You must face some aspect of yourself or your fears…
Seline awoke in a cold sweat, her blood pounding in her ears. She lurched up and anxiously glanced around, only to see grotesque statues leering at her, their twisted arms reaching up towards the earthen ceiling splashed with macabre designs. In the distance she could see a dark stairway descending into the bowels of the distorted plane…her Pocket Plane. She sighed as she realized where she was, back to the Abyss.
“Cespenar good butler, yes, we make shiny ones”
She jumped sharply and whipped around, finding herself face to face with Cespenar the Imp.
“Cespenar,” she sighed, “you really need to learn not to do that…”
“Needs must I look through your belongings?” the imp asked, his little brown face smiling greedily as he pointed towards her pack. He rubbed his hands together as she nodded groggily and pulled it towards him, opening the string so he could dive in.
“Dum de dum dum, looking through master’s stuff, not seeing anything….dum dee dum dum,” Cespenar hummed merrily, roughly throwing gems and weapons over his winged shoulders. He paused as he lifted up a bunch of dragon scales, and held them towards Seline. “Oooooh,” he cooed, “these are blue dragons scales, me have recipe for nice armor, might Cespenar make them for master? Cost lots of gold, but very good armor it makes, yes!”
Seline waved her hand dismissively and nodded, reaching into her pack and throwing a large sack of coins towards the imp. He dove into it and pulled out a good amount of gold, then held the scales in his hand and flew away from the sleeping party. “Stand back, me never used this recipe before…might be messy!” he squealed. A bolt of magical energy shot out from his little hands and formed a magical anvil and forge, the loud strike of the metal reverberating through the Plane. A suit of deep blue plate mail fell to the ground, and the imp quickly picked it up and flew back towards Seline. “Here,” he said triumphantly, dropping the plate in the ground between her folded legs, “Cespenar good butler, me go back to duties now, ok?” Seline was completely stunned by the armor, it sparkled with a bright blue shine and was absolutely magnificent. “Thank you, Cespenar,” she gasped, and patted the purring imp on the head. “Nice master,” Cespenar said appreciatively, then flew back to tend to his other operations in the Abyss.
Seline gently stroked the glistening plates of the mail, amazed that her little butler could make such a beautiful creation. If there’s one thing ‘dad’ knew how to do…it was how to get good help…
She had saved the electric head to the Flail of Ages for Nalia, hoping one day to return to her so the girl could complete her father’s weapon. The massive sword they had also found on the dragon’s corpse was beautiful, the blade a clear, yellow color, and it radiated with power. Edwin identified it as Gram, the Sword of Grief, and Seline had given it for Minsc to use, since he had nearly single-handedly defeated Abazigal…and almost lost his life because of it. Minsc had been so proud of himself, and his smile was the widest Seline had seen in a long time since Dynaheir’s death, she was glad to see him happy again.
Now she was faced with a difficult decision…who would wear the scale. Her, Jaheira, or Minsc? Minsc already wore red dragon plate, and Jaheira wore enchanted full plate, and Seline was quite content with her light Aslyferund chain…another creation of her faithful butler. She sat and thought about it for a few moments, then began to dress herself as the others started to stir.
A few hours late the entire group had awoken and was seated in a circle around a small fire Edwin had sparked, and were gently roasting the flesh of a salamander Jaheira had slain and carried with her to the Plane.
“Tastes like chicken,” Imoen said, little chunks of meat flying from her stuffed mouth. She would have never thought in Candlekeep that one day she would be so hungry that she would eat roasted Ice Salamander, but she had to admit that Jaheira had a way with all the nasty critters they killed. A few sprigs of this, a dash of that, and everything tasted like chicken! She sighed contentedly and leaned back on her elbows, patting her lean belly full of warm food.
“Minsc did not think that salamander would be good food, but Boo says it makes berserker strength grow!” Minsc exclaimed as he fed a small chunk of meat to the hamster. He grabbed a large flank from the roasted creature and bit into it voraciously, demolishing the huge piece of flesh before anyone else could even blink.
Jaheira and Edwin were delicately chewing their small portions of meat, and the druid gazed distastefully at her charge beside her. “I certainly hope you did not dine in such a horrendous manner when you were a child,” she criticized, her thin lip curled in disgust. Seline wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and shook her head, “nope, but it’s great to be able to do this now!” She grinned wickedly and bit into a particularly rare piece of meat, allowing the bloody juice to stream down her jowls and off of her chin.
Edwin began to gag and tossed his unfinished portion towards Minsc. “Uncouth barbarians, I was unaware that Candlekeep was a pen for swine!” he snarled, grimacing as she laughed and viciously ripped into the meat with a loud snort.
“Oink oink?” Imoen said questioningly, slipping in a sly wink towards her sister.
“Oink! Oink oink oink oink,” Seline replied, gesturing towards Edwin. The wizard groaned and buried his head into his hands. The two girls began to giggle and Edwin muttered in his native language…things they knew couldn’t be too awfully complimentary.
“Anyways, children…we, or you rather, Seline, have a challenge to attend to, no?” Jaheira interrupted, gently wiping the corners of her mouth with a cloth she had withdrawn from her pack.
Seline nodded and swallowed the rest of her food quickly. “Before we go in there, I wanted to make a small announcement,” she said, smiling at her party’s perplexed faces.
“You are going to have twins?” Edwin asked dryly, flicking a few particles of dust from his robe with a well-filed nail.
“No Edwin, that’s you…or should I say, Edwina?” Seline replied. “I knew there was something strange with you and Anomen…all that bickering had to be a sham.”
“Let’s not go into that again…” Imoen sighed, grabbing the enraged Red Wizard by the shoulder, “this is the only time I can actually say I was glad to be locked in Spellhold.”
Seline laughed and clasped her hands together. “Anyways…I have a present…” She smiled and reached into her pack, pulling out a suit of blue plate mail that glistened brightly even in the dim firelight. The party gasped in awe and stared at the armor, their faces reflecting clearly in the finely polished surface.
“Where did you get this?” Jaheira murmured.
“Cespenar made it from Abazigal’s scales…it is supposed to be a powerful suit of plate mail, electrical protection and such, so I thought Minsc deserved most to wear it,” Seline responded, grinning at the ranger’s stunned expression.
“Minsc…does not know what to say…” he stammered, “Boo even says nothing, his hamster eyes are so blinded by the bright scales of the evil dragon, how did the little butler make something so…so…pretty?”
“Don’t ask me…ask him,” Seline laughed, extending the armor towards Minsc. “It’s yours, not that you needed to stick out anymore in a crowd than you already do…but I couldn’t think of anyone that could wear it better.” She kissed the beaming ranger on the cheek and turned towards the rest of her companions.
“Alright, let’s get dressed and suited up…those stairs aren’t going to wait forever.”
The companions stood in the circular cavern, frightening statues reaching towards them with twisted arms and deformed faces. “This doesn’t look too good, Sel,” Imoen whispered, her grip on her sword tightening.
Seline strode forward resolutely and stood tall, anticipating a sudden attack. She ripped her axes from her back and waist as a form began to materialize, but her tense arms relaxed once she saw black hair and chalk-white skin emerging from the dark air. Cyric?! Great…
“Greetings, offspring of my old foe. It's time we spoke, you and I,” he said, his languid voice echoing in the deep cavern.
Oh hooray…
“But first...let's make sure we're not bothered by any of your so-called friends. This is a private matter.” He waved a thin hand and her party vanished into the air, Jaheira’s loud refusal sharply halted. “Now, then,” the god sneered, “let's get trivial matters out of the way, first. Do you know who I am?”
She glanced at him, scanning over his sharply angled pale face, and robe-covered frame. “Cyric? The god of weak pathetic upstarts who find entertainment by lurking in the dark corners of the Abyss? Are you that one?” Seline asked dryly. She had no use for Cyric, and was almost disappointed to find him as her only challenge. She knew she would not fight him…she could not…he most likely merely wanted to determine her threat to him and to his hold on her father’s former position.
The god frowned slightly, then a sly grin crossed his face. “Yes, you would know, wouldn't you? I am, indeed, Cyric...God of murder as well as strife, lies and illusion amongst other things we needn't get into. Most recently I've recovered from a little bout of madness... not that that's important to you... only to find the seedlings of the former holder of my office everywhere, like weeds,” he said, sighing as he glanced over her disinterestedly.
“I am glad to know you think so highly of me,” Seline replied, “it is often the smallest weed that chokes even the strongest flower.” Oh gods…I sound like Cernd…
“Yes,” Cyric agreed, “things are starting to resolve themselves, and there's only a bare few of the spawn left. Bhaalspawn like yourself... very powerful, very resourceful mortals. Like I once was. You can imagine my concern, hmm?”
“Why should you be concerned, oh great and powerful Lord of Murder?” Seline questioned, smirking as Cyric flinched in anger at her sarcasm.
“I should strik…no, I'm not convinced you've the temperament or desire for the office of murder...but one can never be too sure.”
Seline nodded in agreement, “at least you have spoken one word of truth in this hopefully brief conversation…I must admit I had presumed my challenge would be a bit more difficult than speaking with you.”
Cyric laughed, a chilling, high pitched sound that pierced Seline’s sensitive ears. “Difficult as opposed to what? Some grisly avatar like the Slayer? A cloud of smoke? A massive face in the sky with a booming voice? I am only here to talk, to gauge your threat to me...if any…you should be glad for such a simple exercise.”
“If I am such a threat, then why do you not kill me where I stand…murder is your department, might I remind you,” Seline replied, gazing deep into the god’s inky black eyes.
“Ah, yes,” Cyric sighed, “if only it were that easy. But if I get involved in the whole Bhaalspawn mess, then my own opponents amongst the gods would intervene. Mystra... or Kelemvor, perhaps.
And it seems that Ao, the Overfather, has an interest in this as well... which is very odd. He wishes this little climactic end for the Bhaalspawn to play itself out without interference from the rest of us.” The god shook his head and gestured towards his robed body. “And so I, the great Cyric, am restricted to watching and observing. And yet if there is anyone who should feel threatened by a child of the former Lord of Murder, it is *me*. There is just no justice anymore.”
“You ask for justice? I am sure Torm or Helm would be glad to serve you justice,” Seline snorted.
“Yes, I am sure they would…but that is beyond the matter.,” Cyric replied, his eyes narrowing on Seline’s muscular form. “I've been watching your progress for a while. Very impressive. I've formed a few conclusions, but let's hear it from the horse's mouth. How much should I fear you?”
Seline threw her head back and laughed deeply. “I have no designs on the Throne, if that is what you are asking…I never have, and I never will,” she replied, the smile fading quickly from her face. “The planes will fare much better with such an incompetent fool like yourself running the office of murder, lies, and deceit…and I have no intention of changing that. Anyways, I am sure the other remaining Bhaalspawn should be a much greater cause of concern for you.”
“I see,” Cyric replied, his bright teeth protruding from a spreading grin, “I would have expected you to say as much, Seline. Who could have expected that this level of the Abyss, this 'throne of Bhaal' would give me such problems? Hmmm. If only I could have destroyed it, to begin with.”
“Why didn’t you, if you are such a power to be reckoned with?” Seline retorted sharply, rolling her eyes as Cyric launched into a long explanation of his place in Pandemonium and his lack of desire for such a small, insignificant plane. Blah blah, blah blah blah…such a fool…it almost makes me want to rip the office out from under his arrogant nose and shove it up his conceited… “what did you say?”
Cyric sighed and repeated himself slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I asked you, mortal…how is that mage…Irenicus is it? How is he faring in Ilmater’s plane?” He smiled at Seline’s surprise. “Is he enjoying his new-found soul? I had hoped the guilt and regret would be too much for him. Maybe a nice suicide, or a willing return to the ‘monster’ that he was…I really was quite disappointed, if he had succeeded it would have been perfect for me. You would have been removed, and the Seldarine would have had their unpleasantly conspicuous overconfidence destroyed by their own “Exile”, how marvelous.”
“What do you know of him?” Seline demanded, her brows furrowed tightly. She silently kicked herself for responding so hastily, the god would doubtlessly misinterpret her quick reaction.
“I was given him to deal with, a violent death at your hands…Ao felt I would be best suited to punish him. So, I returned a fraction of his soul, just enough to keep him alive and return many of his most unpleasant memories, then I left him to Ilmater…a god I knew would be chomping at the bit to help some poor madman, and it just so happens to be the one this ‘Exile’ would find most offensive.” Cyric paused and glanced at Seline curiously, “I hope the tone of your voice does not hint at some deeper attachment, fornication in Ilmater’s plane would not bode well with him I would presume…”
“Of course not,” Seline replied calmly, “that is ridiculous.”
“Hmm…this could be even better than I had ever hoped, but I must return to my original purpose… I think you need to be tested. That *is* what you created these little rooms for, isn't it? To test yourself? Mystra and Ao couldn't fault me for aiding you towards that end, now, could they?” Cyric smiled and smoothed the folds of his black and purple robes. “Perhaps we will meet again. For now, let us see how you do against *my* favored. I suggest you prepare yourself.”
One can only hope not… Seline thought, and sighed in relief as the god vanished into the dark air.
Suddenly her companions reappeared in the room, and Jaheira’s outraged expression fell as she glanced around the room. “Did you face no challenge child? Where…there are no bodies?”
Seline shook her head and sighed. “I had a chat with someone, Cyric to be exact. It seems he is sending some of his ‘favored’ here momentarily, so ‘prepare yourselves’.”
Jaheira’s brows arched sharply, and she opened her mouth to further question her charge when she saw four bright circles flash on the floor. She glanced at the empty circles curiously, then felt a rush of wind past her right arm.
“Invisibility!” Edwin hissed, immediately chanting the words of a dispel invisibility spell. The others drew their weapons and stood in complete silence, listening for the movement of the Favored. Edwin’s spell quickly shot out and the assassins’ invisibility unraveled around them, leaving them in plain sight of the party. Seline grinned and stalked towards the closest Favored, his short sword held out threateningly.
“Peekaboo, I see you,” she cooed mockingly, then swung her left axe towards the man. Moments later he was on the ground, deep slashes ripped through his chest and stomach. Jaheira and Imoen quickly backed another into a wall and began delivering sharp blows into his side and abdomen, receiving only a few minor nicks from his feeble thrusts. Minsc easily cleaved another in half with his new sword, and beamed approvingly at the bright blade as he re-sheathed it onto his back. Seline glanced towards the last man, and was surprised to see him battling with Edwin…in actual combat!
“Damn…you….Favored…of…some puny…god…will you…not…die…” he muttered through clenched teeth, his quarterstaff twisting dexterously through his hands and flexible wrists, landing hard blows on the Favored’s head and chest. Finally Edwin turned the staff sideways and brought it down furiously on the man’s head, shattering his skull into fragments.
“Finally, this imbecile was wearing down on my last thread of patience (not to mention my last bit of strength…great minds are not meant for this sort of activity) ” he wheezed, bringing the staff down to lean on as he gasped for breath. He suddenly realized that his companions were staring at him, their mouths agape. “What are you gawking at, fools, have you never seen a mage use his staff before? It is more than a mere glorified walking stick, contrary to what some of you ignoramuses might believe,” he barked.
“Why did you never tell me you could do that?!” Seline exclaimed, “and here I thought you were incapable of even fighting a goblin, now I see you pounding a Favored of Cyric into a piece of meat! This just might have been valuable knowledge!”
“Boo is impressed, he says, no wait, let me get it right, yes, he says that ‘it is good that the wizard has finally learned the art of swinging at least one of his sticks around,’ Minsc said, cautiously repeating the words of his hamster.
Edwin glanced venomously at the hamster scurrying back into the crevices of Minsc’s large platemail. “At least I do not dwell in the orifices of a raving psychomaniac,” he spat.
Seline was still fuming. She muttered under her breath and shook her head, gesturing violently towards Edwin, then finally spun around and grabbed Imoen by the shoulders. Imoen gasped and stared at her sister, her eyes open wide with surprise.
“Did you know he could do this?!” Seline demanded, shaking her sister by the shoulders.
“N-n-n-o, well, um, not exactly…” Imoen stammered, glancing nervously between Edwin and the exasperated elf digging her fingers into her shoulders.
“Imoen?” Seline repeated, glaring dangerously at her writhing sibling.
“Well…ok…he’s just much better with magic…and I didn’t…well…he would get hurt…” she said feebly, grinning sheepishly at Seline.
Seline sighed and rolled her eyes, then released her sister and strode across the room, motioning for the others to follow her back up the stairs. “Next time Edwin, that you see us all getting the life beat out of us and you run out of spells, please don’t just stand there picking lint off your robe, grab your big stick and get in there!” she said, jabbing the wizard in the chest with a long finger as she passed by.
Edwin caught a deep breath, then strode widely to catch up with Imoen as she walked up the long stairs. “For once your sister is right, she finally has realized that she deeply desires for me to ‘grab my big stick and get in there,’” he said, smiling smugly.
“Yes Eddie…that’s exactly what she meant…” Imoen groaned. “Actually Eddie,” she added, looking at him curiously, “if that’s what she meant…wouldn’t she have said to pull out your toothpick?”
“Your comment only further proves your ignorance, child,” Edwin replied haughtily, “your feeble attempt at discounting the magnitude of my ‘stick’ truly verifies my suspicions of your darker lusts in regard to a certain wizard whose name I need not mention, (although he is conspicuously charming, exceedingly handsome, magnificently well-dressed, and remarkably intelligent).”
“Oh Eddie,” Imoen gasped, her cheeks flushing with a deep pink color. “How…how did you know? I wasn’t sure how…I could tell you…”
“Yes?” Edwin asked, a wide smile crossing his high-held face.
“Well…you see…I am in love with this wizard…he is just so charming, and wonderful, and ohhh, I just want to rip all of his clothes off and jump on him in the middle of the street…”
“Yes?! Go on! (this is getting even better than I thought!)” Edwin urged eagerly.
“…and just completely ravish him for hours and hours…”
“Yes, ravishing is always a good idea…definitely…(especially when free of charge)”
“…and just stare into those blue eyes forever…”
“Yes! Staring is good, especially when accompanied with other…what?!” Edwin stopped in his tracks and looked at Imoen, confusion furrowing his brows. “Petty thief, my eyes are brown! (a beautiful shade of deepest mahogany, tinged with flecks of gold, melting into an inky blackness to be more specific)
“…and just run my fingers through that pale, blonde hair…”
Edwin grabbed a strand of his hair out from under his hood. He glanced at it, deciding that it was definitely not even remotely pale blonde. Highlights maybe, of course his hair was a shimmering veil of delicately woven strands colored as perfectly as the loamy earth of glorious Thay…but decidedly not blonde.
“…and those ears…I just could play with them for days…so cute and pointy…”
Edwin knew for sure that his ears were unmistakably not pointed. “What are you talking about, rogue?!” he demanded, his arrogant voice growing shrill with anger. “Who is this…this…tow-headed pointy-eared imbecile you are babbling about… (and where does he live, so I might send him a little present…fireball, poof!)”
Imoen stopped and stared at Edwin in confusion. “Casreth, of course, who else silly?”
Edwin felt a rush of burning hatred flood his entire body. “Casreth? You mean that blithering fool of an elven Archmagi whose feeble attempts at education most likely irrevocably damaged my massive repertoire of spells? That arthritic, arrogant, imbecilic, I-am-such-a-higher-being-than-you-that-it-really-is-quite-pathetic son of a pox-ridden whore?! That one?! I should rip out his liver and feed it to him, while disintegrating his most important, yet surely miniscule, organs with a simple word…then I’ll…I’ll…take his…and…why are you laughing?!”
Imoen was grinning mischievously, little giggles escaping her tight lips. She looked around to check that none of the others were looking, and lightly kissed Edwin on the cheek. He sputtered and held his hand to his cheek, wiping it deftly with his palm.
“What was that for?!” He stared forward and his jaw began to clench again, his red robes quivering in the still air of the cavern. “I’ll immerse him in boiling oil and watch him bubble like a fried fish…I’ll…” Imoen held a finger up to his lips, shaking her head slowly.
“You are so gullible Eddie.”
