[spoilers] request for the texts from the dreams.
Klorox
Member Posts: 894
Hey guys.
I'm going to run a D&D campaign based on the events of this game.
I'd like the texts from the dream sequences so I can have a frame to model the dreams for the Bhaalspawn in my game.
Thank you so much!
I'm going to run a D&D campaign based on the events of this game.
I'd like the texts from the dream sequences so I can have a frame to model the dreams for the Bhaalspawn in my game.
Thank you so much!
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You do not dream often, but tonight the visions are vivid indeed. Long have you walked, but now you find yourself back amidst the stones of Candlekeep. Your former home looms before you, but the gate is closed and barred. Over the walls, there is a candle in your old room, but as the light goes out, the brick surrounding the window closes together. The very walls conspire to keep you at bay.
A familiar voice startles you, though it is calm and caring. "You cannot go back this way, child. You must go on." Gorion forms before you, and though his image should be comforting, it seems but a shade of his living self. He is dead in your dreams, as in life.
The phantom of your foster father gestures toward the blackness of the wood as though it should be inviting. Perhaps it is, in a way, but the traveling will be hard. As you think this, a smooth and obvious path becomes clear out the corner of your eye. It seems meant for you, pulls at your very being, and promises to quickly lead you away from the life you once led. Perhaps this would be for the best, but it is a bit too convenient for your liking. You do not wish to dwell upon the loss you have endured, but neither should it be forgotten. Gorion smiles and fades away.
The pull becomes a push, but you turn away, steadfast in your new direction. The way is not quite as clear, but it is sure to be interesting nonetheless. A whisper follows as you stride away, something vestigial and sinister that you recognize, but yet have never heard. "You will learn..."
You don't look back.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream1, Evil]
You do not dream often, but tonight the visions are vivid indeed. Long have you walked, but now you find yourself back amidst the stones of Candlekeep. Your former home looms before you, the drab walls just as you remember them. Over the barricades, you can see your old room, and you wonder if it really was as small as it appears now.
As you stand before the keep, a familiar figure comes into view. Gorion stands before you, but his visage is shadowy and weak. He is dead in your dreams, as in life.
The phantom of your foster father mutely walks towards the woods, towards supposed safety, and beckons for you to follow as he did once before. This time, you remain behind, knowing what is to come.
Before your eyes, phantoms of the past reenact the pathetic scene that must have taken place in your absence. Clad in armor assuredly magical, a figure strides from the darkness. Admittedly a powerful mage in his youth, Gorion is all but helpless before the onslaught. As he falls, the scene begins again, replaying over and over. Each successive viewing makes the unknown warrior all the more impressive.
As you stare at the murderer of your former mentor, one thought coalesces in your mind: You will have such power as this. Whatever it takes, you will have all that he does, and more. With that, a passage becomes clear through the darkened wood, and you wonder how you could have missed it. The trees close behind you as you walk, but you are unconcerned. The path feels right and will assuredly give you what you seek. It seems to promise this in a voice you know, but yet have never heard.
The image of Gorion's death replays in your mind throughout the night.
You get used to it.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream2, Good]
You are startled out of sleep with a chill, though the night is warm and calm. It is as though someone has walked across your grave, and for a moment, you wonder if it was you. With this thought, the ground beneath you opens, and you are swept into the dark.
When light returns, you do not find its presence comforting. Before you lay the empty mines of Nashkel, cleansed by your previous passage. You move through walls and floors alike, descending deeper and deeper, until a bloated figure comes into view. Mulahey, in no better shape than you left him, stands motionless before you.
Held from whatever afterlife calls it, this foul apparition has been waiting for you. A dagger of bone hovers before it, ready for a willing hand to drive it deep. Had this creature breath, you are sure it would be hurling curses. It waits for the kill, a death beyond death, and knows no hope.
You turn your back on the blade, and it clatters to the floor. Punishment enough shall find this creature in the land of the dead; you need not inflict any more upon him.
Surprised and thankful, the visage of Mulahey hobbles forward and through you, off to whatever fate it deserves. Perhaps for safekeeping, it leaves a part of itself behind. It is a spark of hope that fills a space within you; a dagger-shaped hole you did not know was empty.
There is a cry of rage from the depths, and the dagger of bone launches itself though the air, your heart its target. You awake just as it should have struck, and the cold sweat that covers you stings your eyes. A disapproving voice lingers in your ears, though it should have disappeared with the dream. "You... WILL... learn!"
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream2, Evil]
The stone tunnels of the Nashkel mines constrain your dreams tonight. The twisting depths are more a nuisance than claustrophobic now, what with the hidden marauders dead at your feet. Deeper you tread, chuckling over your triumph at each body you see, pausing occasionally to wipe your boots clean or check the odd kobold for coins you might have missed.
There is a sound from below, and you quickly move towards it. A door opens, and before you stands Mulahey, in no better shape than you left him. Held from whatever afterlife calls it, this specter has apparently been waiting for you. A dagger of bone hovers before it, ready for a willing hand to drive it deep. Had this creature breath, you are sure it would be hurling curses. It waits for the kill, a death beyond death, and knows no hope. Rightfully so.
You brush aside the quaint blade and bring your hands around the creature's neck. A stranger's weapon simply will not suffice in this matter; you must be certain this phantom remains among the dead. It is strange though: Doomed as he is, Mulahey still looks somewhat relieved. His visage fades within your grasp and leaves you clutching at empty air. A puzzling turn, but of little concern. The mine is yours once again.
You turn to leave, but find the exit blocked. The lone dagger has become five: a skeletal set of claws that hovers before you. A talon extends and presses against your chest, and a hollow voice chills the air. "You should use the tools you are given." It traces a line of ichor on your tunic, increasing in pressure. "Listen to what is bred in the bone." There is a flash of motion as the claws push deep into your chest.
You awake in an instant, the sound of morning a welcome clamor. You are intact and, though tired, you are certainly not afraid.
Your heart is not your weak spot.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream3, Good]
As darkness falls, your mind drifts back to events past and to triumphs well deserved indeed. A fortified camp secluded and guarded from the entire coast, and it is naught but easy pickings before your guile. All manner of bandit and brigand move about here, but you may as well be invisible amongst them.
Your recollections are interrupted by a powerful gust of wind, lifting you high above the camp and woods both. Your arc crests in the high morning sun, and for a moment, you are as a bird, free from your duties to those below. With unseen hands, the earth reasserts her hold on you, and suddenly you feel less like a sparrow and more like a catapult stone.
Without impact or fanfare, the ground accepts your passage and does not strike back. In a moment, all is black, and for all you know, you have descended to the very core of the world. The rock around you illuminates, and a cavern slowly takes shape, though you can see no more than a few steps ahead or behind. Stumbling forward, you find yourself face to face... with yourself.
Before you is a likeness in stone exact to the smallest detail. A voice in the darkness accuses you, even as it seems amused. "Such pride undeserved, great predator, when your whole being is borrowed. Credit where it is due, and dues where payment is demanded."
A dagger of bone flies from the blackness and strikes the statue square. It cracks slightly, but the pain you feel is as though you were rent asunder.
"You were made as you are," taunts the voice, "and you can also be broken." You fall backward into the void and do not come to rest until morning wakes you.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream3, Evil]
As darkness falls, your mind drifts back to events past and to conquests well won indeed. The feared and fabled bandits that have plagued the entire coast are as dust beneath you. You stride through their camp, ignoring their attacks, and scattering tents and bodies as you go.
Your recollections are interrupted without impact or fanfare, as the earth opens to accept your passage. The cascading rock and gravel prevents your escape, and in a moment all is black. For all you know, you have descended to the very core of the world.
The walls around you illuminate, and a cavern slowly takes shape, though you can see no more than a few steps ahead or behind. Stumbling forward you find yourself face to face with yourself.
Before you is a likeness in stone exact to the smallest detail. A voice in the darkness accuses you, even as it seems amused. "Such pride undeserved, great conqueror, when your whole being is borrowed. Credit where it is due, and dues where payment is demanded."
A dagger of bone flies from the blackness and strikes the statue, square. It cracks slightly, but the pain you feel is as though you were rent asunder.
"You were made as you are," taunts the voice, "and you can also be broken." You fall backward into the void and do not come to rest until morning wakes you.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream4, Good]
Tonight, you dream of blood. Not of blood on a blade or the blood on your hands, but an ichor that runs as a torrent through the Realms. A flood that pours across the fields and forests. An ocean that floats you to the world's edge and threatens to cascade off into the void.
This blood seems a frightening thing: a massive force that sweeps away all resistance. As a whole, it is a monster, and it cannot be stopped. Were it to be viewed from on high, it would seem to cover the entire world in its red-black embrace.
You, however, do not have such a lofty perch. From within the deluge, you can see it does not move as one, but is filled with currents, eddies, and undertows. Pockets of calm afford breathing space, whilst violent whirlpools threaten to rend limb from limb. Ultimately, it seems undirected, and lacks a driving will, a quality you have in abundance. You may be caught within, but sufficient determination can shape what you need to survive. There are still options open, still choices to be made.
As the tide presses forward, you steer as you wish, atop a ship called Persistence and under sails made of resolve.
A sudden and deliberate wave puts an end to your course and to the dream. It would seem that the flood does have some will and took offense to your enjoying the ride.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream4, Evil]
Tonight, you dream of blood. Not of blood on a blade or the blood on your hands, but an ichor that runs as a torrent through the Realms. A flood that pours across the fields and forests. An ocean that floats you to the world's edge and threatens to cascade off into the void.
This blood seems a frightening thing: a massive force that sweeps away all resistance. As a whole, it is a monster, and it cannot be stopped. Were it to be viewed from on high, it would seem to cover the entire world in its red-black embrace.
You, however, do not have such a lofty perch. From within the deluge, you can see it does not move as one, but is filled with currents, eddies, and undertows. Pockets of calm afford breathing space, whilst violent whirlpools threaten to rend limb from limb. Ultimately, it seems undirected, mindless, and meandering. You may be caught within, but there are still options open, still choices to be made.
The tide presses on, but you press back. Let the blood rage as it will; you are in control of what is yours, and that is all you can ask.
[/spoiler]
[Spoiler=dream5, Good]
You close your eyes tonight, and visions of Candlekeep swim into view. As you pass through the gates of the citadel, there is a flash of memory, and you are a child of only a few seasons once more. At your side is Gorion, gray-haired even all those years ago. How old must he have been to age so little in the time since?
Aged as he ever was, you still have to run to keep up with him. He has an important meeting with Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes: an important meeting about you. Funny, you don't remember it.
As you stand outside the doors of the inner keep, you can hear the shouting from within. Gorion seldom raised his voice, though you did not care to listen to the "discussions" at your previous stops either.
As you trace patterns in the water of a fountain, a reflection distracts you from the argument. A large raven has perched atop a stone wall and stares directly at you with huge black eyes. You stare back through the mirror of the water and are suddenly afraid to meet the bird's gaze any other way. It has claws for feet. You think to yourself: little skeletal claws.
The doors of the keep suddenly swing open, and Ulraunt storms out. He glances at you for a moment, but looks away as he speaks. "You both can stay," he sneers, "but mark my words. That child will be the death of you."
A flash of memory once more, and Gorion walks out of the keep as he is today: dead. You drop your gaze back to the water so as not to see. The raven is gone, but your own image remains. Your eyes are black, like those of a bird.
"Like father, like child," the reflection says.
You wake with a yell, predictably unrested.
[/spoiler]
[Spoiler=Dream5, Evil]
You close your eyes tonight, and Candlekeep winds its way into your dreams. With a flash of memory, you are a runt of a child once more, Gorion dragging you through the gates of the citadel. Aged as he ever was, you still have to run to keep up with him. He has an important meeting with Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes: an important meeting about you. Funny, you don't remember it.
As you stand outside the doors of the inner keep, you can hear the shouting from within. Gorion is uncharacteristically loud and seems quite irate. You don't know why he bothers, really. No one seems to want the two of you around.
As you trace patterns in the water of a fountain, a reflection distracts you from the argument. A large raven has perched atop a stone wall and stares directly at you with huge black eyes. You stare back through the mirror of the water and are suddenly afraid to meet the bird's gaze any other way. It has claws for feet. You think to yourself: little skeletal claws.
The doors of the keep suddenly swing open, and Ulraunt storms out. He glances at you for a moment, but looks away as he speaks. "You both can stay," he sneers, "but mark my words. That child will be the death of you."
A flash of memory once more, and Gorion walks out of the keep as he is today: dead. You drop your gaze back to the water so as not to see. The raven is gone, but your own image remains. Your eyes are black, like those of a bird.
"Like father, like child," the reflection says.
You wake with a yell, predictably unrested.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream6, Good]
Tonight, you sleep hunted by all and wake in a dream hunted by one.
Tonight you are the monster everyone claims you are: the kobold scorned like a rodent, the ogre that children fear comes in the night. The mobs and their torches now come for you, counting you among the creatures you once did hunt. Or so someone would have you believe.
Once again you hear the voice, a voice that now makes no secret of its origins. It speaks of destiny and nature, and of evils bred in the bone. It says you will never be free of the mob, that they will hunt you for what you are. Murder and death run through your heart, and accepting that will supposedly give you power. The essence of Bhaal within you cannot be ignored.
But you have not ignored it. You realize that from the first you have fought the very blood in your veins, fought dagger and claw for each victory, and ultimately you have triumphed. With righteous will, you have turned the dark forces within you to good purpose. Whatever the foundation of your being, you have remade yourself in your own image.
Amidst threats it does not yet know are empty, the voice tries to play upon your doubts, but finds none. As you stare unwavering, the presence grows weaker and weaker. As it fades from your mind, one warning does stand out amidst the din. It speaks of others that will listen where you have not, others that will embrace what you have rejected, and others that will be your death. This describes but one man, and you know of no other it could be. He who orchestrated your fall, deceived your comrades, and deserves all that your justice shall mete upon him. Sarevok.
His is a debt that must be paid to the whole of the Sword Coast. You awake sure of your cause and of what must be done.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Dream6, Evil]
Tonight, you sleep hunted by all and wake in a dream hunted by one.
Tonight, you are the monster everyone claims you are: the kobold scorned like a rodent, the ogre that children fear comes in the night. The mobs and their torches now come for you, counting you among the creatures you once did hunt. Or so someone would have you believe.
Once again you hear the voice, a voice that now makes no secret of its origins. It speaks of destiny and nature, and of evils bred in the bone. It says you will never be free of the mob, that they will hunt you for what you are. Murder and death run through your heart, and accepting that will supposedly give you power. The essence of Bhaal within you cannot be ignored.
It is mistaken. You have already accepted what runs in your veins: You have accepted it and moved on. Whatever the foundation of the blood within you, it is yours and no one else's. If there is a power to be had, then you will administer it as you see fit and not according to the ravings of a shade long dead.
You calmly turn your back and walk away, applying the most powerful weapon you have at your disposal: indifference. Let the dead rattle on if they wish. Had they the power to harm you, they would have done so a dozen times over. More tangible threats require attention.
The voice becomes shrill and piercing as you walk, but gradually grows weaker. As it fades, one warning does stand out amidst the din. It speaks of others that will listen where you have not, others that will embrace what you have rejected, and others that will be your death. This describes but one man, and you know of no other it could be. He who orchestrated your fall and deserves all that you shall inflict upon him. Sarevok.
He shall feel your wrath for all that has occurred. You awake sure of your cause and of what must be done.
[/spoiler]