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A Slave To Death


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#1 Guest_CHAw_*

Posted 09 December 2002 - 06:29 PM

This story was inspired by the tavern rumor of a Bhaalspawn barbarian killed in a duel with a Waterdhavian elder in Baldur's Gate II Throne of Bhaal.

#2 Guest_CHAw_*

Posted 09 December 2002 - 07:33 PM

Death. It fascinated him. For as far back as he could remember, death had been something mysterious, something that called out to him to be understood. As an orphan raised by clerics of Ilmater, he had seen his share of death from an early age. Though he had watched the miracles the priests had worked as they saved the dying from death, he had also watched when all the Ilmateri could do was to ease their pain. From an early age, he had learned the arts of healing, of curing disease and poison, of treating wounds and burns. But the life of the priest had not been for him. He simply did not possess the dedication required of a priest. Fortunately, he had been discovered to possess a keen mind, and the Ilmateri priests had found a mage willing to take him on as an apprentice.

As fortune would have it, the mage happened to have been a necromancer. She had been kind, if aloof, and had taught him much of the necromantic arts. Those years had been the greatest in his life, though he still appreciated the kindness of the priests of Ilmater, and visited them when he had time. But the necromancer had been almost a mother to him. Death took all mortals in time, however, and his mistress passed on. It was then that he resolved to find a way to cheat death. To elevate humanity and the other races to immortality. He refused to take the path of the lich. He sought immortality, not undeath. He built upon his experiences from both divine and arcane magics, researched ancient knowledge, experimented upon lesser creatures in the name of his quest.

His obsession isolated him from his neighbors. From his fellow wizards. Even the circle of necromancers he had grown familiar with while apprenticing with his former mistress saw him only rarely. Though he was not unscrupulous as many of his colleagues were, his self-imposed exile marked him as a mysterious man, and his necromantic practices made him feared. He took no notice. His work consumed him, and he took food and sleep only rarely, eventually gaining the appearance of the form he shunned, that of the undead. He took no notice. Finding immortality was what was important.

***

Death. It called to him. In his dreams. Dreams of blood and death and... murder. Yet they promised immortality. In exchange for his cooperation. It was not very clear beyond that. He ignored them. The promises smacked of deception and half-truths, and he suspected that lichdom would be less costly in the long run. Still, they called, no matter how much he suppressed them. The temptation was always there, distracting him from his work. When the distraction became too much, he would leave his small home, visit the Shrine of Ilmater, perhaps stop by a tavern. Seeing the people helped to remind him what he was working for, helped to re-focus him upon his goal.

On one such visit to a local tavern, he encountered a strange man. The man had become agitated upon his entrance. At first, he had thought that it was the rumors of his 'evil necromancy' that had scared the man. His neighbors were always gossiping about the strange events occurring in his laboratory. Fortunately, on his occasional visits to the Ilmateri shrine, he would usually assist the priests in tending to the injured and the dying, and this reputation helped to offset the more negative rumors.

He had approached the man, had tried to introduce himself. The man had become hysterical, ranting nonsense until a flash of lightning burst throughout the room. When his sight returned, the man was gone, and the other patrons at the tavern had started muttering about his 'dark sorceries.' Between the talking and the dark looks they were giving him, he left the tavern. As he traveled back to his house, one word stuck in his mind, a word the hysterical man had used for him. Bhaalspawn.

***

Bhaalspawn. It disgusted him. It did explain much, though. His obsession with death. His horrid dreams. Yet, to be a Bhaalspawn defied everything he stood for. He had in him the very essence of death, of murder. What he wanted, however, was to stay death's hand, to prevent death. This conflict between his goals and his origins confused and scared him.

To make matters worse, they knew. Somehow, his neighbors had either found out, or guessed, or perhaps had even heard the man from the tavern. The rumors spread, and combined with his prior reputation as a necromancer, his reputation deteriorated. Even at the Ilmateri shrine, people he had helped to heal or comfort now looked at him with suspicion. Only the priests still treated him the same. To avoid the stares, the silent accusations, he left his home less frequently.

But he knew the rumors persisted. And whenever a dead body turned up, or somebody mysteriously disappeared, he knew that they would mutter under their breaths that it was 'the necromancer and his foul magics at work.' Still, so long as no one bothered him directly, he did nothing but try and continue his research. He was unsure what he would do if he actually managed to attain immortality, but it was all that kept him from succumbing to the dreams.

They had become stronger in the past months. As if Bhaal was growing stronger. He was not sure how this could be, for Bhaal was dead. But he had heard rumors of Bhaalspawn being located, hunted, killed. It seemed appropriate to him that their deaths might strengthen 'father.' It made him increasingly worried about his own demise.

***

Darkness. It scared him. He was afraid of an attack in the dark, when his vision limited his ability to defend himself. Normally, he wouldn't have been out this late, but he had been gathering spell components in the sewers and had not been paying attention to the time. He probably should have memorized an infravision spell, but his fear of being hunted as a Bhaalspawn had meant that he had opted to keep several combat spells memorized instead. Hopefully, it would be enough.

He was just a few houses away. A few houses from home, from his magical wards, from a fresh robe and a hot bath. Only a few houses away from safety and security. Then he saw movements in the shadows. He heard rustling.

"Hello? Who's there?"

The only response was the rasp of steel being drawn. Despite his cloistered existence, he knew enough about the world to recognize the sound. Quickly, he enabled his preferred defensive spell, knowing it would protect him from at least the first few weapon strikes. Just as he completed his stoneskin spell, he heard the clash of metal on rock, and knew that he was being attacked. Trying to concentrate upon casting his next spell, he finally managed to erect a ring of fire around himself. The magic burned at his attacker, forcing the mysterious shadow to fall back. As the light from the fireshield began to illuminate the nearby area, he saw that his attacker. The man was dressed entirely in black, and wielded a sharply pointed shortsword. A hood concealed the man's face, and he realized that his attacker was not some petty thug.

"Why - who has paid you to kill me?!"

The response was a flurry of thrown daggers. Though the weapons bounced harmlessly off of his stoneskin, they ate away at the magical defense. His would-be assassin was obviously not ignorant on the subject of wizard slaying. He retaliated with a volley of magic missiles, and hurriedly tried to think of what other offensive spells he had memorized. The bolts of magical energy stunned his assailant, giving him time to cast a volley of flaming arrows. The assassin managed to evade a few, but the others hit, injuring the man severely. The man kept going though, throwing a few more daggers. One of these finally dispelled the stoneskin, and another struck him in the arm, interrupting his casting of a Melf's acid arrow spell. Surprised and bleeding, he reacted with a hastily cast Agannazer's scorcher. The result was more powerful than he had expected, however, and the column of flame that leapt from his hands not only engulfed the assassin, but struck the house behind the man as well.

The building burst into flame, and moments later, screaming could be heard. His assailant was dead, but he had a new problem. His neighbors had awoken to the screaming. Some were rushing out of their homes to help the family trapped in the blaze. But some had seen him on the street, and needed no excuse to begin placing blame. He grimaced at the irony that, for once, they were correct as to whose fault the tragedy was. He hesitated, torn between going to help put out the fire that he had started, or getting away from the crowd and treating his wound. His neighbors decided for him. He could not tell who started it, but the cries started, claiming that he was to blame, that they should take him now and put an end to his 'dark sorceries' for good. A few had enough presence of mind to deal with the fire first. But many joined into a crowd that started moving towards him. Knowing his home would provide only a temporary sanctuary, he instead fled back the way he came, hoping to lose the angry mob in the sewers.

***

Outlaw. It frustrated him. Defending himself against a mysterious attacker, he had become a criminal. A person hunted by the law. He knew that he should probably turn himself in, but he also knew that to do so would be his death. He was not prepared to do that. Not yet.

His flight through the sewers had been hasty and disgusting, but he had successfully escaped the mob and had not encountered any dangerous sewer denizens. He was fairly familiar with large areas of the sewers, having found the place to be a decent source for several types of spell components. It had not taken him too long to find an exit leading out of the city. He was now truly on the run. His only potential allies were the Ilmateri priests and a few arcane acquaintances. The Ilmateri were back where he came from, and he had no intentions of going back. Not yet. His few wizard friends were scattered throughout the region, and he was not sure how far he could trust them. For all intents and purposes, he was alone. Alone in the hostile wilderness, for that was where he must surely flee. His only consolation was that he still had his spellbook on his person.

After a quick prayer to Ilmater for healing and guidance, he bandaged his arm and headed towards the wood. His first goal would be to find shelter, or at least a place to sleep away what was left of the night. Then he could work on food and increasing his distance from his former home.

He took one last look beyond the hill from which the sewer entrance protruded, one last look at the city he had once called home. He felt a sensation he had never experienced before, a pressure, a heaviness in his chest. Though new to him, it took him but a moment to recognize the feeling. Though he had had few friends there, he would still miss the city in which he had grown up and lived essentially his entire life in. He sighed, but forced his feet to begin walking towards the wood. He did not look back again.

***

Justice. It hunted him. Through the woods, through many towns and cities, he had been pursued. Bounty hunters sought him at every turn. Law enforcers searched for him in every city. Neither civilization nor wilderness could provide a true sanctuary for him.

The dreams sang with joy each time he was forced to slay a guard in self-defense. Bhaal laughed both in victory and in ridicule each time he killed another, be it civilian or guard, innocent or bounty hunter. The irony of his predicament never left him. Criminal for running, but pursued for being a Bhaalspawn. He occasionally considered giving himself up. He had nothing to live for, not anymore. His life was ruined, his goals would never be fulfilled. Even should he escape his pursuers, he could not escape the dreams. Only one thing kept him going. His very existence spited Bhaal, provided revenge against the one who was his bane in turn. Despite this, the dreams told him that it was futile, that live or die, Bhaal won. That he was nothing, that Bhaal would return through him, one way or another. But he knew, he knew that Bhaal needed more deaths first, and so to live would spite the dead god.

And so he survived, always on the lookout for the next bounty hunter seeking his death. Always evading the law. Civilization or wilderness, magic was useful anywhere. But magic was not infallible.

They had caught him in a mountain pass. They had been tracking him through some woods for days, and he could not lose them with his magic or his guile. He was fairly certain that they were bounty hunters, for few law enforcers traveled so deep into the countryside. But these hunters were intelligent and well organized. None before had managed to trap him so effectively, herding him towards the choke point in the rugged terrain. Indeed, most hunters ended up in his traps. His only option was to go through the pass, for they had closed the net around him in the rear. His only hope was that whatever lay in store for him in front was less effective than that which lay behind.

As he approached the end of the path, his hopes soared. Perhaps they had not planned the trap as well as he had thought. His hopes were quickly crushed when he felt a surge of magic around him, and felt his muscles begin refusing to work. Recognizing the effects of a hold spell, he fought to free himself and erect his magical defenses. As he willed himself free of the spell, he saw his opponent, obviously another mage. Likely the opposing spellcaster had been hidden under the effects of some form of invisibility spell. Now the mage looked to be preparing another spell to cast at him.

Instinct kicked in, and his counterattack was swift. He could not recall having memorized any such spell, but the effect of it was comparable to Larloch's minor drain. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, he began to plan out how to fight the attacking mage, whose spellcasting had been interrupted by the necromantic attack. He decided on an illusory spell, hoping that it would confuse his opponent enough to give him time to analyze the other man's magical defenses. With a few words, several images of himself appeared in a random cluster about him. The ruse apparently worked, for the ball of magical energy released by his adversary struck one of the phantoms, removing it from existence. But it had given him enough time to see that his opponent's only magical defenses consisted of a spell-deflecting shield. Such protection could be taken down by a massive magical attack, and he intended to deliver as much to his attacker.

He cast one of his most powerful necromantic spells, one he had shunned in days gone by, but one that was now his preferred method of eliminating bounty hunters. The death spell greatly weakened his opponent's shield, but he barely dodged the fireball that was cast back at him. The lighting bolt he next directed at the other mage was also absorbed, but the shield was now gone. As the bounty hunter prepared to erect a new magical defense, he released a volley of magic missiles, and the other man was forced to make another casting attempt. The counterattack was the same spell, but his illusory selves absorbed the blows for him, allowing him time to launch his own assault of flaming arrows.

The lightning bolt hit him at the same time his own burning missiles struck his opponent. The pain of the electrical currents burned through his body, blurring his vision. Straining to see his target, he cast Melf's acid arrow at what looked like a humanoid figure. He was pleased to hear a grunt of pain, what sounded like a death cry, before he collapsed from his own injuries.

As he lay there, his vision cleared, and the last traces of electrical energy from the lightning bolt left his body. He still felt a burning pain in his chest, however, and knew that he had been injured. He was also sure that the wound was mortal. He would have sighed had the pain not been so overwhelming. He would have ended it himself rather than wait for the other bounty hunters to find him, but he didn't have that choice. He couldn't move his hands enough to reach his dagger, and he likely wouldn't have been able to muster the strength to stab himself with it even if he could move. All he could do was hope that his injuries were severe enough that it would not take him too much longer to die. He watched the clear blue sky, waiting to die. As good a day to die as any, he mused, losing himself in its brilliance.

***

Shadow. It disturbed him. All he wanted to do was watch the sky as he left his mortal shell, but a shadow insisted upon blocking his view. Irritated, he looked to the source of the shadow. He saw a face... a human face. It was familiar somehow.

"Ar - aren't you dead?" he croaked to the mage he had just killed.

"Damn you, fool necromancer, it didn't have to be like this! Why didn't you just give yourself up peacefully?"

"You - you're dead. I killed you..."

"Why do you keep saying that? Arh, you had to be a bloody insane necromancer too! As if I haven't dealt with enough of those in my life..."

As he watched the other mage in confusion, he noticed the shimmering effect of spell turning. "What? How did - a contingency..." he coughed out.

"What? Ah! You thought you had killed me with the acid arrow! No, your flame arrows activated my contingency. You're dying of your own spell." The man shook his head ruefully. "I really would have preferred to bring you back alive. I wish you hadn't resisted the hold spell."

He coughed up blood as he laughed sarcastically. "Wh - what? Do you get a larger bounty for bringing me in alive?"

The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I was being offered more for you dead. You must have been quite the murderer."

"Then why?" he asked, coughing some more.

"I prefer to see that my captures get a fair trial, at least where such things exist."

His laughs brought up even more blood. "A - a fair trial? Hahaha - kuhkuhkuh..." His coughs brought up even more blood. "Do you know what I am? I'm Bhaalspawn. I'd never get a fair trial."

The other mage's eyes widened at the revelation, but the man did not let the surprise show beyond that. "Still, it would've been easier on the both of us if you'd just given up quietly."

He coughed a little more before replying. "You're a bounty hunter. You know how it is. Better to risk possible death by battle, than face certain execution by capture."

"I wish it didn't have to be like that. Or like this."

"I'd expect a bounty hunter to be used to it."

"Used to killing? I hope I never am."

He grimaced. "I once thought like you." As he coughed again, he knew he had but moments remaining to live. "But I have slain too many. Damn you Bhaal, damn your taint. May you never return to the abyss."

As he lay dying, he looked up into eyes full of sympathy. He closed his own eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer.

As he lay dying, he heard the voice of a sentient being for one last time. "I wish... I wish we could have met under different circumstances. I think I could have called you friend."

Death and shadows came for him. They took with the Bhaalspawn taint a soul finally at peace.

The last word upon his lips was "friend."




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