Eyes of the Beholder

The Masden Farm, North West Shadowdale



A copy of the Zhentarim notice regarding Spencer Beholder slapped down on the table right in front of him, spilling his ink well and ruining next week’s edition. With an exasperated and startled sigh he backed away from the table still sitting in his chair, hands flying outward as if he were dodging a blade to the gut.

“Are you kidding me?!” He looked up to his associate Anje’ quickly, then back to the ink as it traced a neat path down the front of the notice. She stood there, hands on hips with an inquisitive scolding look, as if to say “I hate you Spencer Beholder, I hate you and the horse you rode in on.”

“What do you plan to do now?” she finally spoke, breaking the easy silence. The ink began to drip, drip, drip on the wooden floor beneath the table, creating a charcoal pool. “About what?” Spencer replied incredulously, snatching his old leather sombrero off the table. “Do you know how long I’ve had-“

“The Zhentarim want a ‘CONVERSATION’ with you, and you’re worried about that stupid hat?” she sneered, shifting her hips from left to right. Her hands remained firmly planted and for a moment his eyes fixated on that lovely aspect of her anatomy. She was beautiful, but in a homely, country girl sort of way. Half-elven, ear cropped blonde hair and rich chocolate eyes indicated that she could be a good ol’ fashioned country grown human. But her ears pointed neatly through her wings and betrayed her partial heritage.

“I have you know this hat,” he snapped, holding it out and away from the table ”was around before you, and will still be here after you’re long gone.” Spencer was a tall man, 29 years old, well built (though not husky), with a sturdy travelers tan. His voice was unremarkable, but always had an edge of sarcasm or mockery to it. Not the bad kind of sarcasm mind you, he just had a smart-assed way about him. Sometimes the women loved this aspect about him and could tolerate it for nearly 10 seconds.

Anje’ scoffed and her mouth dropped open, she immediately began looking for something hard and projectile worthy. “You rotten presuming arsehol-!“

“Wait wait wait!” He immediately slid over to her, impeding her progress to a paperweight. When she insisted by reaching for the chunk of mithril on an adjacent table, he wrapped his arms around her, semi bear hug and began moving away. Anje’ flailed and eventually spun out of his hold, pushing away with an absolute ferocity. “No, nevermind, I don’t care what you do Beholder, I quit!!” and just like that, she passed through the barn they were camping in and into the yard. Spencer plopped his worn sombrero on his head and followed her quickly. “Hey, listen…wait.” She continued to stomp towards the next farm over. “Annie, come on, I was just messing around.” Farmer Masden’s son Jeffery nearly fell out of the way as the two quarrelers passed by.

“Annie…Anne…Anje’!” the bard grabbed her by the arm and she immediately spun around and slapped the Holy Avenger out of him. “You are the most pig headed, arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune of stumbling upon. I do everything you ask me to do and you still manage to make me feel this big.” She shows him her index and thumb spread slightly apart. “You leave me with strangers and sometimes you’re gone for week, doing Ao knows what, we’re always being chased or threatened by someone that YOU have managed to piss off. I’m finished Spencer, with you, your stupid paper, that stupid grin of yours, and that stupid stupid hat!”

Anje’ was especially beautiful when she was on a tirade, so her editor, companion and at times lover, stood there smiling. Big red handprint and all.

“Look, I’m very, very sensitive when it comes to this hat, you know It was a gift from a very prominent Pasha in Calimshan, after I liberated his daughter from a rival’s dungeon.” He replied.

“The only thing you liberated her from was virginity, and that same Pasha came after you when he learned his first daughter became a casualty of your sick charm.”

“Sick? You think I’m sick?”

“Probably stole the hat right after you stole her virginity.”

“Now I resent that.” That stupid grin he always wore when in trouble, she just wanted to punch it. But it was the same one that lured her, suppressed her better judgement, and broke her will to resist him.

“Stop that.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Stop what?” He slid in closer to her, understanding his trump, his leverage always worked.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Look,” he said, ignoring her order and taking both of her hands. “Nothing has changed, I’ve seen the notice, I’ll go with the same requirements I solicited to Auryne.”

Refusing to look him in the eye, she was obviously unhappy with his self-assuredness. “Spencer, these Zhentarim …will kill you.” Her voice was quieter now, foreboding.“ This isn’t some backwoods elven convent that’s just going to lecture you and at worst exile you from their lands. The Zhentarim, look at me,” she was staring him straight in the face now. ”these followers of Bane, they’ll stretch you until your bones pop, then paint you with honey and drop you off in front of the fire ant hill.” His dark eyes looked at hers, but never into hers. He only saw the surface it seemed, never past the first page of a book. Anje’s shoulders slumped a little when she remembered who her editor was.

“Don’t worry about me Annie, I survived Amn, Chessentia, Algarond, Narfell and Thay. I’ll survive Hickdale.” He coolly responded, notioning to farmer Masden’s son over his shoulder.

“Do you really think they’re going to pay you, all that money just to sit down and have a chat?”

“Maybe... Myth Drannor wouldn’t, could be a great opportunity to show up their rivals across the river.” He began to move back to the barn, intent on getting the next editions copies inked before the evening was through.

“You going to help me with these copies, or stand there looking all hot and bothered for Jeffery?” he winked at her and she knew that there would be no finishing the newest editions tonight. Aside from being an extremely good looking man, his arrogance and cockyness had a damnable eternal desire driven into her.

He was a womanizing, self centered, reckless, scoundrel that could charm the pants off of a girl if left unawares. She hated and loved him at the same time. So Anje’ had followed him for the past 6 years assisting with this Grand Vision he had, to inform people across the realm about the occurrences in distant lands. They were always run out of the region or town they decided to visit, ultimately enraging all forms of government, be it good or evil aligned.

The bard started for the barn again and didn’t stop when she spoke. “What will you do with that money?”

“Where do you think we get all these supplies Anje’? Parchment is not cheap, neither is ink, unless you want it to wash at first rain. There’s travel expenses, I have to feed you and me. Medicine if we get sick. Then after all that we distribute to those who helped us, then the rest goes to the poorest in the region.” He replied matter-of-factly.

“Spencer,” He stopped this time when she spoke, and turned sideways to face her.”Whose side are you on anyways?”

He smiled that stupid smile again. “The right side, naturally.” The half-elf rolled her eyes and reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled into the barn, past the tables where the newest editions lay ruined. And there in a remote corner amongst the hay, her willpower to him was lost.


“I hate you Spencer Beholder…I hate you.”



How she wished that were true.