In the solace, the ruins of Amkethran where only the dead remained, Balthazar sat cross-legged in what had once been the smuggler caves of Saemon Havarian. If one looked around carefully, they might see smashed crates that had once held expensive wines, silken robes and other amenities not usually found in such a harsh environment. There were broken barrels of spoiled fruits and moldy bread, and once fine weapons to be sold to either guard or citizen were smashed open and scattered around the cavern floors. The amount of money to be made in selling these goods would have been a small fortune, at the very least- were Havarian still alive, the sight of his broken enterprise might have actually elicited genuine feelings from the scoundrel.
Not that anyone, much less Saemon Havarian, was still alive now. Balthazar let his spirit settle further into a trance, extending his consciousness out away from the collapsed mountainside into the burned and collapsed city… there were faint hints of life here and there, small and fading amid the overpowering stench of those crushed under Abazigal's draconic onslaught. Even the attackers, those who remained, the amethyst beast and a small contingent of drakes, had deserted the city after their master's death. The corpse of the dragon remained in the corner of the hollowed out mountain side- if not for the mighty blue scales, it surely would have begun to rot in the hot desert sun already.
Balthazar briefly considered pulling himself out of the meditative state he was in, going and searching out those few survivors- no. He had done enough damage to the denizens of this place. The people he had been sworn to protect- gone, destroyed in cleansing fire and lightning, emanating from dragons high above. The members of his monastic order, acolytes determined to follow him and rid the lands of the Bhaal taint- the memory of each and every one of them he had trained flitted through his memory, eyes full of accusations of betrayal. Somewhere in the midst of the rubble lay the corpse of an elven cleric-mage, a companion to Gorion's wards. Here, in the ruined smuggler's den was a druid's body, head smashed by a single blow from Balthazar's fist- another of the companions of Greywulf and Imoen. Bhaalspawn on a similar path as he, if the accounts were to be believed- and yet, as with all the god-children, there could be no peace. No sense of true brotherhood- only the false, brittle alliances like that of the Five, and what had it led to, in the end? More death and destruction. Better that he and all of the others who tried to shun their heritage simply set out on their own, to spare others the destruction that followed in their path.
Balthazar slipped further and further into a dreamlike state, only barely aware of his physical form, now. This small time of rest, of meditation would have to be enough- there would be no more running. No more armies to fight, no more grand plans or designs. The only way that the remainder of Greywulf's allies could have been saved from Balthazar so quickly was if the Bhaalspawn himself had intervened. Which meant that Gorion's wards knew where he was… and if his power was so great as to whisk his companions from harm, who was to say that he could not be upon him in mere moments? No, there was no sense in running or hiding. This would be as good a spot as any to end the legacy of Bhaal's taint. There was, still yet, the matter of Melissan- she had an agenda of her own, of that Balthazar was certain now. She had been manipulating him and the rest of the Five for too long for him not to have taken some notice. What her final goals were remained unclear, but… what did it matter? When all of the god-children were dead, the prophecy would be terminated. Without a child of Bhaal to act as a vessel, the taint would be lost forever.
The thought of such finality spurred Balthazar into the final level of his meditation, losing his physical senses altogether and becoming one with the spirit world- at least, for a few minutes. It was not a state he could sustain himself in for long, but the effect on his energy, on his strength was remarkable. It would be as if he had been sleeping for hours, his body and spirit would be rejuvenated beyond measure… an advantage he would need if he was to defeat the last of his siblings. As he opened his eyes, the world appeared to be an indistinct, hazy blur, rippling like a white wind was engulfing him completely. It made sense- so much life energy quenched in mere hours- no wonder the realm of spirits was so disturbed, so unsettled.
He left his physical form and walked- if it could be called that, it was more like gliding- across the cavern to stare out the gigantic hole in the mountain that Jaheira had caused with her Implosion spell. From up here, the ruined city looked like a child's toy, a set of little buildings built upon the sands of the beach and then washed away by an uncaring tide, or stomped flat by a single, petulant footstep. Those who had lived below appeared as little more than ants- perhaps that had been the problem all along. Perceiving those who were caught up in the waves of the Bhaalspawn as casualties of war, instead of the husbands, wives, children that they truly were. When had he become so cold, so unfeeling? Willing to sacrifice the lives of however many it took so long as his siblings met their end… perhaps he had given the taint within a stronger hold than he realized.
Behind him, a measure of the rushing wind began moaning, aching in purpose as it formed into something more, something human… something vengeful. Balthazar's spirit turned to face the spectre that was making itself known before him- he had never encountered another in this plane of existence before… but as the face was made known, he understood all too well his mistake. Right now he existed on the plane of the spirit world- there were few others who had such a connection to the spirits. Druids, however were one of them… "You are bold, god-child, to enter this realm with the blood of so many upon your hands." The spirit of Cernd intoned, his arms folded across his broad, bare chest. The spirit form of the slain druid bore no signs of the grievous injury Balthazar had inflicted upon him- and in this world, in this realm, spirits had power. Were the druid so inclined, they might do battle once again, and it was not one Balthazar cared to wager his life upon.
"Am I?" Balthazar questioned, raising his hands, palms up. A show of peace, if that meant anything to the surely vengeful spirit. "Perhaps I simply wished to see the results of my own failures. To remind myself of what this war has cost. If it matters at all to you, I regret what occurred here. To everyone. If I could have prevented it, I would have."
The words were not lies- had they been simple platitudes in an attempt to keep Cernd from striking back in retaliation for his own death, the druid would've seen through them easily, of that Balthazar was certain. Instead, he gave voice to his own inner regrets, his own shames and truths that he kept hidden from everyone, especially himself. "Your regrets are of little help to those affected by the violence you perpetuated. A wolf acts on instinct, out of hunger. If it kills an innocent, it does so out of necessity, not malice." Cernd's eyes narrowed as he spoke, stepping closer to the monk, a sound like the roaring of water filling Balthazar's hearing as the spectre neared. "And yet, the same could be said of you and the Bhaalspawn, true? Your nature is to destroy. Your cause is murder, it strangles your every waking thought like a serpent. No matter what you do, you bring death to others. It seems only fitting that I should bring death to you, in this place where you have slain so many."
Balthazar tried to settle himself, but inwardly, he felt fear, felt the dangerous path he was treading. The druid's spirit was much more traveled in a place such as this- he came here only in small ventures, only to refresh his physical form in times of great need. The druid would have come to this place to commune with nature often- in a battle here, among the planes, he would be left an empty shell, burned out and hollow. "And yet you traveled with and served the wards of Gorion. Did they not bring death in their wake as well? I sought to end the predations of my kin. Sought to remove their blight from Faerun altogether… surely my cause and Greywulf's cause is not so different. Would you condemn me for something you had a willing hand in supporting? I say it again- I regret the deaths of so many. I regret the deaths of my monks, and the people of Faerun. I regret your death, and would ask your forgiveness, though you have no cause to lend it."
Balthazar did not pretend to think that it was merely the words he spoke that seemed to quell the rising rage of the specter before him. It was not his own persuasive nature, that much was certain- something else had seemed to trigger within the druid's mind as he remained, slowly backing from the monk as his form became indistinct, ethereal in the slowly fading spirit realm. "Your path will end in blood, Balthazar. It is your nature, I see that now. You speak falsely, in thinking that all of your kin are bound to that nature- the wards of Gorion, my friends, they are different. Their nature guides them along a different path- no matter what you may wish to believe, it is your own choices that have led to this moment. But vengeance is not mine to take- tread carefully, monk. There are many restless spirits in this world- I am but their voice, their vanguard. And it is only by the words of one whom I respect even in death that my hand is stayed today. Begone."
Balthazar considered the words of the spirit as his presence hurtled from that indistinct plane and back into the solid, the corporeal. Feeling returned to his fingers, his body as he felt his own spirit being poured like ice water back into his body. The monk opened his eyes, and everything was as it had been before- the blood-stained rock, the collapsed and dirty rubble of smuggled dreams. Cernd's words were like a hazy dream- but there was no time to dwell. No time to wonder about why he had been allowed to return to his body unmolested. No time to doubt his own actions, to question whether the druid was right, whether he had chosen this path willingly, rather than been forced upon it. There was one battle left to fight- Balthazar stood and performed a quick kata, striking with his left foot, then his right, slicing air as he felt his muscles tighten and his body settle. Let the wards of Gorion come. Let this madness end- he wanted nothing more.
Deep in the realms of the spirit world, Cernd watched the form of Balthazar prepare himself for combat, his deep piercing eyes narrowing at the sight of his murderer. "His blood was mine to spill. It would have been right, had I taken vengeance upon him. You know this."
"Perhaps… but our power is limited, here in death. It is only by the devotion of so many, the loyalty each and every one of us has for these men and women that we can yet remain here, kept from our final rewards." A deep voice, commanding and calm echoed to Cernd. The druid nodded, turning from the sight of the monk and back to those gathered, waiting and watching. So many, some waiting for so long, others just recently joined to their cadre. Cernd glanced knowingly at the speaker, the armored form that glowed brighter than any other in their ranks. "You lead this legion of the dead well, my friend. I shall follow your wisdom in death, even as I did in life."
"Hmm. I was not the first to stand vigilant over these god-children- you know that well enough." Sir Keldorn Firecam, right hand of Torm, rested one gauntleted hand on Cernd's ethereal shoulder, his smile tight as they joined the others. "Still, be patient. The gods have granted us leave to witness the end of this journey, not to interfere. Let us wait, and pray that our friends have the strength to finish this journey in a manner worthy of them."
X
It had always been inevitable. Hadn't it? Two irresistible forces, bound by mutual enmity and hatred, a self-fulfilling prophecy of violence that would not, could not end between the two. Brothers. Bound in blood and murder. Sarevok killed Gorion. Greywulf killed Sarevok. Both held blood vows against one another- both held grievances unmet simply by the others' continued existence. It was always going to end this way. Always.
Greywulf felt his leg muscles tense as he waited for Sarevok's downward slash, coming from the right shoulder- there it was. The same maneuver the Deathbringer had caught him off-guard with during their first duel under Baldur's Gate. The same maneuver that had left a long scar running down the half-elf's chest, healed but never gone. A reminder of their battle. Of how dangerous his brother was and always would be. How could he have ever thought to control this madman, to channel his rage into something useful? It had been a fool's errand, at best. It was easy to think of the big man as a mad dog to be put down, rage incarnate, but that was folly as well. The man was as intelligent as any he had met- his will nearly indomitable. He could've been so much more, could've been… if Gorion had just chosen him instead. If the wizard had looked slightly to the left, or perhaps to the right, instead of his gaze falling on the crying half-elf infant there at the temple of Bhaal. That Sarevok could've been him, perhaps even more than him… the thought chilled Greywulf while driving him forward, always forward. He would be better than Sarevok. He would prove worthy of Gorion's choice. He had to be, for his own sake, for Gorion's sake… and for Sarevok's sake as well.
Sarevok grimaced as Greywulf dodged aside from his slashing attack, his left hand already in motion to counter- the armored warrior raised a hand reflexively, knowing the arcane gesture Greywulf was making and watching in grim satisfaction as five magic missiles erupted from the ether out of the sorcerer's grasp, each one exploding against his shoulder pauldron that he had turned to absorb the attack. A standard counter-attack from his brother- quick and easy, one that, if allowed to connect to an opponent's head instead of their shoulder, would daze, possibly even kill a man. He'd seen his brother use it too many times over the past months to let it connect solidly though; predictable, unlike Greywulf himself. His brother was anything but- despite his best attempts at second-guessing the man's motives, his actions… he could never pin him down for any length of time. Oh, he'd been able to manipulate him for a while. Sarevok even thought he'd succeeded for a short time. But there was that damned unpredictability, that insufferable sense of… pride? Arrogance? That unshakeable belief of Greywulf's that he was right, that he was in the right, and that he would succeed, no matter when everything screamed otherwise. It made men and women follow him into hell and back. It made him immeasurably dangerous. It made Sarevok loathe him with every fiber of his being. How could he have let his vengeance go for this long? Respect… that was why. Respect, a mutual understanding between the two that they were equals- rivals, enemies… but equals. It was an enigma, a contradiction. There was nobody on Faerun he would rather feel his hands around the neck of. And nobody he would rather follow into battle.
The dance continued, both players knowing the steps all too well. The Blade of Chaos sought flesh, sought to bisect the swirling gray cloak up high, then down the middle- the dervish of magic was simply not there for the first swipe, and the second bounced off a bright blue sheen like a rock skipping off the surface of a pond. The newly reversed arc of metal let light and power shine from Greywulf's fingertips- blinding light was countered simply by closing the eyes of those burning golden suns amid Sarevok's face- a whirling cone of ice and cold that erupted into being was caught on the back of the Deathbringer's armor as he spun in place, taking the attack on his rear, foolish if he had been fighting a man with a sword- but taken and shattered as he threw and flexed his body violently, flecks of ice and snow hurtling from him as he spun, his blade out to catch Greywulf if he was foolish enough to stay put after casting. He was, of course, not.
Both men eyed each other from several yards away, both breathing heavily, though perhaps the half-elf more so than Sarevok. It would be a mistake to think that meant he was weakened- how many times had an enemy overextended himself in an eagerness for the kill, thinking that this time would be different, that this blade would find its mark upon the sorcerer spawn of Bhaal? Sarevok refused to accept the invitation. He simply gathered his own strength, let the ache in his shoulder subside for a moment. It stung from the impact of the magic missiles, and his back was still partially numb from the cold- he had taken at least a dozen magical attacks thus far, tanking those he could not dodge, avoiding the worst of it. Greywulf had done the same- the sorcerer was far more agile than he let on- his robes were loose and oversized for a reason. With so much fabric swirling as the man moved and worked his spells, it was hard to tell just where his physical form was located at. Still, blood dripped and ran from cuts along his arms, one along his face- another scar to add to the collection, the tableau of memories that each adventurer kept.
Greywulf thought briefly of the men and women upstairs –were they wondering where he was right now, imagining that he was simply having it out with his brother, a verbal spat like they'd done so often since the Deathbringer had joined them? Or were they on the opposite side of the barrier he'd mentally commanded to rise since descending to this arena, trying to force their way in, knowing what took place so nearby? If he failed and met his end here, would they blame themselves? Greywulf hoped not- too much guilt to go around already, as far as he was concerned. It was a selfish battle they were fighting, after all. By all rights, it should have been Imoen and Jaheira and Minsc down here with him, all had equal share in the anger directed at this man. All of them had suffered loss at his hands, had been part of the hunts and assassin attacks and doppelgangers sent after them. This battle, this one-on-one fight… sure, Sarevok had threatened to kill the others. But wouldn't that threat be just as real if he emerged from this place victorious? The cynical part of himself imagined that he wanted Sarevok's blood for himself. The optimist said it was to save his friends from harm. Both were utter liars, if he was being honest. So what was the point of all this? Why the dance, again and again and again, so closely matched that one could be forgiven for thinking they weren't even trying? A hand rose as if on its own, and the dance began again.
Flame jutted over the top of Sarevok's bald head, raising small blisters as the man ducked underneath the scorching ray, pressing forward to interrupt Greywulf's attack, knowing that a direct thrust would be countered, he was too close for a dodge- there it was, a spell sequencer igniting and an Improved Mantle flashing into existence. The body of his foe glowed like a firefly in the night, and he knew that there was nothing stopping him from dropping some of the most powerful spells he could muster on top of the Deathbringer's head in this short period of invulnerability… the warrior leapt at Greywulf, abandoning his weapon for quick strikes with his palm, knocking the sorcerer's hands away every time he went for an arcane gesture, physically stopping him from casting. It was difficult- each time he touched the half-elf his hands felt like they'd been shocked, repelled by the power of the magic Greywulf had summoned, but delivering just enough force to keep his incantations at bay- it was a crazy gambit he was playing at- one slip up and he was so close to Greywulf that even a simple fireball would leave him no time or ability to dodge should it ignite. Sarevok's focus, all his attention slid to countering the sorcerer's movements- just as it had always been, hadn't it? A microcosm of his entire path since deciding to take the Throne. Every action he had taken was not his own, was driven by the taint within him. Every. Single. One. That thought maddened him… frustrated him… the idea that he had never been in control, not once… and somehow, this brother of his had so effortlessly plucked his destiny from the ether? No. Never again. Only now, as he focused every movement on watching Greywulf, the two men's eyes locking as Greywulf chanted, the power within his voice at the ready, needing only a conduit for release… Sarevok felt the power within Greywulf shift, dissipate and he let his fist rocket upwards, catching the sorcerer on the chin as the Improved Mantle dissipated.
Greywulf slid across the floor of the arena, dazed by the force of the blow, but still aware enough to recognize what was rapidly apparent- he had lost. The dance was over, he'd missed a step. Oh yes, he could extend it. A kick to Sarevok's leg as the man approached, it would give him time to try and roll away- but the Deathbringer would catch his cloak, would yank him back and from there it was only a matter of time. A counterspell, channeling lightning through his hands and cloak would spasm Sarevok's arms, numb them for a few moments and maybe even paralyze one of his hands, but a boot would catch him in the back, knocked into the rock wall- he would turn and try to slow Sarevok's assault with another spell- and it would end there, either with a blade jammed into his gut, his incantations cut off a second before finishing, or in another of a dozen ways he could already see coming. He would fight, he would even make Sarevok feel it… but in the end, here, lying on his back with Sarevok standing over him, the Sword of Chaos already retrieved and in his hands, he knew that the end had come. The taint inside screamed at him not to accept it. The Slayer's bass tones grew fervent in his ears, but… but at long last, Greywulf had learned to ignore them.
"I win, brother." Sarevok intoned, his voice surprisingly calm, showing none of the bluster, none of the fervor he'd displayed in their previous battles. "I admit... I am somewhat surprised. No sign of the Slayer licking at your consciousness, no loosing of the taint to save yourself yet again."
"I've caged that part of me, in no small part thanks to you." Greywulf responded, his throat dry from all the exertion. The hell with it, he thought- keeping his movements slow, the half-elf pulled the dangling waterskin from his belt and moved to take a drink- the skin had been cut open by one of Sarevok's attacks, and had leaked its contents all over the stone floors much earlier. He'd simply failed to notice at the time- Greywulf sighed, then tossed the ruined container aside. "So? As we agreed… we both know how this had to end."
"Did we? Perhaps we thought so… and perhaps not." Sarevok glanced back toward the entrance of the challenge room, already swirling with the dissipation of Greywulf's barrier. The way out was clear- and yet, nobody stood at the door, waiting to come to the half-elf's aid. "I said to you before that your final victory over me was to rob me of purpose… that in denying the Throne, you destroyed all I had left. I begin to see now, perhaps more clearly than ever before. All my life, purpose has been forced upon me by my blood. Even after being resurrected by our sister, still the taint of Bhaal directed my purpose. And yet… what if I were to choose my own path? To choose my own purpose in life? Would that not be- could it not be as fulfilling? Life is mine once again- and make no mistake, I will be no man's puppet or servant, especially not yours… but I begin to see, I do not have to be a slave to the taint of Bhaal either. You… rather, your example, has helped me to see this."
"You get awful contemplative during combat, it seems." Greywulf frowned- it was clear that he was not out of danger- tension remained thick in the air, and Sarevok's blade had not moved since they began speaking. "You've changed your mind twice now… and what makes you think I've forgotten what you did to Imoen?"
"Simple pragmatism." Sarevok replied coldly, staring the sorcerer down. "You stand on the precipice of ending the legacy of our kin. Now that the bloodlust, the anger is quelled, you will see that killing me would accomplish nothing other than assuage that ego of yours. You will need my help against Balthazar. You will need my knowledge to face whatever machinations are arrayed against us. And when this is all over, when you will not need me any longer… I will be gone. Freed of all connection to the Bhaalspawn, and finally free to forge my own destiny."
"I… don't know if I believe you. Not that I ever felt I could," Greywulf considered, slowly climbing to his feet, watching the sword Sarevok wielded follow his path, remaining at guard the whole time. "I will not hold back the others, should they wish to end our rivalry now. Our truce ended the moment you stabbed Imoen. I expect no safety or loyalty from you. If we travel together from now on, it will be for mutual benefit and nothing more. Once this is done… so are we."
"Hnh. Heh." Sarevok chuckled, nodding as he sheathed his weapon. "How very hostile you remain. If you think I desire vengeance still, know that I will forever treasure the memory of this moment. The memory that I held my hand at your throat, that I could have killed you here and now- that you were at my mercy. And should your path lead you to the heavens, should you become a god in Bhaal's throne- that memory will become ever sweeter, for it shall haunt you in all the ages of this world. Truly, I have had my vengeance."
"And here I thought you were going soft on me." Greywulf replied easily, letting the tension break, finally. "You want to finish this together? So be it, 'brother'. Just remember what I said."
Sarevok's smirk grew even larger. "So, you *have* been listening."
X
Family. That was the word that kept getting tossed around when describing a group like this one. One that had traveled for so long, fought for so long, cared for so long. One that would have each other's backs, one that would bear one another's burdens, and would fight and bleed and die for each other. It went without saying that in all these things and more, they were indeed family. It was, however, overlooked much of the time that families didn't always get along. And by the gods, they'd had their share of that familial strife as well.
So many instances of this family at war with one another… Greywulf's mental breakdown at the De'Arnise Keep. Jaheira's fury, spent and unleashed on the others after the death of Khalid. Yoshimo's betrayal in Spellhold. Hell, even the long-simmering tension between Aerie and Jaheira after the Avariel had joined them. All these conflicts and more had been resolved, healed, even if they'd left scars in their wake. And here once again… a rift, a split that had been growing ever since the moment Sarevok had accepted Greywulf's hand, joined them on the road, become the enemy in their midst.
Here, again, after everything he'd done and the treachery he'd performed, he yet remained. Greywulf had spoken to them all after emerging from the depths of his Pocket Plane with the Deathbringer in tow. Told them all that his brother was not to be trusted any longer- as if they had trusted him before. Told them that his first mis-step now would be his last. Given them the authority to strike first, ask questions later. Authority… as if they were soldiers under his command? Perhaps that was how he viewed it now… perhaps that's what this war had done- claimed their sense of family as well as the lives of Aerie, Cernd, Reynald, and Nalia. So many dead… and it was not over yet. Soon though. Very soon…
Minsc hung his head as he stared at the ground between his feet, seated against an arching rock formation upon the edge of the Pocket Plane. It was a position he had been seen in every time they'd returned to this realm. That sense of despondency, that sense of failure would simply not leave the man- battle was the only thing that seemed to lift him from his stupor, now. Some had attempted- unsuccessfully- to talk to him. To comfort him- Jaheira, Anomen, even Solaufein. None had been successful- though there was one who had not yet really taken the time necessary to approach the ranger. Perhaps it was because he felt the weight of Aerie's death as heavily as any other- she had, after all, gone upon his command. Command. A good soldier, obeying orders, just as they all would have for him.
Greywulf's footsteps barely elicited a reaction from the big man as he approached, his shadow casting over the ranger as he sat- the symbolic imagery was not lost upon the sorcerer as he looked down upon his friend. How much would this big-hearted man lose by following him? He allowed the self-flagellating thought free reign in his mind for the briefest of moments before moving to seat himself beside the ranger, glancing at Minsc until the silence was too much to bear. Minsc finally allowed himself to meet Greywulf eyes- they shared a simple look, a simple measure of acknowledgment.
"It's… ah… it's been a while, hasn't it?" the half-elf murmured quietly, rubbing one hand through his sandy hair.
"Yes." The man's deadpan reply was not unexpected- but it cut a bit heavier than Greywulf had anticipated.
"I… I heard about what happened to Aerie. It sounds like she died a hero… that doesn't make it any easier, but it's something." Greywulf managed, feeling his words fail him as Minsc nodded quietly- perhaps the thought of his witch was quelling the anger that had bubbled underneath his surface for so long, or perhaps he had expended all the rage he had left to give, and its place was nothing but grief. Either way, he wasn't the man Greywulf had fought alongside for so many years now. This… this was a man waiting to die. To find his own 'hero's death', for whatever that was worth. And damn it all, that was worse than the berserker he'd been lost in earlier.
"You know that she… she would have wanted you to move on. To find some kind of peace."
"I know."
"Okay… if you need someone to talk to-"
"I know."
The big man was unmoving- it was as if he hadn't heard a word Greywulf had said. His fire was gone… it needed stoking again. He needed a reason to fight, even if it wasn't one that would bring him peace. But a purpose would at least bring him farther than a soul in grieving. Greywulf squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself slip further and further into the role of a general in a war- damn him for what he was about to say. He stood, turned back down to Minsc and spoke the only words he could. "It wasn't your fault, Minsc. Aerie's death belongs to two people, the creature that killed her and the creature that put her there in the first place. She killed the dragon that ended her life. That only leaves one person to blame, and that's me. I sent you all down to that hellhole. I made the choice, not you. I'll bear that burden, not you. You need a target for your anger, here I am. Do what you need to, Minsc. Yell at me, hit me, whatever you need to do. But this isn't what she would have wanted, and it's not what I need from you right now."
Minsc's eyes drifted upward to meet Greywulf, to meet the cold that the sorcerer was forcing into his gaze. For a moment, Greywulf was tempted to step back- the rising anger that filled the ranger's gaze would have made the sorcerer take a step back by reflex, if he wasn't forcing himself to hold steady. As painful as it was, the big man didn't need a friend right now. He didn't need a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen. He needed a general to lead him. To direct him. Greywulf leaned out and grasped Minsc's massive arm, refusing to flinch. "I need you to fight, Minsc. All the anger you feel at Aerie's death, all the pain… I need you to put that on our enemies, because we're going back to Amkethran in a few hours, and we're going to kill Balthazar. What you do after that… well, whatever you do, I won't hold it against you."
Across the Pocket Plane, near the small setup of beds and blankets where Jaheira remained prone, still recuperating from her injuries, Imoen knelt cross-legged beside her, running her fingers along the druid's hairline, trying to maintain a smile. It was a gesture Jaheira had once done for Imoen, new on the road, frightened and trying desperately to maintain her composure those weeks after Gorion's murder. In another time, Jaheira might've insisted that the impish thief-mage was only doing it to annoy her. Here… they were too close. Too far gone along this path that the Bhaalspawn wars had led them to. Where was that path, truly? Well… certainly nowhere either of them had expected. Imoen let her fingers trace Jaheira's face for a moment longer, picturing the woman as she had been for so long, confident, proud… a mother in all but name to her. Jaheira's eyes flickered open- she met Imoen's tiny smile with a brief one of her own as she attempted to sit up. A stab of pain caught her in the side as she finally went vertical- Balthazar's kicks and punches had done a real number on her. A full eight hours of rest simply wasn't reasonable to take- nor was it likely to heal everything she'd endured. Potions of healing and spells would have to dull the pain and knit the bones, and whatever rest she could get… it would have to be enough.
Imoen let go of Jaheira's hand as the woman finally settled her posture, though she did not miss the grimace that threatened to overwhelm Jaheira with each breath- her ribs were still bothering her. More healing would be needed before departing, though there was only so much magic could do for the body in so short a time. It had been nearly four hours since they'd rescued the others from Balthazar's grasp- if they were to catch the monk, they couldn't linger much longer.
"Have you rested? Surely you did not get much time to look after your own strength when hunting Sendai." Jaheira inquired, though Imoen did not miss the subtle dig at their unplanned assault upon the drow Bhaalspawn's enclave.
"I got plenty of downtime, thanks." Imoen snorted, though she did find herself with the urge to yawn- she was just perverse enough to stifle it, unwilling to give Jaheira the satisfaction of seeing it. "Jus' wanted to make sure you were holding up all right. You were in bad shape when we picked y'all out of that place. Cernd… well, I never got to know him well, but he was real nice the last couple of times we saw him. It makes me shudder to think that could have been you if we were a few seconds slower…"
"It still may be." Jaheira grunted, not even bothering to hide the pain she was feeling anymore. She reached for a small blue vial in her pack, one of a few remaining after Cespenar had created some more potions at Greywulf's behest. The sharp pain with each inhalation lessened into a dull ache that drifted at the edges of her consciousness- good enough. Jaheira wiped her lips after downing the entire potion, feeling the slight tingle of magic upon her skin as she placed the empty vial back in her open pack. "We have all lost so much in this war… and it is not over, no matter how much we may wish it so. Those who have passed on must not be forgotten…"
"Like Gorion." Imoen whispered, her thoughts drifting- still easily scattered, but no longer incoherent as they had been. For now, her consciousness was her own. Hers, Imoen's… nobody else's. For now.
"And Khalid." Jaheira murmured, only pausing a brief second to glance at Imoen before continuing. "And Aerie."
The name made Imoen bite her lip- the pain had been there ever since learning of the Avariel's death, but she'd managed to push it away, keep it from surfacing. Now wasn't the time, they were too deep into this mess to allow herself to feel it here… "I know the two of you were close, more so than perhaps any of us. If you… if you wish to talk about it, I will listen."
Imoen nodded, trying desperately to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes, but damn it all, she could feel her throat tightening and she just knew that it wasn't going to work, she couldn't just let it go. "It's just… she was my best friend, you know? I never had a sister growing up… not till I met her, and I just… well… I miss her. I miss our stupid jokes we'd tell, and how she'd laugh and get embarrassed at the smallest things, and she'd go along with anything I said if I tried hard enough… she- she was so much better than she knew. So much better than me…"
She couldn't continue for a moment- Jaheira didn't speak, simply letting Imoen vent her sorrow, simply listening and taking Imoen's burdens as her own. "I don't want to lose anyone else. I'm so afraid now that we've lost so many… I don't know what I'll do if I lose anyone else. I've lost my sister and… and I don't want to lose my brother. Or…or my mother."
Imoen smiled through tears as she spoke that last word, looking at Jaheira, whose eyes widened briefly in surprise- but it fit. It was as close a description of their relationship as any- Jaheira leaned in and embraced the quietly weeping girl, her dark braids resting on Imoen's neck as she let the girl sniff quietly on her shoulder. "You need not worry about me. I swore to look after you many years ago at the behest of Gorion- I did so then out of duty. I do so now out of love. And should the worse come to pass… all of our friends await us in the embrace of Nature at the end. Aerie, Cernd, Gorion, Khalid, Reynald, Keldorn… perhaps death is not a thing to be feared, but simply another door to be opened."
"That's easy to say, isn't it?" Imoen snorted, wiping her eyes as she tried to settle herself. "I'm not ready to enter that door anytime soon… and you better not either. Promise me you won't."
Jaheira pursed her lips, ready to make the obvious claim that nobody, especially not them, could make such a bold claim. Could predict their own superiority in the face of overwhelming danger. It would be foolish beyond measure, arrogance personified in a single statement. Jaheira chuckled, Imoen's insistent gaze refusing to leave. Why the hell not. "I promise."
X
All across the Pocket Plane, the surviving members of the party had gathered their belongings, packed up camp and made ready for travel. Those who needed it had been seen to by their healers, Anomen and Jaheira. Viconia had prepared their bodies for combat with protective magics and clerical blessings. Blades were sharpened, armor reforged. The end was at hand… they all knew it.
Greywulf surveyed each and every one of them as he leaned against the pillar of the Pocket Plane gateway. Sleep… had not come easy. It had been some time since they'd all united under one banner, traveled as one. He had needed to remind himself of their capabilities, of what they would fight like, what the battlefield would like with nine of them instead of the usual six. His mind raced with the possibilities- sweat began pooling in his hands and he wiped them on his gray robes as he considered them all in turn, trying so hard to separate his feelings from tactics. Failing utterly.
Imoen. All arrows, all magic, so fast it was rare an enemy could even track her. A bottle of lightning in human form, unmatched if given time to aim and plan- so loving, so pure. Undeserving of the destiny shoved upon her. He could never repay her for everything she'd meant to him… the greatest gift he could think of would be to free her from the shadow that he cast upon her.
Minsc. The tank, the bruising mammoth of rage and pain. No more the ranger, all berserker energy that simply needed a target. Where he once might've worked with them and been able to be depended on tactically in combat, now it was simply sending him after the opponent's biggest target and praying he came back alive- His brother through the last four years. No man was braver, had a bigger heart, or had sacrificed more of himself. His pride, his family, his honor… all gone in service to them. No man had put more weight on his shoulders for the sake of others. He could only pray that man still existed somewhere inside.
Sarevok. Where Minsc was an immovable object, Sarevok was an unstoppable force. His skill with the Sword of Chaos was more than any warrior had a right to wield. Death incarnate, a harvester of souls who fought with the certainty that he would win. And even worse, he made his opponent believe it too- loosing him upon the enemy ranks would burst their formations, scatter their plans in a heartbeat. Could this man really ever be trusted? The answer was no. That much he'd realized long ago. But more importantly, when the time came to end the destinies of all the Bhaalspawn, would they duel one last time? Would the two of them ever really be able to coexist in this world?
Viconia. Deliberate, wrathful magic that spoke to her hatred and mistrust of the surface world with each incantation. Every strike of the mace was fueled by bitterness, every snarled curse repayment for the injustices she'd suffered. She could decimate their ranks with spells to slow their minds and bodies, crushing those who challenged her directly with mace and shield- How was it that the only true friends she'd made upon the surface world since fleeing the Underdark were murder-spawn? The most hunted of the surfacers, the hated god-children of prophecy. Perhaps like sought like- in another time, another life, they might've been true companions.
Solaufein. A stoic fighter, perfect for holding the line, defending the mages and archers amongst them. He struck the balance of combat better than anyone else- anger powered his strikes but did not control them. Hope gave him courage but did not blind him. His heritage gave him an aura of fear to any surface foe- his time spent among the surface had lessened the hatred of other races that would have brought that same fear to him. So different from Viconia- the two of them were polar opposites, examples of how to adapt to the surface. Perhaps if their group had helped lead Viconia from her underground home, traveled with her every step of the way, she would have felt something other than disdain for the overworld. Perhaps she too, could have found redemption in the arms of a goddess.
Anomen. The redeemed knight, walking a knife's edge in service to an ideal. He was a fine warrior in his own right, and could end undead foes in seconds with the power of Helm. His magics blessed the arms and bodies of his allies, healing them and raising them to greater heights- perhaps that was the lesson he'd finally learned. To raise yourself was easy- to raise others in your place could be far more valuable in the end. It was a lesson that Greywulf could not claim to have learned himself, yet…
Haer'Dalis. The ultimate wildcard, a jack of all trades and master of none. His whirling form could slice through unwary foes with ease using Chaos and Entropy, but he could just as easily remove himself from the front lines and lay waste to enemies with magic and the power of enchanted song. His bardic abilities made him a valuable resource to command in battle- If he would truly let Greywulf command him at all. The man was unpredictable, and devoted to chaos in all things. If a greater power offered him a path to entropy in its fullest, would the Doomguard truly remain loyal? Perhaps he was foolish to allow such a man to fight at his side- but he had allowed far worse solace there.
Jaheira… his eyes flitted to her, and it was only the fact that she was standing right in front of him that brought him from his analytical stupor. The time had come to reach the end of their journey- she realized this better than most, it seemed. She tucked herself in beside him, against the archway leading out of the Pocket Plane. For a moment they simply watched the rest of the group finalize preparations for travel and battle. A bustle of strangers, family, friends. There was nothing like the calm before the storm- nothing like the adrenaline rush, the tension in the air.
She leaned in gently, evoking the feelings of their relationship that had been left to float unrequited and unanswered with their separation in recent days. "When this is all over, we should return to the elven city someday…"
Greywulf nodded gently, caring little about the topic of their discussion, only caring that it was with her. Relieved that he could, at least for a time, be himself and let the mask of the general slip. "It was beautiful… few places we've journeyed have been able to claim the same. A pity it suffered so much."
"Yes, but they will rebuild- even the elves feel the impetus of time and act to better themselves." Jaheira murmured. "Perhaps it takes them longer than most… it is not in their nature to do so, is it? Nobody is truly a slave of their destiny if they act when the moment of truth is upon them. "
"Hnh." Greywulf frowned, then cocked his head to one side. "You almost sound like you're not talking about the elves."
"Perhaps… I did not wish to speak down to you. I just want you to remember… your nature, despite all its longings and draws, is not necessarily the end for you. Destiny seems intent to claim you, and I do not know if that is for the best. Even if people distrust you now, at least it is *you* that they distrust. The creatures that have threatened us are beyond this earth. They are abstract, strange, and out of balance." Jaheira released Greywulf, turning to look at him as she grasped his hands in her own. "Greywulf, I know *you*, not your taint. I just want to protect what I have an interest in. Your life is tied to mine now."
"Jaheira, I am not leaving anytime soon. Please, trust in me. We're almost to the end… or at least, as close an end as I can imagine." he whispered gently.
"I do. I just want to make sure you know it…" she lowered her eyes, her tone dropping with them. "There are great changes to come, aren't there? Of all possibilities, I worry most for your future. We have fought much, and destroyed nearly all the children of Bhaal. They have sought conquest, to raise Bhaal, to become Bhaal, to destroy, to create, and now I wonder... what will happen when this is over? If we prevail, there will be but three pieces of the taint remaining on Faerun- yours, Imoen's, and Sarevok's. What will happen between you three? Will you be forced to duel until but one remains? What about the rest of the taint? Should the three of you become but one, will the remainder of the taint become yours? The children were to raise Bhaal. They are pushed to conquest to grow in strength, and then that strength is returned to Bhaal when they die. What if he is not raised?"
Her words chilled Greywulf- all of this was something he had considered, feared, questioned. It was easy to say that everything would be just fine once they had defeated the last of their enemies. Enemies were physical, mortal things that could be destroyed. Destiny… perhaps destiny would be the greatest foe of all. He felt himself swallow and force a smile he did not truly feel. "Someone… may have to assume the power. Perhaps me. Or perhaps not."
"That… that is my greatest fear." Jaheira confessed. "Such a person would become unreal, become godlike. They could not exist in a mortal shell, nature would not allow it... Such a person would leave this plane, called to duties elsewhere, beyond our thinking. Such a person might as well be dead to us... to me..."
He wanted to say so much to her- but what could make it better? What could he say, or promise? That he would never ascend beyond what he simply was right now? That if he were to ascend, he would never do so without her at his side, a goddess of nature striding the heavens alongside a new god of murder? Could it even be done? So many possibilities, none of them clear… "I can't… I don't know what to say. I have no idea what will happen to us. All I can tell you is that I'm here now, and I promise I'll be here tomorrow."
She pulled him down into a gentle kiss, whispering quietly as their lips left one another's. "Tomorrow... one day... what of the rest? Please… think about the rest."
X
The small, almost electric tingle upon the skin was his first clue that the time had come. How long had he remained there, meditating, waiting? Time had become fluid, nearly meaningless as he'd silently alternated between meditation and katas- the only clue he had as he let his focus come fully to bear for the first time since his last battle was that the sun had set upon the city of Amkethran. The fires set by the drakes and dragons were long since put out by the blowing sand- no trace of the reptilian beasts remained. It was not yet sunset- dusk was fading. Twilight over Amkethran- the symbolism was not lost upon Balthazar as he stood, turning to face the slow rapid gusting of wind and electric crackles of power that signified their arrival.
He did not bother to shield his eyes as flash after flash of light blossomed into view, nine columns piercing the ground and leaving small bowl like craters where it deposited the warriors who had come for his life. The sensation of traveling through sheer Bhaal-driven power must have been disorienting- or more likely the group did not expect Balthazar to have remained there. Not that he had anywhere to go- with the city in ruins, traversing the desert to reach the nearest settlement or oasis would have been… problematic at best. Still, no point in delaying the inevitable. "Greetings, my brother and sister. We meet at last."
Balthazar's words gripped them immediately- each and every one of the arrivals immediately went to guard- they had been doing this far too long not to. His relaxed posture did nothing to calm them- if anything, the sight of the Bhaalspawn monk nearly pushed Minsc into battle right away- it was only Anomen, stepping in front of Minsc and physically holding the ranger back that dissuaded him, though the squire knew how quickly his attempts to keep Minsc from combat would end should the ranger's ire truly rise. Viconia pointed her mace at Balthazar and spat, "Vith tir, dos fa'la zatoast rivvil. You will regret not fleeing from us when you had the chance."
Jaheira did not allow herself any sense of amusement at Viconia's words- she remembered enough of the drow language from her time in Ust Natha to know exactly what Viconia had said to Balthazar- she did not speak quite so coarsely, but made her feelings known just as well. "You dare show your face to us again? After causing the deaths of so many? Not a dozen feet from where you struck down Cernd?"
Balthazar remained stony faced, unwavering in the presence of the enraged combatants before him. It was almost as if he did not even see anyone outside Greywulf and Imoen- his gaze lingered upon them for some time, as though studying them, researching them. Greywulf spoke quietly, "You saved us some time by not running- for that, I'll give you the chance to answer a few questions before we end this. *Why?*"
"Hnh…" Balthazar grunted and for the first time showed a hint of amusement across his tanned face. "You ask me that question and expect some world shattering revelation, don't you? The answer should be as plain as the stars in the sky- we are Bhaalspawn. We kill one another… if it consoles any of you, you should know that I never intended for harm to come to anyone but my kinsman. If I had been able to settle this entire war without involving any others, I would have."
"Not harming any others? My best friend is dead!" Imoen managed to choke out, her throat tightening with emotion as she cursed the monk. "And you killed her!"
"Perhaps, but I would argue that the very act of associating with you led to her downfall." Balthazar shook his head as he gestured at Abazigal's corpse. "What does it matter if the dragon's jaws brought her to the grave, or my fist? We are Bhaalspawn… you, me, Greywulf. This war is between we three- I would give your fellows the opportunity to flee should they desire."
"Not a chance." Solaufein grunted, gripping the leather wrap around his sword hilt even tighter as his red eyes narrowed. He had listened well to the stories Viconia had told of their short, lopsided fight against the monk. There was no way he would be underestimating the man's capabilities. "Greywulf, simply say the word and let us be done with this fool."
The sorcerer was sorely tempted- still, this one was… different. No wild ravings of gaining Bhaal's power like the rest of the Five. No murderous rage like Sarevok. "You were one of the Five… working with the others, Abazigal and Sendai. You all turned on each other before finishing us- but you're different, aren't you? You don't want the power of Bhaal. The others overheard that much when you held them captive. You're not after godhood. You don't want the power of Bhaal, but you joined the Five regardless. Nothing you've done makes any sense- why?!"
At first it seemed the monk would remain obtuse- he finally spoke, gesturing to them and himself in turn. "I joined the Five to accomplish one goal… the final destruction of the power of Bhaal. Melissan recognized the taint of Bhaal within me, just as she recognized it in Sendai, Abazigal and the others. Just as she recognized it in you. She lured them with promises of power and glory, but we two were allies in our quest to bring the others to their demise- or so I thought."
"So Melissan used us to kill the other Bhaalspawn for your own goals." Sarevok smirked, shaking his head in disgust. "It would seem my instincts about the woman were correct all along. How unsurprising."
"Did she? Or has she used me as well as she has used you?" Balthazar shrugged. "I do not know for sure, and I do not care at this point. Bhaal's taint is an evil blight upon the world, and all my efforts have led to this point- the only Bhaalspawn who yet remain are you, Imoen, and myself. I have no intention of bringing the Lord of Murder back into existence- without any of the children left to resurrect him, I will have forever wiped the Realms clean of his tainted existence."
"And what of your essence? Do you mean to say that once you have managed to kill the rest of the Bhaalspawn, you will simply kill yourself as well?" Anomen demanded, eyes wide as he tried to understand.
"Of course." Balthazar nodded. "I will perform a ritual suicide once you two have fallen. Bhaal's evil will die with me… trust me when I say I wish it could be otherwise."
"You're a fanatic…" Greywulf shook his head in disbelief. "You talk big, like you're some kind of noble warrior, but you're a coward. You've given up- how much good, how many lives have Imoen and I saved over the years?"
"You may strive to walk the path of virtue, but your intentions are meaningless compared to the consequences of our existence." Balthazar pointed his finger at Greywulf as sudden, dark anger entered the monk's previously stoic features. "How many bodies have you left in your wake? Hundreds? Thousands? Saradush is a smoking waste...how many other cities and towns have you brought destruction raining down upon?"
"He speaks the truth… his madness bears some fruit, like it or not, my raven." Haer'Dalis tsked as he sidled up to the sorcerer with folded arms. "Though perhaps this wounded eagle would like to examine his own bloodied talons, hmm?"
"I do not hide from what I am!" Balthazar growled, raising a fist before him. "Do you know how long I fought my blood? I tried to hide it, to push it away. But you have seen it as clearly as I- our mere presence brings death...it is inevitable. It is our destiny. We are not to blame, we are slaves to our father's tainted blood! And as our power grows, so shall the ruin sown in our passing. Kingdoms will fall, and the rivers of Faerun will run with blood."
"A coward's words." Jaheira shook her head with a grimace. "To blame destiny, to blame your birth, your surroundings, everyone but yourself. Every action you have taken was your own, monk. It was not Bhaal who killed Cernd in this mountainside, it was you. You cannot hide from that."
"You would condemn me, Imoen, even yourself based on a possible future?" Greywulf shook his head, feeling the fury rise within him. Another man who fought the evil, fought against what Bhaal stood for… and still so blinded by the talk of destiny, of heritage, of a path set in stone without deviation or change. He was used to dealing with fanatics who strove to claim Bhaal's power. He was used to fanatics who wanted to kill all Bhaalspawn for fearing them, not understanding them. But this man… this man was worse than all of them before. He understood the evil of his kin. He understood exactly what he was doing… and he had justified and absolved himself of all responsibility for it. "Destiny. You call this destiny?! I am sick, and tired, of hearing about destiny. About the future! Damn your version of destiny, and damn you for believing it! Your destiny got my friends killed! Your destiny is what destroyed that entire city down there! If you had ever just stopped for half a second and decided to take control of your own damned life, do you know how many lives you could have saved?! You think you're a hero in this story, but you're just another murderer. When I heard what the others told me you said, about wanting to end this war between our kin… I thought there was the slimmest chance you might be different. You're not. You're just another monster. And I'm going to put you down."
"A monster, am I?" Balthazar glanced at the nine gathered before him- Jaheira prepare to shout a warning- even as the air left her lungs, the monk's muscles had coiled and sprung. He leapt from his standing position to a flying kick in mere seconds- Greywulf's staff batted aside his extended foot, only for Balthazar to land in a spin, his knuckles coming across in a backhand to strike Greywulf across the jaw and send him stumbling away.
Sarevok and Jaheira were the two closest to him- the druid's magics were a greater threat than anything Sarevok could muster- at least, for now. He did not wait to counter the blows that would be heading his way and continued his offensive, moving up towards Jaheira with a stunning blow that he channeled into a single strike to her shoulder- the druid's arm went numb with the impact as she staggered back. Sarevok's attack was only a second behind- the reach of the Sword of Chaos could make fighting the Deathbringer difficult, if he allowed it to be. Balthazar ducked under the strike that was coming from behind, rolled aside from Jaheira's one handed lunge with her spear, then came up in Haer'Dalis' range, batting aside strikes from Chaos and Entropy with the palm of his hand, ignoring the small cuts he was enduring from the bard's deft attacks.
He could hear Anomen beginning to chant in the background- he would've made an immediate bee-line for the man as he had done with Viconia during their previous fight, but this time was different. Solaufein and Imoen both stood by the cleric, one trying to draw a bead on him with her bow the moment he disengaged from Haer'Dalis, the other ready to defend the cleric as he energized his companions, blessing their strikes and attacks. His only recourse was to continue to parry the man before him- to let his attacks devolve into a whirlwind of strikes as he gradually forced Haer'Dalis to switch from attack to defense, realizing that the monk's fists were coming in faster and faster until the tiefling lost a step- before he could hit the ground from the first blow four others had connected. Ten strikes in the span of six seconds- Haer'Dalis had no chance to defend himself.
The energy required to maintain such a devastating speed of attacks was unsustainable- and yet, necessary as Minsc's rage-filled form came barreling in from behind. Balthazar spun and lashed out with his foot, catching the ranger squarely in the midsection- immediately Balthazar knew he had erred. The plate mail he wore caught the brunt of it, and even though the metal buckled, its intended function had been to knock the wind from him and bring the man to his knees. As it stood, the only effect was to send the ranger back a few inches before he continued his assault, bringing the Silver Sword in a sweeping line designed to cut him from shoulder to hip. Balthazar stumbled backwards with uncharacteristic panic, trying to get out of the ranger's sight- the speed of the big man was too much and he was forced to turn and run, only to be boxed in by an arrow that struck the ground before him with an small eruption of fire- Imoen drew another arrow from her quiver, this one glowing an electric blue at the tip. Cespenar had outfitted her well with all different kinds of magical arrows- she intended to make full use of them.
Balthazar rolled away from Minsc's assault and to his feet, away from the others and back towards the dragon corpse in the corner of the cavern- he could deflect arrows with his hands if given the time to concentrate- time that his foes were surely not planning on allowing him. Still, all of this was a delaying tactic at best, nothing more. Nine- eight, with Haer'Dalis unconscious, foes at their maximum ability would be too much for him. He had known that from the very beginning. The only way he could possibly win this fight was with help…
Greywulf narrowed his eyes as he watched the monk back away, the others all boxing him in, slowly but surely. Jaheira was already at Haer'Dalis' side, her magic restoring his consciousness and healing the broken bones he'd suffered. They had spoken extensively of the tactics Balthazar had used to defeat their group upon the first battle with him- nothing had been left to chance. They had cast some protections and augmentation spells before leaving the Pocket Plane, intending on having to hunt for Balthazar before this fight, but they were still energized far beyond normal capacity. Anomen was casting further protections now that they'd found their prey, shielding them from fire and magical energy- regarding their own spellcasters, none of them were left undefended, no area of the battlefield uncovered by one of their own.
And yet… despite all of this, there was no worry in Balthazar's eyes. No sense of fear or dread as he backed away from the group. His back was nearly touching the corpse of his draconic brother now, as though it would somehow protect him in death where he had tried to kill them all in life- his corpse. Abazigal's corpse. It was… it was still there? The corpse of a Bhaalspawn was pulled from this plane upon the point of death, disintegrated into the essence of Bhaal and nothing more. It was never left to rot… it could only mean one thing.
Greywulf had no chance to scream a warning, a call for Anomen to start casting protection from electricity- he hadn't bothered before they'd left the Pocket Plane. Why would he? Abazigal was supposed to be dead... as Balthazar's back touched Abazigal's bloody scales, the dragon reared to life, its maw opening wide and sending blazing lightning from his jaws to surge through the entirety of the group standing before him. Greywulf felt his entire body go numb as electricity crackled over the top of his skin, burning flesh and making his muscles convulse uncontrollably. He fell to the ground, unable to process what had happened as he watched Minsc, Sarevok and Viconia collapse alongside him- the only ones with time to react were those furthest from the battle entirely. Jaheira heard the roar first and reacted on instinct- she knelt and crossed her wrists in front her, acting as a human shield to the still weakened Haer'Dalis- the lightning struck her and skittered over her body, engulfed by the Harper Pin around her neck. It had protected her from electricity before, but the sheer power of the dragon's breath was nearly bowling her over- and just like that, the lightning stopped. Jaheira began to rise, to try and begin some kind of offensive- a fist to the temple from Balthazar brought unconsciousness before she could even begin to rise.
Anomen, Imoen and Solaufein had all seen the first blast of lightning incapacitate- if not kill- the majority of their group. They had a second, perhaps two to try and protect themselves. Anomen raised his family shield without hesitation, crouching behind it as Imoen and Solaufein leapt to either side, forcing the dragon to split his attention as the bolts of lightning erupting from his jaws finally settled upon them after he had dealt with Jaheira. One bolt struck the shield Anomen carried- for all its magic, electricity still flowed through it like any other piece of metal. His arm tensed with the surge of energy and he felt his skin heat up with the influx of power- a second bolt hit and his whole arm went numb, falling and dropping his guard as he cried out in pain- the third blow was not from the dragon's jaws as he expected; it was a single strike to the base of his neck from Balthazar as the monk moved from Jaheira and Haer'Dalis to Anomen, finishing the remainder of the party off one by one.
Imoen desperately ducked and dodged, trying to avoid the blasts of power emanating from Abazigal's mouth- she found a boulder that had dislodged from the roof of the cavern, using it for cover as she tried to come up with something, anything to save herself and the others- across the way, she could see Balthazar moving to Solaufein's side, batting aside Solaufein's hurried attacks, pummeling the drow without hesitation while Abazigal kept her pinned down. Solaufein was good… but few could match a monk in single combat. He was not one of those few- Imoen swore, then threw caution to the wind. Her best plans had always been spur of the moment things anyway…
Solaufein took another kick to the side, feeling his entire body sway as he tried clumsily to strike at Balthazar from the side, but his sword may as well have been mired in quicksand. Balthazar didn't even bother blocking it, he simply struck Solaufein's wrist with a pointed jab; the blow made Solaufein's hand spasm and drop his weapon- he glared heavily at Balthazar and spat in his face once before a final palm strike to the forehead knocked Solaufein out as well. Balthazar turned- only one left… his eyes widened as he saw Imoen charging him with lightning spattering in her wake- he barely had time to react as she lunged at him, her short sword in her hand as she swung. His reflexes were still up to the task of shunting aside her attack, but the sheer speed with which she was coming in was too much- her tackle took both of them to the ground as she tried to get a grip on him; his strength was much greater than hers and he would have her off in moments… a blaze of lightning made fire erupt in their veins as Abazigal's lightning tore through them both. Balthazar tried to fight, tried to move, but his body would not respond as he curled up, smoking with the energy that had struck him.
"Hurmmm… hahahaha!" Abazigal's booming laugh filled the cavern as the heavily wounded dragon crawled from his resting spot, one claw clutching Greywulf's limp form as he moved to tower over the top of Imoen and Balthazar. "It appears that things have not gone according to plan, have they?"
"You…" Balthazar tried to choke out an accusation before Abazigal cut him off, slamming one claw down upon Balthazar, impaling him upon it with a spatter of blood.
"Betrayed you?" Abazigal wheezed, jaws clacking as he lifted up Balthazar on his bloody claw, the monk's eyes wide as he went into shock. "You thought… you thought when you healed me with your magic, promised to keep me alive just a bit longer if I helped you kill Gorion's wards… you thought I wouldn't turn on you? That your vaunted skills would be enough to dodge my lightning forever, if you needed to?"
That was, in fact, exactly what Balthazar had thought- the bargain he'd made with Abazigal in the time before Greywulf and the others had arrived flitted through his mind. Healing the dragon just enough to where he could use his lightning breath. Knowing that if given the chance, he could evade all of Abazigal's attempts at striking him- somehow convinced that he could use the dragon to kill the others and that he would still come out on top. Arrogance beyond arrogance. The monk tried to say something, but all his air was gone. Imoen had killed him, gave Abazigal the exact opportunity he'd needed to turn on him- before the monk could say another word, Abazigal bit down on top of Balthazar, tearing his body in two as he swallowed, leaving the bottom half of the monk's corpse on the ground in a pool of blood. The grisly sight began to shimmer in moments, finally erupting into golden flecks of light that vanished from sight as Balthazar's essence returned to the Throne- Imoen shuddered as Abazigal picked her up now, the only defense she carried an arrow in her hand as she weakly raised her arm, preparing to stab the claw with it in a final act of defiance.
"With your deaths, my rule as Lord of Murder begins." Abazigal hissed, preparing to crush the two Bhaalspawn in his claws- a blur of motion and a giant form landed atop Abazigal's head- Minsc was clutching the dragon's horns with one hand, slashing Stonefire downward again and again with the other.
Abazigal screamed in pain and fury as he shook back and forth, the wound upon his head that Balthazar had just barely managed to close- enough to keep the dragon alive for now- was reopened with blow after blow. Minsc's burned and battered form refused to quit as he held on, blood spattering all over him and Abazigal as the two wrestled; Imoen and Greywulf fell from Abazigal's grasp as the dragon fought this overwhelming force of rage in human form. Imoen tried to rise, tried to pick herself up off of the ground with one arm, still shaky from the electric shock she'd received- her vision was blurry but she could see just clear enough. Dust was rising from the mountainside as the movement within the storm ceased- standing in the midst of it all was Minsc, Stonefire clutched in his grip as he raised it again and again, bringing it down into Abazigal's head. The dragon's roars were little more than pathetic mewlings now- blood covered the ranger as his arms rose and fell mechanically, over and over. The roars stopped and eventually, Minsc did as well. A dim light grew in the dying dragon's jaws and electricity began flickering at his teeth- the attack was far too slow, too easy to avoid for it to do anything, it was simply a final gesture of rage- without warning, Minsc simply dropped his axe, falling to his knees before Abazigal. A final surrender to mutually assured oblivion for them both, his face was as calm as it had been since Aerie's death. For him, it was over…
Imoen's eyes widened and she screamed Minsc's name, pushing her numb limbs as hard as she dared, so afraid of losing another friend. Another family member- she wasn't fast enough. There was no way she could be. The last desperate attack of the dragon was already on its way- Imoen prayed to every god in the pantheon, to the taint in her blood itself. If ever she could use the divinity within her for anything, then let it be this one instance…
Minsc tumbled out of the way of the dragon's lightning with Imoen atop him as Abazigal erupted in a final blast of energy- Imoen blinked once, twice- finally realizing as she looked down at Minsc below her that she'd done it. Whether through her own speed, or fueled by the blood within her, she'd done it. "Why?" Minsc's voice was a whisper as he looked up at her- not in rage, not in pain… his face was a tableau of desperation, eyes downcast with grief as he shook his head gently. "Minsc was ready for the end."
"I know, big guy." Imoen embraced him as hard as she could, leaning into his shoulder. "But I wasn't. None of us are…"
X
Deep in the bowels of the Throne of Bhaal, a massive alcove of clay statues had once stood, erected in a circular tower that surrounded the infinite pillar of green energy where the essence of Bhaal resided. Each statue, embedded in its own particular cubby hole, was smashed, ruined beyond recognition. Each one had been the image of one of the children of Bhaal at one point. There had been thousands upon thousands for a time- and one by one, they'd crumbled as their essence returned to the source.
Four statues had remained whole- and with a thunderclap of energy the statue of Balthazar shattered, releasing emerald power into the vortex that rose through the infernal plane, followed shortly by the draconic image of Abazigal. Only two remained whole- above, upon the abyssal Throne where Amelyssan waited- she laughed in triumph as the vortex of power grew even larger, bolstered with the final members of the Five. The time was now.
Amelyssan rose from the Throne, levitated into the midst of the god-essence, feeling it seep into her very being and making her one with the heavens. It would take time, certainly. While she was ready for the powers, her mortal body could not handle an infusion of divinity all at once- it would be time consuming but worth every moment. Each second spent engulfed in the essence of Bhaal would increase her might until she was truly Bhaal reborn. "The time for my ascension is here!" she shrieked with abandon, her voice booming throughout the realm, almost drunk with the glory-
"I once acted as you did." Irenicus' calm, cruel tones somehow managed to reach her within the storm of glory as he watched, leaning against one of the pillars that lined the Throne. "I too stood at the threshold of godhood, exulting in my impending ascension… and then it was snatched away from me by two insignificant specks. The two you have seen fit to leave alive, I might add. Tell me, oh 'Mistress of Murder'… what do you plan to do when they arrive and attempt to kill you for what you've done here? Lean on my skills to fend them off singlehandedly? "
"I would have thought your ego enough to relish such a challenge, Irenicus." Amelyssan growled, her eyes glowing with green fire as she spoke from within. "But you need not fear. The powers I possess now are greater than anything you have seen before, I need only the time to master them. Let them come- I will reduce them to dust. Still, if you worry so much, perhaps I can assuage your doubts. When you fought Greywulf in Hell last, your allies were demons, yes? Perhaps this time, I will give you stronger allies to fight alongside…"