ToB Saga: Reflections, Part 1

Diary of Avanguara Gorionsward: 10th of Elient, Late Afternoon.

Word has reached Suldanesselar of five powerful Bhaalspawn who are wreaking havoc along the length of the Sword Coast. They seem to be aiming to fulfil Alaundo's prophecies to the best of their abilities – death and destruction on a massive scale follow in their footsteps.

All along the coast, panic is spreading, and those suspected of being Bhaalspawn are cast out or worse. Even Suldanesselar is not immune; wary looks follow Imoen and I wherever we travel within the city, as though we had suddenly grown an extra head each. Considering how much the elves prattle on about their superiority over the other sentient races of Faerun, they seem as irrational as everyone else on this particular topic. Considering all I have done for them as well, it makes me very angry. After all, I resolved the whole Irenicus debacle for them, which they created in the first place!

Sometimes I do have to wonder at the logic behind letting a power-hungry evil mage wander round Faerun with all his powers intact, no conscience, and a burning grudge against all elvenkind. They would have been better off killing him, Ellesime's lover or not, but that would have meant dirtying their perfect elven hands with something as vile as murder. Instead they leave the executioner's task to the daughter of the Lord of Murder, and let me dirty my already less-than-clean hands. If those bloody idiots had just dealt with him in a rational manner in the first place, then none of this would have happened. I could still be a guest in the ducal palace at Baldur's Gate, enjoying a nice, safe life. Hah, who am I trying to fool? For me there is no such thing as a 'peaceful' life. If Irenicus had not come along, no doubt some other freak of nature would have been in the villain's role.

Still, enough of my whining - it serves no purpose but to fuel my anger. At least I am able to control myself a little better now that my soul has been returned. The siren song of the Bhaal essence is once more reduced to a sibilant whisper in the deepest recesses of my mind, so unlike the deafening roar of hate and bloodlust that it was but a week ago. It is such a relief not to have to fight constantly against it, and I feel I can relax at last.

Words are not sufficient to describe how it feels to be whole and complete once more. The aching wound inside me is gone and I am more grateful for the more…humane, warm characteristics it brings with it. Once more I can laugh, smile and even feel happy, something I have not truly felt for a long time. Even before Irenicus took my soul, I was so worried about Imoen that I found it hard to enjoy myself and relax.

My friends seem equally pleased with the return of my soul; Imoen for one is glad to see me restored to my former self, and I am equally pleased to see her sunny nature return. It seems that the scars of Irenicus's treatment of her, and the madness it caused, are at last fading. She still suffers from nightmares, but compared to the gibbering wreck we found in a small cell in Spellhold, it is a vast improvement. Some of her childlike innocence is gone, and she refuses to fully discuss what tortures Irenicus inflicted upon her – she says her memory fails her, but something in her eyes tells me this is not the entire truth. I know of the torments he inflicted upon me, and the thought of her undergoing the same fills me with unease, so I let the matter rest. Ignorance truly can be bliss I suppose. Still, her resilience amazes me – despite learning that she is a daughter of Bhaal, intended as fuel for his rebirth she seems as happy as ever. She often says that I do enough moping and brooding for the pair of us, so she will take care of the enjoyable parts.

Even though she means it as a joke, it has more than a grain of truth to it, for I have spent much time pondering my ultimate fate as a Bhaalspawn, and I wonder if there will ever be a reckoning, where all those I have killed claim justice upon me. Even though I only aimed for the best, too many innocent and not-so-innocent people are dead because of me. I do not feel guilt for ending the lives of some of truly evil people I met – or at least, not too much guilt – but all the people around them...those I do feel guilt for. How many guards and mercenaries have I killed, whose only crime was to have been employed by such people? No matter how hard I try I too seem to be fulfilling Alaundo's prophecies concerning the death and destruction that the Bhaalspawn will bring to the Realms. I wonder sometimes just when it will all end? I wish that I could still be living in Candlekeep, unaware of my lineage, spending my days running errands for Winthrop and taking lessons from the guards whenever I could badger them into giving them. Enough of this self pity however - it accomplishes nothing. Where was I? Oh yes, I remember...

Anomen is another who is glad to see me restored, though for slightly different reasons. He has worried a great deal over me recently, and is very happy now that my soul has been returned and I am once more the woman he fell in love with. I seem to spend most of my time at present with him, often talking idly about nothing in particular or just sitting there in comfortable silence. Talking to him seems to help me to put the events of the recent past into perspective. Imoen rolls her eyes and makes sarcastic comments over my attachment to him, but I do not mind. He has become the solid rock upon which I rest myself, and I do not know what I would do without him. I still have nightmares over Bodhi's abduction of him, though it seems like a lifetime ago. Besides which, Imoen is a fine one to talk, for I remember a certain young woman making eyes (and more) at several handsome young noblemen back in Baldur's Gate, not to mention the massive crush she had on Hull back in Candlekeep. I remember that she refused to speak to me for a full week after she found out I had been taking lessons in swordplay from him. Heh, just a mention of that brings a blush to her face, and is very useful when she starts making clever comments about me.

The rest of my companions are also well; Aerie seems to be enjoying spending time amongst elves again, and she and Imoen have been learning all they can of elven magic. Apparently the wizards here know several very powerful and very rare spells, and seem eager to share them. Those two seem to be talking in another language when discussing these spells – talk of components, gestures and other magical terms just gives me a headache, so I merely nod politely whenever the two of them start telling me what they have learned. I must admit though, that some of the spells seem extremely powerful – any spell that conjures up a ball of flame like a dragons breath must be tremendous indeed. Still, the two of them are as happy as pigs in a wallow, which is nice to see.
Keldorn was badly injured in the fight in Hell, and his wounds took a very long time to heal, even with the best efforts of all the clerics in Suldanesselar. They are now completely healed, and he hopes to leave Suldanesselar to return to Athkatla, and his wife and children, in the next few days. Queen Ellesime has offered to have one of her mages teleport him straight home, but Keldorn declined, saying that he does not trust such spells and would rather rely on his war-horse to get him home. He seems happier and healthier than ever before, and the quiet weeks spent recuperating here has done him the world of good. I shall miss him a great deal when he returns home, for he has become almost like a father to me. Slowly but surely, our little group is being whittled away, though I am sure that both Imoen and Anomen will remain by my side for as long as they can.

Jan has already returned home to Athkatla, stating a desire to resume his role in his family's turnip business. According to him, adventure and saving the world is all very well and good, but turnips are what really matter. I will miss him, though something tells me that Keldorn and Anomen will be glad that they will never have to listen to one of his stories again. My love is still not very good at taking jokes about him in his stride, and Jan takes full advantage of that. When he told the story about Ano the dung orc I was half-afraid Anomen would either have an apoplexy or kill him, right there and then. Still, I will miss Jan, he has been a good friend, and we could not have accomplished all we have without him. However, all good things must come to an end, and I have wished him on his way with his considerably share of the party's treasure.
The power and the wealth that we have gathered in the course of our journeys still shocks me. We wield some of the most powerful weapons ever forged and enemies that once presented a stiff challenge are blown away with ease. I remember our passage through the Nashkel mines and how much trouble the kobolds caused us. Jaheira could only cast two or three weak healing spells each day, and so we had to be very careful not to get wounded when we were fighting the yapping things. I remember the feelings of fear that enveloped me when one of the miners told us that there was a dragon lurking in the depths of the mines. At that time, I took his words to be true and could not imagine anything more terrifying than facing a dragon in battle. But now I have killed three of the overgrown lizards and my love wears dragon scale armour. I wonder if one day I will look back upon my most recent adventures the way I look back upon those days?


11th of Elient, Late Evening

As the elves grow more afraid of my presence, Queen Ellesime has asked me to travel to a glade deep in the forest, where ancient spirits may be consulted. I must admit a fair dose of scepticism towards this, but as I am her guest I suppose I must oblige. We head off for the glade early tomorrow morning.


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Another sibling lies dead and bleeding at my feet. When will it all end? I ask myself. Another death, another body. I suppose I could justify it saying that it was self-defence but it does not alter the fact that I have killed another one of my fellow Children. How many more I must kill? I do not know the answer and perhaps I never will.

I think back to our entrance into this forest glade, the one Ellesime had spoken of, and a truly beautiful place it was. Green plants grew with wild abandon, nearly obscuring carved stone heads. It was one of those heads that spoke the words of prophecy, yet more obscure words that could be interpreted in any of a thousand ways. He (it?) spoke of the possibility of the rebirth of Bhaal, a prospect that terrifies me. Am I to die only so my foul sire can return? It spoke of the 'five' being deceived, and a part of me wonders if it refers to the five Bhaalspawn wreaking havoc along the coast. It sounds like a traitor will be appearing, but whom will they betray? 'The face of an ally, the mask of foe' - what could that refer to I wonder? 'The storm approaches', well that seems to be true, if the news we have heard is true. I will remember these words of prophecy and be on my guard against any whom appear too friendly.

I feel the weight of a hand on my shoulder, and it shakes me from my gloomy thoughts. I turn to see Anomen's concerned face look at me. He speaks, in a quiet voice, “My love, you have been wounded. Let me heal you.” His words surprise me, for I was not even aware that I had been wounded. Looking down though, I see a deep cut on my right arm – the only physical mark that Illasera has left upon me, though the mental scars the battle reopened run deeper.

“Leave it,” I say in a bitter tone of voice, “leave it to remind me that the power Bhaal offers leads only to death.” He nods his agreement, though I can see that he does not truly understand why. He may not understand, but he knows enough to leave me in peace. I open my mouth to speak again, when suddenly the world starts to move around me.

The beautiful forest glade fades, lost in a blur of motion, as we seem to spin around and around. The only constant is the presence of my friends, as shocked as I am by this sudden change. The world around me fades to black, and it is all I can do not to scream. I can feel nothing around me, no cold, no heat; no nothing. I open my mouth to breathe, but no air enters my lungs. I am in a still world of nothingness and it scares more than words can describe. A memory calls to me – this is like the journey to Hell to fight Irenicus for my soul. My heart curls in fear as I wonder where we will appear, or even if we will leave this state of limbo. What is happening to us? Has Illasera cast an imprisonment spell to seal us up in a rocky tomb? But then why can I not feel the suffocating weight of rock around and above me? I slowly start to lose consciousness as the lack of air affects my brain.

Suddenly, the world starts to reform around us, but it is a very different place to the pleasant glade we left, with the bloodied body of my sibling lying dead upon the ground. Instead, a monstrous cavern starts to take shape, and a chilling and disturbing shape it is too. The very rock (if it is rock) looks almost as though it is alive, and strange shapes writhe in the corner of my eyes. Large lizard-like eyes seem to peer from the walls of the chamber and several large many-armed statues of immense height look down upon us. It is similar to, but subtly different from, the Hell I fought Irenicus in. As it continues to coalesce, I see my companions also appear, looking as disturbed and afraid as I am. But before I can speak, a column of light appears, burning down from the roof of the cavern. I shield my eyes to protect them from the bright glow, and almost fail to notice the body that takes form within the column.

It is tall, and glows with a heavenly light. As I look upon it, a feeling of infinite goodness overwhelms me, and I know that whatever enemies may await me here this being is not one of them. It has large wings of iridescent gold, and holds a flaming sword, while its skin is a bright blue colour that screams defiance to the dark shadows of this place. My companions and I are dumbstruck by its unearthly beauty, and it is then that I realise that this being must be a solar. From my dimly recalled theology lessons at Candlekeep I remember that solars are beings of supreme goodness, sworn to uphold the light and goodness wherever they roam. To see one is lucky, and for one to appear before you is even better.

It speaks suddenly, in a deep rich voice that seems to echo strangely. I have never heard a voice like it before, and I doubt I will again. “I greet you, god-child, you who are of divine blood. I have awaited you.”
It is all I can do to stammer out a reply, so over-awed am I by its presence. “Who...who are you?” And how do you know who, and what, I am? I silently ask myself.

It looks at me in a calm manner, and continues to speak in that same voice. “I have existed since the first strand of fate was woven, a servant of the paths and the gods. I have watched your own path most carefully. Our own servant, who was the mortal Alaundo, spake the truths that became prophecy. It tells of your coming and of all the others who are the progeny of Bhaal. The spark of the divine rests within all of Bhaal's children and the time for their joining is nigh. I am here to aid you, god-child.”

Again, I somehow managed to stumble out a reply, “You...you are here to help me? How?” I am having difficulty comprehending the idea of someone who knows of my heritage but does not wish to kill, injure or maim us in some way or other.

“I cannot interfere. I can only prepare you, god-child... aid in your education, you who are most unready to assume your destiny.”
“My education?...My education for what exactly?” I reply, still half sure that is all some kind of a dream, and I will awake shortly to find myself in Suldanesselar.

“I mean only that you are unready for the possibilities that await you. Your mortal mind does not readily comprehend the power in your blood. When you were last in your sire's realm, god-child, it was altered by your own consciousness without you even forming the intent to do so. You are not ready for the power. You must be ready. It is your presence which determines the outcome of the prophecy, although even I cannot see it yet. When the time comes, you will be ready...I will make certain.” Something in its tone of voice that it will make certain, whether I like it or not.

“What power? The power to turn myself into a giant ravening lobster monster? If that is the power you speak of, I want none of it!” I surprise myself with the vehemence in my voice, but I can still remember the havoc the slayer-form wrought upon my friends. Nightmares still torment me of what might have happened if I had not managed to return to myself...but now is not the time for these thoughts, the solar is speaking again.

“Power comes with knowledge, god-child. As your knowledge grows, so shall your control over the power you hold. You have great power, and must learn to control it, for your own sake, and for those around you. It shall come to you in time, as your destiny unfolds. I shall see you soon. Until then, hold your heart close and know that you are not alone.” And with these final enigmatic words, this great being disappears, vanishing into a column of glowing light.

I look around and see the stunned looks upon the face of my friends, no doubt identical to the look upon mine, but before I can speak, another figure appears before me. This one does not appear in a column of light, but instead coalesces out of the many shadows of this place, which swirl around to form a familiar figure, though I cannot place it at first. Suddenly it hits me, and I know instantly who the shadowy figure is – Sarevok!

Reflections, Part 2

Before I can open my mouth, the spectre before me starts to talk. The voice is the same dread voice that has tormented my dreams for so long; the voice that killed my foster father; the voice that screamed out for mercy as I drove my sword into his heart; the voice that so recently tormented me in the tests I faced before killing Irenicus. “So. You have finally arrived. I have been waiting for you.”

I try to open my mouth to speak, but am so overcome with shock that I cannot. Instead, my thoughts race ahead. Waiting for me? What does he mean by that? Suddenly Imoen rushes past me, to stand face to face with the spectre, “Sarevok! What are you doing here?! Get away from us!” she cries. Imoen has never forgiven Sarevok for his murder of Gorion, but she was not the one who saw the look in his eyes as the lifeblood rushed from his dying body. That look shall haunt me to my grave, of this I am certain.

“Silence,” he says with a dismissive look. “I have waited for Avanguara and my words are for her only,” he continues, looking past Imoen, and back towards myself.

I gently push Imoen to one side, to get a better view of the shade of my dead brother. The first of my siblings to fall beneath my swords, my traitorous mind recalls. “Who are you? Are you really Sarevok? And if you are, what are doing here?” I say, surprised by the calm in my own voice. After all that has happened today, seeing my dead half-brother standing before me is no great shock.

“It is truly I. Since our last meeting I have done nothing but attempt to re-form myself. As you will recall, it is your will that shapes our father's realm...whether you are aware of what you do or not. I myself am nothing, now, but the shadow you see before you. And as to why I am here? I wish to make a deal, naturally. I have little to lose, dear 'sister'...and plenty to gain. As do you. And I have waited here a considerable time to parley with you.”

The warnings about betrayal from the ancient spirits come back to me, and I choose my next words carefully, still finding if difficult to believe that it really is Sarevok standing before. “What exactly is it that you want, Sarevok?”

“What do you think I would want, dear sister?” he says with a sneer, “I wish to exist...I wish to be alive again. You can do that. The smallest fraction of your soul, my sister...given freely, with the taint of our dead father within it. That would recreate my flesh, restore my mortality ... Sarevok would live again!”

My mind is full of shock at his words – he wants to live again?! Still, I am careful to keep my voice neutral as I reply. “I've just spent the last month of so recovering my soul from a mad elven wizard – tell me this, why would I want to give up a part of it again, and what benefit could you possible be to me?”

“There is the knowledge of how to leave this plane of yours, Avanguara. That is one thing I can give you, although I did not know that when I came here. No, what I offer you is knowledge that is much more relevant. Something that dates back to my mortal days when I was gaining power within the Iron Throne. Something that you will find...most intriguing. I know where your destiny lies. I know where you must go to find it. Search about on your own and it will soon be too late...the time of the old prophecies is upon us. Or upon you, at least. What say you?”

Knowledge...what I desperately need right now. I feel like a blind person, stumbling along with no knowledge of where or when I am. Damn him for knowing what it is that I need most right now! “Where did you get all of this knowledge from then? I doubt that there are many libraries here in the abyss.”

“I gathered much of the old lore when I was alive, my sister. As you will recall, it was my goal to assume the mantle of our father. I am dead, perhaps, but the lore still holds true...for you. I you accept my offer, all that I know I will freely share with you.”

I am very tempted by his offer, but I must know one more thing before I consent to this mad plan of his. “And what will you do with your life, should I choose to grant you what you wish?” I ask in a deceptive tone of voice. His answer is all-important, for I will not be responsible for realising another evil man upon Faerun – there is an abundant enough supply already.

“I...do not know. Avoid crossing you, dear sister, certainly that. My ambition was everything, once. Now that the taint is gone, I...am unsure. But I wish to live.”

My mind is full of whirling images, coming one after another. I see Gorion's dead body, but then I see Sarevok lying there dead. A part of me knows that that debt is paid already. An eye for an eye and all that I suppose. If I accept, I will receive knowledge that is vital to my survival, for I have no doubt that I will not live long without it. Even if all he can tell me is how to leave this hellish place, then that will be worthwhile, for I have no idea of how to do that – ye gods, I don't even know how I got here. And who knows – perhaps there is the chance of redemption for him. A part of me knows that such a thing would go some way to repaying the debt of blood and death I owe to so many people who have crossed my path. I take a deep breath before giving my final answer, and know that the fate of both many people may rest upon this. I pray to the Gods that I have made the right choice here. I speak the fatal words: “Very well, I agree to your demands.” I hear loud gasps from my friends, and Imoen turns to give me an amazed look.

Almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I can feel power gathering in the air. I have experienced much, but never power quite like this before. I sense a gentle hand reaching into me, and a small part of me is being removed; though oddly enough, I do not feel any pain at all. So unlike when Irenicus ripped my entire soul from me...but yet, somehow similar. I can feel the spark moving towards Sarevok, and judging by the awe-struck look upon his ghostly face, so can he. The spark passes into him, and a sudden moment of weakness overcomes me, though it quickly passes. I feel somehow different...but I am not sure how.

Sarevok's ghostly body solidifies out of the swirling mists that surround the portal he appeared from. It is the first time I have seen him without his armour, and it is all I can do not to stare at him. He is very tall, almost as tall as Minsc, and with a heavily muscled body that speaks of long hours of training. His skin is a light brown colour and covered in several ornate tattoos, while his head is bare. It is his eyes that shock me though, for they are a deep golden colour throughout, and seem to glow with an unearthly radiance. A large scar runs across the left side of his jaw, and it reminds me of the last time I was this close to him, deep beneath the city of Baldur's Gate. It was my long sword, Spider's Bane, which inflicted that wound upon him, while my other sword, The Burning Earth, was driven deep into his belly, causing his lifeblood to spew out of his mouth in a terrible fountain. My musings are cut suddenly short by the sound of his triumphant voice, booming loudly in this most unnatural of places.

“So I have cheated death! Thank you, dear sister...no gift could please me more. I...live! Flesh and blood and bone! I am alive!” He proclaims in a loud voice, and then laughs a hollow laugh that chills me to the core. “I swore I would scratch and crawl my way back into the world of the living...and I have done it!”

Once again, I am interrupted before I can respond to him, but this time by my love. Anomen speaks in a quiet voice, almost as though he cannot believe what he has witnessed, and I can understand why. Even I can barely believe it, and I am the one making the decisions. “Not truly dead, not truly alive. This... this thing is an abomination, Avanguara. It is not even undead. I hope you know what you are doing.” My love's voice sounds subdued and I detect a note of fear. I turn to give him a reassuring glance, and see worry written all over his face. For someone devoted to fighting against evil and the unnatural, my reborn brother is something of a shock.

“Thank you, Avanguara. I am pleased.” Sarevok says next, his voice sounding almost sincere as he mouths those simple words, and some of the fears within me begin to recede. At least he is not at our throats – or at least, not yet.

“I am glad to see that it has worked, though I do not feel any different,” I reply, still keeping a wary eye on my brother.

“Did I not say it was only an insignificant portion? I suspected that by doing it here, in this place, it might work...but I was not sure. It is good to see that I was correct after all,” he says in a smug sounding tone of voice, but I cannot believe what I have just heard, and it seems that Anomen and Imoen feel the same way.

Anomen is the first to speak, and his voice is rich with fury. “So you did not know... and you put the life of my love at risk! How dare you, vile beast!” I place a restraining hand on his arm as he moves past me, one hand reaching for the powerful war hammer that hangs at his side.
Imoen interjects as well. “You weren't sure that it would work?! I knew it. You were bluffing the whole time!” Like my love, she too sounds furious, but at least she is not reaching for her weapons, or one of the many wands that hang from her belt.

Sarevok responds in condescending tone of voice, giving harsh looks to both of them. “I did not get to where I did in life without risk, fools. It was no bluff...I knew enough to suspect that it might work, since our heritage was the same. But none of that is important. I imagine you are eager to hear what I have to say.”

I nod, eager to have this over and done with.

“The first thing I shall tell you of is how to leave this pocket plane that you have created. It is an extension of your will, Avanguara...it exists because you need it to exist. It is this plane that creates the portal out, but it will not take you where you wish to go. It takes you where you need to be. Or, perhaps, where you believe you need to be. But I cannot give you the ability to make this plane create such a portal. There are many barred passages in this plane of yours that I know little of. One, however, I can open...and beyond it lies what you seek. Watch...” A look of concentration passes over his face and his gestures towards the far side of the chamber. For the first time, I notice a shimmering wall blocking what looks to be a flight of steps, leading to...well, I have no idea. As I look around I notice four other gateways, all leading off the main chamber. Suddenly the wall of force that guards the first set of stairs begins to shimmer and suddenly fades away into nothingness, leaving a sharp, acrid smell hovering in the warm air of this place. I am impressed, and look towards Sarevok with a new feeling of respect.

He continues speaking, barely noticing the awed looks my party give him. “Enter that room and face your challenge, Avanguara. It will be difficult...of that I have no doubt. Once you have completed that challenge, you will be able to leave this plane of yours. It does not, however, take you where you wish to go... it takes you where you need to be. And I, as I said, know where that is. In my youth, I spent much of my time looking into the old lore of the dead Bhaal priesthood. I unearthed one of the old prophecies from an uncooperative sect of Cyric...one that spoke extensively of this time now upon us. The Sword Coast will run red with blood, yes...but the battles will culminate in a great struggle within a city to the south, the Tethyrian city of Saradush. It is there that you must go, where the first step of the prophecy will unfold. Although, naturally, you must face your challenge first.”
Once again, a feeling of caution crosses my soul. “How do I know I can trust what you say?”

“Of course you cannot trust me. Why would you? Take me with you, Avanguara.” Surprise does not begin to describe what I feel at these words, and it appears I am not the only one.

“Take you with us?! So you can betray us, stab us in the back? Why would we ever want you with us, Sarevok?” Imoen cries, looking at him with angry eyes.

“I once was sure that the old prophecies centred around me. Even if that is no longer the case, I know more about them than perhaps anyone. I can help you, Avanguara. With the challenge in that room and more. Of course, I do this for no selfless reason. There is power in your wake, Avanguara. I am sure I am not the first to tell you this. And there is no better opportunity for me elsewhere. Besides...you defeated me long ago. You have earned my respect. Think of it, Avanguara! Brother and sister, side by side!”

Still hardly able to believe my ears I speak next, “And what use might you be to me?”

“Aside from the knowledge I retain, I am a warrior of no small ability. You fought me, Avanguara, you would know. I have only become stronger from my time in Hell. Under one such as you, I could be greater, still.”
He speaks the truth here at least, for he is a truly formidable warrior, and we are a little under strength since Jan returned home...but how do I know I can trust him? Does he deserve a second chance at living a good life? For a long time I have wondered what would have happened if he had been raised by someone as kind as Gorion – I doubt he would have tried to start a war that would lead to his death. This could be a chance to redeem him, and I cannot refuse it. “And how would I know that you wouldn't turn on me as soon as it suited you?” I ask, still cautious though my mind is half made up already.

“I will take an oath to follow you, my sister, if that will satisfy. Here...in this place...such an oath would have power, like a geas. I could not betray you.” He replies in a solemn tone of voice, and a part of me knows that he speaks the truth. There is a connection of sort between us now, and I can feel, deep inside of me, that he will not betray me. Even one such as he has some small measure of honour I suppose.

I remember Yoshimo though, and what a geas did to him – I will not place such a thing upon anyone, even Sarevok. “No, there is no need for an oath. I trust you. Join me and let's go.” As I speak these words, disapproving gasps sing out around me and a look of shock enters his eyes. I wonder if this is the first time that someone has ever trusted him. This impression is strengthened by his next words.

“You...will not require an oath? An...odd...choice, sister. I would have required it of you. If I had even let you live. As you wish, then...let us attend to your challenge.”

Keldorn is the only one of my friends to speak as they all look at Sarevok in shock, unable to fully comprehend al that has happened. “You... you bring such an animal amongst us, without any sort of restraint? I am... uncomfortable with such an arrangement. How can you trust this man?”
I look at him with a small feeling of sadness within me. I should have known better than to expect Keldorn to be more understanding. He may be a good man, one of the best I have ever met, but he can be harsh in his opinions.

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Keldorn, and I do not approve of binding people against their wishes. Besides which, as potentially dangerous as he may be, we five are more than a match for him. But I have an...intuition...if you wish, that he will not betray us. Perhaps it is because he shares part of my soul, I know not.” Keldorn nods at my words, accepting my judgement in the matter, though I am sure he will still have his doubts. No matter, for I have them also and will be keeping a careful watch on this reborn brother of mine.

I am not looking forward to whatever challenge awaits me in the room the passage leads to, but it seems we have no choice if we ever wish to leave this hellhole. I look over my friends and companions before speaking. “Is everyone ready to face whatever threat may await us in this room?” They all nod at me, their faces solemn. “Good then. Aerie, Imoen and Anomen, summon whatever creatures you feel will help as most in the battle, and then cast some protective spells, if you please.”

I turn to face Sarevok as the three spellcasters begin their incantations to summon a horde of creatures to aid us. “Sarevok, I want you up on the front lines with myself, Keldorn and Anomen. Try not to get isolated in the fight, and concentrate on taking out any enemy spellcasters as quickly as you can. If you see any anyone getting too close to Imoen or Aerie, drop back and protect them. The same applies if you see any of us three getting into serious trouble. We will do the same for you.” I reach into my backpack and hand him several powerful healing potions. “Take these, and don't forget to use them if you get badly hurt. Do you understand?” I ask him sharply.

He nods once as he accepts the potions, “I do. You plan well, sister.”
Is that a note of respect I detect in his voice? “I've had a lot of practice fighting over the past year or so.” I say in a nonchalant tone of voice, though my mind adds to the sentence. Even since I was forced to leave Candlekeep and you killed my father.

He nods again, his glowing eyes showing nothing of his emotions. I turn around to see several magical constructs and summoned beings standing behind me. Two large swords hang motionless in the air, while an aerial stalker and two huge skeletons round off the group. “Everyone ready?” I ask one final time. “Then let's go.”

We cross over the uneven stone floor and ascend the flight of stairs behind the gate Sarevok opened. The room ahead is round and smaller than the main chamber. The stench of sulphur fills the air, apparently emanating from the narrow channels of lava that cross the room which join together to encircle a small platform in the centre of the chamber. I suddenly notice a middle aged human man standing on this platform. He is somewhat overweight and wears clothes similar to those worn by the peasants I have seen on my journeys. At first glance he appears to normal, but then I notice he is standing stock still, and not even breathing. His eyes are wide open and have a strange look in them – like that of a rabid wolf. Those eyes remind of someone else, though I know not who...a sudden chill runs through me as I remember where I saw that look in a person's eyes before. The first night after I left Candlekeep, the man who led the ambush to kill Gorion, he had that self-same look in his eyes. And now that man stands beside me, allegedly in my service. A part of me wonders if I was foolish not to request an oath of loyalty from Sarevok when I had the chance, but this thought is driven from my mind, as the man in front of me comes to life. Conscious, his eyes are even more disturbing, showing little hint of anything humane and I realise that he must be a Bhaalspawn too, and one who has surrendered all to the taint. I am not sure how exactly I know this, but his words reflect this, though I barely listen, chilled to the core by my thoughts.

That could have been me, a part of my mind says. I know the joy in killing his speaks of...the screams of the dying warm my heart. I may try to deny it but I cannot. The siren song of the taint intensifies in volume, calling to me to use the powers it alone can grant me. I can feel the dread power of the Slayer begin to overwhelm me as it has done in the past, and it takes an effort of supreme will to drown out that voice, and thrust the Slayer back into the empty corner of my mind it should occupy. I have had much practice at doing this since Irenicus stole my soul, but this is the first time it has called so loudly since I was restored. I attempt to concentrate of the man's words again. He is still speaking, for my internal struggle took but moments, though it has left me feeling as weak and tired as a new-born babe.

His voice is as strange as the look in his eyes; sounding more like the sibilant hiss of a serpent than the voice of a human, but even this is not so chilling as his words. This man has killed an untold number of innocents, and whatever my crimes may be I know that I have tried to kill only when necessary. His last words are spoken in a fearful tone of voice, “After all...the only thing you need to fear...is retribution.” With that final sentence, he falls down dead, his body dissolving into a cloud of floating lights. I look over to see Sarevok staring at the cloud with a look of fear coating his face. I wonder if he remembers what it was like to...dissolve like that? I am denied the chance to ask my question, as several groups of assorted monsters are tumbling out of the ring of portals that surrounds one side of the room. I do not even hesitate for a second before calling out to my friends, “Attack!”

As I race across the room, I can hear Aerie and Imoen chanting the words that will release the magic powers they control. I draw my swords to face the first group of monsters in front of me. Judging by the sounds of battle that I can hear around me, Sarevok, Anomen and Keldorn have been equally quick. It is a group of kobolds, the pesky dog-like monsters I have faced before so many times. They manage to loosen a volley of arrows at me as I charge towards them, but even the ones that hit do not manage to penetrate my skin, a legacy of the gifts I gained in Hell. My two swords feel like extensions of my own body, so skilled am I with them, and almost unconsciously, I bat away the swords offered up by the first two kobolds, then reverse my strokes to cut glancing blows across their throats. One dies instantly, frothing blood at the mouth as it cries out. The other manages to dodge back in time, but a further flurry of blows and cuts soon slice his body into small chunks. I taste his blood on my lips as it splatters across me, but this is something I am well used to. I dive further forward towards the remaining kobolds and quickly deal with them, their small swords and clumsy strikes being no match for the whirling path of death my long swords carve through them. I do not even take a single wound in the encounter.

I look around at the rest of the room and see my companions making equally short work of the foes they face. Aerie and Imoen have reverted to bows and slings, not seeing the need to waste magic spells upon the weak foes we face, and help Anomen to finish off a particularly stubborn gnoll. I cannot watch for long however, as a further group of monsters spill out from the portal. This lot are sahuagin and will pose a more serious threat than the kobolds. Once again, I dive into their midst, carving a path of death and destruction as I move. One swings a large spear at me, but I duck under it and thrust my swords through its soft belly, taking a savage pleasure from the look of startled agony that crosses it face. I whirl around and quickly pick off the remaining sahuagin. They are more skilful with their weapons than the kobolds, but the weak enchantments on their blades are no match for me, and once again, I do not take a single wound.

This dance of death continues for some time, with progressively larger and more dangerous opponents appearing. My enemies have not been skilful, but they have been many, and several have wielded enchanted weapons strong enough to pierce my skin. I have just finished cutting down a powerful drow cleric, and am dripping blood from a multitude of wounds that I have taken, when a sudden hush falls across the room. After an eternity of battle, no more monsters have appeared and I look about the gore-splattered chamber, noting the piles of bodies that lie around each portal. We are all wounded, even Aerie and Imoen, for a rogue ogre mage let off a fireball in their vicinity. The creatures we summoned to aid us are also gone, either killed in battle or their magic expired.

Before I can ask Aerie and Anomen to begin healing everyone, the man suddenly reappears in the centre of the room. He glances over me, and I feel as though I am being...judged...by him. He speaks again, still in that unnatural voice. “So...you survived retribution.” I feel as though I can detect a note of surprise and even...jealousy in his voice before he continues on, in a dreamy tone of voice. “But then, you know how to kill a lot better than I did. Strange thing is, the longer you survive the more blood you have on your hands, and there's never an end to the retribution.” His words almost drive me to my knees for they reflect many of the dark thought I have been having since the fall of Irenicus. He does not appear to notice, and speaks again, this time in a more hopeful tone of voice, “Or is there?”

Suddenly the room turns to black, and a sense of dizziness overwhelms me. When the room reforms, it has changed almost beyond recognition. The man is gone, and so are the channels of lava and the sulphurous fumes they generated. In their place a series of blue discs lie on the floor, arranged in a circle. The walls have also changed, as the portals have disappeared completely, and the walls of the chamber are smooth and plain.

I can also feel a difference within myself, it is subtle, but somehow I know that I have formed a link of sorts to this place, and if need be could return here with ease. I am not sure how I know this, but as the thoughts appear in my mind I am suddenly certain of their truth. I am also aware of the opening of a portal down in the main room, a portal that I hope will lead us from this eerie place. I am unsure of what the future will hold for myself and my companions, but I am sure it will be as bloody as anything I have experienced before. A corner of my mind wonders if this is the way the rest of my life will turn out, but ignore, for now is not the time for such doubts. I must be strong if I am to survive what will come next.

I look down at my bleeding arm with interest - it has been so long since I have had a corporeal body that even the pain and hurt of my wounds is welcome. At last I can feel again! I am alive once more, thanks to that do-gooder sister of mine, and it is oh-so-sweet. It is odd to think that the one who spent so much time trying to kill me, and to whom I caused so much pain, has been the one to return me to life. I do not understand why she would do such a thing, but no matter, I am alive, and that is all there is to it! My mind still shies away from the memories of *that* time...that time in between my lives...yes that is the way to describe it - the time in between.

I am so busy staring at my wounds that I almost do not notice the hesitant approach of the pale elf...Aerie I believe her name is. Still, she is of no matter to me, though her petty attempts to quell the fear that I so obviously cause in her bring me a strange kind of joy. She is weak looking, even for an elf, with thin limbs and a mess of pale blond hair. I can almost sense the nervousness in her as she draws nearer, her mouth half open as though to ask a question. She speaks in a hesitant tone of voice that barely hides her fear. I listen to her mumbled words vaguely - it appears that my *beloved* sister has sent her to heal me while the other cleric attends to her wounds. I nod at her, and am most pleased at her barely concealed flinch...I hear the mumbled words of her healing chant as she calls upon the powers of whatever charlatan god she serves.

My time in between has shown me the folly of ever trusting in those...things...that call themselves gods. They chain their worshippers like slaves to their sides, handing out measly powers in return for undying gratitude - make no mistake, I shall never succumb to *that* folly again. I hiss as I feel the cool healing powers wash over me and watch with interest as my gaping wounds close to faint lines, which then fade away themselves. It appears that the elf is a cleric of no small power to leave not even a trace upon my skin.

Still, she scuttles away like a cockroach to attend to the old fool paladin that my sister allows to tag along. As to why she suffers such an old, weak man in her party is beyond me - when I controlled armies of warriors no one with a single grey hair was allowed, let alone someone with a head as white as snow. For all his age though, he walks with pride - another deluded fool following the laws of goodness and charity laid down to control him by his 'Gods'. Ha, I shall enjoy baiting him as we continue on, for if I cannot kill him, as I would prefer to do, then I will make do with mental torments. Oh...see how he glares at me, oh so fiercely...so proud and noble...well, I have no doubt he is as foolish as all the other paladin's I have known. Though most of them I knew only long enough to drive my sword into their belly, and I may have to tolerate him a little longer.

What is this? Ah, my sister wishes us to return to the lower room now we are all healed. See how she boldly walks at the front, with the red knight as her side - does he truly realise how much he resembles a boiled lobster - I think not. He seems to be another do-gooder type, worshipping another foolish God...he is younger than the paladin, but will no doubt be as easy to provoke - does he truly thinks I missed his wary glances as she spoke to me before? It seems that my sister is as devoid of taste in men as she is in her actions, judging by the way that he takes her hand as they walk ahead of me.

At least she is not as nauseating as the pink-haired mage freak who chats with the elf...she truly is a weak one, unworthy of Bhaal's blood...but...she still has that blood while I do not...hah, a matter of luck no doubt. Shielded by her sister I am sure, otherwise she would be dead by now. I stalk down the wide stairs several paces behind them...they think themselves so far above me, but I know the truth...their goodness and virtue shall do them no good in the end. All men are the same, begging and pleading when death comes knocking at their door. My traitorous mind reminds me that I was no different, but I ignore it - I am *nothing* like them!

I am shaken from my thoughts by the appearance of the small imp I have noticed flitting about here while I was...in between. It seems the others find his prattle amusing, for they all stand their laughing and jesting as he dives through my sister's pack, while she stands there looking as shocked as someone who wakes to find a sword in their belly...though the look does not last as long on them! Hah, if this is the weakness and childishness that goodness provokes, I am glad to have nothing of it! The imp appears from her pack with a mournful expression, for it appears the flying rat has found nothing of use after all. As to why my sire ever tolerate such an ... annoyance ... is beyond me.

My sire. Bhaal. God of Murder. He is no longer my sire I suppose, for I can feel nothing of his glorious taint within me. A momentary feeling of weakness overtakes me at this loss, but I brush it aside. I may no longer be a Bhaalspawn, but I am still Sarevok, and I will triumph! It seems that in place of the taint is the portion of my sister's soul that she gifted to me. It feels...odd...I suppose...full of *goodness* and *light*. Hah! Well those weak feeling will serve only as a warning to me...she will never claim Bhaal's powers with those kind of attitudes!

My sister approaches...out of this entire motley band she is the only one worthy of my attention and respect, and even then, only barely. She speaks, in a soft voice, so weak it sounds!

"Sarevok," she says, "you use a two handed sword and crossbow, I believe?"

I nod, she has a good memory, for I carry no crossbow now, and have not since before the time before the time ... in between.

"Well then, you might find these useful." She hands me a crossbow and a large two-handed sword along with some bolts. Even with my limited knowledge of the arcane arts (what need has a warrior of such weak things?) I can feel the magic radiating off of them - they are powerful magic weapons, of that there is no doubt. "The sword is a vorpal sword we acquired from some githyanki, and is substantially more powerful than the weapon you wield at present, while the crossbow and bolts should prove useful if you ever need to use ranged weapons." She hands them to me and I cannot speak - she has a vorpal sword lurking in her pack?! I have underestimated her power, or so it seems, for the concept of not using such a powerful weapon is alien to me - power is there to be used and exploited to the full! The crossbow is also enchanted, though not as powerfully as the sword, and I doubt I will ever use it. Ranged weapons are the tools of the weak; of those who cannot handle the cut and thrust of close combat.

I hang the crossbow on my belt, while I find the feel of my new weapon. I have never wielded one so balanced...so *perfect*. It feels like an extension of my own body, and I look forward to testing it in our next battle. My sister stands there watching me with a faint smile on her face, and I feel...shame...within me, that I, the mighty Sarevok, should be providing *entertainment* for her. I stop my practise and glare at her harshly - I will not harm her, I know this much, but that does not mean that I like her. I am still unsure as to why she did not request an oath of allegiance to me - does she not see that my power is sufficient to kill her and her friends where they stand? Still, even without the oath I will not kill her, for she is the doorway out of this plane, and may be the passage to powers untold. If need be, I can always kill her later and acquire the power she has gained for myself. The mild feelings of unease that this thought brings to me are ignored. Sarevok feels anger, fury and rage, not 'mild feelings of unease'!

Her next words are addressed to the group as a whole, and I watch with scorn as they all sycophantically follow her words. You will never catch me doing anything like that - I inspire fear and respect in others, but do not feel it towards them. "Have any of you ever been to Saradush before? I know nothing of the place and do not wish to step through the portal totally unawares," she asks.

It seems the mewling elf has, judging by her stammered words - she is nearly as bad as that...what was his name?...Khalid, that was the one! Hah, even from the little I knew of him, his weakling stammer was apparent. This makes me wonder; where are the other companions she fought with from before my time...in between? The stupid mage is there, but I do not see the ugly druid, nor her fawning husband. Where are the giant oaf and his barbarian witch as well? With any luck they are dead, and will trouble me no longer. To think that I, Sarevok, have outlived all of those oh-so-righteous ones who sought to kill me is a sweet thought indeed.

It seems that this elf once visited Saradush, though with a circus of all things - I wonder if my sister has any tumblers to join us in addition to the clown-like elf and the other freaks that follow her. It appears her words please my sister though, for she motions for us all to step through the portal where I started my life anew.

We step through the portal into a vortex of swirling nothingness...even one such as I feels fear at this. Such magical pathways are dangerous if one is not fully in control, but my sister is the only one with the power to control it, so I am forced to...trust...her. What an alien concept trust is to me. Trust is for the weak and the foolish who cannot guarantee the loyalty of their followers - not that I am her follower of course. I merely walk the same way, for this time, hoping to garner what wealth and power I can.

Suddenly a familiar smell pierces the air...it is the smell of wet stone...the smell of a city after the rain. I have never been one for the natural world, but my heart swells as I feel the cool breeze play upon my skin, while I breathe deep in the fresh air, so sweet after the sulphurous atmosphere of the Lower Planes where I have spent so much time recently. I look around me at the city we find ourselves in. In many ways, it reminds of Baldur's Gate - the same cobbled roads, the same familiar smells and sights...ah, it is good to be alive once more! A closer looks reveals piles of dead bodies that line the streets, and the acrid stench of burning flesh fills the air, while the sounds of battle drift over the city walls. It seems that this city is under a siege of sorts, which is no bad thing, for it means we will soon have a chance to test our mettle against worthier foes than illusionary kobolds and drow.

I am so involved with taking in my surroundings that I almost do not hear the muttering of the group of peasants on the nearby flight of steps. It appears they are citizens of Saradush, with some petty grievance or another, and wish to see the leader of this place - one Gromnir Il'Khan, by the sounds of things. The guards on the gates do their duty and are not letting any of the riffraff in. Just as well, for when I ruled the Iron Throne, no mere peasant supplicant was ever allowed into my presence...apart from on the wrong end of a spear, haha!

One of them though seems to be more though. She is a tall woman, with red hair, dressed all in blue. For some strange reason she seems familiar to me, as is the name the peasants call her by. Melissan...where have I heard that name before? Something in the way she moves triggers a memory in my mind...I was very young then, and I am in a room full of blood and screaming children...there are people about, wielding large knives and...I am shaken from my memories by the words of this strangely familiar woman. By some strange power, she knows that my sister is a Bhaalspawn...for a moment I wonder why she does not sense the power within *me* as well, before I bitterly recall that I am no longer a Bhaalspawn, but am only a mere mortal. Still, that will not last for long if I have my way!

The soldiers that guard the gateway seem to believe that we are some kind of spies despite all the protestations of this woman, and it appears they truly believe that *they* can kill *us*! What folly this is! Do they not know the might of the people who face them? I was never one to be troubled by guards of all things, and that has not changed. My sister swears fiercely, though I know not why...surely all Bhaalspawn welcome the coming of battle? No matter, she calls for us to attack, and I do so gladly. I long to test my new sword in battle, and do not have long to wait. I charge towards two startled looking guards, and swing my vorpal sword at one of them.

By some strange power the sword flows upwards, towards the guard's neck. I desperately try to reverse my thrust, for even the most powerful sword will have difficulty cleaving through the thick neck of an orc, and I have another opponent to face. I cannot stop the sword however, and I almost drop it when it carves through the orc's neck like a hot knife through butter. It appears this truly is a powerful magical sword as I watch the spirit of the orc leave his body. A glancing blow across my breastplate snaps me back to reality, and I turn to face my remaining foe. This time the sword's magic appears less evident, though it's cutting edge is as sharp as any I have seen, and it continually swings towards the most vulnerable parts of his body. It does not take me long to kill this one too, and I rejoice at the feeling of a fountain of warm blood across my face. The salty taste upon my lips is a welcome as the kiss of a lover to me. In many ways, death is the only lover I have ever known.

I stand down, and look around me - it appears my sister's allies have been equally quick in despatching their foes, and looking closer I can see that too must wield powerful weapons. It is the only way I can account for the mutilated bodies that surround us. The sight of them warms my heart, for now the people of this town will know of the folly of daring to attack Sarevok in his prime! The part of me that is from my sister feels different though...it is sickened and disgusted by the carnage. Why this should be I have no idea - those guards attacked us, and we killed them...what would she have us do, stand there and let them kill *us*? I have been...in between once, and have no desire to repeat the experience. Even the thought of it sends a shudder through my body, but I quickly pull myself together, and focus on the words of this Melissan woman.

"Greetings, Avanguara. I am Melissan - a friend. Welcome to Saradush. I regret your first encounter in this town was so... bloody," the woman says in her cultured voice as she looks around the bloody steps with a squeamish expression upon her face. Something about this does not ring true, but I am not sure what...

"How do you know my name, and how do I know I can trust you? If you had not spoken those guards would not have attacked me, and I regret their deaths." My sister's weakness continues to shock me - does she truly regret the deaths of these pathetic fools? The part of me that is her tells me that this is the truth, but I will never understand such an attitude.

"I realise your life has been one of bloodshed and betrayals. I can offer you no guarantees. I only offer the truth, and hope you will see it is in your own best interest to aid me. I have watched the events of your life quite closely, Avanguara, as I do with all the progeny of the Lord of Murder. I have seen many of your kin slain over these past months."

At this, my sister looks warily at Melissan, and her 'friends' draw closer towards her, no doubt fearful of this strange woman's powers. "Why have you been watching me? Are you another power-hungry mage desperate to seize my power? If you are, I suggest that you look for power elsewhere. I am not worth the bother, trust me." What is this? Is my sister finally showing some spine? Hah, I did not think she would have it in her, though I suppose she cannot be all weakness to have survived this far.

"You might consider me to be a... guardian, for want of a better term. I know the prophecies of Alaundo, I know some feel they allude to the return of Bhaal to the Realms. By taking an active interest in the fate of Bhaal's offspring - you, and those like you - I hope to prevent the Lord of Murder from returning to the Realms, in any form."

"A noble goal, but I see little to suggest that you are anything other than another meddler in the fate of the children. Before I decide to trust you, answer me some questions. You say you have studied the Children of Bhaal for some time. Do you have any knowledge of what will face us in the end?" my sister asks, her stance one of wariness.

"I may do, but I will not tell you until I am sure of your intent. The knowledge I have is powerful, and I will not risk it falling into the hands of evil. The presence of this one here," and she gestures towards me as though I am nothing more than something the cat has dragged in - how dare she! "...does not fill me with confidence, I must admit."

My sister glares at Melissan harshly before speaking. "You do not need to fear Sarevok, Melissan. He poses no threat to you, or to the good people of Saradush." My sister is a bigger fool than I thought to say that I am 'no danger' to the pathetic town folk. I am the most dangerous thing they will ever face! It is all I can do not to attack her for this insolence, and the only thing stopping me from doing so is the knowledge that she will be the path to great power for me. Still, I will have words with her later. She continues on, oblivious to my rage, " I don't suppose you have any amazingly difficult tasks you wish me to perform in return for your information?"

Now it is the strange woman's turn to glare harshly. "Your sarcasm is misplaced, but yes, I do have something you may do, which might prove your worth." My sister nods sardonically at this, and I cannot blame her. "I do not know how you came to be here, Avanguara, but I fear you are now trapped here in Saradush like the rest of us."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess it's my job to get everyone out of this 'trap'," my sister interjects, her whole demeanour one of condescension. It is obvious even to I that she dislikes this woman intensely.

Melissan ignores her however; "there is little hope of escape from this besieged town. In addition to the army surrounding us, dark magic prevents us from even sending a message beyond the walls. Beyond the walls of Saradush awaits the army of Yaga Shura. They have laid siege to this town, seeking the death of all those here who share your tainted blood. First we must deal with General Gromnir - the man who now runs the city of Saradush. Gromnir is also a Child of Bhaal, and was once a powerful general. I brought him and his loyal men here to protect Saradush and the many Bhaalspawn gathered here seeking sanctuary. But Gromnir is mad. He has barricaded himself in the castle throne room, and his troops run amok through the town with no regard for the lives and rights of the citizens of Saradush. The actions of Gromnir and his soldiers have caused dissension within the town, and made it almost impossible for the loyal Saradush militia to defend the walls. We must first defeat the enemy within before we can end this siege. You must find a way to get inside the castle to Gromnir. Perhaps you can reason with him... but I fear he is beyond reason. I am afraid you will have to kill the General to give Saradush any hope of surviving the siege."

"So let me get this straight. You are another mage who has done something foolish, and you want me to solve your problem, in return for which I get some unspecified information, which may or may not be of use to me." I swell with pride as I hear my sister say this - at last she is proving herself worthy of Bhaal's blood! Perhaps there is hope for her after all. "If the lives of the innocent people of this town were not at stake, Melissan, I would tell you to go away and perform anatomically impossible acts with a sharp spear, but for them, I will do as you request. For the sake of the town, and the town alone, I will try to reason with this mad general." I shake my head at these words...there truly *is* no hope for her. The inherent patheticness of goodness has wormed its way deep into her heart, and it is too late to hope that she will change her path. If the taint of Bhaal cannot corrupt her, nothing can. It is such a shame, for if she would but use the gifts that the taint offers then she could be even greater. She would stand astride the world like a mighty colossus, and the power she would hand out to her friends and I would be multiplied enormously! Damn her!

"Good then," Melissan replies, "I may be difficult to find after this, Avanguara. The town suffers, and my hours are spent doing what I can for the people. If you have another question, I suggest you ask it now."

"I have no further questions, Melissan," my sister says, before turning away from the strange woman and motioning us all to follow her. I look over my shoulder and see that Melissan is hurrying away in the opposite direction. Even from my position at the back of the group I can here my sister's acerbic comments about Melissan, and the attempts of the red cleric to calm her. It does not appear that he is having any luck, judging by the way that she continues to gesticulate wildly and I watch with amusement as she storms off and he hurries to keep up.

Her temper is the only outward sign of her Bhaal blood that I have seen, but it is only a slight sop to my hopes for her. I can clearly see that she is not worthy of the taint of Bhaal. If only it had been *I* who survived our meeting...before...then things would be very different. I would have arrived at the head of a powerful army of warriors, and after dispatching the puny force at the gates I would have killed the Bhaalspawn so thoughtfully corralled into this place. Then I, Sarevok, would have finally been able to claim the powers of Godhood for myself! I walk down the street after my sister and her friends, lost in thoughts of what might, and what should, have been.

So this is Saradush then...it is so different to how I remember it. When I visited here with the circus so long ago, I did not see much of it, but what little I did see what not like this. The people were different then...happier I suppose. Now the place reeks of death and bloodshed, and sends a shiver down my spine. Judging by the way the others look around they are equally disturbed by our surroundings...all except Sarevok that is. He seems to revel in being in this place, and the horrid sights seem to please him. I do not understand why Avan agreed to take such an evil, wicked man with us, and why she would give him part of her soul. I cannot imagine doing such a thing for someone like him...after all he killed her father! If the slavers who captured me suddenly appeared, I would give them nothing, except the power of my spells!

This place unsettles me deeply, and the fireballs raining down scare me to my core. When one whistled down before, I could feel the heat of the explosion against my back, and it reminded of *that* day...that day when I lost my wings. I can feel the tears building up within myself at the memory, and I try to suppress them, for I do not want the others to continue thinking of me as 'weak' Aerie. I am a powerful mage and a loyal servant of Baervan Wildwanderer, and so much more than the girl Avan rescued from the circus in Athkatla. Why if it wasn't for her, the circus would most likely have remained under Kalah's control, and I would still be an ogre! I miss my wings, but being forced into a big, clumping body like that was a hundred times worse!

She too is different now...when we were in Suldanesselar, she seemed happier than I have ever seen her before, but the events of the past few hours have turned her back into the powerful kensai she is renowned for being. Avan my friend is hidden under the cover of Avanguara the hero once more, and it saddens me. She seems to numb herself to everything around her, and while I may envy her for that at times, if you numb yourself to the bad things about life, eventually you will numb yourself to the good things as well. I hope that this doesn't happen to her, but I am afraid that it will one day, if she has to go on fighting much longer.

We all follow Avan through the doorway to the town's only inn, the Tankard Tree. It is a large enough inn, and considerably nicer than the Copper Coronet, but is not somewhere I would like to pass a lot of time...some of the guards sitting near the door look terribly fierce, and I keep an eye on them as we walk past. It seems that they are more interested in pestering one of the barmaids though, and even though she tells them to leave her alone, they do not! Avan turns around upon hearing the commotion, and the look in her face sends icy feelings deep into my soul. The guards see her look and one of them stands up, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

When he speaks, his voice is thick, and he reeks of drink. "What do you want? Can't you see we're busy with this cute little lass here?" The barmaid attempts to struggle out of the clutches of the other guard, but he holds her firm. Such treatment makes my blood boil - how dare they be so rude to her!

Avan also appears incensed, judging by the cold fury in her next words. "Play time is over... leave this woman alone."

This only appears to anger the guards further, and his face begins to turn red as he speaks next. "You don't give the orders in this town! We work for Gromnir!"

Anomen also looks angry, and he is the next to speak. "Courtly chivalry demands that you soldiers apologise to this woman. Your crude suggestions are not fit for the ears of any lady, be she barmaid or noble duchess!" Anomen has spent most of his life being raised to be polite to women, and things like this always seem to make him very, very angry. I remember Avan saying once that it was something to do with his father, but she did not say anything more...from the little I know of Anomen's father, I do not think I would want to know.

At Anomen's words however, the guards stop pawing at the poor barmaid, and draw their weapons, as the leader calls out, "Guess it's time to remind everyone who's in charge around here!" They charge towards us, and unfortunately I am closest to them. I quickly mouth the words to a spell of stoneskin, and just in time, for as soon as I feel my skin hardening protectively, a war hammer clangs down loudly on my upraised arm. It does not cause me any harm, but the force of the blow is sufficient to knock me back, right against one of the tables. Just then Avan leaps past me, her swords whirling intricately. By the time I have managed to climb onto the table to get out of the way she has nearly killed him, and I focus myself to call down a spell to finish him off. Five bolts of pure energy speed away from my outstretched hands and earth themselves into the guard's body. This causes him to drop his guard for a second allowing Avan to deliver the final blow. The other guards are nearly dead too, and I watch silently as Sarevok swings his sword clean through the neck of one of them. He may be a very, very evil man, but he is good with a sword. Still, I would much prefer to have Keldorn at my side than him. I shudder as I look over the dead bodies, my heart still pumping hard from the excitement of the fight – even after all the death I have seen it still saddens me to see life wasted like this. I can get used to the blood and the gore, but the loss of life…that is so much more.

I jump down from the table quickly, now that all the guards are dead. The barmaid they were pestering does not appear distressed by the bodies, and gives one of them a vengeful kick as she steps over it. "Gromnir's soldiers are nothing but gutter trash! Maybe it comes from spending all that time running around the sewers."

Avan lays her hand on the barmaid's arm, and softly speaks to her, "Do you know why they are running around the sewers?"

"All I know is a few rumours. They say Gromnir locked all the entrances to the sewers because the invaders could come in through them, but I bet you it's because you can enter the castle that way. But the sewers *are* sealed... and I have no idea how you'd be able to get down there, sorry. I want to thank you for what you did... it's a relief to not have to worry about those soldiers pawing at me anymore. But I better get back to work now," she says quickly, and moves off to continue serving. No one else in the Inn batted an eyelid at the fight that took place, and I realise how demoralised this town must be.

Avan nods, and moves away from her. "Let's find a table towards the back of this place...somewhere a bit less public, we've already attracted more than enough attention to ourselves."

We make our way towards the back of the inn, and set ourselves down at an empty table. It is such a relief to sit down, my legs are getting so tired with all this walking about...why, we have been walking almost all day. I remember when I could never have imagined walking that far...but that was when I still had my wings. Walking for long distances on my legs then was as strange as the idea of crawling everywhere, and part of me still finds it odd. I wonder how the ground-dwelling races can cope with all this walking, but I suppose their bodies are built for it. I do my best not to let my weakness hold me back, but all of the others can keep on walking for much longer than I can, and I feel that they pity me sometimes for not being able to keep up. This time though, everyone looks as tired - today's events have definitely been a shock. This morning we breakfasted in Suldanesselar with Ellesime, while lunch was a quick meal by the side of the path to the forest glade, and dinner looks like it will be eaten here, in a tavern in Saradush of all places.

The only one of us who does not look worn out is Sarevok, but with his glowing eyes it is hard to tell. But he is a very strange one...when I cast my healing spells on him before it was…odd. Most people, however badly wounded, have a strong life force flowing through them, and it seems to pulse and glow with living energy. My healing spells just add strength to that life force, allowing the wounds to heal. But Sarevok's life force felt...wrong almost...instead of being this wondrous thing it seemed to radiate an unnatural energy, and my healing spell acted strangely as well. Normally it winds itself around the life force and is slowly absorbed, but this time as soon as it came into contact with his, it too became...diseased I suppose. It seemed to vanish in an instant, but the healing effect was the same. I wonder if it is anything to do with the taint of Bhaal, for the only time I have ever felt anything remotely like it was when I healed Avan after Irenicus stole her soul. He had taken almost all of her soul, and what was left was weak and sickly, and I could feel the taint more clearly than ever. It was not part of her soul, but was very, very near to it, and it radiated the same kind of unnatural energy as Sarevok. The only difference is that his whole soul seemed to echo with this foul power, but how can this be when the taint no longer lies within him? Perhaps because he gave so much to the taint in life, it refuses to leave him even now. I suddenly realise the true extent of what Avan and Imoen must fight against every day...having that kind of *evil* lurking deep within you, waiting to infect your life force at any moment...they are far stronger than me, that is for sure.

I am broken from my thought by the sound of Avan's weary voice. "Well then, my friends, it seems we have managed to get ourselves into yet another mess. We must get into Gromnir's castle as soon as we can, for the city cannot last if its defenders are demoralised. If what the barmaid said is true, then it looks like we may be facing another jaunt through some sewers." We all groan at this, having spent more than enough time splashing through the sewers of Athkatla before. "But I have no idea how to get into these sewers, for I doubt the key will be left just lying around. I think it would be best if we split up to look for a way into the castle. Anomen, could you talk to the local priests and see if they know anything...maybe a few donations will help our cause, so be sure to take plenty of money with you."

"A good plan, my love. As we passed through the town before, I caught sight of a temple of Waukeen, so I will begin my enquiries there," Anomen says, holding Avan's hand in his...those two can be so sweet sometimes, despite all their arguments.

She gifts him with a smile before continuing on. "Imoen and Aerie, could you talk to any local mages and see if there is some way around this magic shield that holds us here."

"Sure thing sis, we could do with some new scrolls anyway, so we'll head off right after some food," Imoen says, looking at me expectantly. I nod my agreement, though I would prefer a longer rest. Still, I cannot be weak now, for the people of the town are depending on us.

Avan makes a grimace at this. "Try not to break the bank then, I know what you two are like when you get near a scroll shop."

Imoen makes a face at this. "How come you don't give *him*," she points at Anomen, "any warnings about money?"

"Because I know that he, as you so elegantly put it, won't go mad and spend every last copper we have on just one more scroll."

"When have I ever done that, hey sis? You can't just make unfounded accusations like that, you know...it just isn't fair. You tell her, Keldorn, she needs proof before she can say things like this," Imoen says, rounding on the surprised paladin.

I smile as Keldorn attempts to frame an answer, but Avan interrupts him. "I do have evidence, thank you very much. What about that time I let you and Xan loose in Sorcerous Sundries in Baldur's Gate? If it wasn't for the fact that Safana had managed to acquire some gems that day we would have sleeping on the streets! You two spent all our money in there!"

Imoen waves her hand at this, "Ah...that was all Xan's fault...you know how much he enjoyed shopping."

"Xan. Enjoy. That must be the first time I've heard those two words in the same sentence, but it doesn't alter the fact that later on that night, you had a pile of 10 new spells to memorise, while Xan only had one. I rest my case. Anyway, if you will let me continue?" she says sarcastically before continuing on. "Keldorn and I will talk to some of the guards in and around the town...there must be someone with information that we could use."

A shiver runs down my spine as Sarevok interrupts - his voice is another unnatural thing about him! "And I, little sister? What is it that you wish Sarevok to do?" he says in a mocking tone.

Anomen glares harshly at him - it is obvious that he too dislikes Sarevok, and he does not like anyone talking to Avan like that. Sarevok also appears to notice, and he almost snarls out his next words. " I see your eyes upon me, cleric. Quit your glares or I'll pluck out your eyes with my sword, I swear."

"You could try, abomination. I doubt you would succeed. I merely wonder at how, exactly, you managed to worm your way into the ranks of this group." The air between the two men almost seems alive with mutual dislike.

"By being useful. Something you would know nothing about." Sarevok says in a condescending tone of voice.

"Well, you blackmailed my love in return for your information, that's true... but I fail to see what use you provide, now. Perhaps she should simply kill you *again*," Anomen replies, his face beginning to turn an ominous shade of purple - he has never been very good at keeping his temper, and Sarevok is just serving to aggravate him.

"My use is in my sword and my skill. I have no whining petulance to draw on, as you do. And my sister shall do as she pleases, so quit your mewling and begone." Sarevok matches Anomen glare for glare, and I am almost afraid it will come to blows.

"Enough, the pair of you! Stop this, both of you!" Avan says sharply, fixing both men with fierce glares. Anomen opens his mouth as though he is going to continue the argument, but the furious look on Avan's face seems to persuade him otherwise. Sarevok just leans back in his chair, seemingly above everything around him. Avan directs her next words towards him. "You may have valuable knowledge Sarevok, but I trust Anomen far more than I do you, and he has proved himself to me many times, unlike you. If you continue with your baiting there will be no place for you in this party, do you understand?"

A look of surprise seems to ghost over Sarevok's face, and he nods once more. "I understand."

"Good. In answer to your original question, you will come with Keldorn and myself so I can keep an eye on you. If anyone finds anything out, then come back here and wait for the others to return."

Slowly our group disperses, and in a few moments I find myself once more in the streets of Saradush, walking along with Imoen by my side. This part of town has been more affected by the army at the gates, and the stench of acrid smoke hangs heavily in the air. There are several small fires burning around us, and I do my best to keep my distance from them and the swarming crews of people attempting to extinguish them.
Imoen turns to me and speaks softly, "I think we should see if there's anywhere we can get some scrolls from first Aerie...I don't like the look of this place, and I wanna make sure we're prepared for whatever comes."

I nod my agreement before speaking, "That sounds like a very good idea Imoen. When I visited here before with the circus, I remember hearing that there is a highly renowned magical shop not to far from the Inn, so it should not take us long to find."

Imoen lets out a sigh of relief, "Boy am I glad to hear that Aerie, the idea of walking around this town any longer than we need to is not a good one I think...being burnt to a crisp is not my idea of fun at all."

I barely manage to conceal my flinch at Imoen's words, but thankfully, we see the shop we seek not too far away, and we hurry towards it, keeping an eye out for any incoming fireballs. Even if I live to be ten thousand years old, fire will always send fear racing through my body. Imoen pushes the door to the shop open, and as I step inside the familiar smell of a wizard's home is brought to my nostrils. It is a strange mixture of dry parchment and strange components all overlaid with the familiar , slighly spicyscent of magic in the air.

The wizard who owns this shop seems to be a middle aged human, though it is so very difficult to tell how old humans are - they age so quickly it can be hard to keep up at times! He looks up sharply as we enter the shop, and speaks to us in a kindly voice. "Lazarus Librarus at your service. Welcome to the Arcana Archives. I would normally invite you to look at my magical wares, but alas my shelves are completely bare. I have not even a single magical parchment left for you to purchase."

I look at Imoen blankly - I cannot believe that there would be two magical shops in a small town such as this, and we both need some more scrolls.

The wizard appears to notice our worried looks, and his next words elaborate on his problem. "My spellbook has been stolen! Without it, I cannot fashion the powerful scrolls that normally fill my shop. Please, I beg of you to help a humble wizard!"

Imoen looks at me, a question in her light green eyes. I nod, for we don't have choice really...if we want to buy some scrolls, we will have to help this wizard. "We...we will do what we can to help you. Can you tell us anything about the theft?" I ask, hesitantly. Even after al this time, I still find talking to strangers a nerve-wracking experience, for every stranger I met while still in my cage seemed only to take pleasure in my captivity. I can feel the fear and loathing build up within me at my memories, and I quickly suppress them - I do not have time to deal with this now!

Lazarus speaks slowly, as though he is reluctant to admit how is came to lose his spellbook. For any mage such a thing would be horrible, but for someone whose livelihood depends on it, it must be even worse. "At first I suspected a man named Hectan... he is well known about town for his sticky fingers. But after questioning many witnesses it is clear that Hectan was at the local pub from dusk until dawn the night of the theft. I still suspect that no good thief Hectan was involved - I can clearly see the guilt in his face! But there is no proof. Without my spellbook I am virtually powerless to pursue this myself, and as a newcomer to this town I have no one to turn to for help." He sighs deeply before continuing, "there is but one clue, ... though it does little to point the finger at Hectan. A set of muddy footprints leading from my window. Very small footprints... far smaller than those of Hectan. Or any man or woman, for that matter. I regret that there is little else I can tell you. Hectan can usually be found in the Tankard Tree if you wish to question him."

"We will come back here if we find anything," I say, hoping that it will not take us too long to track down the spellbook.

"I wish you the best of luck, ladies, and I pray that you can find my spellbook soon," Lazarus say's as we walk out of the shop.

We find ourselves once more on the dangerous streets of Saradush, and as I begin walking back towards the Tankard Tree to talk to this Hectan, Imoen grabs my arm, "I reckon we should have a look as these footprints he was talking about before rushing off. There's something very fishy about this..."

I nod reluctantly at her, for I hate being on these streets, but Imoen knows far more about such things that I do, so I will follow her lead. She walks along the side of the building, peering intently at the ground. Eventually she finds the footprints the mage mentioned and I can see clearly that they must belong to a small child...even a halfling or a gnome would have larger feet that that, and I have seen no one from either of those races in this town. After staring at the footprints for a minute or so, Imoen stands abruptly and walks over to a small group of children playing nearby. I hurry to keep up, though I am surprised that any mother would let her children play outside in times such as these.
Imoen squats down to talk to one particularly dirty boy, and I can hear his surly reply as I cross the street towards them. "What do you want? You think you can hassle me just because I'm a kid?" he says pugnaciously, his small hands balling into fists.

Imoen just continues to look at him evenly before speaking. "Do you know anything about a missing spellbook?"

A look of panic seems to pass over the small boy's face, and his next words are spoken nervously. I can see that all of friends have dropped back at Imoen's question, and it looks as though the boy is preparing to flee. "Oh, sure... just cause I'm a street urchin I have to know about stolen books! Everyone always blames me! 'Squip stole this!' 'Squip took that!' You got no proof!"

"I have proof... small muddy footprints. Like a child's footprints." Imoen says calmly, catching Squip by the shoulder as he attempts to run away.

"Okay, yeah...I might know something about that. Maybe I can help you out... for a price. A thousand gold will get me talking!" Squip says as he attempts to wriggle out of Imoen's iron like grip. A thousand gold! Does he really think we will give him that much money?

"A thousand gold? Forget it, Squip. I'll give you five - no more, no less." Imoen offers, reaching towards her purse, and I feel relieved, for something tells me that Avan would be less than pleased to hear that we gave 1000 gold pieces to a small child.

"Five gold! I've never had so much money at once!" Squip says eagerly as he pockets the coins that Imoen offers. "Okay, here's the scoop: I stole that book for Hectan... he paid me to do it. But I don't have the book no more. I gave it to Hectan. Honest."

"Very well then, Squip...I'll go and talk to Hectan...but you better not be lying to me." Imoen stands up and wipes her hands off. "Shall we try this Hectan bloke then, Aerie?"

"How did you know that it was that child who had stolen the book Imoen?" I ask her as we walk along the street.

Imoen grins and taps the side of her nose, "When I was peering at those footprints I could see him giving me a fair few glances...almost as though he had something to hide. After that, it was easy."

Before I know it, we are at the Tankard Tree again. We push open the door and step inside, hoping to find the man called Hectan in here. I hope that we will be able to get Lazarus's spellbook back quickly, but something tells me that it will not be that easy...