Makings of a Monster

Gorion. The old man unnerved Sarevok. In their brief exchanges he had been perfectly polite and helpful like the other monks (as they damn well should be with the price they charge for mere browsing, added Sarevok irritably in his mind), but his interest seemed to conceal a hidden agenda. Those bluish-gray eyes... wise eyes, kind even, but inquisitive and sharp. Gorion also made Sarevok feel as if he had been ambushed by rogue emotions he didn't understand, and they were coming from his own subconscious, the dark fjord that kept inside everything he didn't want to think or feel about. Frustration, despair, fear, anger... but also some childish yearning, long forgotten... where did these feelings come from?

Sarevok pretended to leave the library, but only let the door bang and stealthily slid back, moving like a shadow amongst the other ones cast by the bookshelves. He had been a warrior a long time, but had not forgotten how to move undetected, even though it was not often necessary in his current assignments. He froze as he saw Gorion, precisely where he had left the scrolls and books he had studied. The man was tracking down his research. He clenched his fists and felt a familiar tug of the red rage behind his eyes. The surge of Bhaal. But no. He could not just murder a monk in this sheltered library. He'd have to be more careful and pretend to research some decoy books. Great. As if it wasn't numbing enough to find the interesting parts in Alaundo's poetic drivel. Why couldn't those damned prophets just up and say what they mean in plain common?

Sarevok went to the inn and started to pen a page into his diary. Winski had insisted that he should start one. It would serve two purposes, he had explained. Firstly, it would help Sarevok to gain greater self-awareness. Secondly, it would serve as a log of the actions that had led him to his destiny, whatever that destiny might be. Sarevok had adopted a very succinct, to-the-point style. Partly it came naturally as he had no wish to let any vague, weak or needy musings be reminders to either himself or much less some gawking strangers that he ever would have had a moment like that. But another part of it was that from beginning of the diary he had had a vague idea of what he wanted to be. A being in control. A force to be reckoned with. One who knows what he wants and takes the necessary action. One who doubts only when factual circumstances change, never because of any internal torments. He mentioned Gorion. That would do for now.

- "Done?" asked Tamoko.
- "Yes," said Sarevok simply. He had noticed that Tamoko sniggered a bit at the lacking length of his writing sessions. Well, she had told that part of the samurais' training was composing poetry, of all things. And that in Kara-Tur it was necessary to be able to express a very simple idea in many poetic, metaphorical ways. It sounded suspicious and unnecessary to Sarevok, but it would explain why Tamoko found it amusing that he would write only a few minutes into his diary.
- "That monk Gorion," he continued. "He is curious about my research. There is no mistaking, I spied on him. He's tracking what books and scrolls I study."
- "I heard him mentioned today," nodded Tamoko. "I chatted a bit with the guardsmen - they were curious about my swords - and they told me that he's a mage of no small ability and stepfather of that girl we saw. The one who didn't have pink hair. Gorion's ward, he said. And her name is Peri."
- "I wonder if this guardsman was as curious about your... swords as I was when I saw you the first time," Sarevok grumbled and approached Tamoko.
- "Well, why don't you go and ask him," grinned Tamoko and evaded Sarevok's grab with an agile movement.
- "I think I want to examine your... swords myself," Sarevok grinned and tried to catch her. Tamoko giggled and finally let him.
Later on, when they were snuggling next to each other Sarevok remembered Gorion again. But he drifted asleep by Tamoko's side.

Power. The red-hot flow of power in my veins. My heart bounding in the same rhythm than the underground, dark river I hear. My head above mere mortals, my fist able to crush a man alive... oh, the strength, the strength of the father. The strength which will yet be mine... but the dream distorts, the feeling of power and control distances itself! I diminish and diminish, and am immobile as if forever frozen inside a glass cube, and I see a face. The face of my mother. There is a great urgency in her eyes, she loves me still very much but she is telling me something very important now. I can't hear her and I try and try to strain my hearing, and her face is getting bloated and discolored, and her voice weaker. And yet now I hear her, but there's only the desperate plea: "Save me! Sarevok, son, love, save me from Reiltar!" And I see how the garrote cuts in her neck, and her life fades away, and all my horror, pain and rage helps not: I can't move an inch! The one thing she only ever asked from me. And I wasn't there for her then, even though she has always been there for me.

Tamoko had had enough.
- "Sarevok, wake UP! You are having a horrible nightmare. You look terrified and you are crying. And besides, you almost knocked me off the bed."
Sarevok was shaking, uncontrollably. The cold, determined gleam - Bhaal-gleam, as Tamoko thought of it - wasn't there. His eyes were full of shame, sorrow, horror, and the tears rolled down his cheeks.
- "What is it, love?" asked Tamoko, stroking his arm.
- "I dreamed of mother," he said. "I saw it. I saw her murder as if I was there, but unable to lift a hand. And she... she tried to tell me something."
- "Oh... I'm sorry. You are crying so hopelessly," said Tamoko, wiping his tears away, holding the shaking shoulders.
But Sarevok pulled away, turning his face away as well and pressing it into the blanket.
- "I'm not!... well, so what if I am! Don't..."
The hurt Tamoko tried to get sleep, watching Sarevok's sobs die down. He hadn't cried in a long, long time. When we made love the first time, his heart was so full of emotion that he cried, and he wasn't ashamed at all, thought Tamoko, very sad. Finally she fell asleep, dreaming of seagulls and winds.