Cards Reshuffled

An imprisoned soul – lacking a body. An imprisoned body – lacking a soul. Which one is the unluckier one? And which one the more dangerous?

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Sarevok had not enjoyed death. Not only had it been painful, it had also been extremely humiliating to be defeated like that, by his little sister no less. However, the afterlife was turning out to be even worse. The large warrior was currently standing on an enormous plain, where black blood oozed from the very ground, forming thick rivers. The ground itself wasn’t rock, or even sand. It was bones that crunched beneath his armored boots, sharp and jagged bones, some of them human, some most definitely not. Some of those bones were old and yellowed, polished to smoothness by time. Others were fresher, with clumps of rotting meat still clinging to them. And beneath the bones was the sand that was not sand, but dust, the dust of countless skeletons ground to a fine gray powder. It clung to everything that dust, to your hair and skin. It got into your nose, it stuck inside your throat to make you cough, leaving a constant taste of death on your tongue.

There was no sun in this sky, no moon or stars, only an empty blackness, but the rotting corpses that were on their way to join the bones glowed with a constant green light, phosphorescent and hinting at foul rottenness. And there were many corpses indeed, for this was one of the more recent battlegrounds of the Blood War, the eternal feud between demons and devils that had lasted for as long as the multiverse had been in existence.

Sarevok supposed that things could have been worse, relatively speaking. If it hadn’t been for his own considerable battle prowess, he might well have found himself slowly dissolving in a pit of acid, being torn to pieces and then reassembled, skinned alive or subjected to one of the other various and inventive forms of torture the Abyss had to offer for those souls who wound up there. As it was, the demons, or tanar’ri, had decided that he might be useful to them, and that usefulness had so far spared him the worst of the degradations. Not all though. No, not all.

No! Do not think about that. You cannot afford to do so, not if you ever want to get out of this place. Snarling like a beast in torment the former Bhaalspawn drove his sword through the chest of a hissing black abishai, narrowly dodging the reptilian devil’s spiked tail. There was no time to pause, only to fight, fight for survival. Well, continued existence then. His sword was drenched in blood, of humans, fiends and lost souls alike, and it dripped along his arms, seeping into the cracks in his armor, a slimy substance coating his skin. It was on his face as well, creating a macabre counterpoint to the battle rage in his glowing golden eyes. It pleased him to know that his appearance was frightening enough to actually intimidate some of his foes, even though it would not be enough to put off any of the greater devils. Fear could cut as deeply as swords sometimes, and it would help him stay alive…exist…a little longer. And he would fight with every scrap of strength that he still possessed for that continued existence, there was no other possible choice.

The day I give up is the day that I lose. It will not happen. Perhaps one day I will be forced to my knees, but the world will never see Sarevok kneel willingly, not to any entity in the Planes. So let them fear me, and let them die. At the end of the day I will be the one still standing.

It was a shame that he no longer had his old armor, the one he had had especially made, nor his own sword. He had to make due with what he could get off the battlefield, and though his opponents had provided him with adequate equipment it was a far cry from his old weapons. Those had been lost when he…came here. When you died. You may as well be honest about it. When you died. When your sister slew you, sending you here.

It was strange, in a way. He should have loathed his sibling for placing him in this position, and part of the old anger was still there, but…something had changed. Vaguely Sarevok could remember how he had felt as he died, and he knew that the thoughts and actions were his own, but they felt so…distant. It was like waking up after a drunken revel, trying to remember the events of the night before, occasionally wincing. He tricked me. My sire tricked me into becoming his tool, I can see it now. He knew exactly how to goad me into doing what he wanted, and like a blind fool I went along with him. He never planned for me to ascend, all he wanted was for me to die, so that he might reclaim the Bhaal essence.

Well, now the essence was lost to him, and he was lost as well, a lost soul. Tamoko warned me of trusting in the voice of my sire. And Winski… Sarevok suddenly shivered, and then quickly spun around to decapitate the warrior who had been planning to stab him in the back. The head arced through the air, spraying his armor with even more blood, and then was impaled on the empty skeletal ribcage of some huge beast. Winski…Tamoko… There were memories fighting to get through to him, memories that he knew were important but that he fought against with all his determination not to have to confront. Somehow he knew that they would be the post-death equivalent of waking up in a strange room, covered in blood and with a corpse next to you in bed. It will have to wait.

He could remember his own death clearly though, and his little sister. It was a magnificent fight, was it not? Just as…just as I had meant for it to be. Though I had planned for me to win.

But there had been something else, hadn’t there? Another memory forced itself unbidden into his mind. His sister standing in front of him, so much smaller than he was, yet in that moment it had almost seemed that they were of equal stature. Her hair had been tousled, a red storm raging around her face, and her golden eyes had stared unblinkingly into his own. Eyes so very much like his own. Why is that, I wonder? It could not be the Bhaalessence alone. I killed several of our weaker siblings before I found her, and none of them shared that trait. Nor did I feel that…connection with any one of them. Is it only because she is stronger, the only one worthy of being my sibling? Or something else? And she had been reaching out her hand towards him, offering…something, he knew not what. Whatever it was, he had rejected it, choosing instead to fight.

It is in the past now. I am dead, and she is alive. I will never see her again. And if I do not wish to spend the rest of eternity as a drafted foot soldier, I had better do something about it.

The Abyss held an infinite number of layers, Sarevok knew that much. You could wander if forever and never find your way out. And yet, there were portals leading elsewhere, if you were lucky enough to find them. Portals leading to other, more pleasurable planes of existence. The tanar’ri move us around, transporting us to new skirmishes now and then. If I can only stay alive…existing…for long enough, I may eventually reach one of those portals. I will escape. Somehow, at some point, I will escape. And then…somehow…I will regain my life. I swear now that I will never give up, that I will fight past the loss of all hope. I will suffer as much as I have to, I will slay all who would stop me. I will scratch and crawl my way through every layer of the Abyss and into the world of the living. And then I will have my vengeance.

Sarevok laughed, a wild and terrifying laughter, and around him the other lost souls shied back from the fearsome and blood splattered warrior with the fiery eyes. Yes. I will have my vengeance.

Meanwhile, on the Prime Material Plane, another prisoner was contemplating his own captivity in a very different manner. Irenicus sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, motionless as a rock. Blue eyes stared off into the far distance, far beyond the walls that were meant to contain him, body and soul. Fools. They will learn their mistake before long. The mage’s facial mask displayed its usual calm and emotionless face to the world. As for the face beneath it, it had been a long time since anybody had seen that. A very, very long time. The blue eyes that were the only part of his real face visible were clear as they had ever been though, clear and cold. And my mind is in as perfect a condition as it ever was. She could not take that away, and she will regret that.

The cell was completely smooth and empty, the walls cold iron, as was the door. Air was magically generated within the chamber to keep its occupant alive, but there were no windows, no light whatsoever. All was darkness and still. Pitiful magelings. They think that will break me, make me submit to their will. How little they know. I am long since accustomed to darkness, and it will only serve to focus my mind, clearing it of all distractions when the proper time comes.

A long time ago this sort of place would have been a torment to endure, devoid as it was of all life, of all green, growing things. Not so anymore. He had left all green growing things far behind. Though when my plan comes into fruition I will return to them – in my own way.

Neither did the isolation, the lack of company bother him. Companionship. Friendship. Attachment. Love. The words rattled through his mind like steel bullets falling neatly into little boxes. How curious to imagine that I was once so preoccupied with such things, or that I mourned their loss. But that weak and mewling creature is no more, and will never be again. Her punishment saw to that.

Beneath the mask, the remnants of once beautiful lips curled in a sardonic smile, a mimicry of the emotion that had once gone with the gesture. How ironic, that her punishment should partially serve to strengthen me, that through the pain I should be set free, a pure mind in its most unadulterated form. Practically divine, but for this annoying shell of a body. This…weakness, dragging me down.

Irenicus frowned as he contemplated the events he had set in motion. Can Bodhi be trusted to do what needs to be done? Her urges sometimes make her unreliable. It is certainly a good thing I never chose that way to cope with my loss. But I believe she knows the importance of this. She knows that the plan will work, that my choice of donors was carefully made. It is in her own interest to go along with it until she gets what she wants. She cannot go through with the plan on her own after all, she hasn’t the necessary knowledge or equipment. So she will act, on her own or through her agents, and she will bring me the Bhaalspawn. I must be ready to receive her.

Yes, everything was in order, everything was well in hand. There was the small detail of the Cowled Wizards, and what those wizards presumed to be his captivity of course. A mere detail. I shall attend to it, but not too soon. When the time is exactly right.

There were wards in this place of course, wards designed to contain the magic of the inmates, not allowing them to use it in any way that went against the specifications of their captors. But all wards may be broken, given enough experience and power, something I have in abundance. Let them believe they have me caged for now. At the moment it serves my purposes. And then I will make my move.

A pity that the Cowled Ones and the Shadow Thieves had interfered with him though. He had been close, so very close, to unlocking the lock that was the Bhaalspawn Zaerini, so close to obtaining what he needed. She is strong, she took longer than I had expected. All the better. I wanted a strong one, after all. And she is that, she burns as brightly as a beacon with raw, untapped power. Imagine how I might put that to use…yes, she will serve admirably. And of course, we will also need a little something for Bodhi. Something smaller, more manageable. My sister could not possibly contain what that half-elf has to offer.

It had been an interesting series of experiments, trying to devise the best ways to lure forth that power. Pain had been useful, but despair even more so. Of course he had been presented with certain difficulties in that regard, having to construct his experiments with the aid of old, almost lost memories, trying to deduce what might produce the desired reaction. But in the end, he had been successful. I was so very close to an important breakthrough when those oafish thieves decided to interrupt my studies. The most serious annoyance in a long time. But I believe the theory is still sound. It should work, once I get the opportunity to put it in practice. I wonder if She would find it impressive? She should, after a fashion. It is not something that any mortal has accomplished before. She could not do it on her own, not without aid.

Again that ghostly wraith of a smile. Perhaps I ought to write a little paper on the subject, and then send her a copy. For the sake of old times.

Some more time passed, and all was still and dark as it had been before. Once I am done here, it will be time to move on, Irenicus thought. We must not keep our allies waiting for too long, eager as they may be to leap into action. And then, then the day will come when I stand before her once again, and I decide her fate. Then the day will come when I finally have what I should have had all those years ago, and more.

Calmly he concentrated on his breathing exercises, reciting his spells from memory inside his head. He would need to prepare carefully, and with the utmost precision. And I suppose I will also have my vengeance. I believe it is customary to wish for that under similar circumstances, with all the passion of dark hatred. Of course it will be a mere side effect to achieving my primary goal, but I suppose I should also wish for vengeance. After all, I can still recall the sensation of that desire.