The View From Above and Below

BALDUR'S GATE
Twenty Years Ago

"Go. Both of you. Hold hands. Don't look back, no matter what."

The smell of brimstone always brought him back to his last moments in Avernus. Back to watching his mother plummet to her death from the crumbling, chained bastions of Elturel. Every match he struck - his own microdose of his own personal Hell. Watching the tears on Scarlett's face turn to an ashy trace of salt while the Hellrider scout whisked them through the collapsing portal...

Vermillion shook the match out, letting the nicotine kick the can on revisiting that memory again.

"Alright alright fair saers, double your day's wages on a quick game?"

From his pop-up in front of Bonecloak Apothecary, he should have an easy 20 minutes before the next Flaming Fist patrol came his way. Vermillion quickly shuffled a well-used deck of cards, squatting at a bench as he looked for a few potentials. Old Lady Bonecloak was out on excursion again this week, so this was a perfect place to hustle.

"Come one, come all, but come laden with real coin! Leave the coppers for the change purses, silver and up is the ante. Double your treasure and double your fun!"

The trick, always, was to let them take a few nibbles first. Make it easier to keep nibbling, and then keep them hungry when they started to dig a hole. And the clock was ticking for the next patrol.

The first mark was a Dragonborn who smelled like he'd come straight from the docks. He went a few coins in, but wouldn't you know that Tymora started to leave...and shook the tree to the tune of three gold! The Dragonborn glowered a dirty look as he trudged past, and Vermillion puffed his cigarette, trying not to look bowled over by the windfall.

He could pack it up on that one mark if he wanted to, or keep trying his luck here.

"Better luck next time, saer! Anyone else? One in five's a winner!"

"I don't like our odds, Castor. Without Snow we cannot easily sneak into the factory. I worry the two of us will not be enough for a full frontal assault. No doubt they will be on guard after the fire last night."

The two passed through the Lower City keeping to themselves as they walked. Things had gotten a little heated the night before, and a warehouse nearly burned to the ground on the Gray Harbor. If not for Snow's valiant attempt to quell the fire, the entire building might have been lost, along with the evidence that now pointed them further down the harbor to an abandoned factory that was surprisingly well locked up. Normally, that would not stop them. Snow was adept at shapechange and could infiltrate anything through one form or another, but he would be out for a day or two as his burns healed. In the meantime they had the source of the tainted pies to discover and destroy. Baldur's Gate hardly needed another zombie outbreak, and the town guard had been less than helpful. They were on their own against the nefarious forced of darkness. Just the three of them.

Or perhaps...

As they came out of an alley they found a small crowd watching a Dragonborn fellow lose his coin to a small demon child. Aria stopped in her steps, causing her companion to bump into her.

"Small, wings, good with his hands. Young, impressionable. I think he could fit right down the chimney and open the back door for us to sneak inside. What do you think, hmm?"

"We could try... talking our way in."

That earned a withering look from the hooded one, and the armored one grimaced. "The guards we saw looked like hired mercenaries. Their loyalties may be negotiable."

The man stood a head taller than most of the people around him, with a handsome tanned face, dark, wavy hair, and uncanny gold-colored eyes that hinted at a heritage more complicated than human. A tattoo of golden ink in the shape of two rippling flames struck through his left eyebrow and down his cheek, glinting in the light of the late morning. A shirt of mail glittered under a white sash, devoid of any heraldry. At his back hung a round crescent-shield, unusual for this part of the Sword Coast, and a long, straight sword in a blue scabbard bounced at his hip.

"Or we could try the temples... surely we can get someone in this town to listen to--"

Both his words and his steps were cut off by Aria's unexpected halt in front of him. He stepped aside so he could see her face, and then followed her eyes. "...A child? You want to recruit a child?"

At first, the tell-tale rattle of mail put Vermillion on alert. But it wasn't the Fist this time. Wasn't anyone, given the barren tabard. Adventurer? Mercenary? What was the difference, anyway? The lady with him was pale and spooky, but didn't look like anyone in particular either. They didn't look posh, but they didn't look skinny either. He might be able to squeeze another couple of gold off these two.

"Come on come one, step right up. Win a chunk of change, buy something nice for the missus."

Vermillion fluidly shuffled the well-worked deck of cards, spreading them across the bench and then flipping them in unison to show a legal deck and ostensibly an honest game.

"Beholders or dragons and you're a winner. If not, better luck next time."

His current mark was a Dwarf who looked like he had luck like sour milk. A pity he was broke too. Two silvers over and done.

"Almost had it, better luck tomorrow!"

Resetting, Vermillion quickly shuffled, glancing down the alley for any sign of the Fist returning. So far, so good.

"What about the happy couple? Got a little jingle jangle in your pocket? Tymora's with you today, for sure!"

"Not just any child." She cautioned, turning her head so that her voice would not be muffled in her hood. "A child of the hells. I sense great potential in this one; but there is but one way to know for certain."

Stepping forward she approached the card table and the small red-skinned child. He was at the stage of life where he was all elbows and knees, his trousers barely fit, and his voice cracked when he got too excited with his wins. She was no expert in this sort of cardplay, but she imagined there was a fair bit of cheating going on. The illusions of fair play. There was a skill to that. However, her expertise was in cardplay of a different kind. Pulling back her hood to reveal raven black hair pinned back in a thick braid and eyes as silver as the moon, and the telltale pointed ears of an Elf, she gave the child a smile and then looked over his table.

"Oh my, what a master of cards you are. I'm afraid I don't quite know this particular game, but perhaps you would like to play mine?" She opened her hand to reveal a deck of cards, twice as tall as regular playing cards. The backs of the cards were black and glossy. With the edge of her finger she flipped over the top card to reveal a portrait of an Elven woman with flowing hair and glowing eyes, a stave in one hand and the other outstretched; a billowing blue dress with stars in it's fabric. At the bottom an inscription: THE EMPRESS.

"A game of fate, as they say. The deck can show many things. Things that were. That's that are. And some things, that have not yet come to pass. Will you take this journey with me?"

Castor moved to loom silently over Aria's shoulder, not so close as to imply a threat, but close enough to cut off an easy escape to either side of the table. He reached up to scratch at the thin beard on his chin as he watched Aria work her magic. Figuratively, in this case, though one could never be too certain.

"What?"

The tiefling tensed a little. He'd been running this racket for a while now, and he'd never had anyone try to flip the game around on him. His first instinct was to bolt. He glanced beyond the pair - still no Flaming Fist. This lady was dealing oversized cards onto his bench like she owned it.

Vermillion recovered, relaxing a little. "I don't know that one. What's the odds? What's the ante?"

There was something else tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. These cards were really really posh. Who brings a deck like that to play with a slum rat?