Author Topic: A Bhaalspawn Intro  (Read 1015 times)

Offline Resonance

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A Bhaalspawn Intro
« on: August 22, 2005, 06:53:50 AM »
[I wrote the following as a little moodsetter for myself and a friend as we were preparing to (multi)play BG2 for the first time. She appeared to like it so much I thought maybe other players of the game might like it. I do hope you'll enjoy it. Many thanks for all the mods produced around here.
Btw, my particular protagonist is now a sorcerer, after some time and suffering in Irenicus prison, but used to be a paladin, back when he killed Sarewok, in BG. But I reckon it doesn't really matter. Every protagonist of the game has got 'Bhaalspawn powers' and is as such a kind of sorcerer. Hence, this little intro could work for you too, I suppose.]


Nothing too pure about life or death, they say.
And certainly not about the principle of murder.
And yet he had held out for so long.
He had known purity. Mental discipline. A moral certainty born from the loving upbringing of a single, wise parent. Gorion. Brother, mentor, father.
His many scholarly 'uncles' in Candlekeep had served as a secure background upon which Gorion could guide and strengthen him. And he had known strength.
Restraint. Confidence. And now it was all to the dogs.

He knew it for a certainty, as the drive to laugh, madly, swelled within him again.
Oh, Irenicus. What have you done? Do you even realize the dark storm you have set loose?
You speak of 'potential', but do you know the dark and menacing void calling for the soul of a child of Bhaal? For all your might and arrogance, your lust for power is that of a child, not grasping the consequences of the mad rush that is godhood.
And mortals hold the gods to be enviable! The gods envy Us, he felt sure. How could the illusion of freedom prevail, when you Know? And how would joy prevail when a god is a but a key pawn in the strangulating weave of fate? Only... satisfaction... to be found in plots, ambitions unfolding according to plan. Only that would bring smiles to the eyes of a god. How sad. Even the best of them were, for all their power, as pale ghosts, compared to the desperate intensity possible in a mortal child, crying for food, warmth or love.
Receiving it, as they could never.

How righteous he had been; wreaking vengeance on the evil Sarevok; slayer of the most important person in his life. Slayer of the protective lie that had made his life bearable. The lie of goodness prevailing, of good people in charge, in power.
How cold and empty his heart felt now, missing that warm and comfy lie. And yet; it was his very lust for these fragile things that drove him ever further from their realm of possibility. He was going mad... No, he Had gone mad with lust for such peace and certainty. If he could regain it only for a second; that he might meet death in that moment, and not be denied peace therein. It was his desperation for some change in that direction, rather than the now meaningless physical torments purveyed by Irenicus' magic, that had unleashed a hungry beast within him; devouring him, gradually, at every turn. The power within; the storm, the beast; call it what you might. It was growing, forcing him to give ground, as his mental and moral footing was disintegrating. He had long since lost his grace, along with much of his physical strength. And yet his power was likely greater than before; his eyes as piercing stars, in the middle of his misery, madness and pain. He could wield the very essence in so many ways, now. A sorcerer.
How he loathed it all.
How sickening his newfound 'power'. And yet he needed more. To break free. To find the light again. To fight and die for a tear in the eye of an innocent, and to pass in purity, he pined. But regardless, he had to regain his freedom. In this prison only deeper madness was possible. Perhaps a Gorion or Elminster would have managed to strengthen their moral resolve and mental equilibrium in such circumstances. But not he. He was weak; he knew that now. Too weak, anyhow, to beat the raging god-beast within him in the battle for his soul. Unless, unless perhaps if he Could be free. Could let the power develop in a larger, mortal and less empty world. A world where he might see genuine mortals suffer and relish in their natural lives, and remember. Maybe their suffering would then prove the moral compass he had lost. How he pined for their suffering. And how he cried. How many bitter tears he shed for his loss of a dignified destiny. How he feared what he would do to those suffering mortals around him, if he ever Did regain his freedom. And how he longed to know the final answer to his doubts, that this terror and misery might at least be stilled in silent resignation. And what shame he felt, from his selfish needs, bearing wittness that the slavering beast inside was godly, and his moral and ethical concerns only mortal. Weak.

In this condition she found him, in a crumpled, miserable, stinking heap on the floor of his narrow cage, in Irenicus' dungeon. The screams and clamour of lives being lost had echoed through the dungeon for some time, and yet he was lost within his own misery; noncaring for the meaning of these sounds, as they did not answer his pain. 'Is that you Cerabim?'
Is this me? Who am I? Is that an angel come to challenge my soul before the afterlife?
Will I fail? It looks familiar... Imoen? Gorion? Father? Sister? Can you save me? Help?
'Imoen? Is that you?' Voice is shaky, body is trembling. This is still life.
Is she for real, then? Could she actually set me free? Am I dreaming? Vertigo.