The great bulk of a ogre loomed over Dyllard, its gaping jaws dripping with foul spit and the stench of rotting, human flesh. It was naked, its massive, pendulous balls swaying slowly as it advanced on the helpless human, calloused hands reaching outward. Screaming, Dyllard dodged it as a giant fist slammed down where he cowered only moments before, the force leaving a shallow crater where the man had been. He threw something nebulous and indistinct but heavy at the creature then watched wide-eyed as it sailed over the creature's shoulder.
Everything around him was nebulous and inconsistent, objects and terrain shifting like he'd always imagined the Fade would look. Indeed, he felt like he was in some strange dimension with the only solid, real-seeming thing the thing trying to kill him. He was certain that if the ogre got his giant hands on him, he would perish in his sleep. Perhaps that was why he ran, his feet plunging into grass that didn't bend and water that didn't splash. He ran toward freedom, or what felt like freedom but found only more of the strange, indeterminate terrain.
The ogre drew closer, its huge cock was the size of dog as it swayed and flailed with every lunging step. The creature had blood on its face and hands now and Dyllard knew that if it caught him, it would add his blood to its body as well. Crying out his fear, the helpless man reached for something or someone who was just beyond reach and, to his great surprise, was rewarded by a firm grip. He looked up into the kind, golden-brown eyes of the Antivan who was once his captive. "Save me!" he shrieked.
"Save yourself, my friend. Reach out and slay him with your sword," the elf said with a smile.
"My sword? I am unarmed!"
"You are quite armed, my powerful friend, or is that a tooth-pick I see at your hip?" The human suddenly looked down at his body and indeed, a long sword with a golden grip and bejeweled pommel, a thing of fantasy, glittered along his thigh. He drew it and found its blade to be just as fantastical as the hilt. After looking back at the elf one more time, he turned and faced the ogre as it came ever closer but seeming in slow motion. He lunged…
The blade swept through the beast in a broad arc that did not spill entrails or even encounter the resistance one would expect from bone and muscle. Instead, the ogre dissipated in a puff of smoke and then, with a gasp, he was back in his own sweat-soaked body.
Zevran, just like in his dream, was hovering over him and in his hand was… a tooth-pick. The elf looked smug. "What was that?" he panted.
"Ah, yes, the nightmares would be a direct effect of the poison, you see, and the reason people usually die. I have tied you to your bed to prevent you from further injury. Sometimes, what appears to be a welcoming stream or gully might actually be a tub of water or an open window. The poison is not so much poison as a very concentrated drug. The only way to survive its effects is to have someone like me around to prevent you from killing yourself, as I said."
"Wh-why are you helping me?" Dyllard asked with tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I explained that as well but since I am in the mood to repeat myself, I shall. It is because I need you. Simple enough answer, no?" Zevran said, his head cocked to one side, a grin teasing his lips. "And you have a nice body, one I am loath to see misused."
Dyllard squeezed his eyes shut and dropped the tooth-pick to the wooden floor. "How long… How long will I be like this? With nightmares?"
The elf shrugged, his face already becoming faint in the drugged human's mind. "Not long, I believe. You are resistant to it, a plus, and you possess a strong will. You have gained consciousness sooner than I expected and though you will fall in and out of it, I would say the worst hallucinations are over. In a couple or four days, you will have purged it from your system with my aid, of course. Now, try to rest, my large friend and I shall gaze luridly at you while you slumber."
Dyllard tried to speak but Zevran touched his lips to his and once again, the world grew dark, hazy and indistinct…
The next time Drevin Dyllard was faced with certain "death" he entered the fray with a weapon, really a toothpick clutched between his thumb and fore-finger, clutched in his hand. This time, his imagination transformed the tiny wooden thing into a majestic great sword he wielded with one hand. His enemy became a rabbit and fled as he advanced on it, his sword held high. It was then that he realized he had complete control over everything he saw and learned how to tap into this control and use it.
It was then, perhaps, that he realized something else; an untapped reservoir of power that he could manipulate any way he pleased. This realization came with it an unexpected reaction from creatures other than the ones dreamed up by the poison and those creatures of the Fade stalked him, curious at first but more determined as they realized what he'd become.
Drevin Dyllard was a mage!
He awoke with a scream on his lips that caused the owner of the inn to come bounding up the stairs by two and all but broke the door off its hinges in his determination to investigate the sound. Zevran looked up as the portly fellow with his grease-stained apron stood blinking at Dyllard with confusion as he'd half-expected to find a corpse. The warrior, however, was awake and clinging to the elf, his eyes wild and his face contorted in anguish.
"Wot's the bleeding fuck goin' on here, aye?" the innkeeper demanded.
"I told you, my good man, my companion is recovering from a poison of the crows and he is recovering but slowly. You must understand that it is painful for him," Zevran explained in even tones, a pale eyebrow quirked.
Arms crossed, the man frowned and grunted, "Huh. Ye best not be doin' nothin' sinister up 'ere or I'll…"
The elf laid Dyllard back against the bed and rose, a smile on his face and a coin clutched in his hand. He placed his other hand on the innkeeper's shoulder and slipped the silver into his plump fingers as he murmured between clenched teeth, "…give us the time to recover fully, yes? Yes. Good man. Soon enough my friend will be walking again and we will be out of your hair." The fellow grunted but he held tight to the coin as Zevran gently pushed him out the door.
"I'm a fucking mage, elf! That poison, that drug, it awoke something…" said Dyllard, his eyes narrowed and sweat beading along his brow.
"Hmm. And unforeseen complication, indeed, but one we may take advantage of, no?"
"No! I am fighter, damn it! I use a sword like a man, not wiggle my fingers at shit and expect it to do things it ain't supposed to do like some prissy she-male. The only way to get rid of magic is to become one of those shit for brains merchants the mages keep around like pets, right? And I am not going to be chained to a bloody circle, either!" complained Dyllard as Zevran rejoined him on the bed once again, his lids low as he observed the furious human.
After a several moments of contemplation, the elf looked away while Dyllard clenched and unclenched his fists. "Hmm. A calamity indeed but only a minor complication. I think… I think we can use it to our advantage and once we have killed he who wishes me dead, I will find you a person who will train you without making you tranquil or sending you to a circle."
Drevin sat up and reached for the pitcher of water by his bed. "So you have me by my balls, then. I either help you or fall prey to magic I don't want, one way or another."
"I wish I did have you by your balls…! Heh-heh. You forgot about the part where I keep you safe from templars, who will undoubtedly
recognize your abilities and lack of formal training. You are now officially an apostate, my big friend. Welcome to the world of being a wanted man," smiled Zevran as he picked up a glass from the table and held it out to Dyllard.
"Whoever heard of a sword-wielding mage?" the human grumbled as he poured water for himself and the elf.
"I know one personally who happens to be an apostate and wields a sword with the best of them. I will introduce you to her once we have accomplished our mutual goal. Do we have a deal then?" Zevran asked, his glass held out to the big warrior.
Grunting, Dyllard shrugged and tapped it with his. "Aye, aye, we have a deal, damn it."
TBC…