Chapter 26: Bhaal
There is a certain, unmistakable weight that parents pass onto their children. Every father his son, every mother her daughter. It is a weight that cannot be measured, not objectively, but it is one that hangs over these children, and the parents that created them, for their entire lives.
It is the shadow that lurks in the mind of the father, the all-seeing eyes that observe the son in the days of his life. The gentle caress that touches the mother, the shield that stands guard in front of the daughter. This weight takes the form of questions that must be answered in the course of a generation. Will my children be like me? Will they be worse than me? Perhaps the most feared question of all...will they be better?
As I stand ever vigilant, watching the world from Boareskyr Bridge, I have to contemplate these questions, for my life as a mortal has been spent on a single important goal: to allow a generation to follow me, to ensure that my legacy will forever impact the course of history.
But it seemed, as I sensed a presence walk onto this bridge, that it was time for my legacy to continue in the past, rather than the present tense.
"Bhaal!" He shouts. Cyric. Ever the upstart, ever the master of deception. One of the greatest mortals, he was reduced to the state I was: logic being overtaken by emotion, desires and goals always seeming to overwrite those of others around you, fostering a world full of conflict, of lust and greed...of murder.
"Cyric. How far must you chase me? You knew I would be here, after all." I turn to him, and observe the man who would deign himself worthy to slay a god. At his side, a sword lies waiting in its sheath. No ordinary blade, to match a man known for his extraordinary deeds. He was prepared to take my life.
"I would hunt you to the ends of this plane! What kind of disgusting creature...you were never worthy to be a god!"
Never worthy? I would certainly dispute that. "The Dead Three earned their place in the pantheon, Cyric. Have you?"
"Lies! Filthy lies!" He draws his blade. "Lies that will cost you your life!" He charges forward, towards me, towards his destiny. It was time for me to defend all that I knew, all that I understood, all that I have learned living a lifetime as a mortal.
My daggers would not be able to hold his blade forever. It would slide off them, poised and graceful, as I attempted to be in my own life, but Cyric was larger, stronger than I, and his skill was on full display.
We danced our dance up and down the bridge, but time was not on my side. I would weaken, I knew, through prolonged frontal assault. It was the way of things; Cyric, the battering ram, fueled by a life of hatred, of anger at a god who he believed unworthy, could only weaken and topple the gate that barred his path to glory.
Even as I made my incisions, cut at his muscles and arteries through the few openings he left me, he seemed only to move faster, to swing wider and harder.
His momentum carried us off the bridge itself, near the river that ran under it. I climbed down nearby vines, while he leapt to the ground instead, where the clashing of our steel resumed.
He pushed me back, towards the edge of the rushing water. Every step he took was akin to three, and I moved against him, one at a time. But it was like attempting to fight a swirling tornado, attempting to swim up a tidal wave. Impossible, akin to asking a grieving woman to forget her husband.
"This is where you end, Bhaal." I had nowhere to run, no clever plan to see me through this time. However, there were forces already in motion. Alaundo's prophecy would hold true, and, in the end, though my physical body would die here -
He runs me through. I choke out my last breath as a mortal, think my final thoughts as my body plunges beneath the icy waves.
Though I would perish here, in end, Cyric...I have already won.