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#1 Guest_Soris_*

Posted 21 March 2003 - 05:09 PM

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Reflections
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Viconia stood over the unconscious form on the bed in the temple infirmary and watched Soris’ chest rise and fall in a steady, but lifeless rhythm. Conflicting thoughts and a plethora of unexplainable emotions welled up inside her. She spoke quietly to the form before her. “Wake up jaluk.” She willed. The form gave no response. She turned away, biting back her anger and frustration. It would not do to display such weakness in front of the elves. She spoke again, and the words rang true, even if they were surprising. “I was foolish and naïve, a waela jalil. I should have left when I had the chance.” The words gave substance to her doubts and she was just about to believe them when her own mind rebelled, conjuring and image of the fallen sorcerer.

Viconia, what are you talking about? Aren’t you happy here? He always concerned himself over trivial matters. She had sheltered herself in his power, raking in any scrap of his glory that fell her way, and it was more than many got.

No. She wanted to say, but her mouth rebelled. “I speak of my attempt to leave your presence when I realized our…attraction…bode only ill for the future. I allowed you to convince me to stay when I knew better.” She cringed at the words, knowing how foolish and weak they made her sound. She tried to picture the look that Soris’ face would reveal as he listened to her words, but she couldn’t quite recall the emotion. It was too unfamiliar. She did, however, know what he would say.

You know you are free to go, anytime you like. I would never hold you here against your will. But I need you, Viconia. I needed you then, and I need you now. I can’t face this alone.

She knew his eyes would search hers, and she knew she would not be able to look away, were she really speaking with him. Her resolve would melt… “Perhaps I should go…if you’ve no objection, of course.” He would not voice an objection, but this would not please him. She knew. He was sentimental, human, and despite all of his strengths, he possessed a fundamental weakness.

Why do you bring this up? He would ask, with his eyebrow arched in a very Jaheira-like expression. Viconia brushed aside her annoyance at the thought. She could feel her resolve slipping.

“I am finding it increasingly difficult to travel by your side, Soris, and still remember why we are not together. I yearn to touch you, even if I should not.” She paused. “There is a weakness within me. A weakness that may get us both killed, so I should leave now, as I said.” Before she had even spoken her mind knew his next words.

I don’t think it’s a weakness, Viconia. It was strange. She could almost believe him. Almost…

“Of course you would say this. Tell me, then, Soris…what purpose would be served by the two of us re-uniting? I have made all my arguments to you already.” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his response. He would stammer and blush in a most unflattering way before finally spouting out something about love or some other equally foolish sentiment. He was like that. She was already prepared to deal with his weakness, even to enjoy it for what she could.

“Then…despite the idiocy of doing so, I…I would wish to be with you again, Soris. I miss you. I miss being close to you, and feeling your flesh against mine.” She awaited his response, her mind savoring the anticipation of what she knew would eventually come. The thought was cruelly banished by another voice, sharp and calculating.

“Yes, foolish and naïve. Listen to yourself as you spot this useless, sentimental drivel. And to think that you call yourself Drow.” She recognized the words of her own past, even if their voice seemed strangely different. She flicked a glance back to Soris, and she seized upon his eyes. His eyes were gone, familiar grey-blue replaced with a brilliant, ice-cold hue. “You.” Viconia spat. “How many times must you die?”

Irenicus grinned. The effect was startling, but the expression on his face was familiar. Viconia couldn’t quite place it. The wizard laughed again. “When you don’t have a soul, dieing is the least of your concern.” His expression changed. She recognized the face she mimicked. It was her own. “There can be no redemption for one such as yourself. For all that you have done, and I regret that I will not be the one to carry out your sentence.”

“Iblith!” She could find nothing better to say, so she swore.

Irenicus went on as if she had said nothing. “Bring him back. I don’t care what must be done. Please, bring him back.” Her own voice mocked her. Irenicus sneered. “Be careful what you wish for, Drow.”

“In her mind’s eye, she could see his guts spill forth, his body collapse. His body. Her Soris. Viconia remembered the anger and saw the hammer as it shattered the Slayer’s skull. She had gotten her wish. She had carried his sentence, but Soris was still…

“Dead. Despite all your efforts, Drow, you are what you are, Viconia DeVir, alone and powerless. The Drow lover, the one who let him die. The one who couldn’t save him. The one who couldn’t even try. Pathetic.”

Viconia swallowed and bit back a burning sensation in the back of her throat. But it is true. I failed.

She stared at the figure before her. It was strange. He wore Soris’ clothes and his body, but the eyes and the voice were undeniably Irenicus. “It’s such a shame. I really hoped you might aspire to be something more, but you couldn’t. You will always be Drow. You want him back? Take a long look.”

She saw him, inside and out. Countless scars traced their way over him, body and soul.

The cold, blue eyes bored into her. “Look closer,” the voice intoned. She forced herself to look where he pointed. The wounds on his back were still fresh, scabbed over, but not scarred. They glared an angry red, but the wounds inside were even fiercer. She tried to look away but could not. “There, yes, that one. Tell me Drow, where did he get that one?” One wound stood out, even amongst the marks of a shattered soul. One wound still bled.

Viconia searched for words that would not come. Irenicus stood, waiting for an answer. His face changed subtlety, grey-blue eyes took their normal place, and she knew that if he spoke it would be Soris’ voice that sounded. Soris looked at her with such hurt, with such pain….

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Viconia awoke in a cold sweat. Her light blanket lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and her sheets twisted around her in a crippling embrace. Frantically, she kicked them off. She walked over to the silver washbasin and splashed some water on her face. She took a moment to glance at her reflection.

The face that stared back was frightening. The blood had been cleaned off, and the wounds healed, but the face that stared back was not the one she remembered. Her hair still hung in clumps. She hadn’t bothered to wash or properly brush it since the healers had cleaned away the filth. Her face was drawn, and there were dark circles under her eyes. In the nights since they had returned to the elven city, she hadn’t slept well, constantly plagued by her own doubts and emotions. Look at yourself now. Some Matron Mother you turned out to be. Couldn’t even handle one human male, and you call yourself Drow. Pathetic. Her doubts gnawed at her, making her stomach churn. She wished fervently that she could still her thoughts, but they marched relentlessly onward, pervading even her dreams. Look at how weak you’ve become. Will you always be content to stand in the shadow of a human? If you keep this up, you’ll soon be wearing a skirt. Perhaps Shar was right to abandon you. You no longer possess the strength to serve. Those last thoughts were more than she could take. In a fit of anger, she dashed the basin to the floor, spilling water everywhere, seized her cloak, and drawing the hood up over her head, stormed out into the night.

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He awoke feeling the light touch of a hand on his forehead. An elven hand. I had forgotten the pleasures flesh provides. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the form of the healer as she leaned over him. Pretty, but she isn’t the one I seek. For a moment he paused, reveling in his newfound senses, senses the sorcerer had long denied him. He looked again at the healer and felt his lust stir. She is not the one I want, but she will do, for now. It has been so long…The healer began to speak. Her voice was high and annoying. If he remembered, some might have called it sweet. It disgusted him. She was oblivious to his feelings.

“Oh! Your awake. How do you feel? We’ve been so worried. I don’t know if anyone has ever survived such an ordeal. I’ll…I’ll go get the master healer.” She turned to go. His hand lashed out and grasped her wrist, fingers biting painfully into her flesh. He jerked her back towards him.

“Don’t…go.” His voice came out with a rasp before remembering its proper timbre. “I was just beginning to enjoy this.” He could see the fear in her eyes, and he drank it in. This is all too easy.

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In another room in the city, a young mage with pink hair gently stroked the fur on the back of a young tiger’s neck.

“You don’t think he’s really gone, Eric? Do you?” Imoen asked the question out loud, almost hoping the familiar would answer her. He didn’t. In fact, he hardly did anything. He didn’t eat. He didn’t play. He didn’t even sleep. Mostly he just sat around in a sort of stupor.

“Well, Eric, I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do now. The healers have done all they can. Jaheira practically killed herself. Viconia’s in a mood like I’ve never seen…Minsc and Keldorn? I don’t know. Damn Irenicus. This is all his fault. Actually, no. Damn Bhaal. Without him we never would have been here.”

She fell into silence for a few moments and then burst into tears. Her fingers wormed their way through the warm fur of the tiger’s back. “I miss him so much. I knew we were close, but I never thought it would hurt like this. I should have done something. Irenicus struck him down, and all I did was stand there. I just stood there sobbing like a baby.” Her tears ran freely down her cheeks to fall in glistening drops on the back of the tiger.

After a moment, she regained some measure of grim composure. “If he doesn’t wake up, what will I do? I’ve never been on my own before. What will I do?”

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Jaheira lay down in the grass beside a small brook and allowed one hand to dangle absently in the cool water. The feeling was familiar, comfortable. It brought back memories of her childhood with the druids, and of course, Kahlid. They had first met along the banks of a stream such as this, and since that time, Jaheira had always found that the sound of the rushing water reminded her of her husband. It was a comfort when her mind was troubled. She stared at a plane gold band that still circled her finger while she thought. Her thoughts built until they finally burst forth into words.

“Kahlid, my love, I really miss you now. I…I just wish someone was here to hold me, to hold me and whisper that everything is going to work out. I’ve made such a terrible mess of things. I…I’ve done all I could, but it has just slipped away. First Gorion, then you, the Harpers, soon even Soris may be gone. I was never meant to go on like this, without you, without balance. Each day grows harder than the last, and sometimes I think it would be easier if I just refused to go on.”

She stopped there, unsure of what else to say, unsure if anyone was truly listening. And if my Kahlid is really out there, then is he wondering what happened to the Jaheira he loved? I don’t know if she is even still here. The thought was sobering. What had happened to the old Jaheira? What had brought her to this place, at this time? All things have a purpose. The thought of the old druid who had instructed her brought back a small smile. He would take her out into the forest and march her around until she was completely lost. He would then sit down. Listen. He would say. What does the forest say? At first, she had thought the exercise a foolish waste of time, but she gradually learned that much could be gained from nature if one went about it with the right mindset.

She closed her eyes and let her mind relax. She let her breath out in time with the wind and imagined her blood flowing along with the water in the brook. She opened herself to the forest in a way that she hadn’t for a long time. The wind whispered in the trees. “Listen.” It echoed her mentor’s words. “Watch. Your time is not yet. Wait. Your time will come.” The forest’s gentle words echoed softly through the half-elf’s mind. She watched the branches sway in the wind, branches that bent but did not break.

You are the forest, and the forest is you. She could hear the old druid’s voice. She was a tree. She was a whole forest, a forest that swayed in time with the wind, a forest that swayed but didn’t break. Her time would come. Like the ancient oak that stood in the center of any forest, she would wait for her time.

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“Hgsst!” He let out a barely audible hiss of disgust. Once again, the female who lay dead at his feet was not the one. But I shall find you, my dear Viconia, I shall find you. He knelt and crudely slashed a mark into what remained of the flesh covering her stomach. They shall know me. They shall remember. “They shall fear.”

He smiled as he looked down at what remained of the corpse at his feet. “You certainly knew fear, didn’t you little one?” He looked into her eyes, for he had left those intact, to bare witness to his terror. “But you did not know me for who I am. Now I have left my mark. Soon they will all know me, and then none shall stand in my way.” Footsteps thudded on the wooden planking that made up the city streets. Dangerously, his eyes glinted in the darkness. For a moment, he stood, poised as if to strike, but the moment past. The unknown footsteps faded into the distance.

“Very soon,” he whispered. “Very soon.” With a wave of his hand, the sparse light twisted, hiding the essence of Bhaal within the very folds of the night.

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Keldorn paused, listening to the gently creak of the chair as he shifted his weight. He looked down at the letter he had written to Maria. The hour was late, but he still pressed on. Words seemed hopelessly in adequate for the circumstances, but he knew Maria would understand. She always had. Only when she was gone, when I refused to talk to her did my life fell apart. It was all so clear in hindsight. He only wished the answers were as clear now.

My Dearest Maria,
I hope that both you and the girls are well, and know that you are never far from my thoughts, many though they be. I apologize for not writing you sooner, but it is only now that such correspondence is possible. This journey has proved to be more challenging, more changing than any I have ever experience or hope to experience again. But these are not things I wish to attempt to set down on paper, at least not yet.

I write to inform you that our mission is over, for better or for worse, but we have not met with all the success for which we might have hoped. Our leader, the young sorcerer, Soris, lies in the sleep of the dead. He still breathes, but I have never seen one come so close to the gates of the Abyss and survive.

The rest of the party has taken his condition badly. Viconia hangs as close to madness as I have ever seen. She has become increasingly moody over the past three days, and I fear how she may react should Soris be pronounced dead. She relies on him more than she will admit.

Imoen has regained her soul, but she will never be as she was before. She knows this, but refuses to address it, and seeks to cover her pain through her cheerful demeanor. I wish you were here now to speak with her, as I feel there is much you could do to aid her through this time. It is only a matter of time before what she represses returns to haunt her.

Jaheira has had her vengeance, but it did not provide her with the sense of fulfillment she sought. It was as it always is, an empty victory. I feel she has realized this and has spent the past several days meditating in the woods. That she has returned to nature is a good sign, but still, I do not know the direction her meditations will lead her.

Of all the companions, Minsc is the one I find myself at a loss to judge. He is affected by Soris loss, but he does not seem to be caught up in the same loss as everyone else. For him, and for Boo, life goes on. Perhaps the rest of us would be wise to take a lesson from the ranger. Life does go on.

I suppose that leaves only myself. I cannot help but think that my career as a paladin is at last, over. This final quest has placed me in situations and shown me things that I wish I not seen much less experienced, and at the same time, it has brought me back to you and opened my eyes to entirely new questions. Although I may no longer be Sir Keldorn, Inquisitor of the Order, I will always be Sir Keldorn, Inquisitor. And I know I will spend the rest of my days thinking carefully about the issues this last quest has raised. I think that we all can benefit from what is to be learned here.

In any case, my time here in this elven city is rapidly drawing to a close. Soon, a decision will have to be made about young Soris, and then the companions will have their own decisions to make. I for one will return to you. My task here is done, and I feel Torm’s hand guiding me onward. In any case, by the time this letter reaches your hand, I will most likely be on my way home. Give Leona and Vesper the best of their father’s love. Until we meet again my love.

Faithfully yours,
Keldorn

Keldorn ventured one last glance at the paper before him before folding it carefully and sealing the envelope, leaving a clear imprint of the Firecam family crest in the wax over the envelope flask. He set the letter carefully in the center of the desk before slipping quietly off to bed.

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Minsc had his own table in the tavern. One hand held a half-empty tankard of ale while the other absently stroked Boo. The ranger’s normally boisterous countenance was absent, and even his ale didn’t seem all that appealing. He spoke quietly to the hamster.

“Boo, Minsc does not understand. Mighty Soris sleeps for too long. There is still great evil to be booted, and great warriors do not sleep when there is evil around to boot. Why does he not wake up?”

The hamster chirped and squeaked and ended by nuzzling the big man’s hand. Minsc looked at him and nodded sagely.

“Ahhh…so Soris sleeps in a magic sleep. Perhaps Minsc and Boo can make a heroic noise to wake him up.” The light of hope dawned in Minsc’s eyes. Boo squeaked furiously.

“What? You think it might take more than Minsc and Boo?” For a moment, the ranger looked hurt, but after another short series of chirps from the hamster, a smile broke across his face. “Oh, you are a smart one, Boo. You said Soris sleeps in a magic sleep. Such sleeps are only broken through kisses. Minsc knows this from many many stories.” He leaped to his feet. “Come Boo! We must find pretty Viconia.” Minsc scooped up the hamster and dashed out the tavern door, leaving his tankard, half-full, sitting on the table behind him.

Yes. Let’s find pretty…Viconia, shall we. He watched the ranger with disdain. Such a big man, such a small mind. Again, my son, I cannot comprehend your choice of companions. It is of no consequence. I shall deal with them all. One by one. Starting with your precious Drow.The thought of the agony that would cause the young sorcerer was delicious, and the dead god savored the thought as he settled down in a dark corner to catch a few hours of needed rest. Flesh. Wonderful as it is to revel, to feel once again, I had forgotten how limiting it can be…

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