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[WeeRLegion]

I had this scene rolling about in my head... Had to try to write it down. It might grow into something, or might not, it goes on my list of UWTIHMWHS [updated-when-the-inspiration-hits-me-with-a-hammer stories). That's where i keep all of them.


It's at the very least got a BG 1 start, though one not found in the game.

The idea is for once to write something cold, gloomy and angsty and stuff writing, something different from my usual either entirely crazy or comedy-laced writings.
I've tried before but I've thus far failed my rolls to resist the urge to insert of odd and comical lines and events.

So, without further ado, here comes the possibyl indecipherable first part.

Remaining Memories ? A coincidental encounter

?I remember you.?

For a moment there was no sound, only the tall yellowed blades of grass saluting a chill breeze with deep bows while the two men observed each other over the glade.

?You visited Candlekeep five years ago.?

The robed half elf standing on the other side of the clearing smiled lightly and spoke slowly: ?Indeed, you remember. I thought you might... I would have been disappointed if you did not, I did teach you a number of things after all.?

The young human crouching on the opposite side took in a deep breath and answered calmly: ?You taught me how to fight, not just the empty forms and movements, but with my mind and myself in it. So why do you come after me now? What is different now that you would want me dead? Has something I've done offended you??

The half-elf raised his eyebrow, chuckled, and said half amusedly: ?Little has changed, and no offense has been made... But the market price of your head has exploded out of hand, it is as simple as that.?

The half elf fell silent and stared expectantly across the grassy clearing, but as the other man only mirrored his now-turned impassive expression, he continued: ?You might ask me what happened, why things turned out this way, but then, you were never one for moronic questions. The man you knew did not die, nothing happened to him. He did not anyhow cease to exist; he never existed. He was a mask I had to wear.?

?A mask to hide an assassin then. So you came to the keep to kill that man... I do not remember his name, but he came later in the summer, stayed a while, disappeared, and a few days later I found him headless in a rainwater barrel with cuts all over him. He fought back then??

?You found the corpse? What a coincidence. But, yes, I only take on work that is worth my time.?

?I am honored then.?

A sudden gust of wind made a rain of dry leaves fly down from the surrounding trees, and as the wind died down and the last few of the leaves made their way to the ground, the half-elf spoke again. ?Come then... let us end this before either of us catches a fatal illness in this chill.?

The younger man closed his eyes, breathed in and answered: ?No, I've decided I will not fight. It is not suitable for me to kill my teacher. Do as you must.?

?I know you have learnt much since last we met, and I know you now have a list of kills that in numbers almost rivals mine. But those are bold words, after all, a student can only become as good as his master... Bold words from someone who refuses to back up his claims. ?

?You want a fight, but I am no assassin, I follow a different code of honor. I will rather show that you only taught me how to fight, and nothing else. Fighting or killing you would make me no better than the man I want dead.?

?Very well then, I will respect that. Let us do this your way then.?

The young man sat down in a seiza position, and fixed his gaze calmly on the ground. He listened to careful steps slowly coming closer, barely rustling the dry leaves on the ground as they approached.

The half-elf moved to a positon behind and a little to the left of the kneeling human.

The man heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed.

The half-elf looked at the sitting man in front of him evaluatingly, then gripped his katana with both hands and raised it over his head.

The young man heard a strange sound, a crossbreed of a splut and a crunch.
For a moment he half-expected to see himself staring back at him headlessly, but he did not.
He felt a weight, like a large sack of potatoes, collapsing on him, and something warm and fluid trickling down his neck, under his tunic and down his back.
Something pointed and sharp stuck against his skin.
He took a moment to think of what happened, then he shook off the weight and rose up to look at it.

The robed half-elf lay on the grass, dead as a stone, with an arrow entering through his spine at his neck and protruding from his throat.
The young man seemed impassive, he calmly eyed over the body, looking at the elderly features of the dead assassin.
This way then, so we go.

Snapping twigs and running steps alerted the man to someone's approach.
He turned to look at Imoen, who quick and careless was making her way through the bushes nearby with her usual shortbow in her hand.
He turned back to look again at the corpse. Well, that's that then.
He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun, feeling the cool wind and the warm light on his face.

A pair of hands gripped his shoulders and shook him about. He didn't bother resisting.

?Hey! Wake up you! What was that all about?!?

He looked carefully at Imoen, her pouting, curved, lips and a tear almost escaping her eye.
He let a hint of a smile appear at the corner of his mouth, but remained silent.

?Don't you ever do that again!?

Still smiling, he answered sheepishly: ?Ok...?

[WeeRLegion]

*Giebs Kellen great credits for quick proofread*

Remaining Memories ? #2, Nightwatch

?I'm watching you, Vinnie. No tricks now, and especially no sneaking off with smelly creeps.?

Imoen sat on the slope of a small mound, hugging her knees and staring determinedly at her adopted brother.
Vincent finished reverently arranging his warhammers to lean against the large boulder covering one side of their camp, then sat down cross-legged on his bedroll and answered patiently: ?Imoen, I already told you, I am not in any way depressed, and I am not feeling suicidal either, not on any level.?

?Well then tell me what that, ?I'm-so-getting-killed-by-a-creepy-peeping-tom? business was all about!?

?You wouldn't understand. It is a matter of honor. Unless you want to live your life as an ungrateful killer, or a coward, your choices...?

A quiet mumbling from the other side of the camp interrupted the discussion, both Imoen and Vincent identified the sound, but turned to look it's way anyway.

?Doomed... doomed... over... futile... scchhnooorrrree... doomed...?
After finishing his daily studies, Xan had been the first to wish good night to all.

Imoen had to hold back a chuckle.
In the warm, yellow light from the shallowly dug-in campfire the forest that in the day had seemed so full of spiders, angry druids, wyverns, and virtually everything poisonous and nasty that a human can think of, had now put on a somehow peaceful appearance.
Everything evil was tucked away, silent in the shadows, somewhere outside, but not there.
Away were also Khalid and Jaheira, who had left for a stroll in the lightless forest, so in the camp remained only the two from Candlekeep, the sleeping enchanter, and a distant looking Branwen who didn't pay much attention to anything but the marshmallows she focused on roasting.
It all felt so warm and cozy, a rare feeling since the abrupt departure from Candlekeep.

?So, as I was saying, sometimes your choices...?
Vincent was interrupted again.

?Yeah, you're right, you're just being weird... I'm so gonna keep an eye fixed on you, yeah.?
She smiled sleepily.

Vincent grinned back. ?Half an eye by my tell.?

?Hehheh...? Imoen yawned and continued drowsily: ?And, you know, even if I seem to be asleep, I'll still be keeping an eye on you...? she yawned again, and began arranging her bedroll in a tree-branch covered nook between a pair of thick oak roots pushing out of the ground near the campfire.

Smiling inwardly, Vincent turned to rummage through his backpack.

?Hey Vinnie, you're taking the first watch, right??

?Yes,? Vincent answered absentmindedly.

?G'night then...?

?Sleep well.?

Imoen wrapped herself tight in the blankets and quickly fell asleep resting her head on her backpack, with sword and bow lying concealed nearby, easily within reach.

Vincent on the other hand made do with digging out a thick and heavy cloak from his pack, something to keep him warm in the chill of the night; he didn't want to sit too close to the fire as that would make him easy to spot for any unexpected nightly visitors.
He eyed over the campsite approvingly, Jaheira had indeed found them a nice place to rest, with the boulder covering them on one side, a mound and a large oak on another, and smaller trees and bushes circling the rest of the way.
They could well keep a fire going all night with little risk of being found even though they estimated themselves to be quite close to the Iron Throne mine they were after.

?Perfect...?

Vincent threw a glance in Branwen's direction, who in turn gazed intesively at her evenly golden brown marshmallows.
A moment later she had finished her midnight snacking, spoken a few monotone prayers, and gone to sleep without a further word, leaving Vincent alone awake.

And so time began slowly flowing past, little by little, like leaking droplets from a rusty metal bucket filled to the brim.
Aside from the campfire and the dancing shadows it cast about, little moved; wind made it nowhere in the thick of the woods, and Vincent had to look high up at the treetops to see any of it.

As the minutes stretched on, the firewood slowly burned to ashes and embers, and stifling a yawn, Vincent stood up to stoke the fire.
The heat slowly spread, and the dry twigs and leaves he had added caught flames.

The night was a cold one, and despite his garments and best efforts to ignore it, the chill eventually bit through, so Vincent sat down closer to the fire, looking at the flickers of flame, tongues, licking and devouring to sate a hunger that only ends in it's death...

Vincent shook his head, amused with the silly thoughts that always made their way to a weary mind in the night.
He moved still a bit closer to the flame, and sat down just by the shallow hole in the ground they had dug for it.
The flames, leaping, dancing... So little fire and yet so many shadows obey it's tinest whims...

He shook himself awake, and took a moment to survey the surroundings, but seeing nothing and hearing nothing but mild snoring, he turned back to look at the flame.
He stifled another yawn, discipline in everything was something he always strived to maintain, even when his eyelids felt heavy as bricks and all he wanted was to give in.
Rubbing his eyes, he steeled himself for the wait; the half elves should be returning any moment now... So pretty those flames are...

A moment passed, maybe another, then a curious observation snapped Vincent into focus, A shadow? There?

Vincent looked carefully at the odd shadow, it wasn't the shadow of any creature, not any identifiable creature at the very least, and it did not dance with the others, it moved back and forth in it's own slow and waving pace, stretching from the darkness to the light, opposite to how it should..
He stood up, rubbed his eyes again, but the shadow remained, no, shadows, they came creeping in from the darkness, into the circle of light around the fire.
He tried to shout an alarm, but no one awakened.

The flame died down, and as the last of the sparks flew up in the air, the shadows billowed over everything.

He stood still, observing his surroundings for a moment.

Damn, I must have fallen asleep...

It struck him suddenly, a strong, petrifying feeling of threat, murderous intent, and malice molded into an shapeless embrace.
He had read about such, stories of blind warriors who could fight without seeing, only feeling the intent of their enemies, tales of heroes who could sense danger just in time to avoid it.
Respecting the authors, he had remained sensitive to the thought, but now the reality of it slapped him violently against the face.
Something all around wanted nothing but to see him dead, then rip through him and into him to take something he didn't even know he had, something he suspected he could never possibly even want to have.

The intent grew thicker and thicker, and he could sense sharper details in it, obscure plans, everything covered in imagery of blood and death.
He felt nausea welling up inside, but he could do little as the intent tore him off the bleeding ground.
He could see it, thick, dark-red, blood spilling through every crack in the ground, forming rivers, flowing into the seas and oceans, until all that was left was a vast expanse of rippling red liquid.

The intent lowered him to just above the surface of the slowly calming down surface.
He could hear a voice, one he did not know but identified to belong to the intent he felt.
But it came from the inside.

?The surface is calm and cold... But underneath, the blood always boils...?

The intent suddenly thrust him into the blood, deeper and deeper.
The temperature kept rising as he was plunged deeper and deeper, and as the heat and pressure kept growing less and less bearable, he kept repeating to himself It's only a dream! It's only a dream!

He couldn't tell how far down he went, but eventually his senses dulled and he couldn't feel anything.
The voice spoke again: ?Breathe.?

Realizing he had been going without a a breath for quite a while then, he instinctively obeyed, quickly realizing that he had drawn in a deep lungful of blood, and furthermore, that it did not seem to be a problem for him at all.

Uhh, dreams...

Something soft and leathery struck his face that moment.

?Ouch!?

Vincent tried to focus his eyes, but it took him a good moment to confirm his location. Ohh, back in the camp then, and Jaheira and Khalid are here too. Oh...

In his sitting position he barely managed to dodge a slapping leather glove aimed for his head.

?Falling asleep on the watch like that! Pfah!?

Khalid tried to calm down the situation: ?J-Jaheira, I think h-he is awake already.?

?I do not think he ever should have been asleep in the first place!?

Jaheira didn't look exactly calm, but she refrained from further physical attempts at disciplining the still somewhat dazed kensai, and resorted to grimacing contemptuosly instead.
Gathering his bearings, Vincent decided to attempt negotiating peace, though he knew a good night's sleep would dramatically increase his chances of succeeding.

?I'm... I am sorry, truly sorry. I, ahh, I really don't know what happened, and, well, everything was so quiet and peaceful... I will, ahh, keep watch the rest of the night, so you can sleep and I can...?

?Don't be foolish, you obviously need the rest. You look awfully tired.? Jaheira eyed him over quickly and added ?And awful.?

?But I need to...?

?Go to sleep, yes, now shoo.?

?Please just let me make up for...?

?Silly boy... You can sleep without a mattress the next time we stop by an inn, but I won't let you have us all killed, walking around half asleep when you should be fighting. Now, your bedroll is that way I believe.?

A moment of silence followed as the two stared at each other, the shorter half elf determined and commanding, pointing a finger at the pile of equipment and blankets piled by the boulder, and the human baffled and apologetic.
In the end the the best tactic Vincent could come up with was to yield: ?Yes, Jaheira, um... ma'am.?

Vincent walked over to his bedroll, and lied down, but before closing his eyes, he took a last look at their camp.
The warm light and cozy setting somehow just didn't seem the same.
He clasped his hands over his chest, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
Only two voices kept quietly talking in the night.

?U-Umm, J-Jaheira, I think he s-s-sleeps without a m-mattress, quite regularly.?

?Why? What's wrong with him??

?It's some k-k-kind of training.?

?Well, floor it is then.?

?I-Isn't that... a b-bit much??

?Not at all, not at all.?