Archive of Our Own ^beta

Khelben Blackstaff and Gorion spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid the very walls had ears. Try as they might, Khezadrin and Imoen couldn't make out what they were saying.

Although Candlekeep had many esteemed visitors, it wasn't every day that an archmage of Khelben's caliber arrived. The girls took it upon themselves to investigate.

Yet their eavesdropping plan had failed. Still, Imoen held her ear to the office door, straining to catch a word or two. Khezadrin had long since given up on their mission, and instead was examining the cloak hanging up on the wall outside the door.

She reached out and touched it. It was the most luxurious thing she had ever felt. Soft. Silky. And she could feel the magic woven within the strands of the fabric. The design was nothing special, and it was just black, but that's what made it timeless and classy.

Gingerly, she took the cloak off the hook and tried it on.

It was big, far too big. The hem dragged on the ground like a wedding dress's train and the hood covered half of her face. 

Imoen's eyes widened and her focused scowl gave way to a mischievous grin. Taking Khezadrin's lead, she left the door and instead began rummaging through Khelben's bag.
Spell components, notebooks, potion bottles... and finally, she found it.

His spellbook.

Imoen flipped through the pages while Khezadrin twirled about in Khelben's cloak.

"Oh! Okay, hold still!" Imoen said. Panic rose in Khezadrin's throat, choking out whatever words the half-elf may have said in protest, "Ebool! Soleno Samatka!" Imoen poured her heart and soul into the arcane words. 

A moment passed.

And then another.

"Aw," Imoen sighed, "I was sure that would do something... Hey, Kheza, you try it!"

"This seems kinda reckless," Khezadrin said, desperately hoping she wouldn't offend her new friend, "And I'm not a wizard."

"Not a wizard, yet," Imoen corrected, "Gorion's a wizard. He can teach you proper. But for now... here, try this one. It's a cantrip, so even you should be able to cast it!"

"Wait, what did you try to cast then?"

"Uh, fireball. It's a good spell."

"Fireball seems--oh, nevermind," Kheza said. Although she thought that it was a bit cliche for a spell, not to mention out of their skill level, she decided to end that line of thinking. She'd never had a real friend before, other than Tethtoril, but he was old. She couldn't risk upsetting Imoen.

Imoen shoved the spell book into Kheza's hands, who nearly dropped it.

"Try it! Try casting Gust! Think of all the pranks we could pull in the library with a spell like that!"

Hesitantly, Khezadrin looked over the arcane words, practicing them in her head a few times.

"Gorak! Vu'vocane!" her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Hey! Oh my gosh! Did you feel that?! There was a breeze!"

They didn't hear the door open behind him.

"I didn't feel anything."

"That's because you're wearing that heavy cloak," Imoen huffed, "Let me wear it! It should be my turn now anyway."

They heard someone clear their throat behind them. The girls turned around, and found Gorion and Khelben looming above them. Gorion was furious, struggling to bite back scolding words, but Khelben had a glint of mirth in his eyes. 

"And where did you find those?" the Blackstaff asked, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to give them back."

"Aw... we can't keep them?" Imoen ventured.

"No," Khelben said, "Though perhaps you'll have cloaks and spellbooks of your own one day."

Imoen pouted, but handed the spellbook back anyway. Khezadrin sheepishly removed the cloak and handed it back as well.

Khelben was relieved--partially for the return of his belongings, but mostly because the half-elf seemed an ordinary child. Having a childhood friend would do well for her development, and the archmage didn't detect anything particularly unusual about her.

Oh, he noticed the signs, all right. The unmistakable markings of a Bhaalspawn. Khezadrin had nearly each and every known sign--plus a few that they didn't previously know about. The Essence was strong within her, but she wasn't the feral wildchild than he was worried that she would be. 

Anyone who knew what to look for--and how to notice the signs--would recognize her as a Bhaalspawn immediately. But why would anyone suspect this seemingly ordinary half-elven child to bear the Essence of the God of Murder?

"It was a pleasure to meet you two," Khelben told the girls sincerely, "I had hoped to before I left. But now, it is getting late, and Waterdeep beckons."