The Bitter Ashes of My Mother
The first sensation was burning and searing. It was not that different from the burning and searing state Reiltar's more vicious beatings had left the skin of Sarevok's back in, ripped open and bleeding. But now it was not his skin that was being ripped. After all, he had no skin any more. He had no true physical form except that of a wraith, grey and transparent. Still, his consciousness and senses were intact. No, what was being seared was his soul. The immortal part of every being, and Bhaal, in his rage and fury, feasted upon his fallen son.
No more visions of power, no more soothing flow of the dark, underground river. Sarevok was cast away now, and the dead god had gathered the divine essence of his blood, collecting his immortal soul as an amusing byproduct. There was a blood-red sky above, and the ground was crushed salt. His feet were bare, and full of wounds, and he was forced to walk on the salt as it forced its way into the cuts. Not truly having feet, but still having the full experience of them - and the suffering.
Sarevok was thirsty also. There was no water anywhere. Just the salt-ground, and a very bright, too red sun above. He spotted a rock formation, looking like a face twisted in pain. Under the formation he saw a shady shape of a person, and approached cautiously. This was the most hostile and desolate place he had ever been in. Probably the Abyss, where the chaotic and evil souls dwell.
The person had probably once been human. His face had started to resemble that of a demon, his shape somehow transitory. Twisted, gnarled limbs, eyes huge in the sunken, pale face.
- "Well hello, traveler! New blood, pardon the expression," cackled the creature, whom Sarevok found tempted to think of as an "it".
Sarevok sat beside the thing, who didn't at least initially seem hostile.
- "How did you know I haven't been here long?" he asked.
The creature laughed unpleasantly.
- "When you have been in Hell as long as I have, you'll also be able to spot the newcomers. You are still trying to figure this place out, making a plan of some sort."
- "This is hell? A salt desert without water?"
- "This is but a small part of the Abyss. Layers after layers of new tortures. I see that you are one of Bhaal's children - your body dissolved because it channeled too much of the divine essence. Amusing, isn't it - you don't have a real body any more, but still you can feel all the tortures it can be subjected to once you were alive. And still, no release of oblivion." It was grinning.
- "No one knows how many layers there are, or when you have reached another one," it continued. "You will also run into the tanar'ri - if you are lucky, they don't pay attention, if not, they might amuse themselves by playing with you."
- "Is there nothing to be gained? No way out?" Sarevok tried to take his new situation in.
- "Well, you were a warrior, and a strong soul in your life. Perhaps they will recruit you into their blood war with the devils."
- "And what if they did? What good would that do to me?"
- "Nicer treatment, scraps from their tables. You are in hell, man," smiled the creature.
- "I want my life back. I want out of here," said Sarevok.
The creature had apparently never heard anything so funny.
- "Your life is gone, pal. Make the best of the unpleasant circumstances. Grovel and be spared the torture. Forget, give up, let go and perhaps one day the pain will lessen. After your memories fade, you'll perhaps fade away as a mindless little demon..."
After the stunned feeling and the suffering, the first familiar pang of anger.
- "If there is a way here, there must be a way out as well. Those demons travel other planes all the time. How do you get out of here?" asked Sarevok in an impatient tone.
The creature let his chuckles die, but was still grinning.
- "Oh, the tenacity and enthusiasm. Breaking you will please some minor demon lord should they take you as their toy. If you managed to travel the river Styx, you'd get to the other planes. The river only connects to the Plane of infinite portals, the uppermost of them, however, and getting there may be next to impossible once you are lost in the bowels of this infinite despair. There may be portals, but you can just forget about it. Usually they just lead to another layer of torture."
- "And what would happen to me if I got back to Faerun?"
- "Faerunian, eh? I was too... so, so long ago. Why, you'd be a dead thing. A ghost. Better not run afoul some overzealous paladin..."
Sarevok had had quite enough of his new friend.
- "What were you when you were alive?" he asked.
- "I was an... artist," grinned the man, his features vaguely more human. "I sculpted bodies, bodies of children. My art was their pain, my sculptures their deaths. I alone sacrificed moral code to my own definition of art..." he sighed dreamily, and the disgusted Sarevok nodded and started to limp away.
Father, how parched can a non-existent throat be, how thirsty can you get if you can't die of thirst? How much can walking hurt if you have no feet?
But Bhaal didn't answer, just ripped Sarevok apart from the inside. Sarevok could see something hovering in the distance, a hole in the vibrant air. It must be a portal. He gathered his willpower and decided not to stop before reaching it. As he finally reached it, he remembered the apparently infinite number of the layers. Despair almost gripped him. But this was like surviving when he was a child, running from cold and starvation. Don't give in. Don't let it get to you. This place wanted you to despair, and that he would not do. He spoke, to himself and to anyone who would hear, perhaps a little to the spirit of his mother, wherever she might be.
- "I, Sarevok, swear on the bitter ashes of my mother and the dead god that is my father, in the name of vengeance and the bitter bile that is my blood...I swear that I will scratch and crawl my way back into the world of the living!" Solemnly he regarded the barren, hopeless landscape, feeling slightly melodramatic.
- "On the plus side," he mused, "I will probably never again have to go by Reiltar's name."