The End II

Sendai was gone before Daria's heart missed it's first beat. Three more beats would be hurried, but there, in a different version of a present, one never divined – the time Jaheira needed to get to her ward's side. The tenth was the last beat her heart missed before powerful druidic magic forcefully restarted it and set into a rhythm.

"Come on, Daria. Come on!" The amount of magic poured into the elf should have woken a dead dragon, but the woman didn't stir. A prayer to Helm joined the verses of the next healing spell.

"We need to find out which poison this is!" Xan took the diviner's bag and emptied it's contents on the ground, searching for the dairy Imoen gave her in the oasis. He saw Daria obediently noting many of her visions in her signature chicken scratch. He read most of the fresh ones already, with her permission, and almost remembered where she wrote…

"There!" He found the correct paragraph, written upside down, for some bizarre reason. "A drow with an onyx ring, an armor made of thorns… This was Sendai, a Bhaalspawn. And her shortsword..." 'Do not touch!' was written and underlined twice on the page. A cold chill went down his spine as he read the explanation. "Rare poison, 'Death of a Heart' - from a genus of spider rare on the material plane. Me or Imoen. Deadly. No known antidote."

"I've heard about it" Solaufein reacted to the name. "Though I don't think it was ever used on Ust Natha… It's said that there is yet to be a matron powerful enough to be killed by this poison. The magic destroys the connections in the heart, slowly tears it from the Weave so it cannot be healed and then stops it. It's deadly for all elves and magic-users."

"There must be something!"

"No, that's what I'm saying. It's the most expensive poison known to drow. There would have to be an extremely dangerous or powerful person, for killing them in that manner to be profitable. You could buy an army with a price of one dose… But once it enters the bloodstream there is no way to stop it. It's..." he traced off seeing Daria on the ground, motionless despite the amount of divine magic poured into her small body.

"It's hopeless" Xan finished for him.


Distant thunder got lost in the walls of a deep system of caverns that served no longer for Abazigal's lair. These lands rarely saw any rain, not to mention a downpour like that, but today not much went according to any rules of this mad world, so why should weather be any different? Water wouldn't reach them here, so deep in the caverns, anyways. So let it pour.

Daria was dying. Her forcefully revived heart was beating every four seconds, a regular rhythm, but too slow to support even an elf. Jaheira and Anomen slowly but surely depleted their magic trying to cure the poison. When that didn't work, to slow it. When that didn't work, to heal the damage it was doing. So far the only thing they accomplished was prolonging her agony. Jaheira by now rearranged all the healing supplies they had left after the fight with Abazigal, all the scrolls and potions, fully prepared to use them all up, before even considering that without an antidote the situation was hopeless. And despite the mound of herbs they had gathered, they could not make a cure that they didn't know of. She could only mix some of them randomly, as if a chance existed she would stumble upon an antidote by accident. Anomen was praying for a miracle.

It was all in vain, Xan should know. He sat by Daria's side motionless, once again unable to touch her hand, not without her invitation. It seemed all too similar, after all those times. He was in shock, he knew that much, but the news of her inevitable demise didn't seem to matter all that much. It was the same, yes. A spark of joy and a punishment. Her smile and then a wound. Holding her on Galante and then Irenicus in Spellhold. A victory in Suldanessellar and the Throne of Bhaal.

Her strength – and her luck – would run out eventually, he knew that much, but now didn't seem like the time. She just kissed him, a moment ago. He could still feel how hot her lips were, how loving. Her unconsciousness never seemed as momentary as today.

Because it wouldn't be poison that killed her in the end. It couldn't be. What were the odds? No, this was simply impossible. What was he supposed to do?

He looked into her closed eyes, his mind fighting a valiant battle against an old scarring memory, of a day very much like this one. He knew how that day ended.

A small twitch run through the sun elf's face. Then another. Her entire body was tensing slowly, becoming almost corpse-like, despite her heart still beating, slowly. Like tiny worms, her muscles spazmed under her skin, shutting down. Jaheira had no more spells to revive them. Daria would be dead in under an hour. Just before the sun sets.

"This is a joke, right?!" Imoen broke the dreadful silence that reigned in their make-shift camp. "This is the same thing you make for her headaches! How is that going to help now?!" The thief kicked the pot Jaheira used to brew, spilling it's familiar stinking contents on the ground. The druidess tensed and then… averted her eyes, as of caught on a bluff. She wordlessly began to clean the spilled potion.

"Sit down, foolish child" Sarevok growled. But his menacing looks never really worked on Imoen.

"What?! Oh, I've got it! You're in on it! You are all in on it! This is one of her plots!" Imoen pointed her finger at Xan. "It's so I would say I forgive her! And make up with you!" Her eyes opened wide as she grinned, finally solving this mystery. "I can do that! Xan, you were a total loser for a while, but you got your act together. I see you really care for my sister, so you have my permission to take her hand in marriage! Hear that, sis?! We're all made up! So wake up! Daria, you filthy liar, wake up!"

He caught Imoen before she managed to try to kick her sister awake. For a second it almost got to him, what was happening. Then Imoen caught him like a life-line and cried big furious tears into his shoulder, her nails digging into his robe.

He held her back, stroked her blonde hair. What more could he do? Hope? Pray? To who? The gods didn't care for her fate and if they did, couldn't intervene. To her? She wasn't a goddess yet, perhaps never would be. He knew well enough that one day the world would present him with the perspective for the rest of eternity without her in it. The inevitability of it felt like a slow avalanche, falling inch by inch, ever closer but not yet there. One day it would crush him, there was no other way. He always hoped this wouldn't be today. It seemed he was finally wrong.

His heart was still beating and she could hear it, perhaps. But that alone wasn't much…

"I love you" he said, sitting back by her side, Imoen still crying, but quiet now. Jaheira once said Daria always did what he asked her to. That wasn't even remotely true, but…

"Please don't do that, please… Don't die." He took her hand, breaking that barrier that held him back before. He felt her skin, so cold. There would be punishment for that.

"I want you to come back to me. I need you to live." He gave himself hope that it was possible.

But at that point, he had nothing to lose.


There was little but whiteness on the other side of the gate. She went in, hoping against hope for a paradise.

The first face that greeted her… was her own.

"Oh." The other her seemed as surprised to see herself. She had no corporeal form, more like a mirror image, bleached of any color, and awash with white light that seemed to sip from somewhere further ahead of her. She looked back at it's source, something the current Daria couldn't see, and back at her doppelganger. "It seems like it's my turn to teach. It… makes sense" she added with a hint astonishment.

Daria squinted her eyes trying to gauge any detail of the ghost, its age or any obvious changes. It made little sense to see herself like that. She was dead. She shouldn't be capable of seeing any more visions of the future.

"Listen." The ghost didn't wait for any sign or conformation that her supposed past self was listening. "The realms bathed in blood, armies marching, cities drowned in blood… all the death and destruction Alaundo's prophecy describes… none of it will happen because of you. Me. Us. The prophecy doesn't warn of you, but of consequences of your failure. You will not become like them. That's why you cannot fail."

"Wait! I, I- already did. It's too late, I can't, I mean..." Daria finally managed to stutter. Where was her paradise? Where was her end?!

"You are not dead yet" the specter didn't listen. "Go back. Choose the black gate. There, in the deep..." she hesitated. "There you will find how to cleanse yourself. You are not allowed to die here."

"But..."

The white light behind the ghost intensified, too bright, only a white silhouette was visible now.

"The Children of Bhaal bring death to the land,

They slaughter each other, and feed their Father.

Death and betrayal walk together,

A river of tainted blood doth not cleanse."

'There was more of the prophecy, she shouldn't be skipping to the end' Daria thought, but the missing verses eluded her. There was no paradise ahead. Only more enemies and bloodshed.

"You will make a difference. You have to make it. But it will be alright, in the end. It will be good" she was lying, Daria knew now how she sounded when she was lying. It was no wonder nobody ever believed her. She sucked at it.

The white radiance consumed the visage of the future.

The diviner was left before the giant gate, one side endlessly white, the other bottomless dark, linked and stretching far into the cosmos. This time she was alone, there wasn't a single soul left on the path, no ghosts of the future or the past. Just another test, one more to judge her worthy. Of what? She never knew. No one ever told her the score or gave her any prizes. She wasn't sure she'd want them, whatever they would be.

She looked at the gates – the choice she already made. She could go into the white again, maybe get served another vision. Or choose the black.

Wait… Could this be a trap? Some cunning way devils preyed on weakened and uncertain, drawing them to hells? Maybe all she saw was a disguised fiend? Or was she truly still alive and all of this was some vivid hallucination, a way her mind worked while she was dying… Or maybe if she'd choose the obviously wrong path…

They would leave her alone at last.

Daria drew her hand to the dark side of the gate and opened it, as she would another portion of the taint she took from one of her siblings. There was nothing there… Just a void without any stars in sight, a simple but stark contrast. There didn't seem to be any meaning to it, just a place without anything…

She focused… She really did, there was nothing here to distract her and nothing to fear. This was starting to feel like one of Imoen's jokes. There was no cure for the poison Sendai had on her dagger and so her future self sent her here, to find… nothing. Very funny. Daria wondered since when was she such a jerk.

But wait, there was something… Deep inside, so far down… a small silver sparkle… A coin? A tear? A thread… That she wove every day to create that future she would like to live in. That tormented her every full moon. That let her save Imoen's life. She was supposed to destroy it, to get rid of the poison.

"No." Daria came closer to the precious spark, held it to her heart, took it back in. It would be a travesty to destroy it and a pointless one at that. That little thread was the only thing that let an honestly otherwise average mage from a backwater library stand against the archmages, drow and dragons. Without it, even if she got better, she would inevitably be forced watch her friends die one by one, unable to prevent it in any way. She would be useless without it. This was the only worthy thing about her, the only pure and elven magic she possessed. It would be as if Xan considered selling his Moonblade to get more money for their scrolls. Her future self told her she had to survive and it would be good like that. Daria couldn't agree.

"I'm sorry. I really am" she apologized to the person she chose not to become. There was nothing more in the darkness, no path to follow, no gate to reach. She was alone. All that awaited her now, was dissolving into the soul of her dead father. She couldn't even end in peace, up to the last moment believing Arvandor awaited. She let her bitter tears fall. It didn't matter. There was no one here to see.

At least she could still see others, her gift intact. Sensing that her death was near, Daria focused, easily finding the heart of her favorite enchanter. He was who she wanted to be the last person she ever saw.

Her body stayed on the ground, heavy and now as useful as a corpse. Knowing she had maybe seconds left, she forced the word into a focus and slowed it, this time willingly sharpening her perception on this final moment.

He was there, hunched over her, holding her hand, Imoen by his side. But she was also drawn to a vision of many decades earlier, looking at him that much more young, but in the very position. Waiting for the poison to finally kill his father, because he could do nothing more, and his mother by his side, falling apart.

Everything came to a complete halt, Xan, Imoen, the entire world. Only one thought was left in Daria's head.

'How could I?'

Like that. To him. Inexcusable. No, everything but that. What was she thinking? To abandon him, this way, just because what…? She was tired? She had little motivation? She knew how to save herself, she was given a way on a silver platter, and by gods, she was stupid not to take it instantly. Maybe if she used her brain more often, she wouldn't be in half of those troubles.

Ah. And of course, she missed the obvious. Her future self led her to her gift to be cured. She wasn't telling her to destroy it – how would that help against a poison? She was telling her to use it. There was no known cure to Death of Heart – what a sappy name, by the way, not one she'd expect from a drow poison. But one could be discovered in future.

Daria focused, fueling her magic with the essence she won from Abazigal. There was now a dark place in her head, like a box, where she could cut herself off from anything but her target. She used it, diving hundred years ahead into a thousand possibilities, following an echo of an extremely rare poison. A challenge thrown to the generations of healers and alchemists.

'Found it.' No land went unclaimed, no cave unexplored, no beast undefeated. All they needed was time. And from it's sea Daria fished out a recipe. Now she needed to do something with the stiff and gray pile of disobedient flesh that was currently her body.

A lost cause… she had to decide. There was no way she would wake up long enough to speak the entire list of ingredients and what to do with them, it'd be easier to let a second or two pass and then use some necromancy. But that would let her father claim his essence… the parts of his soul he so diligently sown. She should focus and making her stubborn heart beat just long enough for Jaheira to cook the potion… And use a vocalizing spell, like she usually did in her divinations, back when she could only do minutes at a time. She reached inside and poked the Slayer with a stick.

'Wake up, bastard' she whispered. 'I need an avatar's endurance.'

As to the ingredients… She reached back, to the moment when Abazigal's lair was but a plan scribbled on a torn out page, and she was explaining it's layout to her friends. She took a list of ingredients Jahiera was meant to gather that day and added a few more items. Underlined them, to make sure they weren't forgotten.

Now… Her friends were going to be startled. A lot. But there was no helping it.

Daria screamed to wake herself up.