Xoltre, Solo Sorcerer (BG2)

XOLTRE
RACE: HUMAN
CLASS: SORCERER
PERSONALITY: INTIMIDATOR (like Edwin)
--Indelicate, brash, egomaniacal
--Wizards == superior beings
SECOND PERSONALITY: OBSESSIVE
--(Un)realistic goal = godhood


Day Three

Having escaped the dungeon of Jon Irenicus I proceeded directly to selling the loot I procured from his chambers. Afterwards I met up with Yoshimo, the Kara-Turan thief whom I saddled with copious goodies and sent to find the nearest inn. I half expected to find he'd pawned the equipment and I'd need to kill him for the gold, but the odd fellow actually proved trustworthy, allowing me to sell the goods and pocket all the cash. All told, I'm 10,000 gold richer.

If I've learned anything these past two days it's this: I'm in Amn and they hate mages. Technically I'm a sorcerer - a mage by blood - but they still group me with wizards, magicians and the like. Nevertheless, unlicensed magery in any form carries a price here. If I wish to be free to conduct whatever business I see fit, I'll need a maging license - if only to turn the authorities' heads temporarily. I will NOT be waylaid by fashionless Cowled "Wizards" every time I need to refresh a cantrip out of doors!

And I'm quite serious about those Cowlies. Tragic doesn't even begin to describe them -- the utter epitome of fashion wrecks. Take they no pride in maging? They're self-loathing mages, no doubt; so afraid of deviant spellcasters they overlook the beauty of their own craft. They are as critics to grandmasters: Without place, and leagues behind. I shall eliminate them for no other reason than that, but now is not the time.

Day Six

I'm not one to squabble over money, but this is absurd. Every penny I've made in this town has been summarily plucked from my fingers by either the government or some stupid organization trying to "help" me. Worse yet, a coven of Vampires I've come into association with - they try to hide it, but any idiot could discern their true nature - has ME playing ERRAND BOY for the 15,000 gold I paid THEM. This is sodding ridiculous.

As of now, I'm exploring the city... grudgingly. MUST I be accosted by bandits at EVERY turn? Is there NO police force in this town? I'm sure they'd promptly show up if I started MURDERING people, but they never seem to notice when brutish thugs harass me.

Nonetheless, I've acquired a belt which elevates my strength to something akin to a Hill Giant. It's quite a rush. Back home I couldn't take Imoen in an armwrestling contest, but with this belt I can finally do a push-up! Nay, two! And, if I do say so myself, my rippling muscles catch the eyes of all the ladies. Well, prostitutes, but they're still very much ladies. Most of them.

Oh, but I've gotten away from the point of my scribblings. Some offical-looking person told me about some truly gruesome murders - I've had a chance to admire the work myself; it's first rate, though I doubt it's the work of a human. It has an extraplanar zest to it. - and I've inquired as to the identity of the "fiend." I belive him to be the local tanner, and I told the official-looking person this upon my departure from the Bridge District. I didn't mean to, but I have an awful habit of blurting things out. I hope he doesn't cause the skinner too much trouble before I get a chance to speak with him.

Day Six, Part Two

The day can only get worse. I came upon a shallow grave and, by reason I can only explain as moral defect, I yanked the mewling victim out and onto the pavement. Normally I wouldn't give such a scene the time of day, but the strength I had to exert quite taxed my Hill Giant belt. The rush of power was fantastic. I couldn't resist.

If it's any consolation, I do think I dislocated Tirdir's arm when I plucked him from the the moist earth. (I so hope the moisture was from an early morn' dew and not the result of somebody pissing on his grave, as I would have done.) 'Tis strange none of Bodhi's crew sniffed the fellow out. I'd have thought "fresh corpse" would ring as loudly as a dinner bell to nosferatu.

Regardless, Tirdir groped my robe and smeared dirt and filth all over it. I tried kicking him away, and he very nearly tumbled back into the pit, but he wouldn't let go. He wept and sobbed and bawled and looked up at me as a glistening grub looks up at the early bird come to eat it. He begged and pleaded for me to avenge his attemped murder and so on and so forth, but I refused repeatedly. Until he mentioned money. Apparently his death was part of a plot wherein a few kidnappers where ransoming some valuable person. In exchange for a lighthearted pledge to help this individual, he agreed to remove his soiled carcass from the hem of my robe and told me where to find her captors.
As I've said before, I'm not one to count coin, but I am one for magely fashion. And as a matter of fact, I saw the most delicious little ensamble on sale at the Adventurer's Mart from Vecna's silken mage robe line. Normally I'd kill for such a thing - literally - but the saleswoman said it must be imported, so I must actually purchase it. Of course, it's obscenely expensive, so I quite undeniably need cash. This ransom may just do it.

Day Seven

I hate Athkatla.

* One: Nobody trusts you.
I proceeded to the Tanner's home to pay him a visit. I apologized for so thoughtlessly conveying the Inspector to his home, but he would hear none of it. Such is understandable. I'd behead a person who betrayed me to the law. Fortunately for me, Rejiek's cronies were little match for my repitoire. Rejiek himself escaped, which means I at least get another chance to smooth things over.

* Two: Everyone's a moron.
I dropped by the house of the ransomers. I struck up a conversation with Tirdir's "man in red" (Am Si, I believe his name was) who was standing outside. But the moment I let slip I knew of his doings, he panicked and ran indoors shouting for his partners. Before entering I summoned two skeleton bodyguards. (They're probably armed. I'm not stupid.)

I enter the house and find Am Si dead. His two accomplaces bowl me over and crash into my Skeletons. I tried speaking with the two fellows, but their vocabulary seemed to include only snarls and spits. They didn't last long after the small fat one took a swing at me.

* Three: Rewards are pants.
I finally resolved the kidnapping business and claimed the ransom only to be given not gold, but pants. Pants. PANTS. P-A-N-T-S. SILVER PANTS. They don't even sell at market! I'm repeatedly told, "Adventure gear is all the rage. Nobody wants silver coulettes."

"Pantaloons," I say.

"I don't care if they're hose made from Mystra's woven asshair. Ain't nobody payin' you a thin dime for those things. They're not even machine washable."

It's time to leave town for a while.

Because I hate Athkatla.

Day Seven, Part Two

Do the blunders never cease?! As I'm making my way through town I stumble upon yet another attempted murder. And, of course, since the murderers aren't ME the local police force is absolutely nowhere in sight.

Civic duty is, of course, for fools. I know this as well as anyone. Hell, I wish I knew it better. But, Bhaaldammit and call me an optimist, even after getting burned by the whole Tirdir ordeal I find that I can't pass up the possibility of a monetary reward. I do, after all, need that splendid little Vecna ensamble.

Like magic, I create a pile of corpses where there were people before. (Well, technically it was magic - mostly missile spells - but that's beside the point.) I rescue the dying person and inquire whether there shall be some sort of reward for my effort. He says he's but a poor man, though his friends may reward me.

And I've always had the greatest confidence in "friends."

Despite my cynacism, it came to pass that I was monetarily rewarded for my "heroic" deed. The reward was to the tune of about 100 gp. 100 gp from the guy with the BIGGEST building in the whole bloody Docks District. I was livid, but the man was already inside with the door barred by the time I'd worked up enough ire to act.

I hate Athkatla. I'm leaving town. Now.

Day Ten

It's been three days since my last entry, and the strain of the city is finally wearing off me. I feel... refreshed. I've even cleared the stench of urine out of my nose. (How is it beggars can be naked and still get it on themselves?)

My first stop from Athkatla was Trademeet. A courier was rounding up adventurers to save Trademeet from some animal problem or other. At the mention of a "High Merchant" I bent my ear closer and gleaned the exact location of the town - then eliminated my competition on the way there. I flayed their bodies; with Rejiek still at large, imitating his style will incriminate him rather than myself.

I arrived on Day Eight and, once rested, I proceeded to meet with the fellow who holds the purse strings. Except there's one miniscule detail: Dao Djinns have monopolized the town's commerce and, as such, the High Merchant cannot reward me until the money starts flowing again. And the Dao will only leave if I kill a Rakshasa they're hunting.

Kill a Rakshasa. Rakshasas are immune to spells up to sixth level! I don't HAVE any of those! What IS it with this country? If everybody's terminally lazy, why do THEY have all the great adventuring swag?!

I just may kill the Dao instead.

Meanwhile, I've stopped the animal attacks by poisoning the druid grove. The druid that led me to the grove, Cernd, was horrified and fled to report my "crime against nature" to the High Merchant. I suspect I'll need to restore the economy if I want them to talk to me now.

In the interim, I've journeyed to the de'Arnise Keep where they've a troll infestation. I won't need them to reward me here. I'll loot the place and that'll be that. With my earnings I shall finally purchase my imported Robe of Vecna: tailor-made by the hands of enslaved 4-year-olds; limited edition 1 of 8,000; dry-clean-only; one-size-fits-me; superior to all robes foreign and domestic; not to be used as a floatation device; does not meet industry flame-retadrancy standards; complete with certificate of authenticity "signed" with a stamp of Vecna's own signature! Roll out the red carpet, here comes the king!

I can't wait for that ego trip. I'm preparing for it already.

Day Fifteen

OH MOST GLORIOUS OF DAYS! Not even a day spent posing as a physician and bleeding people to death as treatment for "ill humors" can match the exhuberance that has me dancing giddly on the very edge of madness this day!

I've finally done it! The Robe is mine! Looting the de'Arnise family of virtually everything not bolted down brought my engoged purse to a staggering 21054 gold pieces. Well, it was more, but I tithed to Talos after one of my spiders snacked on one of the mouthy de'Arnise wenches who was hiding in a broom closet with some bucketheaded boob. Anyway, it was money well spent. (The markup for being branded an unrepentant murderer in this town is absolutely ghastly!) And, as I've already mentioned, the after-tithe total was 21054.

So, I turned on the charm, sauntered over to the boxom importess, and placed my order (to the tune of exactly $21,000) for one silken, autographed, one-of-a-eight-thousandth-of-a-kind, genuine Robe of Vecna made by the loving hands of enslaved halfling children personally sent to a Hell dimension by none other than the brother-in-law of the cousin of the gardner of the Vecna's very own librarian himself! I even got the matching cufflinks.

Day Fifteen, Part Two

The cufflinks were a bad idea. Spent the rest of today recuperating after cufflinks got caught in beard whilst casting Chromatic Orb at a commoner during a fit of uncontrollable glee. Spell failed and beard has a bald spot in it. Am feeling fashionably "off" despite being bestest dressed mage in the multiverse.

Sulk

Day Fifteen, Part Three

A happy thought intruded on my gloom:
I wonder how long Jaheira can survive on Goodberries while trapped in Irenicus' dungeon? I hope she shares with Minsc. It'd be awful if he had to eat Boo. Heehee.

Day Eighteen

The importess who sold me my ravishing Robe of Vecna told me of a dungeon south of Amn, somewhere along the coast, that possessed untold riches, wealth, and all that business. Thus I've spent the last few days there, within Watcher's Keep.

The denizens of the dungeon certainly prove it to be fertile ground for putting my magery to work. I've mostly fought statues, but I did have the opportunity to test my mettle against a Priest Lich. I wasn't aware religious fanatics sought out lichdom, but this one did. Curious.

So far I'm encouraged to continue through this dungeon. I found a book that allows me to summon my very own golem. True, it's just a flesh golem, but it's my golem - and my first one, at that. Every mage needs a golem to do his grunt work, like opening jars of apricot preserve too tightly sealed. Or dressing us in the morning. Or wiping for us. You know, the mundane things.

Anyway, I may not stay here much longer. I tire of being cooped up for too long in one place, and exploring here is slow going even if it is lucrative. And do you know I've not killed anyone this week? Something absolutely must be done about that.

Day Twenty

I returned to Trademeet today and managed to ebb my bloodlust somewhat. I tackled the Dao djinn and emerged victorious. I even got a strange bottle out of the deal. I've not rubbed it yet, but perhaps it's similar to the Genie's flask from Irenicus' dungeon. One can hope.

As I expected, the High Merchant yelled at me for being a "murderous bastard" et cetera. I was in no mood to deal with him, but his aide gave me a hefty sum for my work with the Dao. Gold is pretty, but it's still disappointing treasure. Oh well.

Afterwards, I met up with the Halfling fellow who gave me the poison for the grove. He gave me a shield as payment.

A Shield.

HAS HE NO CONCEPT OF MAGERY!?

Does he not see my flowing Robe of Vecna? My reserved and intelligent gait? My surpurfluous use of adjectives? GAH! This country has no respect for magery! You'd think these Amnish were Amish!

Well, I've had time to sleep on it, and I've had enough. This whole rotten country does not deserve to exist if it treats fine mages in such a manner.

Adieu, Trademeet. Adieu.

Day Twenty, Part Two

Trademeet
Amnish Town
? - 21 Mirtul, 1396

"Embers float in the dark night air
Cinders belch their tiny flares
Trademeet burns and no one cares
Cause everyone's brains are made of hair!

A burning city; such a sound!
Screams of horror all around!
When the fire subsides, what shall be found?
A collection of corpses in an 80-foot mound!

Dancing 'round that blazing fire
Exhubrant from the enormous pyre
A mage made true his chief desire
And reduced a town to an ashen mire!

Xoltre bludgeoned them with his staff
Tossed his darts and gave a laugh.
Trademeet's now just a little dirt path
A symbol to never engender a Sorcerer's wrath"

Maybe I can find a bard to spin my tale of death into something with a bit more pop.

Day Twenty, Part Three

While razing Trademeet certainly put me in high spirits, it also carried a certain amount of disappointment. During my murderous rampage I was approached by a woman. She said:

"Sir! I know you are busy fighting whomever it is endeavoring to burn our town to the ground, but please, you must help my son! Come to my house when you have a spare minute, won't you? It's indicated on your map as Tiris' house."

(How does everyone know I have a map?)

She ran off before I could turn my attention to Melfing her, though I did remember her after the festivities subsided. I visited the house fully intent on sending the inhabitants to the next realm, but the woman's son, Tiris, stopped me.

"You must help! My girlfriend's been skinned!"

What's this? I've not skinned anyone today. Decapitated, dismembered, incinerated, melted, bludgeoned, and Death Spelled, yes. But not flayed. (How ever did I overlook it?)

"Rejiek?" I asked him.

"No, my name is Tiris."

I glared at the insufferable fool.

"Wait, that name is familiar. Yes, he's the one who abducted my girlfriend, What's-her-name!"

"What do you know about Rejiek's whereabouts?"

And so, armed with Rejiek's last known location, I scouted out the area in the center of town and found him... Dying!

"Rejiek! NO! Who did this? I thought I'd already killed everyone!"

A girl's voice replied, "My... my name is What's-her-name..."

I admit, I was confused for a moment. I didn't expect Rejiek to sound so femme or have the same name as nitwit Tiris' girlfriend. Further, I didn't expect that What's-her-name was actually the girlfriend's name; I just thought Tiris was a complete idiot and never bothered asking her. Regardless, none of it mattered now. I could see by the baggy, ill-fitting Rejiek-flesh drooping from the body, and from the fact that Rejiek seemed to have sprouted breasts, that Rejiek must've switched skins with What's-her-name! Hells rejoice, he's still alive!

"Kill him!" a gruff voice came from behind me. It then repeated the order, but in false falsetto, "Er-ahem- Kill him, dear! Kill that murderer!"

"Gladly!" and I Melfed What's-her-name. Then I turned, "Rejiek! I've wanted to meet you for the longest time. I greatly admire the work you did in Athkatla. And I must apologize for absent-mindedly mentioning you to Inspector Ageisfield. I hope we can now, perhaps, sit down and discuss the finer points of flaying? Your job on What's-her-name was quick and haphazard, but the Flesh Suit you made? Superb!"

"Thank you, but woman's flesh doesn't suit me - the breasts always sag. I'll need yours."

And so, dear journal, I lament that my hand was forced to kill Rejiek. I simply didn't have the flesh to spare, and he wouldn't accept my Flesh Golem. A thoroughly disappointing end to an otherwise jubulant day.

Day Twenty Four

It looks like I have some time on my hands while Valygar figures out how to open the Planar Sphere.

I am traveling with Valygar Corthala on this splendid day. I'm in quite a good mood, too. At our meeting in Umar Hills, he spilled the beans about the mysterious Planar Sphere that squashed a number of peasant houses in the Slums District. He even offered to explore it with me! I didn't bother telling him I wouldn't need him, but I did agree to let him show me how to open it.

Upon arriving in the city again, I told Valygar to run along ahead to the Sphere while I took care of a rather pressing errand.

Twenty minutes later, I'm in the the Council of the Six building in the Government District. Tolgerias inquired as to my progress in tracking down Valygar.

"It's going very well. Better than expected."

And then I - plus minions - murdered the petty bureaucrats. As much fun as it sounds, though, crushing the central governing body of a city is less thrilling than one might expect. They're all a bunch of nobodies who are more afraid of losing prestige than losing their life. When peasants plead, you can see their very life in their eyes. Their fear. Their scorn. Their awestruck wonder at the power you command! Politicians all have the same beady, greedy little eyes no matter what you do to them.

But it was very satisfying knocking out one of the branches of the ill-dressed Cowled "Wizards." Honestly, I think they wear hoods to hide their faces because no real mage would be caught dead in anything so ugly.

So, they're dead. Style: 1. Potato sacks: 0.

Then I met up with Valygar again and we proceeded to the Sphere. I wonder how much longer it will take him to open it...

Day Twenty-Five

As a mage, I've always longed for a mystical refuge to call my own. Some sorcerers construct towers, isolated spires that broadcast a warning to all around: "A wizard resides here. Any graffiti I find will be given nightmarish corporeal form and come after you while you slumber." Yes, towers: grand residences of the most learned minds in all of Toril. As symbols of magely power, they are perhaps the most ominous. But for my domain, I was fortunate to locate something far better than a tower, gradiose and phallic though they may be.

As I mentioned previously, I was travelling with Valygar Corthala, who was having little luck discerning the entrance to the Planar Sphere. After a few grueling hours of trying to invade the device, Valygar remained stumped and my patience had reached its limits.

"VALYGAR! Open this dome or I'll open yours!" I boomed at him.

"Wha-?! Calm down! I think I have it!"

"Then open it! I'm sweating all over my Robe of Vecna AND I'm getting sunburned!"

And truly I was. My skin, which is blackest obsidian, still burns from the glare of blazing noon as if I were a paleskinned redhead. Perhaps I'll investigate whatever obscure parentage that tinted my skin so darkly when I've the time. 'Tis a curiosity I've never resolved.

An hour passed. Or perhaps more than an hour. I faint- err - dozed from too much heat and am not precisely sure how much time progressed during my nap. It was a fitful rest, however, and brought me nightmares of people crawling out from the rubble of Trademeet to rebuild it again. "NO! I destroyed that for a reason!" I'd cry, but the peasants didn't hear me. They built until the town was restored to far beyond its prior wretchedness. I awoke with a scream, startling Valygar.

"Xoltre? I've opened the Sphere," said he.

"Finally! I'd concluded you didn't know how a few hours ago, but just proved the old adage."

When Valygar didn't inquire about the adage, I goaded him.

"'Never doubt the ingenious idiot.'"

He looked at me patiently.

"Are you sure you're alright? I think you have heatsickness."

Does nothing irk the incorrigably "good"?! Perhaps it's the Ranger in him. Meh.

"Nonsense! Into the Sphere we go, then."

And it should come as no surprise that we did.

Day Twenty-Five, Part Two

The Sphere itself seemed abandoned. Excellent.

"Dear Valygar, could you shut the door? I don't want any witnesses, er, peasants to wander inside."

"Good thinking."

While his back was turned, I summoned three Skeletons. He noticed them and commented, "All ready to explore?"

"Yes. But not you."

My skeletons moved toward Valygar. He blinked at me, unsure what to say.

"If it's any consolation, I won't turn you over to the Cowled Wizards. I eliminated Tolgerias when we entered the city, so there's nobody to turn you over to."

"You knew my quest was to clear my family name," he said through gritted teeth. "And you deliberately removed any chance I had of untarnishing it?"

"That wasn't my intent, Valygar! It's just-" I paused.

"It's just what? You thought killing them would somehow aid me?!"

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a murderer if I didn't kill you, would I?"

"WHAT?!"

"We have mutually incompatible goals, Valygar. That's all."

Valygar put up a decent fight, but he was doomed all the same. I stuffed his body in a crate and, refreshing my summons, prepared to explore the Sphere.

After much fighting and much exploring I stumbled upon Lavok, Valygar's ancestor. He was very clearly possessed by a demon of sorts but quite polite. We shared tea and discussed our mutual plans for world domination. I must say, his was dangerously flawed. Even with Lavok's knowledge of Prime worlds the demon seemed to think of them in precisely the same terms as the Nine Hells. I explained the differences a few times, but the demon just couldn't fathom it. Anyway, after we'd finished our strawberry tarts we agreed to a mage duel, and to the victor went the chance for world domination.

In strict mage duels, physical combat is forbidden; it's brutish. So I cheated. I threw darts at him and disrupted many of his incantations. He fumed, though he was far to civil to spit in anger. He swore instead.

"&^*%#! *%&@! ARrrggh!!!"

Day Twenty-Five, Part Three

"T-t-thank you..."

I stared at the collapsed form of Lavok, which I could've sworn had just uttered a gratitude.

"My time is at an end," the proto-corpse said. "I only wish to see the sun once again... I've such a deep wizards' tan from being locked up in this contraption for so many ages..."

"You're the real Lavok?" I said with a hint of disappointment. The polite demon must've died. Then I realized I'd just killed two beings and smiled warmly at the dying man. "Yes, you must be him. Hello, Lavok. I quite admire your Sphere. I believe I'll keep it."

"Then it shall be your doom!" he said ominously, and then rattled on a philosophical tangent about good, evil, alignment changes, the dangers of progress and technology, the dangers of magely power in respect to the unlearned masses who cannot protect themselves from it, the dangers of teaching the unlearned masses protective magic, the dangers of protective magic, and on and on AND ON. Apparently he'd gone quite mad with only a demon to talk to for so many centuries. After what seemed like an age he concluded, "...but you'll never leave here. The engine has no fuel, and I'll not tell you what fuels the Sphere unless you PROMISE, put in writing, notarize, and pledge your very LIFE to taking me out to see the sun before I die."

I don't do it often, mostly because I find it vulgar: I swore. He had me over a barrel.

"If the fuel works, I'll let you see the sun," I chuckled to myself about this promise; alas, I found I'd left my Sunfire scroll in Athkatla.

The fuel, he revealed, is a demon heart. Luckily we were in some hell dimension and right outside the door lurked a Tanar'ri. I cut out its heart and proceeded to the fueling room of the Sphere. And, as the cliche goes, I wasn't alone.

"Well well well, if it isn't Anonymous Mercenary #357. Tell me, any luck finding Valygar?"

I turned to see Tolgerias standing over Valygar's corpse. "No, but you seem to have found him. Good job, there. I'm a mite busy at the moment. If you'll excus-"

"NO!" he screeched. "Nobody betrays the Cowled Wizards without swift, immediate retribution!"

Something wasn't right. As he ranted at me, I was able to put my finger on exactly what it was.

Day Twenty-Five, Part Four

"Tolgerias, didn't I kill you in the Council of Six building?"

"Erm, of course not! How could I be here if you did? You didn't. Period."

"No, I'm quite certain I did. I have the Ring of the Ram that you wore, see?" and I activated the ring, which plowed him into the back wall.

"FINE! As a good villain, I find exposition completely irresistible! You see-"

"YOU'RE the villain? I melted Trademeet to slag, and you say you're the villain?"

"Are you saying I'm the good guy?! HOW DARE YOU!"

"Well, I'm certainly not the good guy."

Tolgerias winced. He stammered. His face colored. He was clearly in alignment conflict, which can be fatal if not resolved quickly. Then, suddenly, Tolgerias blinked out of existence, leaving a second Ring of the Ram behind.

How bizarre.

And so I proceeded to the energy room, threw the Demon Heart into the fuel receptacle, and fled the chamber. The Sphere lurched and flung me into a wall in the snowy chamber that preceded the energy chamber. I hit my head and lost consciousness for an unknown quantity of time. When I awoke, I found myself sleeping in the room of the Guardian Golem I'd constructed during my exploring. Seated on my chest was a note scribbled by a weak hand.

"Mage,
It is I, Lavok. The Sphere finished its journey while you were unconscious, so I summoned the Guardian Golem to carry me outside. The sun is glorious and gives me strength. I feel as if I might live after all. As such, I've decided to take you as my apprentice --" "Apprentice" my charcoal ass! " -- and I look forward to teaching you the ways of righteousness and repentance. Your conversation with the demon who possessed me revealed much of yourself. I believe I may yet save you. When you awake, come with me to the Temple of Illmater - unless he died in my absence - and we shall be saved together, two lost souls cleansed by the healing tears of..."

I stopped reading right there. I knew that the longer I waited, the stronger Lavok would be. And, it was obvious from the note, he'd already gotten his wind back. I hurried outside to find Lavok lying on the ground and reveling in the sunlight.

"Lavok, how are you feeling?"

He smiled at me. "I've been better, but I should be fine with a few more hours of rest."

"Can you lift a body?"

"No, I don't think I could lift my body-"

I dropped Valygar's corpse on Lavok's head and sat on him until he stopped moving.