Aerie: Oh, Illyria, I do wish you would smile occasionally... the frown you constantly wear must surely become wearing?

Illyria: What need to I have for a smile?

Aerie: Happiness?

Illyria: What is the use of happiness when one cannot feel it? (Sigh)

Aerie: Surely there is something to be happy about?

Illyria: I have lost my soul, Aerie; what little is left clings to the fragments of my heart like brittle insects to a torch, where they burn. I see no reason for happiness.



Illyria: Korgan, cease that racket!

Korgan: What racket, girl? I be not makin' a sound!

Illyria: But, I... it was-

Korgan: All in yer head, lass - are ye daft? There was no sound but the crunch of the ground underfoot.



Illyria: (Shivers) It is so cold... the night. They'll come for me... they talk to me, take me as their own, and yet they do not speak to any other...

Cernd: Who speaks to you, Illyria?

Illyria: They do...

Cernd: They?

Illyria: Yes. They surround you on all sides, and yet you do not see them... the laugh and they sing and they scream and nobody hears them! They just want to be heard...

Cernd: (Cernd takes a look at Illyria and takes a small herb from a pocket in his bag, and crumbles it into a fine powder.)

Cernd: Open your mouth, Illyria...

Illyria: (Illyria opens her mouth, trembling. Cernd places the powder onto her tongue and tells her to swallow it, which she does - she cringes as the bitter herb does its work.)

Illyria: (After several moments, Illyria calms, and stops shaking. Her eyes look slightly vacant, but she no longer seems to be able to see whatever she did before, and stops mumbling to herself.)



Cernd: Illyria, why do you shiver so? You are almost a mouse in the face of a cat, quaking with fear about to be realised.

Illyria: I am not as the mouse, afraid of its doom... for my fear has no substance. It is as groundless as quicksand, and just as deadly. But I, I am *not* afraid.

Cernd: The dilation of your pupils tells us another story, Illyria.

Illyria: The spirits - they speak, Cernd, of so many things - so very many things... and there are so many. (Sigh)

Illyria: I know not where to go, what to do, Cernd. Everything is so much more complicated, and the strands of fate so interwoven, I...

Illyria: I am certain of one thing; I will follow <CHARNAME> to the end. That- that is certain. Beyond that... life is a haze of grey, and each dawn passes me by.



Haer'Dalis: How goes it, my petrel? Doth the wind sweep your face into such crags, or doth your dark mood cause such distress?

Illyria: The air is cold, and my breath is alive. Why would darkness befall such an image?

Haer'Dalis: Art thou truly so lost, Illyria, that thou cannot tell night from day, nor sadness from pain?

Illyria: I care not.

Haer'Dalis: Then thy life is wasted.



Illyria: Imoen, why must you always be so happy? You've been through so much, there is no use in smiling when it always just falls apart.

Imoen: If I didn't smile, I'd just cry, so why *not* smile?

Imoen: But... I like to smile. Even when the pain is unbearable, I can smile and pretend it all away, and for a while it seems a little better. Maybe you should try it.

Illyria: (Illyria smiles slightly forcefully, but after a moment it melts back into her usual blank dejection.)

Illyria: Why try? Why go on?

Imoen: Because we must. If we didn't, we'd fall apart, and the world would go to smash. Sometimes smiling is all we can do, our last defence against the crumbling world.

Illyria: And crumbling it is.



Edwin: What is it, girl?! Can you not see I'm in the middle of an important research project?

Illyria: Staring at the sky is an important research project is it now, Edwin?

Edwin: At least I am not the one speaking myself about darkness and doom and all manner of undead! (Pathetic wretch. And to think <CHARNAME> refuses to let me do away with her! Pfah.)

Illyria: They *are* there, Edwin. Just because you do not see them does not mean they do not exist.

Edwin: I am an archmage, buffoon, I see *all*. (Nothing can hide from the great Edwin Odesseiron! Nothing!)

Illyria: (Sigh) If only you could see, Edwin... if only anyone could see them they would not be so desperate.

Edwin: Desperate for what, the attention of a girl defecit in her mental capabilities?

Illyria: For anything.




Mazzy: Illyria? Why do you frown so? It is a lovely day... there is no need for such darkness!

Illyria: Mazzy. I... you know how all has not been well with me.

Mazzy: I have - heard things. You whisper to yourself at night. It is most unsettling.

Illyria: I hope this does not come across as strange, but... Mazzy, I- I have told you of L'Sirr, and how I destroyed her.

Mazzy: You had no choice, Illyria - is this what worries you, why you wake up in a cold sweat each night?

Illyria: I sense things, Mazzy. I see things nobody else can see - I see people, nobody else can see. The spirits of those who are dead, and yet cannot pass on, for various reasons. They speak to me, they- they whisper into my ears, attempt to persuade me to give over my body for their use.

Mazzy: No- no, you must be joking with me, Illyria! How could such a thing be possible?

Illyria: I know not. But... oh, Mazzy, I'm afraid.

Mazzy: You and I both, dear girl... if you wish to confide in me, know that you have my ear at any time. I would not want something to... happen to you. I am too fond of you.

Illyria: I... would appreciate that, Mazzy. Does it shock you, horrify you? I see your expression... I sense your disbelief.

Mazzy: Not so! I have seen far too many strange things to be deterred by this, Illyria... but admittedly, I find it hard to comprehend. Time will show us what will come of this, I suppose... and in the meantime, I will do my best to be supportive, Illyria, and- know I am here, if anything should happen. You are a true friend, and I would have you know that.

Illyria: And you mine, Mazzy- and you mine. (Sigh)



Illyria: It- I feel it getting worse, Mazzy... each night is a horror to behold, I... I've been trying not to sleep, but I always fall into the nightmares eventually.

Mazzy: Have you spoken to <CHARNAME> about this, Illyria? Perhaps <PRO_HESHE> could help...

Illyria: Of course I have - <PRO_HESHE> was my first port of call, having experienced something similar to what I fear is happening to me.

Mazzy: What is that, Illyria?

Illyria: I... (She is silent for a moment, her eyes downcast.)

Illyria: (Whispers) I fear I am losing my soul.

Mazzy: But- how, Illyria? How could such a thing come to pass?

Illyria: I do not know... I truly do not.



Mazzy: How are you, Illyria?

Illyria: I... I feel cold.

Mazzy: You look... terrible. Shadows beneath your eyes; fatigue crowds your face. You must sleep.

Illyria: Sleep is something I cannot obtain... and what would be the point? The nightmares lie in wait.

Mazzy: (Softly) What are you doing to yourself, Illyria? I... I do not know you anymore.

Illyria: I do not know myself.



Keldorn: (Sighs wearily)

Illyria: Keldorn?

Keldorn: This life wearies me, Illyria. The constant battle- it is necessary, and yet I feel the ache in my bones grow each day. Each day, it is harder to get this old man to rise, and it is all Torm can do to infuse me with the energy for battle each day.

Illyria: You are not yourself- you are... are you depressed, Keldorn? I would not have thought such a thing possible.

Keldorn: Not depressed, no- but tired.

Illyria: You and I both, Keldorn. You and I both.




Illyria: Minsc, may I stroke Boo for a moment?

Minsc: Boo says as long as you stroke him towards his tail, you may hold him.

Illyria: (Illyria takes Boo in her hands, and runs a finger along his small body.)

Illyria: He is so small - so delicate. He depends on you to survive, and you on him. The perfect symbiotic relationship.

Minsc: Your words evade Minsc, but Boo thinks you are just ducky.

Illyria: Perhaps I am, Minsc - I know not. Watch after Boo, though, Minsc - do not lose him. He is... special, I suppose. Without him, you would wilt as a flower in the searing heat.

Minsc: Of course! Minsc and Boo are Minsc and Boo, and shall forever be so! Nothing shall separate us, Illyria, fear not. Not even the un-righteous, hideous masks of evil!

Minsc: Ah, Illyria... may Minsc have Boo back now?

Illyria: Oh! Of course. Here you are.




Nalia: About our previous conversation, Illyria - that I have not learnt everything. I've been thinking... that may be true. And there will always be someone more powerful. But if there is no hope of achieving mastery over ourselves, or our chosen profession, what point could there be?

Illyria: Well, that is exactly it - what point *could* there be? Each person must seek the answer within themselves - no other can answer it to satisfaction.

Nalia: So you say. What do you think, personally?

Illyria: I... do not know.

Nalia: Then you are not so infallible as you would lead others to believe.

Illyria: I've never said that.

Nalia: No - but you've inferred it before.



Illyria:
The moon is full. Werewolves must surely be out tonight, attacking innocents, ruining lives, causing chaos all over.

Haer'Dalis:
A harrowing image you conjure, Illyria.

Illyria:
Do you enjoy that idea, Haer'Dalis?

Haer'Dalis:
Enjoy chaos? Need thou truly to ask, petrel?

Illyria:
Perhaps not. I... I do not understand how you could enjoy the ruination of lives, nor the gory death of so many happy people.

Haer'Dalis:
I take no joy in death; I but marvel at its silken feel.

Illyria:
That makes no sense - death has no texture, no...

Haer'Dalis:
Does it not? In death's embrace, do you not feel it as silk, wrapping around you to take you to yet another plane of existance?

Illyria:
Death is... smooth?

Haer'Dalis:
In a way, perhaps. But the hour grows late; let us retire from conversation and move on.

