Short Story: The Breakout
shawne
Member Posts: 3,239
Her footsteps echoed as she walked down the hall.
This was a flaw in the prison's design, and it annoyed Mercy Whitedove greatly. A single person sounded like an army on the march. It was most distracting. She could hear the distant rumbling of thunder; a storm was on the horizon. Hopefully she could conclude her business before the rain started - Luskan streets were disgusting enough when they were dry.
She had had her sword and armor polished to a shine before coming down here, and her wounds had healed; this was not an act of vanity on her part, but rather a demonstration for her prisoner. Let him see that all his struggles, all his viciousness, had not left a single mark upon her.
Finally, Mercy came to a stop at a darkened cell, and called out to its sole inhabitant.
"Dorn il-Khan."
The half-orc did not react to the sound of her voice, familiar though it had become. He had neither moved nor spoken since she threw him into this cell three days ago, after a weeks-long pursuit. The Butcher of Barrow was formidable indeed, but dreadfully unsubtle - Mercy had had no trouble hunting him down.
"The magistrates have reached a verdict." she reported, not without some measure of satisfaction. "You have been found guilty on all counts. The sentence is death by hanging."
He said nothing, but simply remained on the cot, hands on his knees, staring at the far wall.
"You'll be swinging from the ramparts before the day is up." Mercy continued, smiling wryly. "Shall I send for a cleric, if any god will have a wretch like you? Perhaps there's some shaman of Gruumsh or Ilneval loitering in the streets."
At last, Dorn turned to face her, his pitch-black eyes locking onto his tormentor. To Mercy's surprise, the blackguard's infamous temper seemed completely under control: she had caught his ear, but not his ire. She had hoped to provoke him, knowing full well that he was more inclined to make mistakes in such a state... but time was short. She took another step towards the cell, her right hand ghosting over the sword hilt at her hip.
"I have... an offer for you."
One eyebrow rose, but Dorn remained silent.
"Your crimes are heinous, blackguard. But... dangerous as you are, there are far worse creatures in this world." Another step forward, so that her voice would still reach him without being carried towards unwelcome ears. "I have some influence with the magistrates. I could persuade them to release you. And all I would require in exchange is the answer to a single question."
He tilted his head slightly, and for a long moment she wondered if she had done some permanent damage when she captured him. But at last, he spoke: "Ask your question, then." His voice, though hoarse from disuse, betrayed nothing. Was he truly intrigued, or merely passing the time until his execution? She couldn't tell.
Still, she had his attention. "Where is Selene?"
At that, Dorn chuckled, but Mercy would not be distracted. "I know all about you, il-Khan." she insisted. "I know you betrayed your patron when a better deal came along. That's what I'm offering you now." Again came the thunder, closer, louder. "She was seen in your company when you passed through Neverwinter. Tell me where the elf witch has gone, and I will set you free."
She knew her eagerness was plain to see, but she couldn't help herself: the last Child of Murder was wandering Faerun. What was one blackguard, however monstrous, compared to that?
The half-orc, for his part, still seemed utterly amused at the notion. But Mercy had not come to this meeting unprepared. "Is it love that holds your tongue, il-Khan?" she taunted. "Does Azothet approve of such sentiment?"
The name of his patron had an immediate effect: in an instant, Dorn was on his feet, glaring down at her. In full armor, with a greatsword in his hands, he would strike a most imposing figure; framed by prison bars and the faint sunlight from the small opening in the wall, Mercy was less impressed.
"You traveled in such dangerous company." she said, slowly pacing back and forth. His eyes followed her every movement. "Zhentarim, Red Wizards, vampires, drow... but where are they now?" She drew a scroll from her belt and unfurled it; her eyes skimmed the list, painstakingly assembled over months of careful investigation.
"Hexxat of Mezro, Shar-Teel Dosan, Korgan Bloodaxe, Montaron Slycloak, Xzar: all dead. Edwin Odesseiron: last seen seeking passage to Shadowdale. Viconia deVir: currently serving as high priestess of a Sharran cult in Waterdeep." She tossed the scroll through the bars, letting it clatter at Dorn's feet. "I detect a pattern, il-Khan. Selene tends to discard her lackeys - those that survive, at any rate - when they are no longer of use to her." She could read it in his face, just for a split-second: doubt. His eyes darted down towards the scroll, then back to Mercy.
"You have been abandoned, Dorn. Just like the others." Another step forward; he could reach through the bars to grab at her, but she knew he wouldn't. He had nowhere left to run. "Tell me what I want to know."
Another thunderclap. The storm was almost upon them. Strange, she thought, momentarily glancing at the window. She had become so engrossed in the conversation that she had missed the flash of lightning which should have preceded...
Mercy looked back to Dorn, and the blood drained from her face. The blackguard was smiling.
"Very well." he said. "I shall tell you where Selene is."
Another boom.
It wasn't thunder.
"You bastard." Mercy growled, drawing her sword.
She made it halfway down the hall when the prison's outer wall exploded.
The world seemed to tip sideways; Mercy slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of her. There were screams coming from outside, and faint wet crunches, and the sound of debris crashing back to the earth. Using her sword as a brace, she hauled herself upright and sprinted back down the hall, to the upper balcony.
Below her, the courtyard was in chaos. A juggernaut golem was running rampant, tossing bodies left and right. And behind it, veiled by the smoke and dust, were four figures, stepping through the breach in the wall.
The first wore a dirty, bloodstained uniform that vaguely resembled the attire of the Flaming Fist. He swung a wicked-looking longsword as easily as one would a twig, to devastating effect: two guards were cut down in the blink of an eye.
There was a drow woman as well - not the cleric deVir, for she wore black leather and wielded twin daggers, and moved with unnatural speed.
The third was a half-elf in a hooded robe, hands alight with arcane fire. With a gesture, he hurled a fireball into the nearby garrison: the windows exploded outward, along with a scattered array of burning limbs.
As the smoke cleared, Mercy's breath caught in her throat. For there, standing in the center of the group, was the Last Bhaalspawn herself: Selene. The Scourge of the Sword Coast. The woman who had forfeited divinity for mortal pleasures.
Why had she come? Mercy's earlier assessment of the elf sorceress was infallible: had Selene not left a trail of dead companions from Baldur's Gate to Saradush? Had Volo himself not told the tale of the dwarf Korgan, callously sacrificed in Baator for mere convenience? What would lead such a woman to assault a Luskan prison?
The warrior moved to behead an approaching attacker, giving Mercy an unobstructed view of Selene. And the answer struck her with an almost-physical force: the Bhaalspawn's belly was swollen, distended.
"Gods preserve us." Mercy whispered, looking back at the row of cells behind her. She could just make out Dorn's silhouette: he was gazing out the window at Selene. Mercy could sense his smug satisfaction even at this distance.
His lover had come to rescue him, because he had fathered a child with her. How could Luskan's spies fail to note such a thing?!
Selene's orders carried over the screaming and the roaring fires: "Adrian, dispel the wards. Xulaye, find the warden and bring him to me. Angelo, slay all who oppose you!" Magical energy swirled around her, and her slender body dissolved, coalescing into the shape of a Fire Elemental.
They were coming for Dorn. Mercy could do little to stop the slaughter below, but it was certainly within her power to deny them that victory; her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword as she spun and charged back into the hall. She should have killed him in the wilderness rather than bring him back here in chains, all of this would have been avoided, she should have-
A mailed fist shot out of the darkness, catching her across the jaw. The force of the impact spun Mercy around as she violently collided with the far wall; her weapon slipped from her suddenly-nerveless grip.
There was a man standing over her; this one, Mercy recognized by sight. Sarevok Anchev, another Child of Bhaal, kicked her sword away, and looked down at her with something akin to curiosity - the way a little boy would look down at a bug before tormenting it. He held a massive greatsword in one hand, but the tip of the blade was pointing at the earth rather than at Mercy's throat.
From behind Sarevok, Dorn emerged, wearing a gore-spattered chestplate he'd no doubt scavenged from one of the other guards. As Mercy watched helplessly, Sarevok unsheathed another sword from the scabbard on his back and offered it, hilt-first, to the blackguard.
"Selene urges you to take greater care of the Abyssal Blade, Dorn. You risked much for it, after all."
Dorn grinned - exactly the kind of savage, cruel grin Mercy had been expecting since she captured him - and took the blade, clapping Sarevok on the shoulder with his other hand. "I'll be sure to relay my... gratitude to your sister in full measure."
The former Bhaalspawn's lips momentarily curved upwards in a grimace, but he said nothing more and departed, content to leave Mercy's fate to Dorn himself. The blackguard regarded her with that same impenetrable black stare, and after a moment, he positioned his knee over her stomach and knelt, using his weight (and the weight of Mercy's own armor) to pin her down. Outside, the juggernaut golem was careening through the support pillars - they intended to bring the entire prison down.
"I'll tell you a secret, little Whitedove." Dorn sneered. "You were right. My lady can be callous with the lives of her followers. The day may indeed come when she no longer has use for me." He leaned down, and Mercy recoiled at the sourness of his breath. "But when that day comes, you can be certain that I will strike first."
The entire building shook, and a massive chunk of the ceiling nearly struck Dorn in the head. Unfazed, he rose up and made a great show of turning his back to her. "I knew a woman who spent two hundred years trapped in a tomb. She described it as a singularly unpleasant experience." he said as he moved beyond Mercy's sight, towards the stairs leading out into the courtyard. "May your last moments prove to be similarly uncomfortable."
As the main complex finally caved in on itself, Mercy Whitedove curled up, feeling each blow as masonry bounced off her armor. Contrary to the blackguard's expectations, she had no intention of dying today; and just before she blacked out, she swore that she'd find Dorn il-Khan and his Bhaalspawn witch, and make them both pay for what happened here today.
And if their child had any sense at all, it would strangle itself in the womb rather than emerge into the world.
END
---
Author's Notes: So, some headcanon: I've been playing the D&D games as one long metanarrative, so after Dorn's romance epilogue plays out, the "shadows of history" Selene disappears to is West Harbor, where she's killed in the battle against the King of Shadows. Her daughter by Dorn, Zinnakhan, will become infamous throughout Faerun as the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep, then as the Spirit-Eater, and finally, as the Wolf.
This was a flaw in the prison's design, and it annoyed Mercy Whitedove greatly. A single person sounded like an army on the march. It was most distracting. She could hear the distant rumbling of thunder; a storm was on the horizon. Hopefully she could conclude her business before the rain started - Luskan streets were disgusting enough when they were dry.
She had had her sword and armor polished to a shine before coming down here, and her wounds had healed; this was not an act of vanity on her part, but rather a demonstration for her prisoner. Let him see that all his struggles, all his viciousness, had not left a single mark upon her.
Finally, Mercy came to a stop at a darkened cell, and called out to its sole inhabitant.
"Dorn il-Khan."
The half-orc did not react to the sound of her voice, familiar though it had become. He had neither moved nor spoken since she threw him into this cell three days ago, after a weeks-long pursuit. The Butcher of Barrow was formidable indeed, but dreadfully unsubtle - Mercy had had no trouble hunting him down.
"The magistrates have reached a verdict." she reported, not without some measure of satisfaction. "You have been found guilty on all counts. The sentence is death by hanging."
He said nothing, but simply remained on the cot, hands on his knees, staring at the far wall.
"You'll be swinging from the ramparts before the day is up." Mercy continued, smiling wryly. "Shall I send for a cleric, if any god will have a wretch like you? Perhaps there's some shaman of Gruumsh or Ilneval loitering in the streets."
At last, Dorn turned to face her, his pitch-black eyes locking onto his tormentor. To Mercy's surprise, the blackguard's infamous temper seemed completely under control: she had caught his ear, but not his ire. She had hoped to provoke him, knowing full well that he was more inclined to make mistakes in such a state... but time was short. She took another step towards the cell, her right hand ghosting over the sword hilt at her hip.
"I have... an offer for you."
One eyebrow rose, but Dorn remained silent.
"Your crimes are heinous, blackguard. But... dangerous as you are, there are far worse creatures in this world." Another step forward, so that her voice would still reach him without being carried towards unwelcome ears. "I have some influence with the magistrates. I could persuade them to release you. And all I would require in exchange is the answer to a single question."
He tilted his head slightly, and for a long moment she wondered if she had done some permanent damage when she captured him. But at last, he spoke: "Ask your question, then." His voice, though hoarse from disuse, betrayed nothing. Was he truly intrigued, or merely passing the time until his execution? She couldn't tell.
Still, she had his attention. "Where is Selene?"
At that, Dorn chuckled, but Mercy would not be distracted. "I know all about you, il-Khan." she insisted. "I know you betrayed your patron when a better deal came along. That's what I'm offering you now." Again came the thunder, closer, louder. "She was seen in your company when you passed through Neverwinter. Tell me where the elf witch has gone, and I will set you free."
She knew her eagerness was plain to see, but she couldn't help herself: the last Child of Murder was wandering Faerun. What was one blackguard, however monstrous, compared to that?
The half-orc, for his part, still seemed utterly amused at the notion. But Mercy had not come to this meeting unprepared. "Is it love that holds your tongue, il-Khan?" she taunted. "Does Azothet approve of such sentiment?"
The name of his patron had an immediate effect: in an instant, Dorn was on his feet, glaring down at her. In full armor, with a greatsword in his hands, he would strike a most imposing figure; framed by prison bars and the faint sunlight from the small opening in the wall, Mercy was less impressed.
"You traveled in such dangerous company." she said, slowly pacing back and forth. His eyes followed her every movement. "Zhentarim, Red Wizards, vampires, drow... but where are they now?" She drew a scroll from her belt and unfurled it; her eyes skimmed the list, painstakingly assembled over months of careful investigation.
"Hexxat of Mezro, Shar-Teel Dosan, Korgan Bloodaxe, Montaron Slycloak, Xzar: all dead. Edwin Odesseiron: last seen seeking passage to Shadowdale. Viconia deVir: currently serving as high priestess of a Sharran cult in Waterdeep." She tossed the scroll through the bars, letting it clatter at Dorn's feet. "I detect a pattern, il-Khan. Selene tends to discard her lackeys - those that survive, at any rate - when they are no longer of use to her." She could read it in his face, just for a split-second: doubt. His eyes darted down towards the scroll, then back to Mercy.
"You have been abandoned, Dorn. Just like the others." Another step forward; he could reach through the bars to grab at her, but she knew he wouldn't. He had nowhere left to run. "Tell me what I want to know."
Another thunderclap. The storm was almost upon them. Strange, she thought, momentarily glancing at the window. She had become so engrossed in the conversation that she had missed the flash of lightning which should have preceded...
Mercy looked back to Dorn, and the blood drained from her face. The blackguard was smiling.
"Very well." he said. "I shall tell you where Selene is."
Another boom.
It wasn't thunder.
"You bastard." Mercy growled, drawing her sword.
She made it halfway down the hall when the prison's outer wall exploded.
The world seemed to tip sideways; Mercy slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of her. There were screams coming from outside, and faint wet crunches, and the sound of debris crashing back to the earth. Using her sword as a brace, she hauled herself upright and sprinted back down the hall, to the upper balcony.
Below her, the courtyard was in chaos. A juggernaut golem was running rampant, tossing bodies left and right. And behind it, veiled by the smoke and dust, were four figures, stepping through the breach in the wall.
The first wore a dirty, bloodstained uniform that vaguely resembled the attire of the Flaming Fist. He swung a wicked-looking longsword as easily as one would a twig, to devastating effect: two guards were cut down in the blink of an eye.
There was a drow woman as well - not the cleric deVir, for she wore black leather and wielded twin daggers, and moved with unnatural speed.
The third was a half-elf in a hooded robe, hands alight with arcane fire. With a gesture, he hurled a fireball into the nearby garrison: the windows exploded outward, along with a scattered array of burning limbs.
As the smoke cleared, Mercy's breath caught in her throat. For there, standing in the center of the group, was the Last Bhaalspawn herself: Selene. The Scourge of the Sword Coast. The woman who had forfeited divinity for mortal pleasures.
Why had she come? Mercy's earlier assessment of the elf sorceress was infallible: had Selene not left a trail of dead companions from Baldur's Gate to Saradush? Had Volo himself not told the tale of the dwarf Korgan, callously sacrificed in Baator for mere convenience? What would lead such a woman to assault a Luskan prison?
The warrior moved to behead an approaching attacker, giving Mercy an unobstructed view of Selene. And the answer struck her with an almost-physical force: the Bhaalspawn's belly was swollen, distended.
"Gods preserve us." Mercy whispered, looking back at the row of cells behind her. She could just make out Dorn's silhouette: he was gazing out the window at Selene. Mercy could sense his smug satisfaction even at this distance.
His lover had come to rescue him, because he had fathered a child with her. How could Luskan's spies fail to note such a thing?!
Selene's orders carried over the screaming and the roaring fires: "Adrian, dispel the wards. Xulaye, find the warden and bring him to me. Angelo, slay all who oppose you!" Magical energy swirled around her, and her slender body dissolved, coalescing into the shape of a Fire Elemental.
They were coming for Dorn. Mercy could do little to stop the slaughter below, but it was certainly within her power to deny them that victory; her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword as she spun and charged back into the hall. She should have killed him in the wilderness rather than bring him back here in chains, all of this would have been avoided, she should have-
A mailed fist shot out of the darkness, catching her across the jaw. The force of the impact spun Mercy around as she violently collided with the far wall; her weapon slipped from her suddenly-nerveless grip.
There was a man standing over her; this one, Mercy recognized by sight. Sarevok Anchev, another Child of Bhaal, kicked her sword away, and looked down at her with something akin to curiosity - the way a little boy would look down at a bug before tormenting it. He held a massive greatsword in one hand, but the tip of the blade was pointing at the earth rather than at Mercy's throat.
From behind Sarevok, Dorn emerged, wearing a gore-spattered chestplate he'd no doubt scavenged from one of the other guards. As Mercy watched helplessly, Sarevok unsheathed another sword from the scabbard on his back and offered it, hilt-first, to the blackguard.
"Selene urges you to take greater care of the Abyssal Blade, Dorn. You risked much for it, after all."
Dorn grinned - exactly the kind of savage, cruel grin Mercy had been expecting since she captured him - and took the blade, clapping Sarevok on the shoulder with his other hand. "I'll be sure to relay my... gratitude to your sister in full measure."
The former Bhaalspawn's lips momentarily curved upwards in a grimace, but he said nothing more and departed, content to leave Mercy's fate to Dorn himself. The blackguard regarded her with that same impenetrable black stare, and after a moment, he positioned his knee over her stomach and knelt, using his weight (and the weight of Mercy's own armor) to pin her down. Outside, the juggernaut golem was careening through the support pillars - they intended to bring the entire prison down.
"I'll tell you a secret, little Whitedove." Dorn sneered. "You were right. My lady can be callous with the lives of her followers. The day may indeed come when she no longer has use for me." He leaned down, and Mercy recoiled at the sourness of his breath. "But when that day comes, you can be certain that I will strike first."
The entire building shook, and a massive chunk of the ceiling nearly struck Dorn in the head. Unfazed, he rose up and made a great show of turning his back to her. "I knew a woman who spent two hundred years trapped in a tomb. She described it as a singularly unpleasant experience." he said as he moved beyond Mercy's sight, towards the stairs leading out into the courtyard. "May your last moments prove to be similarly uncomfortable."
As the main complex finally caved in on itself, Mercy Whitedove curled up, feeling each blow as masonry bounced off her armor. Contrary to the blackguard's expectations, she had no intention of dying today; and just before she blacked out, she swore that she'd find Dorn il-Khan and his Bhaalspawn witch, and make them both pay for what happened here today.
And if their child had any sense at all, it would strangle itself in the womb rather than emerge into the world.
END
---
Author's Notes: So, some headcanon: I've been playing the D&D games as one long metanarrative, so after Dorn's romance epilogue plays out, the "shadows of history" Selene disappears to is West Harbor, where she's killed in the battle against the King of Shadows. Her daughter by Dorn, Zinnakhan, will become infamous throughout Faerun as the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep, then as the Spirit-Eater, and finally, as the Wolf.
6
Comments