The Cost of Doing Business

The Hag sat behind an ornate oak desk It listened with false intent to another woman weep a tale into her withered land-worn hands. It nodded along with the story, wearing the best look of concern that could be mustered without breaking out into a fit of hysterical laughter. The guise of a lovely middle-aged woman worn perfectly over it's true garish form.

It heard the tale of the wilting crops, of a sickly husband and the young daughter the woman could barely afford to feed. It nodded with rehearsed empathy when hearing of how her husband needed to recover from his illness or their crop would be lost entirely and they'd be forced to forfeit their plot.

It savoured every word, every tear. Every single thing the woman spoke of was occurring by it's design. The farmers wife spoke in poorly structured sentences that marked her as uneducated, simple, vulnerable, perfect.

The hag would provide her with the things she needed to stop these horrible events. A salve for her ailing husband. A herbal concoction to water their crops to reverse the wilt.
When actually, all she would do, is cease the well designed curse upon the wailing woman's family. 

For a price, of course.

In return, all the hag asked is for was a small favour. That her daughter, when she comes of age in a months time become her apprentice. To the ears of a desperate mother, this sounded too good to be true! What mother wouldn't want her child to learn the arts of the apothecary! To be able to help others in need. To be educated, fed and cared for.

Yes, she would give her daughter willingly. 

In truth, It would be the end of the young girls life as she knew it, for she would be fated to become a hag herself. Consumed quite literally, then birthed anew in a dark, forsaken ritual. All essence of who the child was would be gone, twisted beyond recognition into a new generation of evil.

The hag's mind then drifted to those sisters that it had lost. Taken by the hand of the Lord of Bats and his allies. The Hag was now the last of the Coven. It had been allowed to flee that night Nefion had come for them. It was compelled to carry a warning to all fey that prey upon the innocent. The ultimatum was simple. Cease your activity, or Neifion would come for you. All of you.

At first those like the hag fought back in numbers. Arrogant. and ignorant of who they would face. All of them now gone. Captured, banished or destroyed utterly. Its two sisters fell into that final category of punishment. No hope of revival, rebirth or reunion. She had fled far to escape Neifion's influence.

Yes, it was now the last, but not for long. For seated before her now was a chance for renewal.

"Worry no longer, child," The Hag reassured her in a composed, caring tone, "For I have the answers to all your woes." It's gloved hand sliding a box containing the foul smelling and useless salve, along with a stoppered bottle of swamp water towards the woman.
"If you would agree to my terms, I will aid you and your family."

She slid a piece of fine velum parchment over to her. Perfectly handwritten words mapped out the deal it had connived.
The contract stated everything plainly. Every morbid thing that would happen to the poor child upon her "employment."
The woman, looked over it quickly, eyes darting from the page, back to the hag, her face still a portrait of tears and grief.
"Oh miss," She stammered in her thick, rural accent, "I cannae read a word!" She blubbered, sobbing anew. She had counted on this. Made sure her illiteracy was fact. Tested her prey and found this family to be the prime candidate for it's dark works.
The hag hushed her soothingly stood and oozed over to her side of the desk, inkwell and quill in hand."
"You needn't be concerned, child." It purred into her ear, as it slid a gloved hand around her shoulders before setting the inkwell down before stabbing the quill into the black fluid. It placed the grey feather into the woman's trembling hand then pointed  to a blank spot below the vile contract's words. Her eyes watching the blank space with almost unobtainable anticipation.
"All you need do is leave, your, mark."
The final three words coming out slowly as a horrid realisation struck. The hag's opposite hand, the one it had placed upon the woman's shoulder caused an almost imperceptible rippling effect upon the fabric of her homespun shawl.

"How?" It shrieked, lifting her hand as if it had been burned by the touch of this woman. All pretences were cast away suddenly as the hag's skin became green and sagging. Boils, sores and pustules spreading across her pock marked flesh. The same gloved hand that had recoiled in horror became a massively clawed and filthy thing. It hurtled down to the where the woman stat, only to smash the empty chair below. Wisps of mist curling between the long fingers before speeding between it's bowed, gaunt legs and taking form at the opposite end of the room, less than fifteen feet away.

All disguises were now discarded. The charade Virgil had maintained for the better part of three months while he, Stedd and Keri, had set up this elaborate trap was no longer required.

He stood smirking, half his face hidden beneath the brim of his black hat. One hand comfortably resting upon the pommel of Thorn. His long black coat billowing customarily around him, despite the lack of breeze. He could feel the Hags fear and rage and he savoured it. The moment before the kill.

"Now you'll fucking learn what it costs to do your kind of business," his tone cool and confident. His words weren't a threat, but an assurance. "Just like the rest of your bitch sisters did."

It let out a shriek of grief, rage and hate. It's wrinkled wart covered face contorted, rotted teeth revealed in a gaping, infected maw. Consumed and blinded to all but this man before it, The hag charged, its sinewy legs carrying it faster than it would be perceived possible. Clawed fingers outstretched, reaching for his soft throat.
This cacophony of sound would be enough to drive fear into the hearts of the bravest heroes.
Virgil knew better. He understood that this cry heralded it's imminent defeat. It represented vulnerability, instability and reckless abandon. He would use these weaknesses to his advantage.

A single heartbeat was all the time between them now.
The moment he so loved had arrived.

Virgil's hand flashed and Thorn joined him.

Outside Stedd and Keri watched as dazzling flares of green escaped from any window or door frame. Thorn's distinct crack sounded with every flash, punctuating the otherwise still, clear night..

"Why does Virgil insist on doing this part alone?" Keri asked, not looking away from the stone cottage.
Stedd looked over to the young girl as her face lit up with every blast of Thorn. 

He thought back to that first encounter with the hag in Baldur's Gate. The one that had Keri and intended to do the very same thing as this one did.
"I'll tell you one day when you're never." He answered drily, a serious tone emphasising his final word.
Keri sighed, expecting such a response from her over protective uncle.
He handed her a freshly baked roll to his niece. She took a bite and let out an exasperated sigh, glaring at him with frustrated eyes. Stedd turned away from her, watching the light show as he took a bite of his own roll.

"Never."

The Hand You've Been Dealt.

The Hand You've Been Dealt.

During the festivities of Elturel he found one of the quieter gardens of town with a large tree shading a grassy area and put his back up to it, resting for a time.

He recounted what he had learned about his companions. Their strengths and weaknesses. Like any hand of cards, you had to know what you hold, and how to play them. Right now the group was naive, untrained and out of unison. He included himself in this analysis, of course. A hand of cards is stronger when there are pairs, or three of a kind.

He had discovered that Stedd, the thief that he'd met in Greenest but a tenday ago has also ties to Baldurs Gate. A father and a niece. His criminal inclinations had sent him to that cursed town. I really should just teach him how to play cards properly. There are legal forms of robbery that are just as lucrative as the real thing.
He was a wild card. An uneasy draw that could tip the hand in the opponents favour. Or, turn certain defeat into victory.

Mikarro, the Dragonborn. Conflicted, confused and dangerous. He's spent years of his life devoted to a god that he lost faith in at the first sign of trouble. Only to have some other power take up his cause for peace.
Godtouched, he thought. Had to be to have that kind of luck. Virgil reminded himself to keep his extra curricular activities away from the lizard's attentions. His kind of nativity was so very, very dangerous. On the battlefield however, Mikarro was an unrelenting force. His conviction evident as he strides fearlessly into battle.

Lirra, the entitled. Heiress to the prestige of one of the greatest fighting academies the sword coast had ever known. Arrogant, proud and angry. A bad combination but there is a fragility to her now that Virgil saw. The revelation that her brother had been granted a family heirloom is the reason for her being out here in the thick of this mess he deduced.

These two were his first pair in the hand. Their worth as a pair would have to be worked on.

He stood up from his shaded spot under the tree and adjusted his new wide-brimmed hat. With a thought he altered its colour and that of his clothes, changing his face to something else. As he'd done a dozen times already today.

He thought he'd take in a play. It had been some time since he'd seen any kind of theatrics other than his own.

He left the garden, turning down the street and blending in the townsfolk as easily as if he'd lived here all his life.