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Destiny (semi-on, mature themes)


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#1 Guest_Clovis_*

Posted 10 July 2005 - 08:47 PM

This one began life during VH's "Dark Mirror" quiz. It is essentially a brief glimpse into a very different Faerun, with a bit of character study thrown in to boot.

Enjoy!




A cavern in the upper reaches of the Underdark



“Minsc….Minsc, do you hear me?”

Minsc grunted, turning away from his prisoners. He wiped his bloody knife on his sleeve and glared at Theodoric. “Minsc is busy” he growled.

“Yes, I’m sure you are. But I still need to know if we’re close to the surface or not.”

“Tomorrow, maybe next day” the Rashemani said sullenly. Without another word, he turned his attention back to the pair of captured Drow he was torturing. Minsc grabbed at an extremity and his blade flashed briefly. The first Drow male let out a groan, no longer having the strength to scream. Minsc surveyed his handiwork and threw the offending lump of flesh into the fire.


Theodoric sighed. He considered ordering Minsc to stop. The two Drow had already given up any useful information they might have had long ago. Now it was simply an exercise in cruelty.

It was not that Theodoric found torture objectionable. He did not. It was a useful tool for interrogation and making an example of troublemakers. He took no particular joy in it, though. The Rashemani’s lust for inflicting pain was distasteful and pointless.

Theodoric stared at Minsc’s back for a brief moment, then turned away. He knew he had pushed the Rashemani as far as he’d dared when he stopped him from abusing the Drow priestess in Ust Natha. Minsc had been incensed at being denied his prize. But Theodoric had stood firm. Drow or not, Quille was still a woman, and a noble. And *he* was still a member of the Order. It would simply not do for him to allow the barbarian to subject her to the depravity his kind was known for.


As he sat by the fire, watching Minsc mutilate his hapless victims, it occurred to Theodoric he might have to kill Minsc soon. He had had such thoughts before. Theirs had never been an easy relationship. The two men had fought well together, and taken more than their share of plunder in their many travels. But Minsc was too wild and unpredictable, too prone to unnecessary violence and indiscriminate killing for Theodoric’s taste. It was perhaps inevitable that at some point the Rashemani would outlive his usefulness.


But that will be then Theodoric thought, watching Minsc through hooded eyes. Right now, I still need your strength.


Strength. Theodoric had always thought he’d had that in abundance. He’d had it even when he found out about his divine blood. Despite the Taint of Ilmater flowing in his veins, he’d remained strong. Ruthless when it was necessary. Yet the knowledge of the taint had gnawed at him, hadn’t it? More than once he had shown mercy where none had been called for, as when he’d rescued Viconia in Athkatla, or when he spared Prism the artist back in Nashkel so many months ago. Yes, it had gnawed at him. Mercy was a sign of weakness, and to be weak was to invite death. And yet, the loss of his divine soul had been far worse than its influence had ever been.

How is it that I weaken without Ilmater’s presence? he wondered. I should be stronger. This makes no sense. But then I suppose nothing makes sense when it comes to dead gods.

Ilmater, the Crying God, had been slain almost five centuries ago. His sphere of influence, suffering, had been taken by his murderer, Loviatar. Faerun had been changed in that moment, the sages wrote. The Mistress of Pain twisted the portfolio to her needs, using it to inflict pain rather than alleviate it. The sages spoke of the quality of mercy running out of Faerun since Ilmater’s fall, like a tub whose drain had been unplugged.

Theodoric shook his head. Surely the “Age of Benevolence” Alaundo had referred to was a myth. What fool would willingly burden the woes of another? The occasional small kindness could be found in Faerun from time to time, but strength was what mattered in the end. And only a madman would dare squander his strength giving charity to the weak.

Rubbing his eyes, Theodoric looked over at his half-sister, Imoen. She slept comfortably, if lightly. He wondered why the loss of her divine essence hadn’t affected her as severely as his own had. Then again, the taint hadn’t manifested in Imoen itself until recently, and certainly never seemed to present her with the sort of moral dilemmas he had had. The young assassin had cheerfully poisoned anyone that had threatened them, or simply had made the mistake of getting on her bad side. Theodoric recalled with wry humor old Ulraunt’s bouts with “stomach flu” that seemed to appear without warning from time to time. The old fool never did discover the corn cockle Imoen slipped into his evening cup.


Almost inadvertantly, Theodoric’s eyes fell on Jaheira. She stood guard over the camp, ever vigilant. Theodoric's gaze lingered. The druid remained an enigma to him. They had fought alongside each other for many months, and had shared a bed on more than one occasion. She was the only person Theodoric trusted besides Imoen, at least as far as he trusted anyone. But for all that, she remained distant in many ways. He knew little of her past life, or her future ambitions. She spoke of preserving The Balance, but Theodoric could never uncover her motivation. If it worked to her advantage, he did not see it. It troubled him, for he knew Jaheira to be strong and wise. There had to be something else, some angle he was missing.


Theodoric inwardly shrugged. He had had this argument with himself before. Deep down, he knew it was a diversion. It was a trick he played on himself, a way to avoid dealing with deeper feelings. For some part of him knew that he loved the half-elf. Even without the taint’s influence, his heart stirred whenever he looked upon her. He sought to avoid his feelings because in the deepest places of his mortal heart, he feared the inevitable follow up question:

Did Jaheira love him?




*



Tiring of his mental games, Theodoric stretched out on his pallet. He watched Minsc out of the corner of his eyes for some time before he allowed himself to drop off to sleep. At last satisfied, he quickly passed from the conscious world into the land of dreams.


“Awaken. Awaken and HEAR ME!”

Theodoric knew instinctively that this was no ordinary dream. It had the feel of the visions he had had since leaving Candlekeep, so many months ago. But neither Ilmater’s taint or Irenicus’ presence could be felt this time. There was another here. A presence as forceful as Irenicus’, but very unlike his.

Amidst a grove of indescribable beauty, an elven woman appeared before him. Her bearing was that of an elven noble: haughty, proud, and coldly beautiful.


“See what Irenicus has done to the Children of the Tree.”

The grove dissolved around them, replaced by a scene of great violence in some unknown city. Elves ran through the street, chased by small groups of Drow warriors and large numbers of wretched-looking dwarves and gnomes. Occasionally, one of the elves would be overtaken, and captured or killed.

“The one who has harmed you now seeks to destroy all that we have in Suldenessar” said the woman, appearing amidst the scene. “He leads the rabble in revolt against us. Servants openly dare to raise their hand against their rightful masters. Our hated cousins from below seek to taint our minds with the blasphemies of Araunshee. Think of the chaos, the loss of order. This corruption must not continue!”


As the scene faded to nothingness, the elven woman’s tone grew harsher still, with a wheedling undertone.

“And if this is not enough to sway thee, think of thine *own* fortunes. Irenicus has stolen your destiny, to avoid his own! You weaken, while he grows stronger. Do you relish the thought of death? Do you want him to prosper and *gloat* over your grave? Take back what is thine! For our sake, and for yours!”



*



The dream faded, and Theodoric woke. Jaheira was still on guard, so he realized he had not slept long. Minsc was occupied with cleaning his weapons, his two prisoners now still and utterly silent. Imoen stirred a bit, leading Theodoric to wonder if she had been visited in her sleep as well.


He scowled. The elf had been trying to manipulate him, of course. Once again, he was being called upon to solve another’s problem. Yet there was an inescapable truth to her words. He *was* dying. He knew that now. Without the hated essence, he would grow weak, in both body and spirit. Eventually he would wither to nothingness, though he would surely falter and die at the hands of another long before then.

Would it be so bad if I *did* die? he thought. At least then I might know peace…No!

“No!” Theodoric said aloud, drawing Minsc and Jaheira’s attention.

“Is something wrong?” Jaheira asked, the slightest hint of worry crossing her face.

“No, I am..fine, Jaheira” he replied, aware Minsc was sizing him up. “In fact, I am better than I have been in some time.” He said the last words with such forcefulness that Minsc flinched for the briefest moment. Theodoric felt a measure of satisfaction at that. The Rashemani’s superstitious nature was reining him in.

“Mmm…wh-what’s going on?” Imoen said groggily, raising her head from her bedroll.

“Time to wake up, my sister” Theodoric said, his mind quickly forming the pieces of his strategy. “We have much to discuss this night.”

“Alright, alright, I’m up” she said. Rubbing her eyes, she said “ya gotta plan?”

Theodoric grinned ferally, further browbeating Minsc. “Oh yes, Imoen. I do indeed.”




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