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Ominifis Hereward Dran. CEO of Acquisitions Incorporated. Masked Lord of Waterdeep. Cleric of Tymora, goddess of luck. These were Omin’s preferred labels, but his reputation was hardly sterling. In fact, a quick survey of his fellow Waterdavians would quickly uncover some of Omin’s more unscrupulous actions. He wasn’t the kind to offer aid unless it was profitable for him to do so. Omin was not the best boss, often keeping hard working people as interns rather than putting them on the books. Omin treated his clerical duties like his business, as he lacked the heart or devotion that many considered a requirement for that position. The truth was that for every person who liked or admired Omin Dran, there were a dozen or so that despised him. Tymora could forgive her cleric for being an advantageous business man. Everyone has their quirks and vices, after all. Omin had a gift for negotiation and documentation, so business would come more naturally to his cerebral nature than empathy or charity. Tymora knew Omin had been raised by his mother Prophetess Dran, one of Tymora’s most dedicated paladins. Due to this, Omin had been in the goddess’s service for as long as he could remember. Even as Omin began to exchange the word of Tymora for the gospel of Acquisitions Incorporated and large profits, the goddess was patient. When his questioning of her went too far after the failed resurrections of his sisters, Omin fulfilled the tasks Tymora assigned him as compensation for his near-blasphemy. Tenure, however, only covers a certain amount of sins. Occasionally, even those in long term service to a deity would court danger, and Omin was no exception. When the death curse had struck Jim Darkmagic, Omin’s staff wizard, the cleric made a calculating, selfish decision. In order to prevent his business from being affected by the possibility of Jim’s demise, Omin commissioned an exact clone of the wizard. Tymora was infuriated at the dark magic Omin had dabbled in to produce another Jim. The clone was identical to the wizard, complete with self-awareness, magic capabilities, and a soul. Who did that cleric think he was to replicate lives? What of the far-reaching consequences that Omin was unable to comprehend? Tymora decided to hold for the right opportunity to deal with him on this matter.Unfortunately, having a clone of Jim was not the biggest line Omin would cross. It is one thing to haphazardly create a soul, but quite another to heartlessly destroy it. When Omin had been summoned to the nine hells, it was due to Jim Darkmagic’s soul. The pit fiend who brought Omin there advised him it was time for Jim be sent to there. The cleric didn’t bother to protest. Instead, Omin reviewed the pit fiend’s paperwork with intense scrutiny. Only after he was satisfied did he sign off on the soul of Jim… the cloned Jim. This had now become a matter of Omin’ pride, and his smug delight at being able to outmaneuver the contract’s stipulations. There was no friendship or decency involved here, just business. Omin coldly watched as cloned Jim appeared before him, begged for help, and was dragged down into the fiery pits of the hells. The screams of the clone would have haunted any man for years, especially those reminiscent of a close colleague. Omin, however, was not any man. Once she had calmed down and given it thought, Tymora consulted others like herself. Most of them simply killed their insubordinate clerics and paladins, but Tymora sought to make Omin fear and revere the goddess once again. At very least, she would make an example of him. Late one evening, Omin Dran sat expectantly at his desk. He had requested that Flabbergast make him a cup of tea to enjoy while covering some new contracts. Omin began to wonder just how inefficient his servant was at making a simple cup of tea, as he hadn’t seen him in a half hour or more. Unable to concentrate on little else until he resolved the tea issue, Omin headed towards the kitchen. As he went to open the office door, he found it had been locked. He went to unlock it, but he could hear the mechanisms move back to their former locked positions immediately.Rolling his eyes, Omin returned to his desk and grabbed a sending stone. He called to Jim, just a couple offices down the hall. This was likely a prank, albeit not a funny one as it interfered with Omin’s tea time. There was no response from the wizard. As Omin chastised any potential stone listeners, the windows in his office all clicked simultaneously. He walked over and drew back the curtains to see that the windows had locked themselves. Through the glass panes, he was greeted with a black fog that covered the area. Omin was unable to see any of the numerous street lamps that surrounded the office. “Curious,” Omin mumbled.He retreated back from the window, listening for anything out of the ordinary. On the other side of the door, he could hear some sort of faint scratching noises. In the past, Omin had warned Flabbergast that his cat, Mister Snibby, would be wise to not use the AI offices as it’s personal scratching post. Upon continued listening, the cleric was able to determine that these were not small nails of a domestic cat, but the claws of something much larger.Omin would have been more concerned if not for his tremendous ego. He sauntered over to his maul, propped up against his desk. He placed it on his shoulder and waited, confident that whatever was being orchestrated this effort to annoy or prank Omin would be easily disposed of. The scratching noises ceased as a black mist began to pour in through the cracks around the door. Omin stiffened his spine. This going a bit far, with the darkness swirling outside and now intruding into his office. Someone was definitely getting fired. Omin called out to no one in particular.“This joke has been fun, but I grow weary of it.”The mist gathered itself into the form of a large humanoid figure that dwarfed the cleric. It moved toward Omin slowly as he took his maul off his shoulder and settled into a fighting stance.“The only joke here is you, Omin,” the figure addressed the cleric with a high-pitch hiss. “You have run out of chances to redeem yourself.”“Redeem myself? Are you a former customer of ours? I would be happy to discuss your experiences…”“FOOL! I am no one to trifle with,” the figure bellowed. “I am here to judge you for your crimes.”“Ha! What crimes?” Omin put his maul back on his shoulder, and tried to laugh off his growing concern. “I am a businessman, not a criminal.”“You are a con man, one who has been dabbling in the dark magic.”Omin flinched. This was not a prank after all. He began to go over the defense he had created in case such a time would come.“I only sought after such magic when I was faced with losing my friend.”“Your employee,” the voice hissed.“Yes, a wonderful wizard and a friend. Having the world be prematurely denied of Jim’s skills and charisma would be a crime. Losing his friendship would have been devastating to many, especially me,” Omin pleaded, using his best feigned concern voice. “By Tymora, I swear.”Omin’s words began to echo and fill the room. “By Tymora… by Tymora… by Tymora!” The chant grew louder and louder as it broke glass on the window panes and rumbled through the floor beneath him. The figure in front of him silently maintained position.“Stop this,” Omin demanded. “Stop it now!”“BY TYMORA, BY TYMORA…”“What do you want? Okay, I might have made a clone for selfish reasons,” Omin tried to protest, “but everything worked out in the end!”The torrid of words changed as they began to whisper tauntingly. “The end, the end, the end…”The figure hissed. “Whose end?”“All of ours, of course,” Omin stated. “Jim was cured so he is still here…”“And you didn’t have to kill him after all.”“I would never…”The being held up a spectral hand to stop Omin. The mocking whispers around them continued to chant. “The end, whose end, the end, whose end?”“You had planned to kill Jim if he got too sick. Bad for the brand, you know.” The figure floated closer to Omin. “Do you think the goddess does not know your heart?”Omin swallowed hard. He could now feel the chants reverberating in his mind, disrupting his thoughts and stealing his speech. His disorientation grew until he finally dropped to his knees, then onto his side. Omin could still hear the voices as he passed out. “Whose end? Whose end? Whose end?” A sharp slap to the face woke Omin from his unconscious state. He was unsure how much time had passed, but it was at least enough for his unknown assailant to tie him to a metal chair. He looked down at where his armor previously clung.“Who are you?” Even in Omin’s lowly state, he was as indignant as ever. “Who sent you?”He looked up at a tall, thin being in a thick black robe. Long black gloves covered the being’s hands and a hood obscured its face. The being gave no reply. Omin assessed that this was likely a mortal man trying to have some fun.“I do not hide my face, and yet you judge me for my crimes? Ha! Who are you that you should judge me?”A gloved hand reached over and tapped on the holy symbol Omin still wore on his tunic.“Tymora would not send someone to scold me that wasn’t able to speak. I am far too cerebral to accept conviction from a mute.”Omin’s words were rebellious, but his tone betrayed him. He knew that he sounded worried, despite his best efforts.The robed man figure stood behind Omin. He placed his hands on the cleric’s shoulders, now free of their pauldrons. As the being’s gloved hands ran over the shoulders, Omin felt a sickening feeling. In his inability to defend himself against this being, he knew that Tymora had withdrawn her power from him. Omin cried out in anguish. He pleaded with the goddess to give him another chance, begged her to reinstate that which she had taken. Omin began to run through excuses, crying out through tears of fear how he had contributed to Tymora’s temple and had done numerous good deeds in her name.The pleading and bargaining went on for hours as the hooded figure continued to stand by. After screams of despair and shame destroyed his voice, Omin could only bark out a weary “please.” His indignation turned to fear and self-pity. When the room grew silent, he hung his head. If Omin wasn’t a cleric, then who was he? His mother would never speak to him again after news of her son's punishment, and subsequent news of how he angered the goddess.The being untied him from the chair. As he tried to fight, Omin found he had absolutely no strength. He practically had to be dragged to the mirror where the cloaked figure guided him. The figure held his hand out and gestured towards the mirror.Omin dropped again to his knees as he took in his reflection. The lack of armor made him look 50 lbs lighter. The crying and pleading made him look a decade older than he was. He leaned against the mirror, a shell of a man. “Well,” Omin whispered, “I’ve looked better." He turned his attention to the figure. "I can only assume you, hooded creature of some sort, are here to direct me to my eternal punishment?”The cloaked figure stood silently. He gestured again towards the mirror. As Omin turned back to the mirror, he found his image disappear. In its place, a small inn appeared. This was the Dran & Courtier.“Why are we looking at my mother’s inn?” The robed one offered no reply.He could see his mother, dressed in her own Tymorian armor, as she sat at a small table. She was telling one of the staff about Omin.“He never visits,” offered Prophetess Dran. “I know he’s busy, but Waterdeep isn’t that far away. The least he could do is check in on things around here.”“Think he’ll sell the place when you pass?”“Ha! Absolutely,” Propha cackled. “He isn’t on the deed or in the will for that very reason. Only Audra, or maybe Auspicia if Audra isn’t interested, will be able to take over. I love him, but that boy has a reputation as being a bit money grubbing.”The mirror went dark briefly before showing another scene. Omin could see himself reading a letter. Strix wrote to him and asked him to intercede, as a masked lord, to have Diath freed from the prison he was sentenced to for ten days. Omin watched as his past self read the note, then tossed it in the trash.“He might have been guilty, I don’t know,” Omin said defensively. The cloaked man had nothing to offer, and simply continued to face the mirror.There were many visions. Mostly, Omin saw his past mistakes. He saw Evelyn heartbroken that he had not returned her letter. He saw himself safe from office intruders as the intern Jeff was left unarmed to fight to his death. He saw himself reject Viari for employment time and again. In general, Omin saw that he was not a nice guy, but certainly these personality kinks were not enough to lose his clericship over.Finally, hours later, the memories Omin did not want to relive had arrived. He watched his biggest offense unfold. Omin helped create a clone, which he sealed in a casket until it needed to be used. He then saw himself dragged into the nine hells and sign off on the clone’s soul in place of Jim’s. He watched as his past self even went so far as to push cloned Jim off of him. As the clone was dragged away, Omin made sure the clone knew that he wasn’t the real Jim. Omin could hear screams of torment and pleas for salvation from cloned Jim as the tentacles dragged him down.The image began to change. Suddenly, the pit fiend Omin had been watching in the memory turned to address him directly. The fiend raised a finger and pointed at him.“Your turn.” In a flash, the fiend reached through the mirror and grabbed Omin. In his weakened state, Omin was unable to fight back. Pulled through the mirror, Omin’s body hit the ground hard. The heat reinforced that this was no memory, no mirage. The time to pay for his sins had come. The fiend dragged the former cleric across a floor engulfed in flames. Omin’s skin bubbled up and blistered as the fire enveloped him. Chunks of flesh were dragged off of his body as the fiend raked him over the scorching ground. All his hair had burned off his scalp and skin, filling his nostrils with a grotesque scent that was quickly overpowered by the all-consuming odor of brimstone. The former cleric was unable to move his limbs or even speak. If Omin had his faculties about him, he would have realized the magical bonds holding him. He could hear nothing but the flames smacking against his skin. His eyelids began to warp and disintegrate as he tried to close them tightly to preserve what vision he had left. The last glimpse Omin took allowed him to see that the robed figure that was with him on the other side of the mirror still accompanied him.Disfigured, burned, and lame, Omin felt his body thrown onto a new surface. His vision gone and his sense of touch destroyed, he was only able to tell this particular piece of ground was devoid of flame.“You like contracts, don’t you?” The fiend knelt down to speak into what was left of Omin’s ear. “You have one last one to sign, boss man.”The fiend stood up and hissed louder. “Seeing as how your eyes are no more, I will graciously read the contract to you.”Omin could make out very little of what was being read to him. The ringing in his ears blocked out most of the words, but he was able to make out a few: “soul”, “damnation”, and “sign”. “Now, dear Omin,” the fiend addressed him, “I need that signature. Oh! It appears your fingers have been burned off. No worries, your friend here will be more than happy to assist you with signing. However, it seems we will need some sort of ink.”A long blade entered Omin’s rib cage and quickly withdrew. A gloved hand wrapped around Omin’s charred numb of a hand. The hand guided him with some sort of quill, which they dipped into the puddle of blood which poured from the blade’s wound. Once the quill was wet, Omin’s twitching hand was guided through the first familiar experience of this torture: signing his signature. When the signing was completed, everything grew quiet. Omin laid on his side. His pain never ceased and his body now shook uncontrollably. A gloved hand moved across Omin’s eyes. This seemed to restore the cleric’s sight somewhat. He was able to open them just enough to see the robed figure kneeling next to him. Omin tried to speak, but the words were slurred from lack of flesh around his mouth and charred tongue.“Kill...me,” he moaned. “Please.”The robed figure cocked his head to one side as it took in Omin’s request. At that point, it removed its hood and the mask covering its face. Omin released a sobbing moan as he took in the face. Half of it was covered in charred skin, but the other half was simply a flame-darkened skull. The being took his gloved hands and cradled Omin’s head. “Don’t worry, Omin. We’re together now.”The voice of Jim Darkmagic was the last thing Omin heard before he felt himself being lifted up by an unseen force. With his restored vision, Omin saw a light open up to envelop him. He closed his eyes and prayed the only thing that he could think to.“Tymora, please… forgive me.” Omin Dran woke up on a marble slab in an empty temple, a temple he had visited many, many times. The goddess stood over him.“I was advised to snuff out my problem cleric, but I chose to spare you. Do you know why, Omin?”He slowly shook his head no. Omin’s body was still deformed from his journey, the pain still left him on the brink of losing consciousness.“I know that you do care for people, even if you are unable to show it. However, the clone was a horrible decision, selling its soul was a worse one.” Tymora situated herself where she could place her hands on Omin's face.“You had to experience what you put that clone through. You needed to know that pain in order to prevent future ‘mistakes’. Are we clear?”Omin tried to speak, but made no noise. Tymora closed her eyes and began to heal her follower. Her hands sent the restorative magic pulsing through Omin’s flesh, slowly bringing it back to its previous health. As his body regained its former appearance, he found his mind had not calmed. The horrors were still there... the smell of the putrid flesh, the pain of appendages being burned and pulled away, and dark sensations he could not give a name to.“Forgive me, Tymora,” Omin begged, his voice trembling. “I pledge my servitude to you for as long as you will have me. I am a fool, a dangerous fool. What can I do for that soul? I… I need to make this right.”Tymora motioned for Omin to sit up. As he did, she directed his attention to the other side of the temple’s main worship room. The robed figure approached them as Tymora beckoned him over. As he pulled his cloak off, Omin could see that this was the clone of Jim Darkmagic, no longer burned and skeletal, but in his earthly form. Tymora put her hand on cloned Jim’s shoulder.“Hello, dear,” Tymora cooed. “What can we do for you?”“I’m… I was made just like another guy,” the clone stuttered. He avoided Omin’s sorrowful haze.“I can change that if you’d like. I can offer you a new life or an eternal slumber,” Tymora took cloned Jim’s face in her hands. “Tell me what you want me to do.”The man’s eyes filled with water. “I just want to be my own person. Not a copy of someone else.”Tymora turned her attention to Omin. “Now might be a good time.”Omin cautiously approached Jim’s clone. It was beginning to dawn on him how important Jim really was to him. Selfishness and the reluctance to experience such a loss caused Omin to replicate the one person in his life that he could call a friend. As the clone stiffened his spine and tried to look past the cleric, Omin began to address him.“What I have done… the reprehensible act of creating you as a mere copy of someone I was afraid to lose… it was an odious, unforgivable work. Only Tymora can undo the malice I have created.”Omin stopped for just a moment to regain control over his trembling voice. Jim’s clone took the opportunity to speak up.“I, uh, I know everything Jim knows, and I feel what he feels,” the clone began. “He loves his life, his powers, and entertaining people. Jim wants to leave a legacy. But just as important as that legacy, I think that being your friend is an important part of his life.”Cloned Jim looked at Omin in the eyes for the first time. “Maybe,” he admitted, “just maybe, Jim would have done the same to avoid losing you.”Both men nodded and faced each other, eyes full of tears. They then directed their attention at Tymora. She smiled as she motioned the clone to lay on the slab that Omin’s burnt body formerly occupied. “Don’t be afraid," Tymora assured him as the clone laid down.“I’m not. I almost feel relieved,” the clone admitted.As Omin stood on the other side of the slab across from Tymora, he found his hand being grabbed by the man. “You brought me here, you might as well guide me home.”Omin took the man’s hand in both of his and nodded. “Of course.”Tymora closed her eyes and raised her hands in an offering pose. As she cupped her hands, a mist of silver arose from them. It lingered about the goddess until it finally fed over into Jim’s clone. He gave Omin’s hand a quick squeeze as his body began to be enveloped in a dazzling silver light. Omin looked away for fear of being blinded again. His hand was released as the light began to fade.When the light subsided, Omin turned back to the slab to witness the transformation. Instead of the tall, lanky, familiar-faced man, there lay a small infant boy. Tymora picked up the child, cooing at the babe with pure motherly instinct .“James gets to be his own man now, but first he will get to be a boy. He will grow and discover who he truly is, and never again be a plan B for anyone.”Omin nodded in agreement as looked at the baby, now sleeping in Tymora’s arms. He wondered about the child’s future, and whether he would be a wizard or maybe even an employee someday.“Omin…”“Yes, my goddess?”“Your powers will be returned to you in a fortnight. In the meanwhile, I would recommend spending time at the temple and finding some philanthropy work to do.”“Absolutely. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for saving this soul.”“This isn’t over. I will be watching you very closely,” Tymora threatened as she turned to leave. “But for now, I have to make a childless couple very happy.”She walked down the main aisle of the temple, herself disappearing in more of the silvery mist after a few steps. Omin took a deep breath of relief. He stepped forward as everything immediately went black. Back at AI Headquarters, Flabbergast attempted to wake Omin from the cleric’s desktop nap. “Sir, I would recommend you move to your quarters if you require rest. This position will only serve to cause pain in your neck.”Omin stirred, then jumped up in a fright. As he leapt to his feet, he startled Flabbergast. “Ah! Sir!” The cleric did a quick survey of his office and his person. Weapons? Check. Armor? Check. Powers? No, but nice try.“My apologies, Flabbergast. I had a bit of a terrible dream. What time is it?"“It's still evening, sir. Perhaps an early bedtime tonight?"Omin nodded. “Rest sounds amazing. You should get some as well. We have a busy day tomorrow. You and I are going to work in a few items for the temple. Donations and such.”“Splendid! I do look forward to it.” Flabbergast smiled in agreement as he took his leave. As Omin collected his things for the evening, Jim popped by. “Hey, Omin, what do you say to a couple cold ones tonight? Been a long week.”Omin stared at Jim. His friend Jim. The wizard had always come by and offered an opportunity to grab a drink. Omin realized he had turned Jim down at least a hundred times. “You could just say no, you don’t have to stare and make it weird,” Jim objected.“That sounds fantastic, actually. Give me five minutes?”The wizard's face lit up. “Yeah, of course! This is gonna be great! I’ll … I’ll wait for you with the cart out front.”“Wonderful. Just five minutes.”Jim, elated, practically floated down the hall out of Omin’s view. Omin quickly finished organizing his desk for the next day. He had nearly paid for his selfishness and pride with his very soul. That knowledge was not wasted on him. Tomorrow, he would order flowers for his mother and sister, write to Evelyn, and begin to evaluate the temple’s financial needs. He would return to, or at least become, the kind of cleric people could admire and his deity would be proud of.Tonight, however, he was going to have a few ales with Jim Darkmagic, his longtime employee.And his friend.