Family Reunion

“Do you truly wish to be fettered to this dull plane forever, my raven?” The odd blue-haired man was holding out a strange horn to him. “Take this horn, this cornucopia of possibility, and unleash the power you hold within you.”

The man stared at the enormous horn in the blue-haired man’s hands. It gave off the same feeling of unease as the claw he had recently given away. If this was another test, as he assumed it was, he wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with any freely given gifts. There had been something sinister in the knight’s offering of the claw, and know this strange man promised him power.

“Why would I want power?” he asked.

The blue-haired man looked incredulous, having apparently thought the answer obvious. “Who does not yearn for power, to be able to control his own destiny and the fates of those around him? You have that potential bred in your bones; all you need do is take the horn. Others would kill for the opportunity you are freely given. Such an opportunity will not be given again. Refuse and lose any chance for greatness.”

The man thought about it. His dim memories were of strife and adversity. With power came conflict; he didn’t want any more trouble in his life. He wanted peace.

“Power comes at too great a price,” he decided. “I do not trust myself to wield authority that others crave so desperately. What makes me more qualified than the next person?”

“You are special! Your heritage lends you the ability to rule!”

“I believe it is the action of the man, not his father, which shapes his destiny.” He turned from the horn and its holder.

There was no reply, and he peeked a glance to see what the blue-haired man had to say, but he was alone. He sighed, realizing he should have expected this, and waited for the next test.

Another hallway appeared in the wall, and as he passed through it, he felt another change go over his body. Like before, he somehow knew what had changed about him; he could feel his body’s natural resistances to the elements strengthen. He wouldn’t be as affected by adverse conditions such as heat or cold as normal people.

The hall ended in the exact same chamber as the one he had left. He noticed identical formations in the rock walls and other minute details. There could be no mistaking this as the room he had just been in. Yet, when he turned to look, the passageway had disappeared and there was no other exit.

“This realm cannot be trusted,” a woman’s voice said, as if reading his thoughts.

He turned without surprise to see a half elven woman with a garland of leaves standing in the room’s center. At her feet lay a corpse. There was no mistaking the body as sleeping, for gashes marred its surface and bloodless wounds appeared through torn clothing.

“Many have died because of you,” the woman said. “For you. My husband was a good man, and he died trying to protect you. He knew what you were, what you could become, yet not once did he falter. Not until the day…” She broke off, staring at the body.

He knew that the woman spoke the truth, that her husband had died for him, even if he couldn’t remember why. “I’m sorry,” he offered, knowing the apology to be diminished by his lack of memory. “I don’t mean for these things to happen.” As far as he knew, this was true.

“And yet they do happen,” the woman snapped back. “No matter your intentions, my husband is dead.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “What is important now is your action. My husband is just one of many. Your life has caused much pain, but you can change that.” She held out a golden candle with arcane writing along its length. “Sometimes death is not irreversible. You contain much power, and you can choose to use it for good or ill. Within this candle lies a powerful magic; magic enough to bring the dead to life, if its holder has enough will. But there is a cost. Death does not yield its subjects willingly. Another must sacrifice his life in the dead one’s place. Will you undertake the burden of your heritage and accept responsibility for the death you have caused? Or will you become like your siblings and revel in the destruction left in your wake?” She held out the candle.

The man stared at it. Short minutes ago, if indeed time ran in this place, he had wished nothing more than to be left alone in the void for eternity. Now that his chance had come, he was not so sure he could go through with it. With each test, he realized that he had some sort of responsibility inherent in his nature, whether he willed it or not. While he would prefer to leave the world as it was, he could not do so without some pangs of conscience. And to have doubt for all of eternity would not be a pleasant experience.

“But if I gave up my life, so many more might die for it,” he said.

The woman scowled for a moment, then nodded her head. “You have chosen the hard way, then. Many would chose not to abandon life, but for different reasons. I can see that you have good intentions in mind. Very well, you may continue on, and I hope that you do indeed save more lives than you harm.”

Again he walked into darkness, accompanied by the tingling which signaled a change in his body. His ability to avoid damage from various sources increased, making his reflexes faster, his will stronger, and his fortitude higher.

When he walked back into the same room, he found it already occupied, and not by one person. Several people filled the stone room, crowding around him. He recognized them all, still in their forms from when they had died. These had been traveling companions in his service, who had sacrificed their lives for him. Like the dead husband, they had died for his sake.

A tall, bald man stepped forward, speaking with a slight accent. “You have come at last! We have been waiting in the darkness for such a long time, I wasn’t sure if you would free us.”

“Free you?”

The man nodded. “We were caught within your power the moment we died; we cannot leave this place unless you release our souls. We pledged loyalty in life, and in death we remain in your wake. Please, you must help us find peace.”

“Of course I will help. What can I do?” He was astonished at how much of the world he affected, and wondered what it would be like to live a normal life, free of his heritage.

“There is a potion in the next room which will allow us peace. If we but drink a sip, our souls may flee this realm and find the rest we are meant to have.”

“Then I will get the potion for you.” There was something more; this was no test by itself, merely a task.

“I must warn you,” the large man continued, affirming the listener’s fears, “that there is a monstrous guardian with the potion. It is enough to make the bravest men turn back in dread. You do not have to face the creature unprepared, however. I may make a cloak to protect you from its power. With it, you will be invulnerable to harm and may defeat it easily. Will you take it?”

“There is something more,” the man responded warily. “What is the catch? Is there something wrong with the cloak?”

The large man hesitated. “The cloak…The cloak comes with a great price. It must be made by flaying the skin from one of us. We have protection from the beast, for we are dead and can feel no pain. Our skin can grant you strength.” He gestured at the array of people waiting for freedom. Several elven men, a dwarf, a halfing lass, another human man, and two women watched the conversation intently. Fear and hope warred in their faces, knowing that their freedom would cost much.

The man stared at them all, guilt striking him as if for the first time. He could not ask these people to give up more than they already had. How could he torture them more by taunting them with freedom at such a price? “I will face the beast alone,” he said.

A collective sigh ran through the onlookers, and a black gate stood behind them. The man stepped through their midst and into the blackness, a sword suddenly in his hand. Its grip felt familiar to him and he wielded it effortlessly.

He expected the same room to open to him, revealing whatever monstrosity guarded the potion. He continued in blackness, however, and soon ran into a wall. A hint of fear assailed him; he could not see, could not find his way back in the darkness. Perhaps the test here was whether he could trust the fallen people. He had been led into a trap, doomed to damnation with those who had died in his service.

He turned and ran to where he thought he had come, only to find another wall, or maybe the same one as before. He was going in circles. He dropped his sword in his panic and searched the walls for some sign of an exit. To his horror, the wall seemed to surround him, forming a complete circle around him. There was no way of leaving.

He commanded himself to think. Appearances here were deceiving, he had already learned this much. The layout of the place shifted constantly, there was a way to change this prison back to the room he had left, if only he thought about it enough.

Slowly, the panic left him and his breathing returned to normal. He regained control and shifted to try to search for the exit again. His foot tapped against something glass, something which made a slight clinking sound. He bent down and felt a bottle, small enough to fit in his hand, which he grabbed.

The large bald man smiled at him as he stood. “So you conquered the monster on your own. That is good.” He was again in the room filled with people, holding a bottle filled with a dark liquid. The large man took the bottle from him and drank, passing it to the others once he was done. They all took their share.

As they did so, they began to fade, becoming thinner and more transparent. “Thank you,” the large man said. “Your courage has allowed many peace where we thought there could be only torment. Not all you touch turns to ashes. Remember this.” And then he was gone.

The man shook his head before going into the awaiting tunnel. He was confident that this one would lead somewhere this time. He hoped that his tests were almost finished, as he longed to leave this illusory realm. The tingling in his body seemed to coat his skin like iron. He could now shrug off blows which would kill a normal man, ignoring wounds from weapons which were not given high amounts of enchantments. He could almost feel the vestiges of his humanity leaving him as his body adapted to these rewards. At least, he hoped they were rewards.

A dagger filled his palm, cool and pulsing. He could feel the evil permeating its core. Nausea filled him at its poison; one bite from its blade would kill its victim instantly. He was given no time to wonder at its existence as he returned to the familiar room.

“So my brother comes to me, finally,” an enormous man said. He was dressed in a suit of armor resembling a demon; only the man’s golden eyes could be seen from the maw of the ‘demon’s’ mouth.

“Sarevok!” This was the first name which the man remembered. Then, in a rush, his life came flooding back to him. His name was Tybalt. He was the child of a god. A god of Murder.

“You come into understanding at last,” Sarevok said. “This realm holds many tests for you, but none is as important as the trial of identity. Have you learned anything while here?”

“I know the responsibility which my name carries,” Tybalt said, his voice hushed. “My presence is a burden wherever I go, no matter what my intentions. I assume you are to be another test, an example to avoid?”

The warrior laughed, a deep guttural sound. “Nay, brother. I am here on my own accord. I have clawed my way from the Abyss to reach you, to help you on your path.”

“I doubt very much that you would be willing to help the man who killed you,” Tybalt replied.

Sarevok grinned sardonically. “Of course you would think in such limited terms. Past is past; I look to the future. I once believed myself the child of prophecy, but with my death, I believe you are the one Alaundo spoke of. I wish to help you finish our father’s plans.”

“Why? Why help me? You must want something out of this?”

“First let me tell you what I can offer,” Sarevok said. “I have studied much of the stories concerning the Children of Bhaal. I know much of this realm, our father’s realm which you have adapted for your own goals. I know a way out of this place, back to the world of the living. I can give you much.”

“In exchange for?”

“I wish to live again, brother! I want to breathe the air and taste blood again. You hold power here, you could give me life if you wished it. I would become your lieutenant, forging your throne by your side.”

“Why would I unleash your madness upon the world again? There is nothing worth that. I am determined not to allow other Children to survive if they bring such pain and suffering upon the world. I could not raise you in good conscience.”

“Then what will happen to poor Imoen, I wonder?” Sarevok mused. “That will be an interesting confrontation, I think.”

“Speak not her name!” Tybalt said, ignoring the gnawing truth at the back of his mind. He remembered Irenicus mentioning something about Imoen’s divinity but had not bothered to relate it to his own heritage. That was an issue for another time. “I said I would not bring you to life, and I remain firm in that decision.”

The demonic man laughed again, shaking the walls of the room. “Then you will remain trapped here for eternity. You cannot win without me brother, admit it.”

A rage boiled through Tybalt’s chest, causing him to grip the mysterious dagger in his hand until his knuckles turned white. A roar escaped from his throat as he took a step forward. “Do you think to keep me here, fiend? I have killed you once, I can do so again.”

Sarevok stared at his half-brother, raising his ghostly sword to ward off any attacks. “Yes, you feel the rage of our father, don’t you? Embrace it as I have. Use its power to conquer your enemies. Become the son our father meant you to be!”

Tybalt screamed and thrust the poisonous dagger through the helmet’s opening and into Sarevok’s face, twisting until the man fell limp to the floor. He stood staring for a moment, unsure of what had happened, a red haze covering his vision. Then, he caught his breathe and regained awareness, groaning as he did so. “No,” he whispered, covering his face with bloody hands. “I cannot. I will not.” His body tingled as he felt muscles growing stronger, larger, and his endurance rising. He had won the battle of the flesh and was rewarded accordingly, though he feared he had lost the war. What that consequence would be, he did not know yet.

“Don’t look so sad, big brother,” Imoen’s voice soothed. “Father is pleased. It took some time, but you’re finally coming around.”

“Imoen,” Tybalt sobbed. “You can’t be…you’re not…”

“Yes,” she replied sadly. “I am a Child. I’m surprised no one found out for this long, really. Maybe it’s because you’ve always been too self absorbed to notice anything other than your own problems.” Her voice took on a venomous tone and he looked up to gaze at her.

She stood before him much as he remembered her, thought with dark circles under her eyes and scars crisscrossing the length of her skin. A haunted look rested in her eyes. “Happy to see me?” She grinned, though no humor or playfulness hid in her smile now. It was a feral snarl, teeth bared and lips curled back.

“Why?” Tybalt asked faintly. “Why does it have to be like this? I didn’t want any of it. I want…I want a normal life.”

“So do I,” she replied. “So do many of our siblings. But we weren’t given the choice, so we have to do the best we can. Things aren’t so bad. We have power others can only dream of.”

“I don’t want power. I don’t want anything. I want this all to be over and live in peace somewhere. I wish I had never heard of Bhaal or Alaundo or any of this.”

“Do you wish you had never met me?” she asked.

“Imoen. Imoen, no,” his voice was apologetic, as if he had been thinking that moments before and was now ashamed to realize this. “I…things are different now, but I am glad that we met. I am so sorry for what he put you through. We will make this right, somehow.”

“No, big brother, we won’t.” She said it so calmly that he immediately believed her, feeling an intense wave of sadness as if she were still lost from him, not in front of him as she was. “You will go on and meddle in prophecies like you were supposed to. But I am not meant for all this. I was always content to sit in the background and help you. But you don’t need my help anymore. You will be fine on your own.”

“What are you saying?” he demanded, desperation rising within him.

“I can give you one last thing,” she said, holding out her hand to him. He reached out and felt her palm, so thin and brittle as if it would break if he squeezed too hard. A ripple pulsed beneath her skin and her paleness had begun to take on a reddish tinge, but he concentrated on her eyes.

“This is our father’s realm,” she said, looking at the cave. “You have found your way here and you can find your own way out again. Search within yourself, think of the tests you have been through, and you can escape. Barriers can’t hold you back like they did before. No prison can cage you, no shackles bind you. Just think and you will return to life, where your friends wait for you.”

“What about you, Imoen? Are you coming?”

“I’m already there,” she said. Her body had begun to grown, her thin frame spreading as her eyes took on a golden light, her skin becoming dark red. “You must go quickly, I can’t hold him back for long!” She released his hand and shoved him away as she continued to change. Horns and spikes sprouted across her length, fingers becoming claws and teeth fangs. She was becoming a monster, one Tybalt recognized from a glance at a religious text on Bhaal he had seen in Candlekeep once. She was becoming the Slayer, avatar of Bhaal.

“Go!” she shouted. The shout turned into a snarl, and all semblance to Imoen died in the sound. Tybalt tensed and tried to think of a way out as the Slayer leapt toward him. Hurriedly, he thought of flight, of commanding the realm as his father would have. He brought himself here, he could leave it just as easily. He had designed the tests, he had done everything. There was nothing here that he could not control.

He could leave. He could escape. He opened his eyes, unaware of closing them, and saw with a start that he was back in the room with glass tubes, where Irenicus had contained him before. The bodies of men still slumped in the other tubes, though his was empty. He wondered how long he had been gone. His equipment was carelessly tossed to one corner of the room, and he reclaimed it eagerly, unwilling to remain defenseless in such a place for any length of time.

He needed to find his comrades. He needed to find Imoen, to be certain that she was all right. He needed to find Irenicus and gain vengeance.