Trouble in Amn (Baldur’s Gate II: Shadow Dancer IV)

Aran was a son-of-a-bitch, sitting in the second floor of his Thieves’ Guild, located in the Dock’s district. He glared at me at first, his eyes radiating interest. “Ilyana,” he said, “hero of Baldur’s Gate. It’s a pleasure.”

“Well don’t go believing everything you hear,” I smile, accepting an odd, leafy twig from him. Watching, I noticed how he lit his and held it just between his fingers: I, of course, did the same as he leaned in with a bright red core from the brazier at his side. “Inhale,” he said, sensing my ignorance. “Imported leaf from the elves. Does wonders for alacrity and all that,”

I inhaled the twig of leaves, coughed, smoke spraying from my black lips. I smiled, held the twig at my hip. But I wasn’t going to lose this battle. I inhaled again, artfully spitting out a spout of fume over my head, over my sweet looking bangs. “Alacrity, indeed,” I complimented, wishing for a splash of tea.

“Right,” he said, holding his stick in his mouth for a second as he adopted a rather meditative posture, “I need your special type of help, my lady.”

“What kind of help?” I asked delicately.

“Murder, of course.”

I took another puff, sent out up again, away from Aran’s face–it’s only polite, right? “Murder? Who have you been talking to?”

“Flaming Fist–they recommend you.”

“Me?” I inhaled again.

“You know what we are discussing. Sarevok. Orcs. Kobold. You will kill everything.”

“And so I will,” I say, thinking of how Sarevok died, tattooed by my arrows. He coughed out a lung or two, he did, he did.

“We have guild problems that someone like you can solve with a little violence from that bow of yours: thub, thub.”

“Even so?”

“Would you like to hear?”

“Of course,” and I inhale with a long, curved trip to my black lips.

“We are in a invisible war with vampires. Damn that Bodhi!!!!”

“Vampires? Bodhi?” I spout out.

“They are the enemy of all that lives, draws breath.”

“And what would I, a Shadow Dancer, do against such evil?”

“Use these,” he tosses a couple wooden sticks my way.

“Stab them with wood?” I inhale the last of my ember, like a true nihilist.

“Vampires, once staked, die a slow, agonizing death.”

“You want me to kill this Bodhi, right?”

“Her and her god cursed progeny too.”

“I can do it, but there’s the case of Imoen.” I purr.

“Your friend, imprisoned in Spellhold, eh?” he smiled.

“You know. Of course you do, Thief Captain.”

“I tell you what. You take care of my itch, and I will take care of yours. Eh?”

“Deal,” I wink. “Now you got any more of those twigs?”

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