In The Cards

No matter how dangerous the enemy confronting you may be, the greatest enemy will always be the unknown one. The poison in your midst, the blade out of the darkness, the trap set in your path. Pray for your enemy to cross your path, for it is the ones striking at your back that you truly need to fear. Beware the faces hiding behind masks.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

“Are you occupied, my brother?” The woman asking this question would be called beautiful by anybody’s terms, but hardly in the common sense. Her short black hair formed a wild cloud around her proud face, and she moved with the effortless grace of a born predator. So pale her skin was, as pale as newly fallen snow, but her lips were the pure red of fresh blood. She smiled faintly, and white teeth shone against those lips, teeth that were just a little bit too long and too sharp. The woman cocked her head to one side, leaning against the door as she watched the scene taking place before her with the faintest hint of amusement in her black eyes. Yes. I can still feel that…if I make the effort. A pale ghost of what it was, and yet…it is better than nothing.

There was a bitter smell in the air, almost electrical, with the faint undercurrent of pain. Yes. Sweet, sweet pain. And blood, but all wrong. Not the real thing. The smell came from the woman-creature tied to the table in the center of the room. In large glass containers along the walls replicas of that same woman shimmered and twisted, as they grew with exaggerated speed from infancy into full size. Some of them were still immature, others were fully formed. Some watched mutely with large and glittering eyes through the green liquid that nurtured them and kept them alive. Others merely floated, staring blankly ahead of them. One seemed to be screaming, a thin trail of bubbles streaming from between her shapely lips, and that the pale woman at the door liked best of all. Pity it is not the real one. What I would not give to hear that one scream. My very soul even. She laughed quietly to herself, enjoying the low and throaty sound, as well as the pleasant tingle in her teeth as she envisioned such a scene.

It seemed the sound disturbed her brother, for he looked up from his work. The woman-creature on the table shuddered silently. She had once been beautiful. If one squinted a little and tried to look past the blood and the mutilations it was almost possible to see it still. The sounds she made resembled those of a dying animal.

“You are late,” her brother said, his modulated voice betraying but the faintest hint of annoyance. Behind the exquisite mask he always wore his eyes were a deep blue, like icy pools. She had always loved the color of his eyes. Like the little spring beneath the waterfall in the Queen’s garden. Of course, she did not love them any longer, or anything else. She could not. But she was still able to take a small amount of pleasure in seeing them, as well as his regal and muscular form, or the absorption with which he approached his work. He had always been very good at focusing on what needed to be done.

“I stopped to dine on the way,” the woman flippantly said, wiping at her mouth. “A young Cowled Wizard. They are always exquisite, I think the magic in their blood adds something to the taste. I may make a habit of it. ” She nodded towards the creature on the table. “Still trying, I see?”

Her brother shrugged and put down the long knife he was holding. “I had thought that seeing her in agony might be enough to stir some emotion within me,” he said, his voice as icy calm as was the mask he wore. “It seems I have failed. I must seek another avenue of experimentation, and soon.”

“Fortunate that we have another prey in sight,” the woman said. She picked the knife up and her pink tongue darted out to delicately lick the blood off. “Phaugh! It tastes nothing like the real thing.”

“I have told you that before.”

“I know. I just pretend that it is her blood, you know that.” The black haired woman touched her brother’s arm. “Do you ever regret not following my path?”

Her brother simply looked at her. “You should know, my sister, that I cannot feel true regret. How goes your work?”

“Excellently. My agents become more day by day, eating into the heart of the Shadow Thieves like a worm burrowing into a ripe apple.”

“And the other one? Your…special project?”

The woman laughed again. “The sweet man…he is utterly enchanted by me. Soon, very soon, he will be ready to meet you.”

Her brother nodded. “That is well. I have been scrying more intensively as of late. Events are progressing up north. Soon, within the next few weeks, the two Children will be at each other’s throats. And as the victor steps away from the other’s bloody corpse, we will be there.”

“Which one do you think will win? The man or the woman?”

Keen interest flared in those cold blue eyes. “It is difficult to say for certain, contrary to what I would previously have believed. But either one will do.” He smiled briefly. “They both burn brightly. Very brightly.”

The creature on the table moaned again, a terrible keening sound.

“Can you not get rid of her?” the pale woman said with a frown and put her hands across her ears. “She is annoying me.”

“Certainly,” her brother calmly said. “As I said, this experiment was a failure. It is well past time to prepare for another one.” And the knife stabbed down.

Elsewhere…

The woman knelt in her quarters, thinking. The day’s tasks were done, and it was time for her to commune with her Mistress. Again. And again. For centuries, millennia, if that it what it will take to regain her favor. Slowly she shrugged the soft white dress off of her delicate shoulders, flexing them. The scars hurt, and that was as it should be. It was a tribute to her Mistress. Then the whip was in her hand, and she began with her devotions, one methodical lash at a time. Not hard enough to draw blood. That was for later, for when her prayers were almost ended. For now, the pain was enough. Sharp and searing, it made her feel truly alive.

Whip.

My Mistress of Pain, I know I have failed You. I allowed myself to be outwitted, overpowered, and humiliated. It is just that You have punished me by turning Your face from me. I am a lowly worm, an insect, fit only to grovel on the ground at Your feet.

Whip.

But I beg of You, My Mistress, allow me to serve You once more. I am devoted to You, as always, You must know that. Take me back into Your favor and I will bring pain and vengeance to those who would stand in Your way. Allow me my vengeance upon those who brought me low and You will see that my skills have not withered, though You have withheld the powers that only You can grant.

Whip.

When my people, the Avariel, turned from me, denied me the opportunity to prove myself in their service, You were there for me, and I have served You faithfully since. You are my true Mother, unlike the bitch that bore me and judged me as ‘too ambitious’, that never approved of me. You do not value the meekness that I never had and never wanted, You gave me power instead. I made the greatest sacrifice possible for You, all for you.

Whip.

When I gave up my beautiful white wings, when I severed them with my own hands in Your name, it was the greatest pain imaginable, and I rejoiced in it, for I knew that it pleased You and would grant me Your favor. Yet now my pain is greater still, as I am truly crippled without Your powers. If You take pleasure in that pain, it gladdens my heart, but I could serve You far better were I restored to my full ability.

Whip. Now there was the first feeling of hot blood running down her back. She should stop now, the woman knew. Yet this time she did not. Instead she lashed out again, and again, until the pain became a white spear through her mind, a red cloud of blood. “Loviatar…” she whispered, her large blue eyes dim with pain, and her golden locks sticky with swear and blood. “My Mistress…hear me.”

The air of the dwelling seemed to turn hotter, to solidify, and then there was something else present, a second womanly form, one of flickering shadows and running blood. I hear you, my servant, this second woman said, and in her voice were thousands of tortured screams and moans. I have need of you, and I have decided that I will grant you what you ask, despite the delicious pleasure that your suffering has brought me. You are too valuable to waste any longer.

“Whatever You wish of me, my Mistress,” the blonde elf-woman said, bowing deeply before her goddess, her soft voice breathy with excitement. “How may I serve You?”

As you have ever served me, my priestess. By spreading pain and suffering. Great events are coming to pass. Tell me, my priestess. Do you know of the prophecies of Alaundo?

“The Bhaalspawn prophecies? Yes, my Mistress. I am familiar with them. “

I have been able to divine some of the future regarding one of those spawn, a powerful one. That Spawn will be coming south soon, to the city of Athkatla. Much pain awaits that one, and that is why my powers made be able to see this. You must travel there as well, and be prepared to follow my further orders. Leave this place…this circus…and find somebody to convey you safely to where you need to be. You can do that, can you not?

The blonde woman smiled radiantly. “Of course, my Mistress. I am as skilled as I ever was, and you know I was always good at making people trust me. I shall find some sorry fool to carry out my bidding. “ She laughed, a silver tinkling laugh as of falling ice crystals. “So gullible, these short-lived ones. Particularly the human males. It seems to be an inborn weakness in them. My wide and innocent eyes, my fine hair, my soft skin, my soft voice, my timid demeanor…it makes them want to protect me, as if I was some weak little girl. Hardly any of them stop to consider that I am an elf, and was old when their grandmothers were still unborn. Why, I am past 300 already, and yet they make the same mistake over and over again, thinking me some naďve little girl to be protected from the brutal world. Fools, all of them! They see what they want to see, not what is truly there.” Then her face darkened. “That is… most of them.”

Yes…not quite all of them, isn’t that so, my priestess? There was one rather notable exception about two decades ago, wasn’t there?

There was a swirling motion in the shadows surrounding the image of the goddess, and an unmistakable human shape strode out of them, facing the priestess with a condescending sneer.

The elf’s nails were digging deeply into her palms now and her pink rosebud of a mouth was twisted into a feral snarl. “That…that bastard! He humiliated me, he destroyed my plans, and I will have the vengeance I swore then. One way or another.”

And soon the time for that will come, my priestess. Hear my words. The power of Bhaal will be a great asset to whoever can claim it, but it remains locked within these Children, these Bhaalspawn. Ao the Overfather has forbidden us gods to act directly against the Spawn, so the prophecies will not be disturbed. But he cannot forbid me to grant my loyal priestess information, information to aid her in her own personal scheme of vengeance. I am the Goddess of Vengeance as well as of Pain, after all. And if the vengeance you crave should also indirectly cause devastation and death to one certain powerful Bhaalspawn, allowing me to harness her powers…then that is merely a fortunate side-effect. The goddess smiled, a beautiful and terrible smile, and the image she had conjured dissolved into the shadows again with a scream. I promise you this, Cirindaeriella my priestess. You will get your chance at vengeance against the one you hate so much.

“Thank you, My Mistress,” the elf said, an ecstatic smile on her face. “And the little whelp too?”

Yes, my priestess. Though the whelp has grown somewhat since last you saw him.

“So much the better,” Aerie said, still smiling at her goddess. “Then he will be able to withstand all that much more pain…”

And yet elsewhere…

There were two women having tea, sitting together in an elegant room. This wouldn’t have been strange in itself, if not for the fact that the tea service floated serenely in mid air, and that enchanted gems hung in the air as well, spreading rainbow-colored light. Invisible harps played a soft tune, sweet and haunting, but with an ever-present note of sorrow.

“I must say, my dear,” said one of the women. “Your slaves really have outdone themselves this season.”

“They are not slaves,” the second woman said, and though her voice was calm there was steel beneath. “They are my devoted subjects, as well you know. And you will address me with the respect I am due.” She was a fairly young woman, but the absolute conviction with which she spoke made her sound older than her years, as did her regal manners, those of one born to rule. An intricate gathering of brown braids framed her alabaster face, and her eyes were serene. Though her dark blue dress was beautiful and rich, she paid it little attention. It was her due and her duty, and that was all.

“Of course,” the other woman said, seemingly respectful. “My apologies, great lady. I forgot myself.”

“Did you, Melissan? I wonder.” The woman with the braids took another sip from her teacup. “As I wonder at your motives.”

“I wish you only the best, great lady. You should know that. The threats against you are great, there are so many evil ones that would bring your benevolent reign to an end.”

“There, at least, we are in agreement,” the brown-haired woman said in a dry voice. “Very well. I will listen to your suggestions. But I warn you now, I fully intend for order, righteousness and goodness to rule my people, now and forever, under my gentle guidance. And I am the Onulanna, the Chosen One. I have the power to do as I say, and I will not stand for the corruptions of evil to pollute the world much longer. Soon, very soon, there must be a cleansing.”

The woman called Melissan smiled. “That, great lady, is precisely what I am counting on.”