NybCR: Yeah... wrote this a while ago, edited it, edited it again, edited it yet again, and decided to put it up. Why? I don't know, I was bored.
This one-shot is set in the Throne of Bhaal and the main character is blind. Her party is in that lovely little wilderness area just outside of the Forest of Mir (with the crazy witch-lady) and they've stopped for a while to have something to eat. It is about... well, nothing in particular I guess. It's just a pointless little ditty.
Disclaimer: Don't own Baldur's Gate, Throne of Bhaal, or any of that stuff, thank you.
Sky
The blind Bhaalspawn and her party of adventurers stopped on the road to the fire giant's home, the corpses of slain giants and enemy soldiers decomposing on the grass not too far away. But they were used to the sight of sprawled, lifeless bodies; only the rotting stench of the recently deceased still bothered these hardened warriors. This they avoided by settling down near a crystal clear lake. It shimmered gently in the sunlight, upwind of the blood-soaked grass.
The only smells here were the flowers and the rations they pulled from their backpacks. It was to be a long trek, and they needed to keep their energy up, so they lingered here to eat lunch. It was a pleasant change of scenery from the battles and mercenaries swarming everywhere else. So lovely, in fact, that Imoen cheerfully dubbed it a picnic—ironic, since their lives were in danger even in such a calm setting.
The Bhaalspawn Cecelia sat down on the soft grass, taking in the scent of the flowers, glad that for once the wind didn't carry the scent of decay.
Or not; on that breeze, there, she could detect it: rotting, sun-burned flesh from the other side of the lake—the corpses of the soldiers attacking those merchants. She sighed. It wasn't surprising anymore. Death followed her everywhere.
Footsteps drew her from her reverie: heavy, sinking into the ground, with the distinct clang of metal on metal. They belonged to a fully-armored man completely sure of himself, but for the slightest hesitation—a hint of wounded pride? The footsteps should have been louder than they were, considering what weight he carried, but they were muffled by a careful stealth learned over the years.
Cecilia knew these steps well.
"Sarevok," she said as her half-brother sat down beside her with a heavy, clanging thud. He didn't respond, but she didn't need him to; even if she could not see, she knew it was him. She knew all of the members of her party by their footsteps.
When she first identified him before he even spoke, he was impressed. Not overtly, but it was one thing to know when someone was sneaking up on you—quite another to know exactly who that someone is simply by the sound of their footsteps.
Her response: "It's useful, yes, but I'd rather be able to see." Though she could not see the expression that crossed his face, she could tell by the incredulous tenor of his voice as he replied that he was annoyed by her answer.
That was the day before. Cecilia was not surprised by the words that came out of his mouth mere seconds after he sat down beside her.
"Why do you desire so desperately to see?"
Cecelia shrugged. He let out an irritated huff. "Are you truly the same woman who killed me?"
"Pretty sure."
Leather whispered as he shifted his position. "As a sorceress, your blindness does not hinder your ability to learn spells, and since your hearing is so acute, it barely affects your ability to cast spells on your enemy. You have adapted ways of knowing when you are being approached, and so have less chance of being caught off guard than most people who can see. What in the Nine Hells do you need vision for?"
Cecilia lifted a hand to rub the tired muscles below her neck. Times like this, she could hardly believe how narrow Sarevok's world was. The only think he ever seemed to concern himself with was war or battle. She doubted if there was anything she could say to explain herself so that he would understand, but she could try.
She turned her face upwards, thinking. The sunlight warmed her cheeks; a breeze tossed some stray hairs over her forehead. "Sarevok," she said finally, "look at the sky."
There was a pause. "What about it?"
She turned her face towards his voice. "You can only ever see the sky; you cannot touch it, nor taste it, nor smell it, nor hear it. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist, though everyone else insists otherwise."
"As if such things matter."
She ignored him. "Imoen told me it's blue and limitless, but what do I know of these things? Blue—that means nothing to me. Limitless… perhaps I know what that is. When I look around, I see nothing, and this 'nothing' is perhaps limitless, but I can never be certain."
She did not see the twist of her brother's mouth; she only heard the small, barely-there "tch" that escaped from his lips at the movement. She sighed and tilted her chin upwards. The sunshine warmed her face; the sky loomed and did nothing. She continued speaking, no longer really addressing Sarevok.
"I once asked Gorion what color 'nothing' was. He told me it was black. But how do I know that the nothing I see is black? Perhaps it's really blue. Perhaps I've been looking at the sky all along. But I'll never know."
Sarevok snorted, compelling Cecilia to look back at him (or at least direct her eyes toward his voice; she never looked at anyone). "What on earth are you going on about? None of that is important in any sense whatsoever. It is even less relevant considering the Throne of Bhaal that you need to usurp. Disregard all else, sister; these thoughts will only hold you back."
"Maybe." Cecilia said no more.
Sarevok made as if to get up, but the shifting of armor woke her from her thoughts. She chuckled, the sound a little too sad for something meant to express cheer.
"Yeah, maybe so," she said. Sarevok stopped. "But I'd love to see faces. To look into someone's eyes and find out for myself if the soul is really reflected there. To see if a person's face really does 'light up' when they smile. To..." She stopped. She looked up, to where she thought his face was, but she'd lost his location in her mind's eye, so she looked down again. "I don't even know what my own face looks like. I once asked Gorion what color my eyes are. I don't remember what he said, but it doesn't matter. Colors mean nothing to me."
She stood up and brushed her skirt off. A wind blew, rustling the grass beneath their feet.
Sarevok spoke. "Blue."
Cecilia turned around, surprised. "What?"
"Your eyes are blue. The exact color of the sky, if you must know."
She stared for a few moments, completely baffled. Then, suddenly, a smile spread across her face. "Thank you for that, Sarevok."