Falling. The ground rushing upwards, her screams drowned out by the sound of the wind rushing past her as she plummeted to the hard, unrelenting stone and dirt beneath- Imoen jerked upwards, eyes wide as she tried to slow her breathing. She blinked madly, grasping her head with one hand as she pushed herself to a sitting position with the other. "Oh, master's sibling is awake! Good, good! Cespenar did not want to have to tell master than his favorite of blood-rivals was dead! No, not at all!"
That high-pitched, squealing voice- Imoen had never been happier to hear it. She turned and spotted the imp, Cespenar floating nervously by her side, head bobbing as his black eyes glittered in the ambient light. "Good to see ya, Cespenar." Imoen sighed, reaching out to tousle the gnobby head of the imp. "Guess since I'm here with you, I'm not some greasy spot on the ruins of Saradush."
That was, after all, the last thing she remembered. Leaping off a tower of the broken city wall, making a shot of unadulterated faith before plummeting to certain doom... no. Aerie had intervened, trying to use her magics to slow Imoen's fall. She might've been able to do something herself if her hands hadn't been full with her bow, but she had resigned herself to nothing more than a slow drop and a quick stop until the Avariel had rescued her. Well, perhaps rescued was a strong word... given her a reprieve was more likely. And yet, here she was, alive and breathing. Speaking of Aerie- Imoen turned her gaze, looking over the darkened, misty platform that comprised Greywulf's Pocket Plane- misty? It hadn't been like this before. As unnatural and grotesque as it had been in the past, the Plane was always ordered, structured... nothing like the increasingly divided and chaotic sight before her.
The Pocket Plane's main platform was no longer clear and open, dotted with statues of horrifying demonic visages- instead, it was a foggy, haze filled soup, obscuring vision any further than ten or fifteen feet in front of her. What had happened? Were the others okay? Imoen began scrambling to her feet, immediately moving her hand for the comforting feeling of her bow. She nocked an arrow to the string, moving into the haze with Cespenar tucked behind her leg, hovering nervously as he glanced up to Imoen. "Glad Cespenar is to know you are ok. Cespenar just minding his own business, looking for the shiny things that fall into Master's plane when all of a sudden, poof! Fog and mistyness is everywheres. Statueses not come to life and protect plane, so no threat? Maybes... but I is taking no chances."
"Good idea, I think." Imoen muttered, sliding forward one leather clad toe at a time, keeping her weapon at guard position. She peered through the murky darkness, cursing her strictly human heritage. Well, demi-god-with-human-dominant-racial-traits heritage. An elf or even a half-elf might've had better vision in this kind of soupy mess. Not that infravision would have been much help, but it would make her feel better. She'd already tried the spell, to no avail. As it was, she could barely see five feet in front of her as she tried to find the rest of her companions. "Don't s'pose you happened to see where any of the others landed?"
"Mmm... no. No sees any of the others. But Master must still be alive, or I's would not be here, yes?" Cespenar nodded eagerly.
"Huh. I suppose that makes sense," Imoen chuckled, snorting once. "Way to be the eternal optimist."
"I would like to point out just how strange it is that the presence of a demonic imp butler guarantees our safety." the accented tones made Imoen spin in delight, filled with relief as she spotted Jaheira striding out from the haze. "It is good to see you, child. I did not relish the idea of exploring this entire place alone."
"My safety was also somewhere near the top of that wish list of yours too, I'm sure." Imoen grinned, ignoring the quick eye-roll from her companion. "Any idea why Greywulf's own little paradise has suddenly turned into something that looks like my last attempt at cooking dinner for the group?"
"I do not know... not for certain, anyway." Jaheira murmured, sliding forward, one foot in front of the other as she cautiously tread further into the mist.
"Ooo... sounds like you have a theory though. Mind sharing it with the rest of us?" the curiosity in Imoen's voice did nothing to abate the sudden chill that rose in Jaheira's stomach. She did not answer the thief-mage, leading to a quick 'harrumph' and a mutter about how Imoen didn't care anyway... Jaheira barely heard any of it. Only one voice echoed in her mind, only one thought gave her cause to fight a growing sense of both urgency and fear. "I'm... I'm not certain everything is as it should be with Greywulf. That's why I wanted to talk to you. He has seemed... different to me. Talking to him, even watching him and the way he reacts to danger, to us, to Sarevok. As though he is no longer concerned with the taint that threatens him-"
Aerie's warnings came unbidden to her, each word punctuated by another step she took into the fog. She didn't claim to know everything there was to know about the taint, about the inherent potential or power that resided within Greywulf's form. She didn't pretend that the twists and turns that his path took would all be pleasant ones. She didn't even claim to know exactly what was best for their relationship, as burgeoning and growing as it remained. But she did know what her senses told her. She knew what Aerie had said, words she'd denied vehemently, refusing to consider anything of the sort. She knew that Greywulf had nearly lost himself to the taint on more occasions than she liked to remember.
On optimistic days she would say that overcoming those near-falls had only served to make him stronger. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite a glass-half-full kind of woman. And this sudden shift of the environment... something was wrong. The memory of the taint of Gromnir being absorbed into the bodies of Imoen and Greywulf upon his death had not left her... and if Greywulf had slain Yaga-Shura, as they had planned...
"Cespenar has idea." the imp voiced, his disjointed and broken speech cutting through the awkward silence that Jaheira's impromptu brooding was causing. "Master has shinies in pack, yes? Cespenar good at finding the shinies! Can sense them when close, yes? We follow Cespenar- with you very close to protect Cespenar, yes- and we finds the Master!"
Imoen glanced at Jaheira, the two women exchanging a moment of query between them before nodding to their imp butler. "Lead on, then. And with any luck, we'll find the rest of the group along the way."
X X X X X X
"You... are certain of this?"
He asked the question, but knew that there was no chance his visitor was mistaken. He had known it was a possibility ever since he had given the order for Sir Ryan Trawl to march. Had known that despite the skill and experience of his most trusted paladin, there was still a good chance that it would all go for naught. That it would all be worthless. And now the highest representative of Tethyr aside from the King and Queen themselves, General Jamis Tombelthen stood before him and told him everything he feared had come to pass.
"You do not wish to believe it, Prelate Wessaren. I understand this, but I tell you that my men saw the devastation with their own eyes. I saw it. I was there. Saradush is a burning wasteland, and Sir Ryan Trawl is dead. All the knights and paladins you sent at his side are dead. The Bhaalspawn have brought their devastation to your house now, Prelate. Will you continue to defend them from the justice that so rightly demands their blood?"
The Prelate lowered his head, resting his hands on the table that separated the General and him. He did not speak, simply noting the lines and wrinkles that were showing ever more noticeably on his own hands. He was not a young man anymore, not by any stretch of the imagination. He had seen the best and the worst that Faerun had to offer. He had lived through the Time of Troubles, fighting evil as a squire, then a knight, then a paladin, and finally rising to the rank of Prelate of the Order. The highest honor any warrior of righteousness could aspire to. And yet, here he stood, trying to hold back the storm of vengeance that would descend upon the heads of every god-spawn in the lands.
"We gave you the opportunity for your men to prove that this threat was not as dire as my king fears." Jamis remained ramrod stiff, his helmet tucked beneath one arm as he spoke, deep blue eyes piercing and unrelenting. "To prove that the Bhaalspawn are not as evil, as destructive as we feared. What have you to show for our lenience? An entire city, a heavily fortified one at that, is nothing more than rubble. Your men, your friends are dead. Why do you continue to deny the threat that we are poised to fight?"
Wessaren remained silent again. How could he reply? How could he persuade the General of Tethyr that while he agreed with almost everything that had been aid, that he agreed the Bhaalspawn were one of the greatest threats to the land that had ever risen, he could not bring himself to condone their extermination? Not his judgment, not at all. The words of a friend were what stayed the wrath of the Order… but those words that would mean nothing, when it was known that his involvement with a Bhaalspawn had led to his death.
"I remain convinced that the intervention of the armies of Tethyr is unnecessary." the Prelate finally spoke, straightening up and meeting Tombelthen's icy gaze. "With all respect to the Lord and Lady of Tethyr, there is nothing to be concerned about. The Bhaalspawn crisis is nearing its end. All the prophecies state-"
"That the god-children will fight until the rivers of Faerun run red with blood. Yes, they have been fulfilled quite nicely." Jamis growled, cutting off the paladin before him. "So long as any of the spawn exist, there will be no peace. Understand this, Prelate Wessaren. It is only the reputation and the respect that your Order commands that we gave you the chance to resolve this on your own terms. You have failed and now we will bring the full might of the Tethyrian army down upon these monstrosities. It is only proper that I give you advance warning... this will not be a pretty campaign. The god-children will hide in towns, and we will have them with or without the cooperation of those they hide themselves with. If they raise their own armies, like this Yaga-Shura, we will wipe them off the face of Toril. We will *not* stop until the Bhaalspawn are no more."
Wessaren inhaled sharply... that was it, then. All his efforts at keeping the peace in the Amnish lands and the surrounding countries had failed. War was coming, and the Radiant Heart had never been weaker, or less equipped to deal with the devastation that was sure to come. "As you know, General Tombelthen, the Order is sworn to stay out of politics. We can do nothing but accept the judgment of the kingdom of Tethyr in this matter. We shall not impede your progress."
Jamis nodded, and his demeanor softened, if only a touch. "Thank you for your cooperation, Prelate. You may think me unsympathetic to y our cause... I understand why you hesitate to declare war on these god-spawn... you believe that some of them may be redeemable, that some could have rejected the heritage of blood. It is a fantasy... wishful thinking, nothing more. They say that the wards of Gorion were at Saradush- part of the defense there. What happened? Yaga-Shura and his army might be gone, but what of the city? Righteousness turns into destruction, their best deeds into ashes. I am sorry, but this is how it must be. We will hunt them all, Gorion's wards are no exception. The Terrors of the Sword Coast... surely their moniker does them no credit in your eyes. I ask you once more... will you aid us? Send the ranks of the Radiant Heart in our midst to aid against the threat of the Bhaalspawn? If not for you, then for those who fell at Saradush?"
Hnh. Their moniker- 'Terrors of the Sword Coast'. Trails of destruction that had followed them, admittedly. A mixture of stories that followed them from town to town, ranging from heroic paragons to renegade lawbreakers. None of that gave Wessaren cause to trust them, or at least hesitate in labeling them with every other Bhaalspawn out there. Just the word of another paladin. An old friend.
"Richard. It is good to see you, old friend."
The Prelate of the Order smiled as he heard the door to his office swing open, the sound of the visitor's armor ringing against itself as he approached. He knew the paladin's gait, his body language, could tell it was him just by listening to him walk. They had served together enough years that it was child's play. But if that were not enough, the simple fact that he did not address him as 'Prelate,' or even Wessaren.
Wessaren looked up at Keldorn Firecam and embraced the older man with the candor of friends with history spanning three decades. "Keldorn, it is a pleasure to see you, as always. I was just finishing your report on the business in the sewers of the Temples. A beholder cult beneath our feet... remarkable."
Keldorn smiled, running one hand through his graying hair as he sat down in the chair opposite the Prelate's desk, adjusting the position of his blade with the other. The two men had risen through the ranks of the Order alongside one another, fought more battles than either cared to remember, standing back to back on battlefields where only the two of them remained... no need for titles or formalities with such old comrades and companions. "It was... unpleasant, that much I can say. I was fortunate though. If not for the assistance of some well-meaning adventurers, I have no doubt I would have met my end down there in those accursed tunnels."
"You? Hah!" Wessaren laughed, setting down the scroll that Keldorn's report had been transcribed upon. "I would be shocked if you find your end before the ripe old age of one hundred. Your skill is unmatched among all the knights of the Order, and despite your unfailing humility you know it to be true."
"Doubtful." Keldorn brushed the compliment aside, waving one hand with disregard. "Please, save such praise for the up-and-comers in the Order, I have little need of feeding my own ego these days. I know my own limitations, even if I refuse to accept them. At least I have managed to avoid getting dragged back into the Order Hall as some sort of weapons master or trainer, like a war horse put out to pasture when his days of fighting have come to an end."
The not-so-veiled jab at his old comrade gave the Prelate a moment of pause before smirking in reply. "Perhaps, though my job here behind this desk that you hold so much disdain for does afford me a few comforts. For one, delegating responsibilities such as trudging through the sewer to others."
Keldorn laughed aloud- a good exchange. "Touché. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to consider the benefits of giving up active adventuring and questing... though not for a time."
"Ah- I had waited to hear that phrase." the Prelate shook his head with knowing acceptance. "You have said those exact words for almost ten years, ever since your hairs began showing their first hint of silver in them. There will always be another quest to follow, another wrong to right. You cannot fight the good fight forever, old friend. The spirit may be willing, but the flesh..."
"The flesh gets old, feeble, and ready for naps between meals." Keldorn finished the joke, eliciting another laugh between the two men. Before Wessaren could say anything else, Keldorn spoke up, his mood shifting gears rapidly. "Forgive my attempt to cut this short, but I cannot become too distracted with our small reunions... I have another mission that I seek the Order's leave to embark upon."
"Another? Well I am impressed- 'tis been almost a day since you submitted your report. I would have expected this at least six hours ago." Wessaren rolled his eyes before his expression shifted to match Keldorn's. "No... I see by your face that whatever you speak of is serious enough that there will be no time to rest, not this day. Very well then, tell me what exactly you seek leave to do."
Keldorn spoke. He explained the situation with the Unseeing Eye, explained how Greywulf and Jaheira had met him in the darkness, aided his journey and how they had come out of it together, as one. He spoke of how they were seeking a lost companion, and how they would have to match the forces of both the Cowled Wizards, and the mad sorcerer who had kidnapped them to begin with, should they wish to find Imoen. They spoke of the Shadow Thieves, and their part to play in the finding of Spellhold. And finally, at the last... he spoke of Greywulf's heritage.
"Keldorn... your time in the sewers must've done something to your mind." Wessaren exclaimed. "You mean to travel with a god-child, a spawn of Murder, not as watcher or keeper, but companion? You yourself spoke of how the taint nearly took his mind when fighting the Unseeing Eye!"
"Yes, and it will not be lightly that I take this task as my own." Keldorn murmured, clasping his hands in front of his face as he narrowed his gaze. "But there is something different about this one, Richard. There is something about this young man that I find... compelling. I do not sense that the darkness has a hold over his soul... and there is a power that I have not seen in some time. He could be a powerful force for good in the Realms... he only needs the guidance to keep him in balance."
"So you accept the fact that for all the trust you somehow place in him, he could still end up like every prophecy suggests about the Bhaalspawn?" Wessaren arched an eyebrow, straightening up in his seat. "Keldorn, we have known each other for many years and I will speak plain. I do not like this. I do not approve, and were it any other member of the Order, I would deny your request without a second thought. But... I trust you. I trust your judgment. If you think that this... rescue mission, this quest that... Greywulf, is asking you to aid him in, is worth your time, I shall not deny it. My only request is that you be careful. We are but men... we must tread lightly in the affairs of demi-gods and prophecies."
"Then it is a good thing that Torm watches over me." Keldorn smiled, standing and nodding to the Prelate with a quick exhalation of breath. "And with that, I must depart. There is much to do if we are to be successful in this endeavor. I have preparations to make... I simply wanted your blessing before I departed."
Wessaren snorted, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards. "As though you would have heeded my command to stay, had I issued it. You were always too stubborn for your own good."
"True enough!" Keldorn barked a laugh, turning to leave. "I have a feeling about this one, Richard... mark my words. I'll see you on the other side!"
"Not if I see you first-" the Prelate called back as Keldorn strode from his office in the Order Hall... striding with every confidence in this unknown, this god-spawn.
Wessaren blinked, coming up from his memories. That was not the last time he had spoken to his old friend- he had seen him again in the company of the god-children later that year, asking for support against the vampire Bodhi. But not too long after- Greywulf and Imoen returning to the Order Hall with somber faces, and the Prelate had immediately known what fate had befallen his oldest friend. It would be easy to see the Bhaalspawn as threats, evils to be annihilated. Keldorn had faith in them... and it was enough.
"General Tombelthen. You have my word that the Radiant Heart will not interfere in your business as you scour the lands for these spawn. I offer no more than that. Our business is concluded, I think. Please give my regards to His and Her Majesty."
Jamis stiffened at the tone of the Prelate, but simply nodded and bowed lightly before turning on his heel and striding out of the Prelate's office. The doors slammed behind him, leaving General Tombelthen alone with his thoughts as he moved to leave the Order Hall and rejoin his army outside Athkatla. The sooner he left the outskirts of the city, the happier the citizens would be, and despite all of his bluster and determination, his intent was not to harm innocents in this war. But it was a war, of that there was no doubt. And if winning that war against the Bhaalspawn meant that some civilians were caught in the crossfire... regrettable, but necessary.
"General? Forgive my presumption, but I simply *had* to speak with you."
Soft, almost alluring tones grabbed Jamis' attention from his stride, turning it to a woman leaning against the walls of the corridor that had led to Wessaren's chambers. Her beauty was there, but harsh, almost angular. Her robes were fine and her manner regal- she held herself with the same pride, the same bearing as one of the royal court. Some kind of Amnish noble, perhaps? He approached, giving a cordial bow as was proper, before responding. "You have my attention, m'lady. What is it you need? I am, as you can imagine, rather busy."
"Hunting Bhaalspawn, I assume?" she asked, chuckling when Tombelthen's look of surprise turned to suspicion. "You should not be as surprised as you appear. I know many things about the Bhaalspawn, General. After all, I hid them for many a month before Yaga-Shura's armies wiped those under my protection from this earth."
He frowned, trying to remember- he had heard something about a protector, a woman who had been trying to gather the god-children, keep them from harm. What was her name? "Mellissan, is it?"
"I'm flattered you know me, General." she nodded, her smile widening. "I presume you know of my efforts to save the Bhaalspawn?"
"I know of them, yes." he replied. "It would appear you failed in your self-appointed task."
"Yes... yes, it would at that." she murmured. "Nevertheless, the massacre at Saradush opened my eyes. I was one of the few who escaped, and I saw how many innocents died because of the god-children. I see now what I was blind to in the past... if there is ever to be peace, the wars between the Children of Blood must end. To that end, I will help you find the ones you seek."
Tombelthen arched an eyebrow... this was unexpected. Welcome, but unexpected. "And just how can you aid us? Do you know where the god-spawn currently hide?"
"Hmm." Mellissan smiled even wider. "Oh, dear General, I know that and more. You see, I have done nothing but study them for the last few years of my life. I know where they are, who they are... and even more importantly, I know how they think."
X X X X X X
"By the gods..."
"What happened to him? Is he-"
"No... there are no injuries that I can see. But this is... this is not his blood."
"Master doesn't look so good, me thinks..."
The mixture of voices and tones began seeping into his groggy mind, rapidly drawing him back to the land of the living. Consciousness- it hurt like a hammer to the forehead after being knocked out for a time. It was even worse when the cause of unconsciousness was mystical or taint-driven. The fact that he had enough experience to know this, he thought in a brief moment of reflection as he tried to groan out some kind of sign that he was awake, was kind of sad. Still, he managed a quick flutter of the eyes and a sound that was either, 'I'm fine' or 'Fry Spine' depending on how trained the ear was.
"Silvanus, he's awake!"
"Yay! Cespenar is so happy that the master is all right! Also happy Cespenar does not have to looks for a new job..."
The combination of voices was enough to give Greywulf even more of a headache than before- he managed to pull his eyes open, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach as he sat up with the aid of what was either his sister or a red-headed jelly... his blurry vision wasn't making it easy to tell. "Ow. Ow. I'm fine- ow. I'm guessing we won?"
"You tell us." Jaheira spoke, and the concern in her tone was enough to grab Greywulf's attention, despite his unfocused senses. "The last thing we saw was a wave of magic overtake the ruins of Saradush, emanating from your battlefield. Greywulf, what happened to you?"
What *had* happened? It was all such a blur... such an indistinct blur in his mind. They had won, hadn't they? Yaga-Shura... yes. The fire giant was dead. The heart had been placed in his chest, just as they'd planned- razor sharp claws on a half-human-half demon arm ripping through flesh, blood splattering everywhere- the image sent Greywulf's stomach plummeting, and it didn't take long for him to realize just what he'd done. Found the balance of Slayer and mortal... a fusion of demon and man that used the power of the taint and the Slayer without giving into its urges of darkness.
He'd done the impossible... what Gorion had told him couldn't be done. What Jaheira had told him couldn't be done. Keldorn. Imoen. What Sarevok had failed to do. That thought in particular- no. Not yet... the others wouldn't understand. They wouldn't believe him if he told them he had it under control. He was still planning on giving up the power of Bhaal, if at all possible. But until the opportunity arose... he was mastering the taint. Mastering it and using it, just as the other Bhaalspawn would be doing. With this power at his fingertips... he could protect them all.
"Greywulf?"
Imoen's words tore him from his introspection, as his gaze shot to her, inhaling sharply. "I... sorry. I guess I'm still out of it. I remember... Yaga-Shura dying."
"Obviously- otherwise we would not have been pulled back here." Jaheira interrupted. "But what about... you?"
For a moment Greywulf panicked- he thought that perhaps some of him was still part-demon, that his left arm was a massive reddish-black claw, or that his mouth was a row of needle-like teeth. The truth was much more... interesting. His robes were shredded, barely hanging together... a result of his body's shifting and changing when becoming the hybrid-Slayer. What was left hanging on him was covered in blood and gore, as was the rest of his skin. He looked like he'd been bathing in an abattoir. He paused for several long moments, trying to figure out the best way to explain it all-
"The Arrow of Detonation... how close were you when it hit?" Imoen said in realization. "That would explain why you're so out of it- the concussion of the blast probably knocked you silly. And it must've hit Yaga-Shura straight on, showering you in all this lovely mess... I actually made that shot? Greywulf, I am never gonna let you forget this. Or anyone. Because that shot I made was absolutely *ridiculous*."
"Yeah... yeah, that sounds right." Greywulf murmured, thanking Imoen silently for her quick imagination. So what if he let them believe a lie for a time? It wasn't hurting anyone... and they weren't ready for the truth. Not yet. "I remember being knocked to the ground, being showered with... bits and pieces. All I could do was crawl towards his body and use the heart. Everything after that is a blur, I'm sorry..."
"So long as you are all right, that is all that matters." Jaheira leaned close, embracing him lightly for a brief moment, before glaring at their surroundings. "Perhaps, now that your mind has had time to clear, you might be able to help us find the others?"
Slowly Greywulf began to take in the situation around him... his eyes narrowed in uncertainty- what the hell? "Where are they? What's going on-"
"I shall clear your plane of distractions and answer your questions- your preparation must not be delayed."
The commanding booming voice filled the air around them and immediately the fog that surrounded the area burned away in a haze of light and divine power. All three mortals raised their arms to shield themselves from the sweeping presence that nearly overwhelmed them, but in the midst of the fading glory stood the angelic form of the Solar, pure and bright as the morning sun once more.
"Imoen! Greywulf! You're okay!" a call from across the newly revealed plateau of the demonic plane they inhabited drew their attention as Aerie drew close from one side, Minsc and Sarevok scattered nearby as well, slowly reuniting with the rest of them.
The Solar looked down with what might have been approval... or perhaps it was simple disinterest. Regardless, the blue-skinned figure folded her arms, bright wings following suit as they folded up and tucked in tight behind her. "I have suppressed the chaos and turmoil that kept you and your companions separate, god-child... but when I leave, it shall return as it was, until you take command, as you once did."
"Wait... what? I don't understand." Greywulf frowned, glancing up at the angelic warrior. "You mean the Pocket Plane... I know I had some ability to control it in the past, but-"
"It is a reflection of your subconscious, of the underlying power and taint you carry within you." the Solar cut him off, raising her arms and gesturing all around them. "Where once your powers were ordered, structured, now it has been thrown into chaos. My task here is not to help you discover what has caused this, but to prepare you for what lies ahead. Tell me, are you ready to continue your training?"
"It would appear that heaven waits for no man... nor hell, in this case." Jaheira muttered, glancing at Greywulf as he regarded the Solar cautiously.
"I do not believe I have much of a choice, do I? You mean to 'prepare' me for whatever it is that awaits whether I like it or not. I assume whatever you plan to speak pertains to Imoen as well? I'm not the only Bhaalspawn here, you know."
Imoen snorted, taking a few steps back, "No thank you- I don't want any part of this divine business. Never did. Not even with a messenger like this one- ah, no offense."
The Solar turned to look at another of the party... but not Imoen. She turned her gaze to Sarevok and pointed at the Deathbringer, his arms folded as he met the Solar's stare with a glare of his own. "You... you may no longer possess the full taint of a god-child, but you may yet play an important part in the tale of the Bhaalspawn."
"Should I feel honored? Impressed that a being so mighty has taken notice of me? It would have been I that commanded armies like you had my bid for power not failed. Speak your words and be done with them, for I care little of your attentions." Sarevok growled, showing no fear of the creature towering over him.
If the Solar was offended by Sarevok's tone, again, she showed no sign of it. Instead, she merely lifted eyes to the green-lit sky as magic began swirling around them, orbs of light rising and sinking through the ground like raindrops of power. "Both of you have been brought to this place for the simple reason that you are ready. The first step towards the fulfillment of your destiny has been taken. Yaga-Shura is dead by your hand, and the forces in play now move swiftly toward conclusion. And yet the essence of your plane, the reflection of your subconscious shows you more divided and in chaos than ever. To defeat the evil that ravages the land, you must find yourself whole. You must know yourself and your past to reveal your future. Listen and be judged."
Lightning rained all around the Solar, though it did not dissuade Greywulf or Sarevok- the two men stood still as the others shied back, wary of the blasts of power... until the two men were hit at the same time, transformed into the essence of the plane, shifting and changing as the Solar spoke, as much to the companions of the god-spawn as to the ones she held in her power themselves.
"To look upon oneself and ask, 'What is my nature,' one must know one's origin." the Solar raised her right hand, and the energy of the sorcerer half-elf poured from it, flickering in and out of reality as it took shape in so many different ways and forms. Those watching squinted into the light, taking note of the shapes, some familiar, some not. Some images were that of a young man, at times a human, at times an elf... scarred and ruddy in one flicker, pale and slim in another. "Your own origin is a mystery to you, god-child. You have no beginning...and without a beginning, how can there be an ending? And yet, it is around you that the ending is woven. Around you that the destinies of the others who travel within this path take their cues."
Without warning, brilliant yellow beams of energy leapt from the Solar's eyes and zig-zagged out to strike Imoen in the chest. The thief-mage had no time to yell or scream before she disappeared in another flash of light. Minsc would have leapt to her defense had she not reappeared alongside the shifting forms of Sarevok and Greywulf, a spinning triumvirate of power that eventually came to a halt, Greywulf atop the pyramid with Imoen and Sarevok at the lower corners. "Look now, upon your siblings- see how their forms twist and shape depending upon your fate. It is you who directs their course, not the other way around. You who guides the paths of destiny."
As Greywulf's form flickered and changed, Imoen and Sarevok did the same. Greywulf settled into the young man he had been nearly four years prior- Imoen shifted into the body she had worn alongside him in Candlekeep, while Sarevok morphed into the armored hulk that had haunted their dreams after slaying Gorion. Greywulf changed again- a grizzled human face with scars that spoke to far too many battles, and beneath him were a leather clad archer, her hair left long and down to her back, and a bare-chested Sarevok, one eye blind and a scar running all the way down his bald head. They shifted again, and again, and again, each time becoming something new and something different until their forms took full shape in golden light, ramrod straight with backs to one another, floating high as they spun slowly in the air above.
"Yet of all the things that shape the future, how much can be blamed on you, yourself? How much was decided for you before you even had the will to make it so? Take the circumstances of your birth... those were never in your ability to change. Yet you know nothing of who your mother was, or of how Gorion brought you to the safety of Candlekeep."
The Solar raised her arm and the essence of Imoen faded from the ethereal and phased back into the present, while the Solar's form began devolving into something far different. She began shrinking, her wings shriveling and blowing away in the wind as her skin color faded from iridescent blue to a pale flesh tone. Her mane of blazing golden locks gave way to simple brown hair, and her eyes no longer held the power and authority of the gods- but they held something else. Something... sinister. Her armor was replaced by dark robes, emblazoned with the seal of Bhaal, a grinning skull surrounded by tears of blood, crimson stained on black cloth. She stood before the still rotating forms of Greywulf and Sarevok, even as they separated and floated across from one another, one on each side of her body.
"I am your mother. I am Alianna, a disciple of the great Lord of Murder, one of the priestesses of Bhaal. In the Time of Troubles did Bhaal himself come and whisper in mine ear." The transformed woman said triumphantly, glancing at the others as though daring them to make an accusation for her freely admitted deeds. "I was to give birth to one of the Children. To you. I rose my arms up and hailed my Lord of Murder with great joy at my fate. Others of Bhaal's order took me away, to hide us in the darkest temple away from prying eyes. Others of the Children were there...and when our great Bhaal died did we begin our task."
"Task?" Aerie whispered, trying to hide the sudden dread that rose within her. The passion, the vehemence in this reborn woman was far too real for her, even if it was simply the Solar reenacting the past. Before she could say more, Greywulf's body blazed with light and split into two forms- his own stoic body and a slowly solidifying man, hooded and cloaked... but as he unhooded himself, familiar to all present. Not nearly as elderly as he had been from their memory, Gorion stood tall, his quarterstaff in one hand as he pointed an accusing finger at the figure of Alianna.
"Her task was to slay her own child, sacrifice her babe upon the bloodiest of altars." the disgust in his voice was thick, and Imoen had to resist the urge to reach out to him- for all the times their enemies had tried to use Gorion's face, his figure as a method to instill doubt within them, to gain an advantage... it seemed so real, here. Perhaps because it was somehow part of Greywulf? Made flesh from his memory and the Solar's power? No... Imoen pulled her hand back, trying her best to simply listen.
"I would slay you, my child," Alianna nodded her head solemnly, showing no hint of remorse or regret for this deed. "Through your death and the deaths of every other babe, Bhaal could live again. Your only purpose in life was to die for Bhaal. Nothing else mattered. Not you. Not I."
"But I and several of my colleagues had discovered the location of this temple." Gorion cut her off stubbornly, raising his weapon as though to attack her in the presence of everyone there. "We struck fast, quickly. The full might of the Harpers was wrought upon the priesthood of Bhaal, and together we stopped your mother from performing the sacrifice."
"But we resisted!" Alianna hissed, and their gazes locked, a fire in both of their eyes that could not be quenched. "This was the will of Bhaal, father of my child. I could do no other."
"They were many and their magics were strong." Gorion slowly lowered his weapon, his rage subsiding as he looked upon Alianna with a cold dispassion. "We had little time, and I killed the priestess guarding the children myself."
"He slew me, your mother!" Alianna screamed, her form beginning to dissolve as Gorion began to age before their eyes, finally taking the form Imoen and Greywulf had known him as for most of their lives. Jaheira blinked once, twice, trying to keep her head clear. Gorion- the battle between Harpers and Bhaal-worshippers that changed the destiny of so many. This was all so... no. It was in the past. Her future... and Greywulf's was yet to come.
"I rescued you," said Gorion with a gentle smile, turning to glance at Imoen before then looking back at Greywulf. Still, his smile faded quickly. "And yet, I was forced to flee from the temple even as many other Bhaalspawn babes died around me."
The godly power that had indwelt the form of Alianna reformed, this time swirling around Sarevok's ghost form, the two mingling until they were one, the form of a small child with hard eyes and ruddy features, a snarl on his lips and strength in his posture that most children lacked. When he spoke, it was a mixture of Sarevok and the Solar's tone all at once. "But not all of us died that day. Not all the children were sacrificed, or simply perished in the battle waged for our destinies. Some used the chaos to escape, to flee."
"Yes," Gorion nodded, and shame crossed his proud brow. "Though not all the Bhaalspawn children died that night, I saved the only one I could. The only one I could reach before the very foundations of the Temple we fought amidst were torn asunder and brought low. Whether you believe or not... I saved the only one I could."
"Believe? I believe you, old man." the child spat, pointing accusingly. "There was no time for more. But I was there, as well. I was there!"
"And he chose Greywulf..." Imoen whispered, her vision shaking as the whole point of the Solar's message was made clear to her, and the rest. For all the power and destiny that Greywulf commanded, for all the tug and pull that forced those around to trail in his wake of power... the very fact he stood in their midst instead of Sarevok was a twist of fate. A stroke of luck or fortune. "It could just as easily have been Sarevok, couldn't it...?"
Sarevok blazed with power, shifting to a familiar form of bladed gauntlets and hulking armor that towered over the old man like a giant before an ant. His sword trembled with power as he unsheathed it and pointed it directly at Gorion, the old man doing nothing to defend himself. He lowered his head as though accepting his fate as inevitable while Sarevok spoke. "He left me behind, saving Greywulf instead. And so I fled on my own, raised by foster parents in the Iron Throne. It mattered not. I killed Gorion in the end."
The blade pierced flesh and Gorion exploded in a million particles of light, followed quickly by Sarevok's figure. All the forms and figures began reassembling in their respective constructs, the Solar reforming first as Greywulf and Sarevok were made flesh once more on either side of her. Both appeared gasping, heaving from the sudden shock of the multiversal transformation- both glared at one another with wariness... and an understanding that had never been between them before. The divine warrior descended to the ground, her form once again made clear in all its glory. As her feet touched the rocky soil below, she raised her hands, palms up as though presenting her case to the gods.
"And so your past is made plain. Your relationship with Sarevok, your immortal foe, destined to be at odds with you. Your mother's dark secrets, now laid bare. A priestess of Bhaal, killed by Gorion." The Solar paused, lowering her arms and looking at Greywulf with as much curiosity as she had shown in the past. "What do you have to say of this, god-child? Does this knowledge, this revelation carry any weight in your path? Does it change the fiber of your being, or is it simple fact to be analyzed and discarded?"
"What do you want me to say, Solar?" Greywulf said hoarsely, trying to keep his emotions under control. So much, all at once... it wasn't going to be easy to hide the boil of emotions just beneath the surface of his exterior. "That I wish my mother hadn't tried to kill me the day I was born? That I'm glad Gorion killed her before I even got a chance to know who she was, or who I was? I don't know. Damn you for showing me all this..."
"Greywulf..." Minsc tried to speak, but the Solar would not brook interruptions from the observers and hushed him with a booming question that echoed through the chamber, and yet seemed little more than a whisper, so focused and intent were her words. "And what of... him? Your brother of blood, Sarevok. What if fate had not intervened and Gorion had raised him rather than you? Would you have become as he was? Would Sarevok be in your place, now, if but for the smallest twist of fate? Is there a debt between you, then, that is yet unpaid?"
Sarevok and Greywulf's eyes met again, but the Solar apparently did not expect an answer. "I will leave it between you to decide the answer to that. For now, face your second challenge, and continue upon your path. Consider everything that you have learned here. You must be ready when the time comes. Farewell, god-child."