air E. Airy? Airy Fairy? Wingses.

Says Messenger, "Quayle."
Says Aerie, "Help Quayle?"
"Argghyyl... Help Quayle first?"
Says Aerie, "Help Quayle first."

Moen...


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; From the Journal of Edwin Odesserian ;
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3 Mirthul 1369,
-Tedious monkey-work.
-Jan tells me he is collecting nose hair to replace his should it be singed off in battle.
-Kelsey's moping excessively. Seems to be in contest with Aerie. Bittery irony: Neither of them are as miserable as I! They do not have to put up with themselves!
-Necre continues uttering nonsense syllables. I find him more agreeable than the others.

4 Mirthul 1369,
-Tedious monkey-work.
-Kelsey being very curt with me. I will need to put him in his place later.

5 Mirthul 1369,
-Tedious monkey-work. (Why did I ever agree to aid this SUB-simian creature? The Dynaheir contract was not THAT lucrative!)

6 Mirthul 1369,
Morning: A slight change of pace. Today we have been summoned by a carnival Gnome. (Pfah, all clowns should be incinerated on sight. That is the way we do it in Thay.) Some troupe of actors is in "dire trouble" and the circus elf has convinced Necre to assist them before continuing with our relentlessly simian quest of rescuing the Imoen, Bratchild of Candlekeep.

Noon: Already we have solved the problem of the acting troupe. (Though, I must note, they still live -- we did not solve my problem with the acting troupe.) The rescue of their kidnapped bard, Haer'Dalis, proved but a simple matter. One the bards of the playhouse could have easily solved themselves! I shudder to think what banal task we may do next. Ah, well, time for rest.

Prime Time: Despite my protests, the party, bard in tow, returned to the stage and delivered the cretin as promised. Apparently, he lacks the mental acumen to find his own way home. So, we walked him home. (Do you see?! I told you we would so something utterly banal!) Meanwhile, I'm missing all of my favorite programming on my Crystal Ball. Adventuring is for foo-

WHAT ARE THOSE DEGENERATE TIEFLINGS DOING?! AN INTERDIMENSIONAL PORTAL!? No! No! No! No! No! We shall not go into it! The bards have already been abducted by the swirling vortex, and I do not plan on spending eternity in-

(Kelsey grabs Edwin's arm and drags him into the portal to the Planar Prison.)


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% From the Diary of Kelsey #
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Boy, what a day! I haven't had such a - I hate to say "thrilling" - adventure since the day I accidentally polymorphed myself into my mother and had to fight off my drunken father's not-so-subtle advances. Euugh... that was a low point I'd rather not revisit. Sometimes it just stinks being a Sorcerer, like today for instance.

I was busy monitoring Edwin, who I found was attacking an Ettercap. (Just you keep behaving, you Fuscia Magician...) Then, all of a sudden, Aerie died!

"The Creature"/our esteemed leader, Necre, had somehow managed to transform himself into a wolf. Necre tore into the Ettercap, hamstringing it as if by instinct. As the monster fell, the wolfen Necre lept, sunk his fangs into the Ettercap's throat, and slammed the beast hard to the floor. A quick motion of Necre's head removed the Ettercap's esophagus.

Necre left his kill and loped over to Aerie. He tenderly licked her face, trying to coax her back to life. It was then I knew I had to test my limits... I couldn't let her die, not when she was the moral anchor of our entire party!

I waved my fists in the air, muttered gobbledegook, wiggled my fingers, and shouted at the sky- err- strange ether of the Planar Prison; but my attempts to channel a resurrection spell appeared meaningless until... she woke up! I couldn't believe my eyes! I'd resurrected somebody!?

Aerie rose and studied us. I beamed with delight. She then pushed the pooch aside and ran over to Jan, who was holding a rod of resurrection.

sigh I guess... I guess Sorcerers aren't made for divine works. (written in the margin: Maybe magic is for preventing wrongs, not fixing them?) But Jan's quick-thinking (and, uh, decidedly sticky fingers -- I know we didn't buy that rod) saved the life of our comrade. I have so much respect for commerce, but Jan's dabbling outside "the box" has saved a life. Is that worth the harm to the cheated party? Is that...

(Edwin looks over Kelsey's shoulder.)

"What is that inane prattle? Is our young blood-mage a philosopher? (Well, you know what they say about monkeys and Shakespeare.) Quit writing and answer me!"

"One day, Edwin, I'll kill you." I mutter.

"That will never happen, but pray tell: why?"

"The Cowled Wizard you sent us after: I did it. I killed him!"

"You get no more congratulations now than you did then. Your method was ham-fisted and brutish. Sorcerers lack the style of learned mages."

"I DIDN'T LIKE IT!"

Edwin smirked at me and turned around, "You will see the practicality of it before this adventure is done, merchant. (Yes, there will be ample opportunity to turn that rage into an apprentice.)"

"Hating you and turning evil aren't the same thing!"

"Wha-?! Bah! I must stop muttering until I'm out of earshot." (walks further) "(*mutter mutter muter*)"

Gah! I hate him! But... where was I? Oh, Aerie. Necre reverted to his ghoulish self just as Aerie planted a flurry of kisses on Jan's bald head. Jan, uncharacteristically humble, shielded himself with his arms. As Necre watched, he seemed almost sad.


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From the Diary of Jan Jansen
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My nosehair collection grows by leaps and bounds! I've been able to scavenge plenty from humanoid creatures we've battled. At this rate I'll have enough nosehair to last me until my old age! I hope the others are as enthusiastic about this as I am.

Today the group -- Aerie, Necre, Kelsey, Edwin and myself -- are within an extradimensional prison of some sort. It's not too different from the place they kept Uncle Scratchy during his lawless years. In fact, this may be the very same place. I'll have to look around for any momentos. But that's not the most important matter of the day!

Necre talked! Real talk, mind you, not his usual "Agghyyyls" and "Twwips" and "Grrouegs." I couldn't believe it. It was in mid battle... Aerie ran circles around a summoned Ettercap and used her Shield of Reflecting to protect herself from an archer's missiles while the rest of us attacked a wizard and a fighter. As fate would have it, our spells were just about spent. We were slinging by the skin of our teeth, desperate for any way out! Most of us being wizards of some type, you understand we're a bit lacking when it comes to physical combat. But Aerie's stoneskins finally failed her and, against a hasted Ettercap, those aren't even odds cousin Kira would play, and she plays any odds!

The Ettercap finally caught Aerie and she became our first casualty. It's always sad when a comrade dies -- though I've not seen any in my time, so this was a first -- and it usually demoralizes a group (especially the dead guy). But this is no usual party.

"Somebody-- AHH! -- Help!" Aerie shouted as the Ettercap clawed at her and mauled her arm with its large, drooping jowles. It looked like a middle-aged bartender gone to feast!

And she died! Right there. I teared up. I was at a loss for words, and that... that's never happened before! Kelsey stopped cold, agape. Only Edwin continued his assault, practical mage that he is. But Necre...

"NO! Dis-sss-INTEgrate!" His eyes were wide, and the wisps of hair clinging to his scalp whipped back, blown by some unseen wind so as to look stylish and dramatic.

He... he didn't cast Disintegrate. Not really. He used a trick -- Nahal's Dwoemer? Something. -- but, sure enough, he molded the spell. I didn't know he could do that! What a trick! I've seen Disintegrate cast, and it was Disintegrate. Despite his effort, though, it didn't work. The energy shimmered and surrounded him, transforming him into a wolf.

Then he mauled and ate the Ettercap. (The rest of us finished off the archer, the only remaining opposition.) He sulked over to Aerie's corpse and... nuzzled it. Licked her face. I don't think Kelsey or Edwin drew the same conclusion I did, but I think Necre, as addled as he is, had become quite fond of the elf.

My heart split in two. I've... felt like that before. I had to fight to supress those memories, to think of something comforting to say to him. Then I remembered! I borrowed a Rod of Resurrection from Mekrath's house!

I know it's in my nature to be wordy, but suffice it to say, Aerie's sudden return from the dead shocked everyone.


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~ From the Diary of Aerie ~
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OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!11

I died today! Bit the big one. Kicked the bucket. Pushed up daisies. Swam with the fishies. Plucked my last turnip. (Eek! Jan is rubbing off on me!)

Who was mauled to death by an Ettercap? ME! Me me me me me! That cements my infirmity, my ultimate neediness! None of them can say they've died, not even that drooling headcase Necre! HA! But enough revelling in my good fortune. I need to plan my future.

I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for one man: Jan Jansen. In my heart of hearts, I think he may actually be the one man in all the world who can live up to my darling Quayle! And, I'm thinking, bald isn't that bad. And who, then, could possibly be more needy than I? I'd be wed to a balding, turnip-obsessed compulsive liar! I'd be pitied the world over! *giggles!*

Oh, thank you, my hero. Your Rod of Resurrection, flitched surrepitiously from Mekrath's humble abode, has given me new life and renewed my optimism. As a world-renowned philosopher once said, "All things happen for the best." If only I could meet that wonderful Dr. Pangloss...


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~From the Scribblings of Necre~
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AIRY fairy Aeire. Diiii...ed. Sad I. Sad like... Moen gone sad.

Gnome-stick save Airy! Saved aerie! Happy I!
Happy I! Airy... afFECted? INfected? Affection all over Gnome.
Gno! Gno Gnome for Airy Fairy Aerie! So nice was to I! KNOWS suffering as I! Wings choppED OFF!
Sees wings I... still sees wings.

she knows I
knows she I
she I know
gno gnow gnome

Ahaggal... Eah.

"Fairy?" says I.
Says Airy, "Yawn!"
Says Gnome, "Welcome."
Says Gnome, blahblahblahblahblah.
Says Gnome, "Turnips."
Says Aerie, "AHH!!!"
"Fairy happy I?" says I.

Feels watCHED I. Peek... peeky... GNOME!

(Jan sneaks up on Necre.)

"You're *literate?*"

"Agghhyyyl..."

"Don't give me that."

"Twwwip."

"Don't give me that, either."

"GORK!"

"You just don't want to talk, do you?"

"Aooogooh."

"Right. Good night, Necre."

(Jan leaves.)

TALKing gnome gone... try to READ I. Not! Gnome gnot read I! Gno gno gnome. AIRY I's.


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; From the Journal of Edwin Odesserian ;
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H!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is the infuriating noise I wake up to every morning, so I thought I would share it with you. That accursed carnival elf makes us all suffer through her post-mortem night terrors! Had I the power, I would rinse her mind of every thought and re-program her as a golem! Bahh... what one would do for a good Enchanter.

My life, once more, continues its slippery ride through the fetid colon of the universe. The merchant-boy constantly watches me, taking every occasion to supervise my private doings. (Self note: Memorize Blindness.) The elf, as I mentioned, annoys us all. The Gnome relentlessly chatters. Necre remains the sole presence I do not absolutely loathe, but he is too easily manipulated by these monkeys. After utterly wasting time rescuing a troupe of degnerate actors, as I detailed previously, we committed yet another act of goodwill by solving a local murder mystery. (It was about time the streets were reclaimed from the peasants, if you ask me. Bah again!)

On top of all that, the Gnome continually pesters me about Necre. I'm getting the distinct impression he wishes to reverse the procedure that cured Necre of his simianness, thus making him an interesting travel companion. So far I have kept tight-lipped, but my memory of Deafness spells to use on myself runs low. Soon I may actually have to converse with the turnip-breathed halfwit. Strike that; "half" is too much.

(Later: Jan drives Edwin to his breaking point.)

"Say, Eddie, is your nickname spelled with one or two D's?"

(HALF-MONKEY!) "Edwin does NOT have a nickname! Leave him be!"

"Oh, sorry, it's just that in my family we call everyone by a nickname. You remember my old uncle Sparky? His real name was 'Brandishes Metal Objects During Thunderstorms.' And..."

"Let me guess, your name is short for Jankass?"

"What? No, of course not. Besides, my name isn't even pronounced that way--"

"(How has he still not gotten it?!) How much MORE hostile must I be before you LEAVE ME ALONE, you rock-eating midget?!"

"First of all, Eddie, that's a Dwarven slur. I'm a gnome. Appropriate jabs would be 'Your kind is denied Necromancies so they don't bring each other back to life!' or even 'I've heard more plausible stories in Drow skin mags!'"

"(Finally he's getting it.) Yes, yes, select the most offensive and run along like a good little runt."

"Second of all, I'd like to know... Well, it's just you're the only one of us who knew Necre before he--"

"Found a higher place on the food chain?"

"I was going to say 'lost his mind.' Anyway, what was he like?"

"(A far more agreeable creature than you'll ever be.) He was an elf, through and through. Pranced about on top of flowers, saw heat sources in dark caves; typical elf behaviors."

"He... looks like a zombie now."

"(Yes, how observant of you. I suppose you want more?) Personally, he was somewhat tenderhearted. He lacked ambition. Rather bland, really, at least until he learned of his heritage. He felt filthy, like an evil thing. A tool."

"So he was like Kelsey after that Cowled Wizard errand?"

"Nothing quite so loathesome as that, Gnome. Necre relished his craft; he felt, if nothing else, his magic could contain his--" No, on second thought, I ought not mention Necre's divine parentage.

"Contain his what?"

"His formidable elven urges; prancing and such, you know. (Unlike your mouth, which not even a geas could stop cold.) Most of our do-gooding was at the behest of his sister, Imoen. She, too, took an interest in the Art... sometimes using her sticky fingers to flitch cantrips from my robes. I would recommend we not rescue her. (...Brilliant idea!)"

"What?! Why?"

"(Yes, yes, perfect!) Her good heart soured as she grew in power. And she loved it. Eventually, she rebelled against the party and fought Necre for leadership, reducing him to the creature you see now. (Oh, this is a magnificent idea!)"

"The way you tell it, she almost belongs in Spellhold! I should tell Aerie right away. If Necre... if he thinks such a monster can be reasoned with, we need to protect him from himself."

"Moreover, Gnome, if there is no Imoen to rescue, what purpose does our adventuring serve? I suggest we disband: I will tend to Necre for the remainder of my year. (Such genius! I am dangerously close to amazing even myself!)"

"That's certainly food for thought, Eddieboy. I'll talk to you later."

"(Oh, most excellent. To finally see a plan come to fruition!)"

By now, reader, I suppose even you can guess what became of my perfect plan.


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~ From the Diary of Aerie ~
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Oh, diary, my sweetheart and I had the most wonderful chat today. titter Apparently some inner-party politics arose and we've come to a decision. I was too self-absorbed to notice what it was, so I'll pretend it never happened. Oh, Kelsey wants to talk.

"Aerie, did Jan talk to you yet?"

I examined his violet mage robes. Hmm, those are Spring colors. Kelsey's a fashion victim and he doesn't even know it! I'd best nip this in the bud quickly, "Dear Kelsey, have you noticed my wing stubs today? They're all itchy and chafing. My wings were hewn off, you know. Bloodily. Lice-ridden husks. Would you be a dear and apply some balm to them?"

"...Er, uh, no, it'd be much too --"

"Disgusting? Revolting? Hideous? It's okay, Kelsey. I know I'm a wretched creature. You can tell me." I batted my eyes at him.

"-- improper!" Kelsey gasped, stumbling as he backpedaled. "Please be serious, Aerie! Jan told you something important earlier. Have you decided?"

Eek! Did my sweetie-turnip PROPOSE and I didn't notice? How horribly embarrassing! How soon! How presumptuous! "Tell him I accept! The answer is 'Yes!', if he'll have a dysmorphic nymphomaniac."

Kelsey stood, mind teetering between shock and confusion, then turned aburptly and brought Jan over.

Kelsey began, "Jan, what did you and Aerie discuss earlier?"

"Well, Kelsey, I started by explaining the myriad turnip dishes I've sampled in my many years on Toril. I've had turnip and liver, turnip cake, turnip wine, turnip butter, turnip ketchup, turnip coffee, turnip enemas..."

Kelsey, exasperated, "After that, Jan!"

"After? Well, we logically moved on to a rousing discourse on potential combat uses for turnips." Kelsey's consternation dripped from his countenance. Jan noticed. "I told her about my nosehair collection and she told me Elves don't have nosehair, so I kindly offered to make her a nasal toupee -- custom fit for each nostril, of course. That, naturally, got me thinking about other missing bodily hair; do you know Elves don't have asshair either? My word --!"

Interrupting, "She thinks you asked her to marry her, man!"

Finally a part of the conversation I could understand, "I accept! Our children will bring me much shame. Love me, my little turnip!"

"Marry her?! I proposed no such thing! I know you're blonde, Aerie, but can't you pay attention even a little?"

My heart shattered. How could he! How could Kelsey! They must've planned this to crush my dreams! How thoughtful of them.

"Ohhh, you two are so evil to do this to a cutie elf like me who's been tortured for ever so long and had her bloody wings--"

Kelsey, bubbling over with rage, slapped a hand over my mouth and, with the other, grabbed Jan by his beard.

"DON'T talk. Listen. Jan, your conversation with Edwin: He said Imoen's mad? That she deserves to be in Spellhold? And you BELIEVE him? There is NO way I'm giving up on her. We are not quitting."

Imoen's evil? Oh my!

Jan spoke, "Hmm, there really is no way of knowing unless we rescue her."

"Exactly," Kelsey agreed, "Unless we can somehow 'fix' Necre's mind, we can't know."

I licked Kelsey's palm. He yelped, the chaste little wizard he is, and quickly removed it from my mouth. "I can't stand this! Jan's not going to marry me, Imoen's evil, and we can't trust Edwin! Honestly, Kelsey, we'd be better off with that Xzar fellow Necre mutters about. Now if you'll excuse ME, I'm going to have a good mope!"

Kelsey's hand came dangerously close to pulling out my weave until Jan, kicking him in the shin, stopped his hand in mid-grasp. "Let her go, Kelsey. Tell Edwin we'll discuss dissolving the party tomorrow. Aerie gave me an idea. I'll be back at dawn."


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From the Diary of Jan Jansen
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Life is much simpler when one only has turnips to worry about. Tonight is not a simple night. It's much like the night... well, I've not the time for that right now.

"Secret Word: Priest," I said to the familiar cloaked figure.

"Stop TOUCHING me!" a shrill voice yelped the countersign from behind a hood. "What do you waaaant?"

"*ahem* Alice, might I speak to Xzar?"

"NOOOoooo!"

Disguising my voice as best I could, "Tread lightly, taskmaster."

The figure, turning on his heels, threw his hood back and looked down at me in the darkness of night. He spoke, his voice no longer shrill or feminine, "M-m-montaron?"

"Jan Jakob-"

"Do not do that to me! Montaron is missing, Gnome! I cannot be bothered by your wily GAMES when I must concentrate my efforts on freeing my companion from his malicious and unjust imprisonment within the Harper compound!"

"I daresay that's the longest coherent sentence you've ever uttered, and I've known you... how long?"

"Do not remind me!"

"I have so many stories to tell..."

"NO! No! Stop talking! Talk not! I've not memorized Deafness today!"

"Then tell me what I need to know."

Again in the shrill voice, "Nooo! Boring Gnome go away!"

Xzar's multiple personalities make him extremely difficult to work with. At any given time his sanity may slip, leaving you to discuss the finer points of spell-casting with an 8-year-old girl, among other things.

"Alice. You bring Xzar back this instant or I'll do something horrible to you."

"You woooon't."

"Last week I purchased a Limited Wish spell. I asked the Dao to neuter the Solstice Bunny. Now he's lost all his energy and refuses to make any more candy. Ever."

The mage began weeping but abruptly stopped. "Look what you've done, fool! She'll weep for hours!"

"Not my problem, Zhent. I need something."

"I will not tell you!"

"Necre. You worked with him."

Xzar refused to speak.

Okay, reverse psychology: "I absolutely don't need to know a single thing about him. In fact, it would completely ruin my night if I had to listen to boring stories about what you guys did up north near Baldur's Gate. Which is why I need to know--"

Xzar's eyes darted from side to side, usually an indication of tought. "I'm insane, not idiotic! Fine, fine, you want to know about Necre? He was a firecracker. Every spell snapped and sizzled, even when they fizzled. He was all about show, a party clown. He preferred amusing Imoen to real magery. That blasted Imoen always nipping at his heels prevented my influence from taking hold. I left the group quite dissatisfied because of her."

"Imoen wasn't evil?"

Xzar: "No."

Alice, shrill voice: "Oh, she was nice! I liked her."

Scholarly voice: "Her dabblings in The Art proved amusing, but she had no real concept of magic as we -- as I know it."

Ethereal voice: "She knew no evil. Her soul knows better. chuckle She is both a young soul and an ancient soul."

Aged voice: "Ancient? Somebody mention me?"

Xzar: "Cain?! To bed with you, incontinent fool! I've not an extra change of undergarments with me!"

Cain, aged voice: "Talk to me like that, will ya? I oughta-"

I interrupted, "SO! Necre and Imoen were goody-two-shoes, then? What happened to him?"

Monotone voice: "But what is good but a different form of evil? Can good not be so good as to cause evil? Can evil not --"

Xzar shook violently. "ENOUGH! The Gnome will never leave unless you all SHUT UP!"

Silence. Xzar stood motionles, eyes darting back and forth. After a few moments he returned to a calm contemplative mage-like posture. "Necre was an ordinary person. He'd blend in with a crowd if not for his penchant for magical tricks. On occasion he exhibited a measure of intelligence beyond the norm, much like Imoen. Necre harbored little concern for anything other than his tricks. Carefree, you might say. He'd prefer being a court jester; he told me that. It was Imoen who tried focusing him on more serious aspects of the Art, but he wouldn't have it. The two of them were raised in Candlekeep by the Harper Gorion, now deceased. Is that sufficient, Gnome?"

Jan nodded absently, pondering the news. "Thank you, Xzar."

"Jan."

"Yes?"

"Never come back."

As Jan stepped into the shadows of Athkatla, he heard Xzar howl wickedly. His words were faint but still audible: "CAIN! These were brand-new robes!"