A/N: I don't own 'Baldur's Gate', neither do I claim to. This story was written for my own entertainment; I hope you'll find it entertaining, too. Oh, and one more thing: I could use a beta. English is not my first language and try as I may, mistakes still slip through. Email me if you're willing to try, or just say so in your review and I'll contact you.
The Great Revenge
Prologue: In the Limbo
The Limbo is a place outside the borders of time and existence. It is eternally quiet and universally peaceful, because in the Limbo all worldly troubles loose their importance. There is no light and darkness there, no whisper and no shout.
That is, when Jaheira isn't there.
"This cannot continue!" the half-elf shouted, shaking her mane of long hair. It was still golden-brown and wavy, although – she knew it with painful clarity – it would soon turn into blond dreadlocks. "We must end this nightmare at last!"
Four heads silently nodded their support. Anomen scratched his chin nervously. "Acting out the murder of your only sister time and time again is traumatic enough, though after the thirtieth time the novelty wears off a bit. But being literally raped by a thrill-seeking nymphomaniac, well, that leaves you with a dilemma, whether to retch or rather scream your lungs out."
"And you can do neither, that's the worst part," Khalid added sympathetically. "As for me, I'm fed up of dying a long, gruesome and above all – painful death."
"And I'm fed up of looking at it," Imoen shuddered. "I only keep my sanity by visualizing HER in your place."
"Here I was, thinking you were friends," Dynaheir remarked casually. "By the way, could we please imagine a table and some chairs? That nothingness makes me jumpy."
Everyone concentrated and gradually five chairs and a table emerged from the void. The furniture was of unpleasantly vague shape and color, and it seemed to melt whenever one tried to take a better look of it. However, it was still functional. The five conspirators took their seats.
"Don't you think we should bring Minsc here?" Imoen was clearly uneasy.
"Oh, he's about the only one who doesn't mind the situation at all," Dynaheir calmed her. "I don't think he has realized we're running in circles."
"Mm. And the others?" Anomen asked, resting his elbows on the table and barely managing to stop them from sinking into it. He flashed the rest an apologetic smile.
"They either don't care," Khalid grimaced, "or are out of our reach. Or too stupid to help."
"Let's call Aerie—" Imoen began.
"What, that whiny little wimp? Over my dead body!" Jaheira growled. "I'll tell you who could be useful. Jon Irenicus."
The ever-present emptiness spat out a familiar willowy silhouette. The mage crossed his arms and dispassionately – he couldn't well help it – surveyed the group. Imoen went pallid.
"I don't want him here!" she squealed. "After what he has done to me... more than once!"
"My dear child," Irenicus replied smoothly, "you cannot possibly blame me for that. The daughter of Bhaal pulls the strings, as is the case with all of us."
"Yes, but you enjoy it far too much."
"What would you want?" he shrugged. "I AM a homicidal psychopath, after all."
"My question is short and straightforward," Anomen interrupted, "and I expect the answer to be of a similar type. Will you help us?"
"Yes," Irenicus visibly became more serious, even though the expression on his... face never changed. "There is evil and then there is evil, and in comparison with the Bhaalspawn, I'm not even naughty."
"In that case, please, imagine yourself a chair."
The chair was there before Anomen finished the sentence. It was decorated in a classic theme of skulls and spikes. Irenicus had an eye for details.
"What was the subject of your discussion before I entered the stage, if I may ask?"
"We were listing our grievances towards the Bhaalspawn," Khalid reminded. "Oh yes, here's an interesting thought. For reasons yet unknown to me, I have been made a comic relief. My purpose is mainly to provide a contrast for her courage and willpower."
"Did it not occur to you, my half-elven friend, that it might have something to do with the fact that you stutter? And your wife, um, fits the definition of 'dominant' rather well?"
"I d-do not stutter!"
Silence. Pointed looks.
"Well... maybe a little. When I'm really vexed. Besides, it's not nice to laugh at someone because of a little speech impediment."
"And our sex life is nobody's business," Jaheira added.
"I feel your pain," Anomen said sincerely. "'Oh, lady fair', 'my flower', 'my love'... I mean, honestly, my typical pickup line is 'hey, baby, you're hot, how about a little roll in the hay?' My teeth hurt when I say that corny nonsense."
"I'll die in two weeks," Dynaheir spoke all of a sudden. "If I am lucky."
They were silent for a few minutes.
"Sometimes we are almost ourselves, all but regaining our free will," Irenicus drawled thoughtfully. "And sometimes we are simply puppets, saying alien words put into our mouths by a greater power."
"Sometimes?" Jaheira snorted. "Only here, in the Limbo, I am my own person!"
"No, it's true," to general consternation, Imoen supported the mage. "I remember... When I am in Spellhold, there are times like that. Perhaps it's distance that matters? The further away from her, the weaker her influence?"
"It's not enough," Anomen sighed.
"Wait a second," Dynaheir raised a finger, "I think I have something. We need some person who could operate outside the borders drawn by her. Somebody who shouldn't be there at all. I can't get to Athkatla, I never appear there... but you, Khalid, do."
"M-my very dead body does," Khalid countered, but he was listening carefully.
"Silvanus!" Jaheira cried, understanding at last. "She won't be coming too close! There can be anyone on that table: Khalid, alive, someone else, dead, anyone!"
"A good plan," her husband smiled. "I like it – don't you, wizard?"
Irenicus shook his head. "Not at all. A terrible blow to my experiments. Still, I can think of no other way. We will have to try this one."
"Supposing it works and I'm there..."
"Kill her," Anomen stated matter-of-factly.
"Preferably before he," Imoen pointed at Irenicus, "takes my soul away."
"I agree," the mage nodded. "It's one of those no-stopping moments, and once there, we'll have to proceed with this sorry farce to the bitter end. I too don't enjoy dying."
"Then extermination it is. Ladies and gentlemen, I propose to imagine ourselves some wine."
They raised their glasses, drinking for the upcoming victory. Dynaheir smiled.
"I can feel our revenge coming. And you know what? It tastes like honey!"