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#1 Laufey

Posted 30 July 2003 - 06:25 AM

Empty

Soon, it would all be over. The pain would be gone, as would the hatred, the emptiness that had lived at the core of him since that day, the day when she was lost to him. He knew full well that he might not survive the final battle, that it was likely that he would never see another sunrise. It does not matter. As long as I can hear his agonized scream as my arrow finds his rotting black heart, I will die gladly. And scream he will, as she did. My Deheriana…my love. Vengeance will be yours today, at long last.

The temple ahead didn’t look so much built as secreted, an ugly and dark structure, covered with hideous statues of skulls and monsters. He heard his companions whispering quietly, nervously, about their impressions of it, but he remained silent as always. Watching. Listening. The temple seemed to him to be a foul residue, conglomerated around the evil creature that dwelt inside, oozing out through his very pores until it took on a solid shape. Not Sarevok, oh no. Wicked as the Bhaalspawn was, deserving of death as he undoubtedly was, he wasn’t the important one here, no matter if he meant to drench the Sword Coast in blood.

Tazok. Let Kyllin slay her brother, and take her own vengeance for her foster father’s death, for the attempts on her life. But Tazok is mine. I will tear out his heart as he tore out mine. I will take his life as he took the only one who mattered to me. What do I care for conquest, for grandiose plans? Sarevok is evil, yes. He should be slain, and I will aid Kyllin as she has aided me. But Tazok…Tazok I will kill slowly, if I can. As he killed you. Soon, my Deheriana…soon. The ogre bandit’s blood will flow, for you. Will it be red, I wonder? As red as yours was, red against the brown leaves of the forest floor…but black when it soaked them through. We elves are not meant to end like that, in pain and humiliation. We are the People, the firstcomers, and the shining children of Corellon. Pain and death, ugliness and fear, that is not our way. But it is mine. Now it is mine, until I have avenged you, and the ogre lies dead.

Kivan nodded quietly to himself, checking his arrows. The quiver was full, and divided into different categories, to help him prepare for all eventualities. Regular arrows, sharp and deadly, made to pierce even strong armour. Fire arrows, and ice arrows. Magical arrows that could dispel the defences of even a powerful mage. Poisoned arrows, that would secrete a deadly and painful toxin into the bloodstream of the one struck by them. And then, finally, his price, his most precious arrow of all. It was black, black as midnight, and the feather was black as well. It was an Arrow of Ogre Slaying, and it would slay any ogre instantly. He had bought his beloved arrow dearly, but it was well worth it. Much as he wanted to slowly peel the skin from Tazok’s back, he knew that he might not have that luxury, and the ogre’s death was paramount. Here is what I will do, my Deheriana. I will look him into the eyes, into his foul little piggish eyes. He will know me when he sees me, and he will fear me. And I will say: ‘I am Kivan Lil’arlin’ellen. You tortured and killed my beloved Deheriana. Now you die.’

Yes, my love.
The voice in his head was as sweet and clear as it ever was, soothing like a gentle rain. It was her voice, the voice of his soulmate, just as he remembered it. Yes…he will die, and we will both have peace at last. I love you…my Kivan, my devoted one.

And we will be together?

Always, my Kivan. Always together. Am I not with you even now, aiding you in our quest?

Yes. Of course you are. As you have always been.


“Kivan? Are you all right?” The voice seemed to come from very far away, and he had to blink in order to focus on the human woman watching him worriedly. Kyllin’s armour was spotted with blood here and there, and wisps of grimy dark blonde hair were peaking out from beneath her winged helmet. Her slightly stocky frame was tense with nervous anticipation. Deheriana…your hair was like spun gold, flowing down your slender back, your hands as graceful as the wings of a dove. Your eyes were dark and mysterious, the eyes of a tender doe.

“Kivan? I said…”

“Yes,” he grunted, not looking the human woman in the eyes, unwilling to lose focus, to be distracted from the real world, the world of Deheriana. “Go on.”

Kyllin frowned, but then she shrugged and walked on, focused on her own quest for vengeance. Imoen trailed after her as usual, for once not smiling, her face pale and tense beneath the hood of her bright pink cloak. As I always followed you, my Deheriana. Branwen next, the stern warrior maiden, the servant of war. She knows vengeance too, but she has already had hers. What did it feel like, I wonder, when the wizard Tranzig died by her hand? She has never spoken of it. Then Minsc and Dynaheir, with the large Rashemani berserker hovering protectively close to his witch, as always ready to die for the dark-skinned mage, should it be necessary. As I would have died for you, my Deheriana, if I could have.

But he did not let you, my love. Surely you haven’t forgotten?

No! I will never forget, love! Never! Never.


“Kivan!” By now Kyllin sounded seriously annoyed. The silent elf made a brief sound in his throat, indicating that he had heard her, and then walked on after a final inspection of his arrows and bowstring. Yes. Now he was ready. And soon, it would all be over.

There was a woman awaiting them on the steps of the Temple of Murder, and he watched as Kyllin spoke with her, fought her, and killed her. Tamoko, he vaguely remembered the name to be. Sarevok’s lover or some such, was she not? It had been difficult these past few days, paying attention to matters of less importance, now that he knew himself so close to the end of the road. When he fought, then he was perfectly focused, his arrows flying with the utmost precision as they had always done. When he did not, then he retreated away from this world of shades and ghosts, into the real one, where Deheriana awaited him, smiling with her arms outstretched.

Tamoko’s blood was red against the grey and dusty ground, her eyes starting unseeing into eternity as he stepped across her corpse. Red, yes. Though not as red as the soft lips of my precious Deheriana. No, my love, not as red as that.

The inside of the temple of Bhaal, dead God of Murder, was as atrociously ugly as the outside, from what Kivan noticed of it. Dark and oppressive, the air heavy with the smell of blood, and with ugly statues standing along the walls. In the floor was inlaid the large image of a grinning skull, surrounded by scattered tears. The symbol of Bhaal, Lord of Murder, dead for twenty years. But gods do not die easily…and this one had seeded the world with his offspring before giving up his breath, thinking to use them as cheap fuel for his planned resurrection as they fought and killed, sibling against sibling. Kyllin had not known for long about the heritage she shared with Sarevok, her foster father’s slayer and her own would-be murderer, and still hadn’t adjusted to it. She drew in her breath sharply as she stepped across the threshold of the temple, and saw the people standing on the dais on the other side of the room.

Kivan’s eyes turned in the same direction, his sharp elven sight letting him take in the smallest detail of their features. Angelo, the commander of the Flaming Fist, smiling cruelly. A young wizard whom the elf did not recognize. Sarevok himself, wearing a suit of ugly and spiky armour that covered him almost entirely, but his burning golden eyes could be seen clearly, even from this distance. He dismissed them all as unimportant. The important one stood to Sarevok’s left. An ogre, far larger than a normal one, very muscular and heavily armed. He wore a horned helmet, perhaps in imitation of his master, and he wielded an enormous club. Tazok. Tazok. Tazok. Tazok. The name filled the world entirely, throbbing in his head like a pulsating tumour. That is the same club, my love. The club with which he crushed your skull, crushed it like a fragile egg. I remember kneeling by your side, touching you, trying to put you back together. But I could not. I remember the stickiness on my hands. I can still feel it. Tazok. TAZOK!

Hush, my love. I remember too. But you must not lose control now. You must slay him, and slay him well. For me, my Kivan. For me. For you. For us.


Sarevok was speaking now, rambling something to his sister, and Kyllin responded, crying out her defiance. Kivan did not hear either of them. His eyes were focused on Tazok, and Tazok alone. He might make the shot from this point, but he was uncertain. Some of the pillars holding the roof up were in the way, partially obscuring his view of the ogre. He dared take no chances. I will not fail you, my Deheriana. Not again. Never again. And so he watched, and waited, and moved carefully away from his travelling companions.

When the fight was on, he aided as he could, firing arrows as he stalked his prey, but always he kept the target firmly in mind. Tazok. Nothing else could be more important in the world right now. Nothing. The cries of the fighting humans receded behind him as he found his proper position, and the world narrowed to the pinprick point of an ogre’s red eye.

“Tazok!” he called out, his voice hoarse from having seen little use over the years since Deheriana’s death. “TAZOK!”

The ogre turned towards him, growling something unintelligible.

Kivan was smiling now, smiling triumphantly. “Hear my words, foul beast! I am Kivan Lil’arlin’ellen. You tortured and killed my beloved Deheriana. Now you die.”

Tazok simply stared at him, his piggish eyes registering nothing but utter confusion. Then he opened his mouth and spoke, a single word that broke all the painstakingly constructed walls in Kivan’s mind, a word that tore the old wound in his soul open once again. “Who?”

He…he does not remember? I finally stand in front of him, after all this time and HE DOES NOT EVEN REMEMBER? No…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. No. “NOOOOOOOOOO!” Kivan screamed, and the arrow flew from his bow, the black arrow, the special one. It struck that confused red eye, penetrating deep into Tazok’s brain, slaying the ogre instantly.

Tazok slowly toppled, falling off the dais, his heavy body striking the floor with a dull thud. Kivan watched the blood trickle forth, running into the grooves on the floor, outlining the shape of the skull and the tears with deep crimson. Blood and tears for us, my Deheriana. And now for him. He waited, waited for the joyous response of his beloved, for her soft touch against his cheek. Waited. Waited for the emptiness to be gone, for his spirit to soar, for the colours to return to the world. Waited. And waited. Deheriana? My love? But there was nothing, nothing except the battle cries, the screams, the explosions of destructive magic behind him. Within, all was silent, dark and empty. Deheriana? Speak to me, Deheriana. Still she was silent, he could not even feel her presence any longer.

And then he knew, knew the truth at last. She had never been there, had never spoken to him, and had never comforted him in the night. She was long dead and gone, and what he had clung to, the only thing that had comforted him, the thing that had filled his soul, that had been his dream of vengeance. And now vengeance was taken, and he was empty. Consumed. Dried out. He couldn’t even remember what he had felt like before he had started listening to that beautiful voice, before he had started following its whispering advice. The elf he had been was no more, hadn’t existed for a long time now.

I am nothing. Nothing. It wasn’t Deheriana who kept me alive. It was Tazok, and the thought, the need of slaying him. And now…he is gone. Gone. I am all alone.

Silently, Kivan walked across the floor, like a man walking in his sleep, his bow trailing behind him in the dust, ignored. Before him, a giant of a man reared up, eyes burning like furnaces looking down from the gaping maw of his helm. Sarevok’s big twohanded sword slashed at the silent elf, driving deep into his body, impaling him. The pain was great, yet he did not speak, only gasped as the blood spurted from his mouth. Yet Kivan managed to smile a little, despite it all. He was done now, nothing remained. He might as well leave in a purposeful way, accomplishing something. With fading eyes he heard Kyllin screaming, saw her raising her own sword. Saw her thrusting it into her brother’s body, the magical weapon penetrating even his armour before he had the time to pull his own sword free to defend himself.

There were a few seconds of blackness, and now he was on his back on the floor, the world darkening about him. There were lights though…pretty golden specks of light, drifting away like a swarm of fireflies. Idly he wondered what they were. Sarevok was gone, but Kyllin was there, bending over him. Weeping? Yes, weeping. Something hot and salty struck his lips. And there was warmth beneath him as well, and a burning pain in his belly. “Don’t cry…” he whispered.

The human girl was weeping almost too heavily to answer now. “But…you’re dying!”

“No…” Kivan breathed. It was getting more and more difficult to speak now, he had to ration the words as never before. “Not dying. I died…long ago.” I killed myself. Let the vengeance consume me, destroy my spirit. Nothing left now. Empty. So empty. Wearily, he closed his eyes, exhaling a final time. Deheriana…forgive me.

There was no answer.
Rogues do it from behind.




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