Imoen: Illyria, I'm so glad to see you smile, even after... what happened, with L'Sirr, and all.

Illyria: And I too are glad to see you smile, Imoen, even after the loss and recovery of your soul, and the revelation of your heritage. It must be a difficult burden to bear.

Imoen: Not really - not with <CHARNAME>'s help, anyway. The nightmares come and go.

Illyria: I'm glad it isn't so bad, Imoen... I hate to see you sad. 



Jaheira:
Illyria, have you contracted another cold, or is there some other reason why you have been so noticeably absent this morning?

Illyria:
Not another cold, thank Sehanine - I have simply been preoccupied by the quest we face. These Bhaalspawn, they kill everything in their path to become the last. What reason do they have? Why would they do this?

Jaheira:
Perhaps they want for power, or supremacy. We cannot be sure of their motives, for we are not them... but I suspect there is something more to the Prophecy than <CHARNAME> lets on.

Illyria:
<CHARNAME> told me how the Spirits told <PROHIMHER> more of the prophecy... 'The wheels of Prophecy have begun to turn', or some such. From what I remember of the Prophecy, it is fated that the Sword Coast will run red with blood; but I had thought that already achieved, in the near War of Baldur's Gate.

Jaheira:
There was no such war, Illyria; even still, if there had been, it would have been a Bhaalspawn at fault. It seems we cannot avoid the bloodshed it predicts, however much we strive to avoid it.

Illyria:
I sincerely hope that is not the case. All the blood would surely go to my head. (Sigh)



Illyria:
Minsc...?

Minsc:
Yes?

Illyria:
Who was Dynaheir?

Minsc:
(silence)
=
Dynaheir was... she was a witch of great inner beauty. She was a friend to Minsc and Boo, and we failed her. Boo says...

Illyria:
Minsc, as much as I may value Boo's opinion, please, I am asking you.

Minsc:
Perhaps... Perhaps I should start in the beginning. In the great land of Rasheman, to ensure membership in the Ice Dragon Berserker Lodge, a man must pledge his service to a Wychlaran and serve her.

Minsc:
I do not know why exactly, I am not knowledgeable in this things, but Dynaheir came to me and told me that we were to travel together. She was a powerful Wychlaran, and it was an honour to serve her. As we travelled, she taught me of the world around - of other people, of magic, and of many other things. She was a good friend to Minsc, and she did not deserve to die by the hands of the evil booted Irenicus.

Illyria:
I... I am sorry, Minsc.

Minsc:
It is fine, but Boo thinks we should continue on the road, lest we fall behind, and... and evil evade its deserved death.



Illyria:
Minsc, do you miss Rasheman?

Minsc:
Of course! Minsc and Boo long to be in Rasheman, among their fellow berserkers, kicking the foul butts of evil!

Illyria:
(Sigh) Minsc, must you *always* go on about slaying evil, kicking evil in the butt, gnawing evil's eyes out... you get the idea. It does get tiresome after the seven hundred and fiftieth time.

Minsc:
Minsc will speak however he likes. Minsc and Boo have made it their mission to fight evil, wherever it may be, and it is only appropriate that we act as such!

Illyria:
Yes, but you don't need to do it *all* the time. And there are different types of evil, you know; some are less bad than others.
=
Take the Shadows Thieves and the Vampires, for example... out of those two, which is the most evil?

Minsc:
Boo says the vampires are more evil, but Minsc is confused... how can there be different types of evil? Evil is evil! It just wears different guises each time, that's all.

Illyria:
I wish it were that simple, Minsc, I really do.



Illyria:
So the Matron Mothers flay those who displease them? How... how barbaric. Effective, though, I imagine.

Viconia:
Barbaric? No. It is merely how it is. Those that displease the Matron Mother must be disposed of, even if it is just to provide an example of what will happen to anyone who fails her.

Illyria:
I suppose. In a way, it is rather similar to several cultures I can think of right now; Rashemi, in which the Hathran rule, but they do what they must to keep the Rashemi barbarians in order. Thay functions similarly, too, if I recall correctly.

Viconia:
You would compare my culture with those human cultures? How... amusing, and yet wrong. Drow culture is nothing like the cultures you mentioned.

Illyria:
That is how it came across to me... well, how does it differ?

Viconia:
It differs in that it is better, child. The Drow run a clean society in which everyone has their place. There is no crime or other such human trivialities- these simply would not be tolerated.

Illyria:
Perhaps. I disagree, but let me think on it. Perhaps you have a point, Viconia.




condition: less than 15% of health

Illyria:
I-I am wounded! Father... I come for you...

Viconia:
Pull yourself together, weakling. Never lower your eyes to an enemy. What kind of warrior are you?

Illyria:
All creatures succumb to the circle of life eventually... i-it is my time.

Viconia:
No! I shall not be held responsible for your death, pathetic kivvil! Stand! (casts Cure Serious Wounds)



Illyria:
Mazzy, have you ever sung?

Mazzy:
Heh, that's rather out of the blue, Illyria!

Illyria:
I know- I am feeling a bit whimsical, today. But, have you?

Mazzy:
Once or twice, but as I recall, my voice was abominable! I would not want another to suffer as my dear Patrick did. But 'twas all in good fun, I suppose.

Illyria:
Heh.

Mazzy:
How about you, Illyria? Have you ever danced, or sung? Since you brought it up, you obviously wanted me to ask.

Illyria:
Perceptive as always, Mazzy. (Blush)
=
Yes... on Evermeet, I was in the choir, at church. One of the sopranos, always at the forefront. I was pushed by my singing tutor to become a bard, and record Elvish history...

Mazzy:
Ah, so we finally come to your point. Do halflings have sung oral history?

Illyria:
Well- yes. I was just wondering.

Mazzy:
Indeed they do; in fact, although most may not know it, halflings are a very musically inclined people. We have many ballads and long, tedious adventure stories which are all terribly cliche.
=
Just like any other culture. Isn't it strange how we seem to segregate ourselves, when really we are all so similar?

Illyria:
Racial prejudice has ever been folly. Thank you for answering my rather convoluted question, Mazzy, I appreciate it.

Mazzy:
No problem at all. Perhaps I gave you some food for thought- I certainly hope so, anywho!



Illyria:
Aerie, why are you avoiding me so?

Aerie:
I'm not avoiding you!

Aerie:
Well... I guess I am. A little, maybe. It is just... Illyria, I do not understand how you can be so calm about having a monster in your head!

Illyria:
L'Sirr is not a monster, Aerie, she's-

Aerie:
It is a Beholder, how could it not be a monster?!

Illyria:
*She* feels.

Aerie:
I'm- I'm sure it's killed hundreds of people, without a thought to their families, their hopes, or their dreams! It is a monster, Illyria, and I do not understand how you live with that!

Illyria:
Because she is a part of me. Aerie, I cannot... why did you not say something earlier?

Aerie:
I... I didn't want to lose your friendship.

Illyria:
A bit late for that, but... Aerie, she is not some soulless, evil Beholder. She may have been evil, but she has changed. So have I. And you need to respect that.

Aerie:
I cannot. She is evil, Illyria, and that is all she will ever be. Until you can understand that, I- I'm not sure I can talk to you!

Illyria:
Fine. (Sigh)



Illyria:
Aerie?

Aerie:
Unless you have come to apologise, I have nothing to say to you.

Illyria:
I would like to still be friends with you, Aerie.

Aerie:
I... I would like to be friends with you as well, Illyria, but I can't, not with it in your head.

Illyria:
Her. Her, Aerie, her!

Aerie:
No! No, it is an it, and it will always stay that way! Go away, Illyria, I-I don't w-want to talk to you right now.

Illyria:
Please, Aerie...

Aerie:
Just go!



Illyria:
I wish that bird would stop its awful screech of a song! It is an affront to the senses.

Anomen:
'Tis not all that harsh, Illyria. Surely *you* can appreciate the music of the birds?

Illyria:
Most birds, yes. But the damnable screech of a vulture sets my teeth on edge!

Anomen:
A vulture? Truly?

Illyria:
Yes - it is over there, if you will but take a look, Anomen. Ugh. Repulsive creatures, but I suppose they serve their purpose well enough.

Anomen:
I have heard of such, but never seen one. They are a mite ugly, aren't they? Perhaps they are not as bad as you make them out to be, however.

Illyria:
Anomen, they are scavengers. They scrabble and fight for any scrap of meat they can find, dead or alive.

Anomen:
(Faintly) Perhaps you are right, then.

Illyria:
(Grins) Of course. When have I ever been wrong, Anomen?

Anomen:
Several times that I can think of, Illyria. But, no matter.

Illyria:
There you go, spoiling my fun, Anomen.

Anomen:
One cannot let you get *too* conceited, Illyria - surely you would not want for that?

Illyria:
(Illyria pokes her tongue out at Anomen playfully, then turns away.)



CN Anomen:
Lady Illyria, do you have noble blood running through your veins? I cannot help but notice the grace with which you carry yourself, the haughteur and admirable confidence.

Illyria:
Perhaps - but it does not concern you, Anomen, and of that I am sure.

CN Anomen:
So you do not know? Perhaps I can help you, next time we are in Amn. There are records-

Illyria:
If I am of noble blood, it is not human. My father was a fighter, plain and simple. No; my mother was once a well-known member of elven court. Perhaps that is what you see in me.

CN Anomen:
One day I would like to meet this woman you call your mother, Illyria; from everything you have told me, she sounds like a woman truly befitting of the status of Lady.

Illyria:
Thank you, Anomen. But you would not stand a chance. (She smirks slightly.)

CN Anomen:
What do you seek to imply, girl?

Illyria:
Ah, and so we see the true reason to your flattery. Anomen, do not seek to beguile me with your words of poison - I will have none of it. You will not gain access to my bedroll-

CN Anomen:
I was trying to do no such thing!

Illyria:
Or my mother's.

Illyria:
Oh, Anomen, you are such an easy mark. I was only joking with you.

CN Anomen:
That may be, but I do not take kindly to such immature behaviour! Go play your jokes on someone else, Illyria, and leave me to my thoughts.



Illyria:
Cernd, it is rare that one sees you smile. Joke, perhaps, but not smile. What is the occasion?

Cernd:
See the magpie over yonder? She laments that her younglings will never fly, or even leave the nest. She gathers worms each and every day, whilst her mate stays at the nest, complacent.

Illyria:
Try as I might, I just cannot find the humour in that situation, Cernd.

Cernd:
I am more amused at the way in which she expresses her exasperation, rather than the situation itself. Hear her song? She sings:

Cernd:
Drudgery, drudgery and woe,
I sing forth in the hope that one will find
Succor for me.
Feed my young! Feed my life!
Feed my mate but of course, no, do not feed *me*,
For I am the mother, I can survive
And that would just be embarassing.

Illyria:
You just made that up! (Laugh)

Cernd:
Truly, I did not! That is exactly what she sings!

Illyria:
I find that hard to believe.



Illyria:
Jan, I am in the mood for a good tale or two. Spin me some threads, please?

Jan:
Not now, Lyrri, I'm in the middle of something. This tapestry won't finish itself!

Illyria:
Tapesty? Jan, what mythical cloth to you now speak of?

Jan:
It's a present for one of my cousins, dear old Jasper the Unclothed. He's always been the one frolicking out in the sunshine when the rest of us are cooped up inside doing our long division before supper. Ah, I remember the ripe smell of Cousin Mandy's feet as I counted out the digits, as we weren't allowed to use our hands. We were too busy making shoes for those poor orphaned orc-children to use our hands to count on, of course!

Illyria:
Of course. So what exactly is it that you are creating, and why? Surely Jasper could find his own clothing?

Jan:
Creating? Lyrri, that eyeful inside your head must be pushing out everything else. I'm not creating anything!

Illyria:
But... I was under the impression you were somehow weaving a tapestry?

Jan:
Lucy, or Lisa, or whatever the name of that friend of yours is, must be giving you the run-around. I've never been accused of such a thing since the Annual Tapestry-Weaving contest of the Greater Waterdhavian Vale, when someone claimed that the thread I'd used were from a goat. A goat! I use only the finest hairs of the Thayvian yak, you see, because I am a *professional*.

Illyria:
Of course, Jan. Thank you for the story - and the few truths, too. Do say hello to Jasper next time you see him for me?

Jan:
I'm afraid that just won't be possible. Not since the awful business with the carrots.



Illyria:
Korgan, are you alright? You look a little woozy! You could almost say... you looked drunk!

Korgan:
Har har! I damn well hope so, girlie, cos I've been workin' on this one nigh on all night!

Illyria:
Well, you have nowt outdrunk me yet, dwarfy!

Korgan:
I'll drink ye under the table 'fore sunrise, ye pansy elf, of that I can promise ye!

Illyria:
Hah! I will outdrink you any day, Korgan!

Korgan:
Well, lets just see, eh?

(Screen goes black, then fades back to normal)

Illyria:
(Blearily) Korgan... I jush can't...

Illyria:
(Finally, Illyria slumps to the side, snoring.)

Korgan:
Hah, a dwarf will always outdrink a simperin' elf any day! I be not envious of the headache she'll have contracted by mornin', but 'twas worth it!

Korgan:
Now... where's me ale...

(sleeps)
