Makings of a Monster

- "Mages. And priests too, I expect. We need a whole independent organisation of acolytes." Sarevok's eyes were gleaming manically and he was working like a tornado of shuffling parchments and chaotic plans. "I need you with me, so that would leave Cythandria to be in charge. Yes, I could establish my acolytes at the top floor of the Throne. She lives there already."
Winski regarded this new interest with dark amusement.

- "So the old man cast Lower resistance, eh?" he chuckled. Then his expression was serious again. "Really, I often thought that I should cast that on you followed with Hold and some minor pain spell instead of merely lecturing. He could have killed you! This is what comes of being too lenient with a stubborn student who doesn't listen..."
- "Give it a rest, already!" snapped Sarevok. "I'm alive and now I have learned my lesson."
- "If I told you it hurts to bang your head into the wall, would you believe me without trying it?" murmured Winski.
Sarevok merely shot him an irritated glance. In truth he did feel a little foolish, after all it had been one of the recurring subjects Winski brought up. But it didn't FEEL true until Gorion's spells stripped him of this strange immunity he had used to think of as natural and given.

- "And the girl remains at large," stated Winski.
- "Yes. Well, she is just a whelp. But I feel... uneasy. I would feel better if she was dead. She shares my blood and my dreams, probably my darkness too."
- "What do you think she will do now?"
- "If I was her... if I saw what she saw... I would set out to find the killer. And swear to survive myself. But I don't know if she knows what she is. If Gorion had time to tell her. If she knows about the prophecy, or about me. I'll put a bounty on her head and hope the problem will solve itself."
But deep inside Sarevok knew the bounty hunters would be in vain. He remembered her eyes, the darkness of her soul apparent. They were of the kind. The girl may be helpless, frightened, led a sheltered life, still in a shock after losing her stepfather. But she was Sarevok's kind. She wouldn't go down that easily. Sarevok felt two ways about it. He hated Peri, resented her, and wanted her dead, just as he had wanted Gorion. But on the other hand, he felt somehow pleased about the idea of her surviving, of meeting her again. Of knowing someone who shared the pull of the darkness, who felt the call of the father.

Later, at the Throne, Sarevok explained his plans to Cythandria.
- "You put me in charge? I thank you for trusting me in this, and I shall serve you as well as I can. In any way you want." She smiled, leaning very close. Sarevok could smell her perfume and felt dizzy.
- "Well. It made sense to me, as you are the most skilled mage employed by us after Winski... and you already live here..." he tried to sound unshaken, but the woman made him nervous.
- "You are tense from working too much. Let me massage your shoulders," said Cythandria, and proceeded to do so. It felt pleasant. Her nimble fingers gradually caused Sarevok's shoulders to relax.
- "I like a man with ambition," murmured Cythandria. "So many fools without vision, don't you think? The rank and wealth of nobility is such a waste on most of the nobles, the degenerate inbred fools. Men who take what opportunities there are, who aim for nothing less than the greatest possible outcome, these are the ones who truly deserve all the spoils of the victor."
Sarevok listened to her crooning, absurdly feeling for a moment like a lost child enspelled by a witch, then like an infant sang to by his mother. Only this mother didn't have Jelena's blue eyes. They were green and unblinking like the eyes of a cat.

- "Tamoko isn't so sure," he found himself saying. "She thinks not all goals are worth pursuing, not at all costs. She thinks there is much joy in the ordinary life."
- "And that," said Cythandria contemptuously, "is why she is a mediocre soul, thirteen in a dozen."
Sarevok stood up abruptly and faced Cythandria, gripping her arm.
- "Don't you ever..." he hissed, "ever... talk of her in those terms. She is a woman of soul and courage, and the companion of my soul. Is that clear?"
Cythandria nodded, wide-eyed, making a mental note to handle the subject of Tamoko more subtly. Apparently Sarevok was still attached to the woman.
- "Good. Set out to hire the acolytes." Sarevok left, without saying goodbye, and felt unfocused rage and misery.

Reiltar barged in Sarevok's office, interrupting him as he absent-mindedly went through his correspondence.
- "Isn't this just great," snarled Reiltar, then held his breath for a few seconds. "DAMN IT!" He crushed the message scroll in frustration. "This mercenary, Peri, and her group has apparently killed Mulahey and spoiled our operation in Nashkel!" The cleric of Cyric, who had been responsible for poisoning the only source of iron in Amn was now dead, and soon the Throne's secret mine in Cloakwood would no longer be the only source of uncontaminated iron in Sword Coast.

- "I see." Sarevok regarded Reiltar emotionlessly. "We still have the bandits, though. They will prevent the iron caravans from reaching Baldur's Gate, which leaves plenty of profit."
- "You don't have the right mindset, son," said Reiltar contemptuously. "If we controlled all the iron it would be both Baldur's Gate AND Amn to profit from."
- "Well, Mulahey is dead now, isn't he," retorted Sarevok. "As for Peri, the question is if she is only hired help who just happened to be there, or if she is interested in the iron crisis specifically. And if so, who does she work for."
- "My money is on Zentharim," said Reiltar. "Our worst competition."
- "It would make sense. I'll put a bounty on her, just in case." As if I haven't already, thought Sarevok.