To those who had trained, perfected their bodies and physical forms in the hallowed halls of long suffering monasteries, time did not flow the same way as it did for others, at least not in battle. For the monk Balthazar, beset on all sides by foes, it was strange… like the world was adrift in a sea of sand like that which surrounded the ruins of Amkethran… and yet, there was no magic, no hallucination that slowed his enemies or brought them low before him. It was pure and simple training and meditation, the perfection of the human body to its utmost, bringing one man's will, body, and mind in perfect unison. A state where, despite the skills and efforts of the adventurers who faced him… they may as well have been moving in slow motion.
Balthazar saw the muscles in Jaheira's arms clench, watched as the spear she'd scavenged from one of his dead guardsmen begin to swing into motion, aiming for his midsection. He could hear the sound of Minsc's leathers rubbing on each other as he reared his arms back, preparing to swing the Silver Sword straight through where his neck would be. Cernd was on one side and his peripheral vision could see the man's muscular, dirty arms begin to swing out, pythons to ensnare the man and keep him from moving. Viconia was on his other side, and the mace she carried was swinging low, preparing to come up in a strike to his side, crushing flesh and bone in its wake. A four sided assault against a single opponent- perhaps overkill in most instances, and were these four at full strength, it may have been enough. They were, in fact, not at full strength.
Balthazar let himself smile only for the briefest of seconds before letting his body spin in place as he bent over at the waist, his left leg supporting him as he kicked out with the other, sending Jaheira's spear thrust completely off target as his foot impacted the shaft of the weapon, nearly disarming her with the single action. Even so, it was enough for him to avoid her attack as well as Minsc's, the Silver blade whizzing over the top of his horizontal body. The spin of his body had been enough to let Viconia's mace swing right past the tip of his nose, flicking sweat from his brow with the sweep of the weapon- but it was not enough to avoid Cernd, the druid's arms moving to adjust from Balthazar's acrobatic kick, snaking down to pull him by the arm, swinging the monk to the ground- but more importantly, out of the circle of attackers, if only a little bit.
Balthazar immediately spun on his back, kicking out with a leg to the side of Cernd's knee, nearly breaking the joint with the impact- Cernd staggered backward with the impact, immediately letting go of the monk as he tried to recover- Minsc was quick to follow up, moving forward and swinging his blade to bisect the man on the ground. A roll to the left or right would be an easy counter, but predictable- Minsc was far too fast, far too versed in the ways of battle not to anticipate. Instead, Balthazar went on the offensive- he tucked his legs up and kicked out, leaping to his feet, bringing himself straight towards Minsc's sword- and with both hands, caught the blade between his palms. For a brief moment, the sight stunned the others into inaction- Minsc's raw strength and brute force pushing the Silver Sword down at Balthazar's head, the monk leaning back with the sword blade pressed between his hands. Sweat was pouring from his face as he tried to hold it back… that moment passed quickly as Jaheira darted in to strike him while he could not defend himself.
Balthazar smiled as she moved, and Jaheira immediately realized her mistake. As soon as her spear came toward his side, he released one hand, shoving the Silver Sword past himself and into the path of the spear, cutting the spear shaft neatly and rending the weapon little more than a shortened quarterstaff. Fine. Jaheira grit her teeth, looking into Balthazar's eyes with a mixture of anger and determination- she spun the staff into a backward posture, keeping it tucked behind her as she advanced alongside Minsc, the monk backing away from both of them as he raised his hands to fighting posture- the sound of Viconia's chants filled the air as the drow cleric called upon Shar to smite Balthazar from afar, while Cernd summoned magics to speed and augment both Minsc and Jaheira in battle- their powers provided the adventurers an advantage Balthazar did not possess, and it would be his undoing, she was sure of it. And yet, even as the spellcasters continued their incantations, Balthazar's face remained stoic, calm… self-assured of victory. Why?
Jaheira lunged at the monk, sweeping her weapon low while Minsc tried to come at him from the side, forcing him to choose his enemy- and yet, Jaheira felt herself become a tool of the enemy as Balthazar leapt over the low swing, then kicked off the flat of Minsc's sword and onto her own back, vaulting towards Viconia and Cernd. Madness- impossible feats of acrobatics and skill. Nobody they'd ever faced had been so fast, so agile- and Jaheira's heart began to sink as she tried to turn in time to help her comrades, knowing it would be too late.
Balthazar's leap took him down right on top of Cernd before his attempts to speed his allies could take effect- the Haste spell could not come to completion, or it would actually even their playing field. Balthazar made certain the druid would cast no more- a single punch to the solar plexus was enough to send Cernd to the ground, gasping for air. His body began rippling as he made the conscious decision to let the beast within loose- too soon. Had he given Balthazar a moment to leave before beginning the transformation, he may have gotten away with it. Going up against a wolfwere in hand to hand combat may have been too much for the monk. But he was yet human… and a human could be killed. Cernd's mouth opened in the beginning of a roar as his features began distorting- they stopped immediately as Balthazar dropped to one knee, bringing his fist down to crush Cernd's skull in a sickening, bone-crunching blow.
The quick, bloody death of the druid was enough to rattle the others- but not enough to disrupt the drow's spell. He had to deal with her next- too late to stop her, he simply had to trust that whatever she summoned he could handle- and as the power of an Unholy Blight tore through his body, wracking his muscles and sapping his strength, he knew that he could not keep this up forever. And yet… it would not have to be forever. Just long enough… he saw her going for her mace again, and knew that he was faster. Fast enough to put her out of the fight easily- a flying kick from ten feet away was an easy feat, even weakened. His heel impacted the side of her mouth, and he knew that even were she not unconscious, the broken jaw would keep her from casting anything vocally anytime soon.
Minsc watched in fury, his vision turning red as he saw Viconia's limp form slide to the ground, Balthazar landing in a crouch and spinning back to face the two fighters he had evaded. Minsc felt nothing but rage as his gaze fell upon Cernd's fallen form- a fellow servant of nature, had he felt any kind of kinship for anything since Aerie's death. So much pain… a part of Minsc screamed at the injustice, at the sight of his companion, his friends getting hurt, being murdered right before his eyes. A part of him wanted to fight for vengeance, for justice. To work with Jaheira as they'd done for so long, to fight in sequence as family, as a brother and sister in battle. But so much of him was filled with rage and hatred and madness… there simply wasn't the voice he needed to calm down. It had fled him… whatever that voice was, whatever he needed to hear, it was gone now. All that remained was the fire for blood that rushed through his veins, the rage that flooded his senses. In truth, he'd been in a berserker rage since learning of Aerie's death. Except this one… this one he might never be able to pull out of. There was nothing left… nothing but the next battle. The fight before him. This man, this monk who refused to lay down and die. Minsc screamed a challenge and rushed forward, his sheer bulk bearing down upon Balthazar faster than the monk could have anticipated. The Silver sword hewed a chunk out of the stone of the mountain they fought upon as he made an upward cut, forcing Balthazar back again, further away from the others- he heard Jaheira's call, knew that by pushing so far, he was driving them away, driving the fight farther and farther from any sort of help… he didn't want it. The kill was his. That was all that could settle the rage inside. One more kill.
Balthazar let himself backpedal further and further, watching as Jaheira paused a moment, as if deciding whether or not to press the attack with Minsc or try to heal Viconia- he couldn't afford to give her the opportunity for either. The monk spun and darted away, making Minsc give chase- as he hit a wall, he used his momentum to carry him up the wall into a backflip, landing in a crouch behind the ranger as he darted out with both fists, cracking against Minsc's back on either side of his spine. Those muscles would be bruised for some time, but more importantly, it caused the big man to spasm for a moment, unable to control himself- he took the opportunity to deliver a flurry of blows, striking kidneys, ribs, shoulders, circling the ranger and avoiding his strikes as they became slower and slower- he didn't need to punish the ranger this much, but the sight of the beating was enough to make up Jaheira's mind, drawing her away from Viconia's form. She came to his rescue, as he had anticipated- just as Minsc made one more feeble swing at him, he rocketed an uppercut to the ranger's chin that sent him off his feet for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground.
Jaheira felt her breath catch in her throat as Minsc's bruised and beaten form thudded to the ground before her, Balthazar exhaling slowly as he settled into a fighting stance before her, his eyes locked on her, never moving, never blinking. She considered her options briefly- spellcraft such as Insect Swarm or Call Lightning? No… without any of the others to run interference, Balthazar would crush her before the spells could come to completion. Summons could be an option, if she could solve the first problem, getting some room to cast… if her will was even strong enough to sustain them here, after so long without rest. No, there would be no assistance from Elementals or summoned creatures. It would be her and Balthazar in mortal, melee battle… so this was how it would end, then. The wars of the Bhaalspawn had taken much from all of them. Greywulf, her, Imoen, Minsc… and the possibility that it might claim their lives had never escaped her either. She wasn't a complete fool- she knew what losing this battle would mean. They were facing the last of the Five- that the others weren't dead already was only due to their speed in coming to one another's aid. For as much good as it had done Cernd, her old friend... She spat at Balthazar, knowing her fate was sealed. "To hell with you, monster."
He cocked his head for a brief moment, as if considering her words; he nodded briefly, then struck. Jaheira barely saw the first strike- it was a blur, a fist that tagged her right shoulder, throwing off the blow she'd been intending to send downwards towards his head. The staff strike was slow, clumsy- a left palm strike blocked it easily and his right foot came up in a side kick that sent her stumbling backwards, the staff rolling from her hands as she tried to regain feeling in her right arm. Jaheira glanced down at the weapon, rolling between them- she snarled a curse, then lunged forward, swinging with her uninjured left hand, just as he would be anticipating- it was deflected easily, even as she leaned in and swung with her right hand- also deflected, still too easy. This, however, he would not expect- with both hands pushed outward from the monk, she simply pushed forward and head-butted the monk in the face, feeling a satisfying crunch as his nose broke and his blood stained her sweat covered forehead. Balthazar staggered for a brief moment, touching his face as if unsure how he'd even been hit- the confusion passed quickly, and he returned to a state of absolute calm, absolute peace upon his face as he dropped into a fighting stance again; Jaheira allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction, knowing that the blow she'd struck would probably be her last.
She tried to defend herself, but she may as well have been trying to resist a tidal wave. Jaheira resisted the urge to shout in pain as the first rib was cracked, but could not resist upon the second, or the third. Every breath hurt as she tried to stand up straight, still affecting a fighting posture, for all the good it would do her- she swung her leg in a roundhouse kick but it felt like moving in quicksand- he simply caught the foot in midair and pulled her out from under her foot, sending her thudding to the floor. A downward strike was meant to end her as it had done to Cernd- the thought of her dead friend gave her enough strength to push herself upward, catching the blow on the chest instead of the skull, and grabbing the wrist of her opponent- the front of her sternum hurt like hell, and it was probably cracked as well, but she had leverage, for the moment- no way she was letting go. He yanked upwards, taking her with him, dragging the druidess to her feet- she tried to rush in again, this time aiming a knee towards his groin, but he twisted, taking the blow to his thigh instead. An elbow strike to her chin with his free hand sent her back again, and this time, her momentum was stopped by two hands that grasped her tunic- she knew immediately what was coming, but could not react fast enough- she felt herself being pulled downward as Balthazar's knee rose up, striking her forehead cleanly and sending all sense and reason from her mind. The world spun and faded in and out as Jaheira lay within the rocky mountain caverns, blood, dirt and bruises staining her once beautiful features.
She could barely hear the sound of Balthazar stepping over her, blocking the glare of the sun as he gazed down upon his defeated foe- all that was left was the finishing strike. Jaheira tried to speak, but her throat was too dry- how long had it been since she'd eaten? Drank anything? It seemed like they'd been fighting non-stop for decades. It hadn't been that long, had it? No… but memory and reality were fading in and out now, a blur in her mind that was her only comfort in these brief moments before oblivion claimed her. She wondered briefly what Khalid would have to say to her when she met him again as Balthazar raised a foot, intending on crushing her skull. She closed her eyes, waiting for the final surge of pain, followed by release…
A blaze of light seemed to engulf her, and Jaheira wondered if it was over. Before she could open her eyes, she felt a warm hand take hers, squeezing it gently- she managed to look up to see Greywulf kneeling beside her, tears glimmering in his eyes as he looked upon her battered features… but he didn't care. And neither did she, for a brief moment- wherever they were, in heaven, in hell, in all the Planes of all the Realms… she didn't care. He leaned down to embrace his broken lover, and held her close as the others went to Minsc and Viconia, all of them brought here by his powers to the Pocket Plane. Saved in the nick of time… at least, three of them. Neither of them had the words to speak- he wasn't blind. Greywulf could see how badly they were all hurt. He had felt it… when searching for the presence of the others to bring home… that he could no longer feel all of them. Aerie. Cernd. There would be hell to pay when they met Balthazar next.
X
One hour ago:
"Treachery! Murderer, how dare you show your face to us again!" Solaufein bellowed as Sarevok stalked into the room where the drow and the tiefling had taken refuge with Imoen's body, attempting to heal her grievous wounds- all right before an ignition of power and magic had stripped her from them in the blink of an eye, leaving smoke and ash in her wake. It had taken all of Haer'Dalis' persuasion to keep the drow from rushing to confront the Deathbringer- as it stood right now, the sight of the mammoth warrior showing himself and Imoen still missing in action was enough to push Solaufein over the edge- he drew his enchanted blade and leveled it at Sarevok, spitting accusations. "Imoen has vanished- tell us what you have done with her and we shall make your demise swift."
The Deathbringer did not speak- he simply stood there, his head bowed, eyes glowing a quiet gold, unflinching in the face of the accusation and ire being thrown his way. It was as if he had not even seen or heard them as he walked into the room- the lack of a response was almost enough to push the drow over the edge- almost.
"Did you not hear me? I asked you a question!" Solaufein growled, striding towards Sarevok with barely suppressed rage flowing across his battle worn features.
As if realizing that something- though none were sure quite what- was wrong with Greywulf's former enemy, Haer'Dalis approached as well, offering a gentler, if still hardened tone. "Something took her- whether it was the divine taint within or your unfurling machinations, my dark hunting hawk, I care not. We remain in the darkness of Solaufein's former kin, surrounded by enemies upon all sides- surely there is no time for such divergences, such weakness amongst ourselves. We must depart, if your goal of slaying your kin remains yet intact."
"My goals…?" Sarevok murmured quietly, his voice only a hint of a whisper in the darkness. The others could not even be sure he had spoken- but then, they heard him. Soft at first, but more clearly as the ire, the rage within him came to a frothing boil. "All… I had ever desired, all I had wanted… my goals, shattered before me. Ruined!"
Sarevok's head shot up as he glared at the two men before him, his eyes beginning to glow even brighter, the intensity within them like twin raging suns. "You! You worthless pieces of garbage! You are nothing! Less than nothing! Everything I had desired was at hand, within my grasp! Even death could not defy my will… and yet you and my worthless siblings would ruin everything I had striven for! Worms, all of you! Maggots, not fit to chew the bones of those fallen before me!"
Solaufein felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine as he stared into the hate-filled gaze of Sarevok- it was here than he finally understood the fear that the Deathbringer was able to elicit- he had only felt such sheer hatred roll off of another once before- when facing Phaere, after her 'conversion' to the Matron's ways of thinking. He understood only too well what was about to transpire- there would be no talking the warrior down. No peaceful ending to this confrontation, not without Imoen or Greywulf- hell, even their interference might not have been enough for the fury of the former Bhaalspawn.
Solaufein raised his weapon to guard, refusing to budge, or retreat an inch. "Tell us where Imoen has been spirited to, and you may yet leave this place alive. I will not ask again."
"I see it now…" Sarevok hissed, raising the Sword of Chaos as he strode towards Solaufein with murder in his eyes. "It was you… you and the others. Always holding them back, keeping them from their potential. They would've accepted the gifts of the taint, accepted my aid to raise them as the new Lords of Murder! It should have been mine by now, if not for the weakness that all of you thrust upon them like mewling children! Weakness that will no longer be tolerated-!"
Sarevok swung his sword down in an overhead arc, raining sparks upon Solaufein as the drow moved to block- Haer'Dalis needed no words of encouragement- he immediately darted forward and tried to catch the Deathbringer in the side with Chaos and Entropy- the two bladed slash was dodged as Sarevok ran his sword off Solaufein's to the left, stepping that way as he stared down his foes like a tiger stalking its prey. That there were two against one seemed to matter little to him, if at all- and as another two handed blow swung from his right in an attempt to bisect him, Solaufein could not help but wonder if Sarevok even understood, or cared about the odds. Or the mission. Or anything at all- it was madness in his voice, in his eyes- something had taken place. His battle to slay Sendai had ended in a draw, if not in his favor as suggested by his very presence among the living- but something had pushed him over the edge. What had made Sarevok so dangerous in the past was not just his sheer power, but the keen intellect that lurked within his imposing frame. But to see all the reason, all the intelligence abandoned for sheer madness and brutality… Solaufein was unsure if this made the battle less or more survivable.
Haer'Dalis shifted backwards to put Solaufein more at the center of attention as the tiefling began to switch to a magical attack instead- a burst of lightning formed at his fingertips as Solaufein did his best to engage the Deathbringer, driving his blade at Sarevok in deliberate, wide ranged strikes. Their swords ricocheted off one another twice three times, then a fourth before Haer'Dalis' spell ignited, hurling through the air at Sarevok's chest- if the big man felt any fear, or even thought the impact might harm him, he did not show it. The blast of electricity struck true, splaying over the man's chest and armor, like vines of power spreading over the Red Dragon Scale as Solaufein tried to press the assault, feeling hair stand on end from being in such proximity to the spell's target. And yet… there was no weakness to exploit. No sudden decrease in ability to take an advantage in- the attack from Haer'Dalis had done next to nothing to Sarevok- a set of magic missiles arced over the top of Solaufein to come down upon Sarevok from above and burn skin, scorch armor and flesh- and through it all, the Deathbringer did not flinch. Did not turn from his battle with Solaufein- if anything, the pain focused him. Made him stronger. This fight… Solaufein swallowed back his fear as he felt sweat begin to pool within his grip on his sword… this fight was not one he was sure he could win.
Haer'Dalis lowered his hand, watching the battle unfold, his target completely unfazed by the magics he had summoned- not that his own arcane powers were anything in comparison to, say, Greywulf, but the impact of a lightning bolt, four magic missiles and a skull trap was not something anyone should've simply shrugged off as though it were nothing. Except… except that the stories, the tales of Sarevok, back in the midst of his campaign to conquer the Realms spoke of exactly that. Between the Bhaal fueled madness and the armor he'd worn, those were exactly the stories he'd heard and been privy to from so many years past. To see it in action now, to witness such willpower and ferocity… it was almost a shame to have to kill such a specimen of power and chaos. Haer'Dalis felt his fingers close around the twin swords he carried once more… before he could move, he felt the hairs upon his arm rise, a tingle running through his body, a resonance he'd felt many times prior… the ether itself, the Planes and the Prime being torn asunder. The same feeling he'd felt when Imoen had been torn from their grasp. He smiled, then stepped back. This performance by Sarevok was not for his eyes, or even Solaufein's. The true audience was about to arrive.
Blind rage was the wrong thing to call it- more of a blood frenzy, a state he'd achieved multiple times back when seeking the Throne through Baldur's Gate. It was a state of near euphoria, where he allowed all the hatred, all the anger that flowed within to manifest itself through the skills he'd learned as a Deathbringer, becoming murder incarnate. A force of destruction that almost nobody in Faerun could match. And while the drow was good… he wasn't good enough. Sarevok's grin turned feral as his body moved with a will of its own, reflexes taking his limbs faster than his mind could command them. The drow tried and tried to defend, to counter… to no avail. Sarevok spun away from Solaufein's desperate slice, then launched himself forward with the Sword of Chaos starting its downward arc from all the way behind him, letting gravity carry the momentum in a swing that would be impossible to block- Solaufein tried regardless, and paid the price as his magical sword bent under the power of the Chaos blade's magic… before shattering in his hand, Solaufein thrown to the ground with a broken hilt and shards of metal scattering all around him.
Sarevok wasted no time- he moved forward to gut the foolish elf, to finally give release to the bloodlust within- a blinding light flashed in his peripheral vision, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered to the Deathbringer, only the kill, the blood- an arrow sang through the air and pierced his hand, sending the Sword of Chaos clattering to the ground beside Solaufein. The pain was… well, it was actually quite horrific, though tolerable. Still, it served as a distraction, to split his attention, to bring his mind and body back in sync for a moment, to drag his consciousness to the present, out of the whirlwind of blood- he glanced to his right, seeing who had struck him. Her. HER. "Sister…"
"Back off, Sarevok." Imoen's voice was rock solid, no sign of fear, no sign of weakness. Could it be her, in the end? No. She was too weak, she'd proven that already. Far too weak to bring him to glory. Or was she? He glared at her, ignoring the blood that was streaming down his hand and wrist, trying to read her, to see the true potential within her… perhaps. There was a level of control there within her that hadn't existed mere hours ago… and yet, was that what she truly needed? Control, or the lack thereof? She was saying something else, and he was listening, but not hearing. Her words were little more than white noise, a distraction for what really mattered. All that mattered was the power, and whether she could truly bring him along with her-
"Do not hesitate, Imoen!" Solaufein growled, trying to push himself back to his feet, grabbing the Blade of Chaos to bear as he leveled it at Sarevok, the Deathbringer staring Imoen down, not moving or acknowledging the others in the slightest. "He has shown his loyalties. None of us will be safe while he yet remains in our midst. He nearly killed you!"
His words didn't seem to affect her brother one way or another- he simply stood and stared at her, like he was analyzing any of their numerous foes. It was a glare Greywulf had been on the receiving end of several times in their climactic battle beneath Baldur's Gate, but never her… she'd never been that important to him then. But now…
"You… you are different, aren't you?" Sarevok spoke, the sound of his voice surprising everyone there- it came out of nowhere, not dark and filled with madness as it had been just moments before, berating Solaufein and Haer'Dalis. Now it was tinged with curiosity, and… hope? "When I killed Sendai, the Solar showed you more of the destiny that awaits us, did she not? Then you know how close we are! How close the power of Bhaal is, yes? My sister, your time is nearly here, do not hesitate! Embrace the Throne, embrace your destiny! Greywulf is a fool, he resists my urgings at every turn, but you… you could be more powerful than us all!"
The sudden urging, *pleading* from her brother was unexpected… and yet, despite her resolve to control the taint within her, Imoen could feel his words gnawing at the edges of her mind, like worms creeping into the corners of her brain and nibbling at her tenuous grasp on sanity. Things she was sure of would change, flit from one thought to another without her even noticing. Why this, why now? The Solar had told her that outside of the aura of Order that the angelic being radiated, she would be forced to deal with the taint's full urgings and that was most certainly the case here and now- the words of her mad sibling were of no help in denying the lust for power because deep down… somewhere below the surface of any conscious thought… she did want it. The power called to her, just as it did to all the Bhaalspawn. And the thought of giving into it, of letting it claim her and becoming one with the Throne was enough to drive her mad, should she indulge and glory in it for too long- she tore her thoughts back to the present, to the current problem. A genocidal sibling, one who had tried to kill her. Who had killed Gorion. Who would threaten everything they held dear… it was long since time they'd put the mad dog down for good.
A single arrow to the head and they'd be done with him… Imoen raised her bow, the arrow already strung and at the ready. She pulled back, aiming the arrow between Sarevok's eyes- if the sudden threat of his sister unnerved the Deathbringer, it didn't show. Was that a smile on his face? Imoen swallowed, trying to push back the sudden sense of joy that was egging her on, the quiet whisper that was telling her to savor the moment of the kill. "Yes… yes, I understand it." Sarevok nodded, his bald head shining with sweat as he raised his hands, lowering all semblance of guard to his sister. "The final step to claiming the Throne… you feel it now, don't you? To kill one of your kin is the height of passion, of ecstasy… I felt it, so long ago. You must feel it too, embrace it if you are to take the Throne. Take my blood, if you must. You have resurrected me once, you can do it again. Only my death, the hatred you feel for me will spur you on to the Throne of Murder- kill me, then restore me so that I might lay waste to your enemies! I can be the almighty enforcer of Bhaal should you will it! All you need do is kill me, sister! Give in to the murderous ecstasy you feel! Give in!"
"Madness…" Haer'Dalis murmured, watching the scene unfold. Solaufein could barely move, barely speak- everything he had thought, had wanted was being challenged. The death of Sarevok was undoubtedly a good thing, but was it what they needed right now? In the midst of the Deathbringer's crazed ramblings, was there a kernel of wisdom? Could Imoen's psyche truly handle the murder of her own sibling, here and now, so deep in the thrall of the taint as things stood? He could do it- the man had his back to Solaufein, and his grip upon the Blade of Chaos was firm, sure… a single motion and Sarevok's head would be rolling across the ground. This was an enemy the likes of which he had no clue how to fight- to kill it would push her too far… to let it live was to invite ruin upon them all. Never had the drow felt so unsure of his actions, of what to do…
Behind Sarevok, multiple images of herself seemed to fade in and out, ethereal and ghostly yet plain as day. Herself from Candlekeep, so innocent, so naïve… the Laughing Death, the constant specter of herself that had haunted all her waking thoughts for so long. And yet… the third option. The one she'd just seen in the Solar's visions of the multiverse- herself, not young, not innocent, but certainly not mad. Older, hardened, yet still indwelt with all the spirit she once had. The best she could be, if she was being honest with what she wanted, and what she dreamt for herself. A normal life, in the end. The Laughing Death began to whisper, began to caress Sarevok's shoulder with her ghostly hands, flicking her tongue out to the tip of her brother's earlobe, eyes dark and inviting as she spoke of the blood she could spill, of how good it would feel to see her kin fall before her… enough. Enough. "Enough!"
Imoen barely heard herself scream the word as she loosed the arrow, the shaft flying straight past Sarevok's head and embedding into the cavern wall behind the man. A clean miss- to everyone except the pink-haired thief. To her eyes, the form of the Laughing Death dangled against the wall, pinned through the head with blood leaking down her forehead and shock in her features, before finally dissipating, dissolving into nothing but a bloody mist. Imoen dropped her bow, going to her hands and knees as she felt her arms tremble, unable to sort out just what she was feeling, only knowing that somewhere, deep down… she'd scored a victory. "It's done… she's dead. I killed her, you hear me...?"
"Imoen! Imoen!"
A familiar voice- like sanity in the midst of madness or water in the middle of the desert- it all came back to her, all at once- she looked up from her knees and saw a young elven man and a squire in full armor, standing in the midst of a glowing green portal- the young half-elf had his hand extended to her, as though he had watched everything, had seen everything… and the smile on his face said everything. "You and me, all the way to the end, right?"
The words he'd said to her right before they saw one another last. Right before she'd given over the last of her sanity to survive the end of this mad war. But if anyone could keep her sane, if only for a few battles more… it was them. Him. Her family. She raised her head- no more tears. No more weakness, at least for now. She took his hand and answered him with a smile, just as she had done before. "Damn straight."
X
Greywulf stood at the precipice of the Pocket Plane, the stone walls that normally encircled the main platform torn down for a moment, just so he could stand on the end and stare out in the void. A simple wish made real by his own powers, here and now. So easy to make the world bend to his will in this place… perhaps that was the lure of power- the ability to shape the world to the way things *should* be, rather than to the whims of fate. He looked out into the swirling green and red vortex that howled below- it had been everything Greywulf feared, in the end. His war had turned the men and women he'd called friends into soldiers… and soldiers died.
Aerie. Reynald. Cernd. Nalia. Jaheira, on death's door even now. Without Cernd and Aerie's magic to help heal her, it was up to the somewhat limited supply of health potions and clerical magic that Anomen could provide. Viconia's broken jaw had been healed without too much difficulty, but the bruises and soreness of her other wounds would not depart soon. And those were simply the physical injuries- Minsc had not spoken to him since they arrived. Did the big ranger blame him for splitting them up? Was he, in the madness of Minsc's grief, responsible for Aerie's death as well? Or was it truly madness at all…?
Greywulf ran a hand through his hair as he continued staring into the void. So Sendai was dead. And Abazigal. All that remained was Balthazar, from everything that the others had told him… and yet, he felt no comfort. No rest, or relief that their battle was nearly concluded. If anything, the weight of the war lay heavier than ever. He took a moment to glance behind him- those who yet remained were splayed across the Pocket Plane's surface- Imoen sat with Solaufein, unable to hold back tears as she cried over the loss of her friend, Aerie. The two girls had developed a bond beyond that of simple friendship- to have lost so much already, and now this? Too much for anyone to bear…
Anomen remained by Jaheira's prone form, exhausting the clerical powers he possessed to heal her broken body- so many injuries, so close to death upon their return to the Pocket Plane… it could've been much worse. A few moments later and it would have been nothing but corpses that his powers had sought out. The squire saw his gaze, then nodded in acknowledgment before returning to work. Anomen had grown much over the past year. He was a fine man, and a worthy companion… he'd make an excellent knight, should he make it out of this alive.
Minsc sat alone, his eyes blank, a glassy stare across his features as he sat with his back to rocky cliffsides, his gaze never moving from the space between his travel worn boots. The rage, the pain… it couldn't last forever. Not even for the big Rashemani. No enemies here to fight, only the pain and the loss they all felt within. Eventually that pain had to be faced… he'd proven strong enough to beat it down once, when Dynaheir had died. Twice… twice might've destroyed everything inside of the ranger, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do to help him. Boo had been nowhere to be seen since Aerie's death, and Minsc hadn't said a word to his erstwhile companion… did that mean anything? Were the crazy stories Minsc had told them about his so called mentor actually true, in some manner of speaking? Or had the little rodent vanished, fled his large companion in the midst of his fury? Was Minsc even aware of Boo anymore? Somehow, that very real prospect, as silly as it sounded, was the most sobering of all for those who knew the big man. He *had* changed… and for all those who had ever wished normalcy, or sanity upon the ranger… well, they'd gotten their wish.
Viconia was strangely close to the others- all the other times she'd traveled with them, her temperament and distrust for others had kept a barrier up between them, pushed her away, physically if not emotionally. Now… her roll and pack were lined up right beside where Imoen and Solaufein were seated. The drow woman sat in silence, scarcely looking at the two, or any of the others scattered amidst the hellish landscape, but for once, she was a part of them. He had only spoken to her for a brief moment when after pulling them all back to the Pocket Plane, after her jaw was healed- her words had been few, but telling about where her thoughts were dwelling. "Damn druid. The o'dad should've focused on himself. The others would've been fine…. they would've been fine without Cernd's help… the damn fool…"
"A copper for your thoughts, my raven?"
He had not heard or seen Haer'Dalis approach as he stood there, blindly surveying everything and nothing all at once. The tiefling bore a few more scars since they had seen one another last, but he had survived without lasting injury, it seemed. One of the lucky few. Greywulf shrugged, letting the walls around them lower further, allowing Haer'Dalis a view into the abyss below. The bard took advantage of the offered view and gazed downward, seemingly enraptured by the sight. "Too taken in by the sights, perhaps. Simply marvelous, is it not? The sight of the total convergence of chaos, of entropy itself?"
Greywulf sighed- he shook his head and held on tighter to the raised rocky wall beside him. "You and I have very different ways of looking at this place, I think."
"Perhaps. Though perhaps while your vision is colored by the weight of command, mine is blinded by the sight of what I once gazed upon before…" Haer'Dalis murmured, allowing himself to totter over the edge of the abyss, only supported from falling by a single hand, clasping the outer shell of the platform. "Did I ever tell you how I survived my apparent death at the hands of our former companion, Yoshimo?"
Greywulf did not answer- he knew what the bard was doing- what all good bards did when faced with a somber crowd, take their minds off of their worries. Why the hell not. "Go ahead. We've got time."
If Haer'Dalis took offense at the somewhat bitter tone that the sorcerer was speaking in, he did not show it- on with the show. "The fight between the hound and myself was a bitter affair, my raven… I shall not bore you with the gory details, as I can see that your mind is elsewhere. Do not look so surprised- even one such as I knows when to hold their tongue. 'Tis not a story of wild adventure or battle you need at this moment, true?"
He did not wait for the half-elf's response- Haer'Dalis instead leaned ever further over the edge of the planetary whirlwind below them. "The soul, the life of a Doomguard is given over to entropy and the seeking of such. To finally embrace the end of all things… of my life would've been a wonderful thing, my raven… and it was there, within grasp. A poison running through my veins, sending me swiftly into the final destination of all who walk this mad earth. I do believe, if I am not mistaken, that I was dead… if only for a brief moment. My corpse hurtled through the ether to the abyss you see below- for a brief time, I was made fully aware of the final destination of this world- and yet, my soul was not unmade, or passed along to its final destination. I was taken by… something, though I know not what."
His words finally drew Greywulf's undivided attention- as he looked upon Haer'Dalis, he saw not the normally joking features or the sly grin about to deliver a punchline. The tiefling had never been more serious- "A power of this world kept my soul, my body and returned me to the Prime for one service… to see you and this venture to the end. I could do no other than to obey."
Greywulf paused, considering Haer'Dalis words… "Who?"
The tiefling finally pulled himself back to solid footing, dusting off his tunic before turning his back on the swirling abyss below completely. "Who is to say, my raven? Cyric, the god of lies? Perhaps Oghma, the god bard himself? There are no true deities in the Realms who embody the sphere of entropy that we Doomguards worship… but I tell you this, and there is no lie in what I speak. The powers that be have their eyes fixed upon you, my raven. Your actions will tip the balance in favor of light, or dark, and the stakes of that choice will change the planes forever. Your story is nearing completion… and what a tale to tell, come the end."
Greywulf paused, finally letting himself smirk for a brief moment, rubbing the stubble that had grown upon his face over the past few weeks. "I wish I could say that you're the first to tell me this, Haer'Dalis. So tell me, bard… how exactly do you see my story ending?"
"Who can say?" Haer'Dalis laughed, finally returning to the devil-may-care attitude that he was so much more known for amongst their party. "Whether you choose the path of light or dark, you will bring about destruction. Entropy. A part of the world will burn under your power, whether it be a righteous fire of cleansing or a darkness that destroys all. Either way… I shall be your humble historian, relaying your tale to the masses. Your job, my raven, is to finish the story as you see fit."
X
There it was… footsteps. The sound of destiny, if one were to forgive him the flowery turn of phrase. He had learned so much in the years he'd spent training to become the new Lord of Murder… how to track, how to listen. And even, were he to study one target long enough, how to tell them simply by the sound of their gait. This man… he had studied him longer than any other. He knew it was Greywulf who was descending into one of the cleared Challenge rooms to find him… and truth be told, it was a conversation he was very much looking forward to. And dreading.
"I had wondered when you would face me." Sarevok intoned, seated upon the stone floor, across from where Greywulf was descending. "I'm sure the others spared no time in telling you of my deeds in your absence."
"You crossed the line, Sarevok." Greywulf folded his arms, glaring down at the warrior with cold fire in his eyes. "You attacked Solaufein. Nearly killed Imoen. You had a place with us so long as you didn't betray me, but now…"
"But now the time of the prophecies is upon us, and I…" Sarevok growled, standing to his feet with abrupt passion before quelling it within himself. "I… I am no longer the one to whom the power of Bhaal will flow. My last hopes of taking the Throne were quelled. I… I lost myself for a time- despair and madness overtook my senses. It shall not happen again."
"And you think that makes up for what you've done? For nearly killing my sister?" Greywulf scoffed- their dialogue was only delaying the inevitable, that much was certain. A wiser man would've brought the others down with him to confront Sarevok. Presented a united front against this evil man when finally wiping him from existence. But Solaufein had told Greywulf, spoken of Imoen's choice, her inability to slay him. And the others… all of them were damaged in one way or another, physically, emotionally. In the end, Sarevok was his responsibility; he was the one who had brought him along, had trusted the safety of the group to the Deathbringer. Not anymore.
"I expect no mercy from you, and no quarter." Sarevok shook his head. "I see quite clearly now… the time I have had to think, to consider has made the world all too clear. Our sister is not the child of destiny I had hoped her to be… she is far too split, in both mind and spirit to ever be the force necessary to take the Throne. I doubt she would even survive the transferal of power, should she be the final Bhaalspawn, at least not with her sanity intact. The Imoen we know would not be the same one who ascended to godhood."
"On that we can agree." Greywulf folded his arms, refusing to let his guard down, even now. Sarevok's sword was sheathed, but that did not mean the big man was any less dangerous. Surely they both knew how this conversation would end. This was… simple pleasantries. A show of grudging respect to one another. They'd both earned that much. "And you certainly know my stance on the matter. So… what are you going to do now?"
"I… I intend to make one last request of you." Sarevok spoke quietly, deliberately. "No… perhaps two requests. I trust you shall do me the favor of answering them before we cross blades?"
So he was aware of their fated battle- good then. "Ask away."
"You spoke once before of Tamoko… of how she died. Of how it was another's hand who struck her down. Not your own…" the words were obviously hard for the big man to say- it was possibly the most unsure Greywulf had ever seen him. "Tell me… who was responsible then? Who killed Tamoko? Do they yet live?"
"I… I cannot say, not for sure." Greywulf replied quietly, shaking his head. "Members of the Iron Throne were behind it, that much was made clear to me. Those remnants of the organization outside Baldur's Gate, the chapters of the Throne who had resisted falling under your banner. They sent assassins to take care of those who had followed you… she was one of them. I can only assume that the ones who made that decision are still the ones in command."
Sarevok was quiet for a moment, and it was only because of how closely Greywulf was watching his brother that he saw the muscles tense in Sarevok's arms, the fists clench in barely suppressed rage. "I… see. Thank you."
Greywulf waited, letting the silence stew between them for a moment longer… he finally broke it, unwilling to let the matter remain for any longer than it needed to be. "And the second request? Surely it isn't for me to take the Throne and raise you up as my right hand when I do. You know what my answer will be by now."
"Hnh. I do… and perhaps my question may yet surprise you, brother." Sarevok grimaced, and his eyes met Greywulf with what could possibly have been construed as… curiosity? "I simply wish to ask you… why? I sought the power of Bhaal, and failed in my journey… everything the Bhaalspawn as a whole seek you have denied. Pushed away and refused to embrace. All the things that should make you weak, you hold onto as a strength. Not a moment passes when I do not look upon you and question how you have survived, how you have thrived for this long. Why? Why do you reject the power and seek this limited, earthbound comfort in its place? Why has it brought you victory when it should offer only defeat? I… I must know!"
The quiet desperation in his voice took Greywulf by surprise- he did not know how to answer, not right away. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to look away, to lower his guard- the Deathbringer did not take advantage and try to launch a sneak attack, much as Greywulf had known he would not. This was… real. A moment of actual brotherhood between these two hated enemies. Not one that could ever be trusted to repeat again… he owed Sarevok an honest answer. "I don't know if there's a one word answer to your question, Sarevok… at least, not one you'll understand. We've both been raised to believe such different things… you look at love, loyalty and attachments as weaknesses to be exploited. I see them as things to fight for, to give me strength in the darkest of times. You've trained your entire life towards battle, towards fighting the enemies in your path. Toward conquering every obstacle in your way… the only problem with that is eventually you see everything as an obstacle."
Greywulf paused, and smiled sadly at the Deathbringer. "There's more to this world than power. Than godhood, if you can believe that. There's joy to be found in the company of those you love. Peace in the company of those you trust. Happiness, even, in knowing that you've done right by the world, and by those around you. Gorion taught me that… I don't expect it was a lesson you ever learned growing up. And maybe that's where we'll always differ most, in what we were taught to value as children. You and I both saw how easily our lives could have been reversed, had Gorion picked you instead of me that night. I don't pretend to think that it means nothing, what we witnessed. But it's not our past that defines us… it's our actions."
Sarevok was silent for several moments, he shook his head quietly, looking up at the smooth granite ceiling. "I do not… I do not understand. Not that I had expected to, I think. The words you describe, a life without striving for all there is to be gained? To me, it is not a life worth living. Without the struggle for greatness, how can one grow? And without testing oneself against others and their own strength, how can you know your own limits? Your dependence upon others has been a mystery to me for so long- even now, I see the grief within you at the death of the Avariel and the druid. At the pain your lover endured. Such emotions are a weakness, a pain I beat from my own body long ago. Yet you welcome it with each new friend in your midst… I cannot fathom it. And yet… you endure. You survive where I did not. It is a mystery… but I do not imagine you and I will ever see eye to eye on this matter, brother. Nor do I imagine that you and I will ever release the hatred we feel for each other. Our rivalry runs far too deep for anything less."
Sarevok lowered his head, then stood tall, and in a moment, all semblance of weakness or uncertainty was gone. "My chance to claim power at the Throne of Bhaal is ended. Neither you nor Imoen shall bring me the glory and power I seek… and I would be a fool to seek the remaining Bhaalspawn out for their aid in reaching the Throne. I am left with nothing, brother… only the chance for a final retribution. A chance to avenge my own murder, perhaps?"
"Perhaps. And what happened to, 'wanting to avoid crossing me with your new life?' " Greywulf glared at the man, only halfheartedly making the argument. For all his efforts in convincing himself that Sarevok was the aggressor here, that his brother was the villain of this story… there was a part of him that wanted this battle just as much.
"Things change. And when a man is left with nothing… it changes his perspective." Sarevok admitted, folding his arms. "You and Imoen have left me with nothing to strive for. Even in death I had a goal… one which I succeeded in. It is… ironic, that in refusing the Throne you have handed me a final defeat."
"Hnh. Small comfort." Greywulf mused, glancing behind him towards the stairway leading back up to the main platform, where the rest of his companions remained. "The others could be down in moments if I simply called for them, you know. Even discounting Jaheira and the others who are injured…"
"You could overwhelm me. It is possible… but you don't want their murders on your conscience, do you? I think I would slay only three or four before you felled me for good…" Sarevok let the implication trail off as he smiled darkly- and Greywulf remembered in an instant why he had grown to hate this man so much. "Come, brother. Let us end this rivalry as it was meant to be ended. You and I have fought for so long… to invite the others into our dance would be a tragedy."
"It didn't have to be this way." Greywulf intoned coldly, gripping his quarterstaff tightly as he inhaled, preparing his body, his muscles for the battle before him.
Sarevok drew the Sword of Chaos and planted both feet before lowering into a battle stance with a quiet laugh beneath his breath. "Of course it did. It was always going to end like this."
Greywulf considered those words for a moment… he chuckled briefly as well, a rare laugh shared by the two as lightning and steel began clashing in the depths of the Pocket Plane.