Rothe Kreeg - A Kreeg Family Portrait

[Malacoda]

A Kreeg Family Portrait
By Rothe Kreeg

Part One: Dreaming

It is odd that I find myself writing this down, not my cowardly brother Sebastian, nor my insane brother Taltruss. I have never been a literary scholar, nor do I have any intention of doing so. It is my desire, however, to share what we have experienced, what we have done, and what I seek redemption for doing.

My first memories are of my birth town of Luskan, a small sea port to the north of Neverwinter, known for little more than about as far away from civilization as you can get. I fondly remember the tall rigging of the ships in the harbor, the rough men, and the comfortable women that ran to greet them. Some days I would sneak down to the docks and use my money from chores to bet on the fights. With the watch just always out of reach, the violent and bloody combat of wanderers that always seemed to end in more laughter than death. These were good times, simple times.

My mother would sit next to the hearth in our small cottage, singing of far off lands, the dangers of dark places, and the riches of kings. There were many a night when she would quiet us and lull us to sleep with her voice. Her voice made her popular, so much so that she had suitors practically lined up at the door. She would sing us to sleep, then entertain guests for an hour or two. The few nights I woke up from slumber, I heard her guests departing and looking out from our small bedroom window and they always has smiles on their faces. There was warmth there, but it was not to last.

The nightmares began when I was but twelve. As I was the oldest and I had them first. The first night I awoke screaming, sheets bloody, with visions of a faceless horror carving into my flesh. There was a hunger that started that night, one of repressed rage, of sadness, and of revenge for our torment. My mother came quickly into the room, scolded me for awakening my brothers, and tended to my wounds. She would call me aside later and ask me not to share this with my brothers as they were too young to understand. When I began awakening to their screams, we decided to talk, down by the stream where we always played games of adventure and treasure.

Taltruss started first, always the loudest, looking up from his seat on a rock with a wooden sword in hand. “So, have you guys felt him too, in the night? Always faceless, sometimes a beast, sometime with a changing form, killing and blood. It spares none and kills everything in its path. I see it almost every night now…”

I responded, always the first to judge, “Stop being such a weak crybaby. They’re just nightmares, they can’t hurt you.”

Sebastian answered, the youngest and the most naive, “But Rothe, we all have them now. Our mother has started burning our sheets. She’s saying that people have started talking about us.”

Taltruss laughs and states proudly, “I think we are special. This is a calling. I feel horrified, but somehow I grow safe in its presence.”

Sebastian answers, “But doesn’t it hurt you? I mean, the blood burns, it makes it hard to go to the bathroom. This can’t go on…”

I reassure them, “There is little we can do but strengthen ourselves. Whatever it is, it tests us, and makes us stronger. Look at me. I grew older, stronger, and it no longer comes for me.”

And with that, we went on to play, thinking that it would pass. Time and age, however, changed little. The townsfolk did indeed begin to talk, children threw stones at us, and we were pulled out of our modest education. We began to learn at home, from our mother. Our affliction began to grow on her. Her friends stopped visiting at night and the meals began to grow sparse.

Then, late one night, a priest of Ilmater came to visit, his swaying silver holy symbol burned into my mind. I remember his words clearly, “You should come to our service and repent. My god would spare your soul this suffering. You do not need to carry this burden alone.” The words calmed me and my brothers and as my mother sang us to sleep, I could see the pleased look on the priest’s face as we drifted off.

But the nightmares returned and with a vengeance. Each night when we closed our eyes, we knew that we would awake to pain and confusion. We knew we would awaken lashing out against an attacker that had long departed. Calming our restless stirrings took more and more of a toll on our mother. She grew pale and nervous around us, with her loving gaze replaced by one of sadness and shame.

It was a harvest night in the waning months of the year when it happened. I remember sitting in the kitchen alone with my mother as she prepared the night’s meal of stewed roots and various meats. She had little, but always tried her best to make it flavorful and different. Tonight however, I saw her shake, nearing tears while she stirred the pot. She went below the counter and removed a small blue vial, pouring it into the stew. Pouring four bowls, she set the small wooden kitchen table with flowers and little charms that I knew she held sacred from her childhood.

Calling my brothers into the kitchen, I had a moment alone with her at the table. I began sipping the stew and it was wonderful. It was warm and simple, but flavorful. “Mother, promise not to get mad, but I have… been sipping from that little vial under the counter for a month now… a little each day. I’m sorry if I took it from you.”

She looked pale and responded, “Why would you do that? That was for all of you!”

I started crying, the last time I remember doing so, and said, “I thought you had forgotten it.”

She stood up quickly, with anger on her face. She then looked at my empty bowl, my face, then out at the boys headed in for dinner. “No! You can’t… This has to end!” She ran across the kitchen and grabbed a butcher’s knife. I remember the butcher that gave it to her. A pleasant, round man, with a stout laugh. But I do not remember what happened next, I just remember being on the floor, lying next to my mother. A blank look in her eyes. A rest in a warm pool.

The first to come in the room was Taltruss, who screamed the loudest of any I can recall. I remember him picking up the knife and stabbing me as I lay motionless on the floor, screaming, endlessly screaming. Through the kitchen window I saw little Sebastian looking on. His face was blank, stripped of emotion by horror and sadness. I do not know how long I lay there, Taltruss stabbing, and Sebastian watching. I drifted off again, but this time... my dreams were quiet. I... slept.

[Malacoda]

Part Two: The Orphanage

I awoke to see that same silver, holy symbol dangling over my body. That priest I saw not long ago praying over me, while the town watch hauled away my mother, wrapped up in a coarse brown cloth, tied by simple ropes.

My brother Sebastian was the first to speak to the priests that followed. He said simply, “I think the pain this house inflicted on use is over. I feel free.” Oh, how naive Sebastian was. He had this wide-eyed smiling look. I wonder where he was at that moment, seated in a bloody kitchen with a dozen men scouring the room.

The eldest priest simply responded with a loud prayer, “There was an evil in this house. Let us hope that it now leaves these innocent boys in peace.”

The first days at the orphanage were rough. Everyone knew what we did. They hated us. Even the Ilmatari priests that ran the place gave us a slight sneer. They saw us as spoiled children who threw away a loving home in an act of evil. I knew, if I was to protect my brothers, that I would have to set an example.

The tallest boy they called Nails after his long skinny fingers. He was the first to pick on little Taltruss. In fairness, he did endlessly spout on about his belief that the divine called us to act. It tried reasoning with him, but he just kept on telling this to other children who viewed him at best as different and at worst as something to beat into silence. I caught Nails one day, holding a bloody-nosed unconscious Taltruss by the hair, showing him off to the other children like a marionette.

My rage was swift, silent, and violent. I broke bones. I tore his ear off with my hands. The dozen other boys just watched as I worked on him over half an hour, asking him questions about his future plans, picking his face up out of the mud to repeat his words to the onlookers.

The vengeance of our matron, who was most certainly not Ilmatari, was swift and one-sided. She beat me for hours, slapping my face and whipping me with straps, enraged that I would not cry. How could I? Those tears belonged to my mother and she would not have them.

Sebastian learned to hide from the boys. He liked to escape alone, to see the city, and to get away from the matron for as long as he could. Inevitably, he would be brought back and I would try to cover for him as I could, but the beatings were rough on him. I could see the bruises draining what good spirit he had left.

That’s when The Butcher came. Over the year that followed, boys were beginning to disappear. The first one drew attention, but we were orphans, so the investigation was short and irresolute. I started having dreams again, this time about someone coming in the night with a rope. It was always a dark figure dragging a lifeless body out of the room by the neck at the end of a thick rope. The children began to make up nursery rhymes about The Butcher coming for the bad kids.

I should have seen it in Taltruss’ eyes, but the image of my little brother was of a young boy by a stream. One morning I spotted the rope burns on his hands. I still do not know why he did what he did, but I knew what they would do to him once they found out. I knew that if he stayed, they would kill him.

So, we began to plan our escape from the Luskan countryside. We would go far away, where all of this would be behind us. What I did not expect was that Sebastian would be the one to lead it. He found the flint and steel, the hay beneath the floorboards, and lit a quick flame before waking us to leave. The blaze was visible for miles and the screams were brief.

I remember looking at my little brother Sebastian with such sadness. I knew that he didn’t intend to kill those children, just to set a distraction. But, the flames took them and, according to a travelling minstrel I queried some time later, the two nearby cottages with people quietly resting for the night.

[Malacoda]

Part Three: The Red Road

Our travels that night were brief. Taltruss said that he knew of a bunch of guys that might take us in. That they listened to his stories and were sympathetic to our plight. I was at least interested in what grown men wanted with my little brother.

I pulled Sebastian by the arm through the woods, following Taltruss that seem as if animated by the divine into a feverish pace. The look of excitement on his face was enough to move me into a similar gait. We came upon a clearing with a large bon-fire, visible first as a red glow, then with animated dancing shadows. Taltruss ran forward and yelled, “Gix, we made it!” This monstrous half-orc stepped from behind a tree, battle-axe in hand and I stopped suddenly, sending Sebastian crashing into me, then onto the ground.

The hulking half-orc responded, “Oi, wuts these weaklings gun ta do.”

Taltruss responded, “These are my brothers. We need to hide…”

Just as he spoke, the sounds of clashed swords and shouting rang out through the forest. Screams were heard… “Bhaal claims you!” against shouts of “May you find Mercy!”

The half-orc shouted, “Gixustrat’z gotz some killinz ta do.” He leapt into the fray as I pulled both of my brothers south through the woods, knowing of another town that we might find shelter in.

As we crashed through the woods, I said angrily to Taltruss, “What were you thinking? Those men are ritual murderers!”

Taltruss responded, “Those men listened to me. They liked my dreams. They helped me get revenge on those boys in the orphanage.”

I stopped. I shoved Taltruss to the ground and pointed a finger, “Then maybe they can save you from the noose that you’ve earned!”

It made sense to me now. There’s no way he could have killed those boys alone, so quickly, then covered up the mess so thoroughly.

Sebastian went to pick him up and I pulled him back, pointing at Taltruss, saying to him, “No. He did this. He has to fight his way out of this one.”

Taltruss looked at me with a hate I hadn’t seen on his face before. He spoke to me in a voice low and angry, “Brother, I saw what you did to mother and I wish those priests would have let me finish the job on you.”

Time passed. It felt like an eternity. The shouts of combat, Taltruss slowly picking himself up, and Sebastian mute with shock. I looked away from Taltruss in disgust. He started walking to the north. As I glanced back, I saw it. I saw the look on his face that still haunts me. It was one of happiness. It was one of zeal and purpose.

That was the last time I was to see my little brother alive.

[Malacoda]

Part Four: Survival

The days on the streets of Neverwinter were hard, rough times. There were moments of joy and of pain. Years began to pass.

I knew we had to survive, so Sebastian and I did what we had to. I fought on the streets for money. I took a dive when I had to. Won when I didn’t. My brother showed up with money and I didn’t ask questions. We didn’t speak much at all, in fact.

When Taltruss left, Sebastian grew quiet and cold. I could see the scars on his skin, from fights I never knew about. I probably should have asked more and I hope there is still time to.

One day, after returning from a particularly nasty fight with some sort of sharp-toothed monstrosity of a man, I came home to the watch dragging Sebastian out of our modest apartment by the docks. I stayed out of sight, watching as they hauled him off. Maybe the watch could teach him what I couldn’t bring myself to. This world is rough, the weak are victimized, and you have to play it smart to live. For a moment, I thought I saw him look at me. To this day, I do not know if he saw me.

That was a tough week. Leaving Sebastian in jail brought me almost to the point of insanity. I drew a blade across my skin to see if I could still feel it. Towards the end of the week, I barely took notice of it and it simply became habit.

That’s when I started praying. I was never a devout man. You can see my actions as plainly as I have written them. I just knew there had to be some reason. Some guiding force pulling me forward. The evil gods were too easy. I knew if I were to find happiness, I would have to look deeply inward and work through the hardness that had come to define and sustain me. I began praying and something answered. It comforted me, told me I was destined, and let me know that this world’s pain would end.

I am no religious scholar, nor would I bore you with my musings on the subject. But… let me assure you that something did answer, but I was not to have the time to reflect upon it.

Sebastian came home from jail, hardened and different. He told me about the friends he made there. We talked for hours. We hadn’t done so in years. He told me of a shipment headed to Baldur’s Gate, destined for some religious organization, and that it would be lightly guarded. If we acted before his friends did, we could live off the profit for the rest of our lives.

I remember saying, “Tell me then, if you would ever stop looking over your shoulder. Betraying your friends. Betraying some god’s faithful. Would you be willing to kill for this? To murder your way into happiness as our brother had done?”

With that, he stopped, stared at me coldly, then left.

The news of the robbery gone wrong spread through the city. That four bandits were hung for the crime and that a chase for the remaining few was underway.

The third night, when little Sebastian didn’t return, I decided to head south. If there’s a chance I can save him, I have to try…

[Malacoda]

Kaden Asen posts:

Guardsman Thedran is seen shoving two prisoners down the road. . he threatens, and strikes them repeatedly until they reach the far eastern gate by the small merchant's camp. Once there he barks something about bhaalists and cuts both their throats. . .

Once done, he stakes both of the corpses along side the edge of the road, and returns shortly after to stake a notice to the chest of the human corpse.

After inspecting his handy word, he dusts his hands off and walks back south.

[Malacoda]

Part Five: The Horror in Baldur’s Gate

After traveling for a week through the thick woods and countryside of the Sword Coast, I arrived in the small city of Baldur’s Gate. Walking in from the east, I see a row of impaled thieves and criminals.

The stench was foul. Their rotting corpses caused me to turn away in disgust. Then I saw Gixustrat’s large Orcish body decomposing in the sun. I knew, somehow, what I was to find next.

To his left, mouth open wide as if spewing maggots in a last speech towards some insane mass that I will probably never know, was my little brother, Taltruss. I must have kneeled before him for hours, asking questions that will never have answers. I knew I had failed him and that I must be the one to bury him.

His ceremony was uneventful, a quiet burning in the woods, with no one to mourn his passing. The forest stood still, but for a moment, as the crackling of fire and flesh took him to a place that I’m sure I will see soon enough.

With the last embers fading, I knew that I still had a chance. Sebastian was here somewhere. I knew it. I could feel it. He might have even watched me burn little Taltruss from the woods, but feels some need to hide from me. I hope that someday we can put our family’s history behind us, but I know that there is still a long way to go.

[Gixustrat]

// claps excitedly!!!

Yay good story brotha...dun dun dun!!

[Charraj]

//
Good read!

[Malacoda]

Written on the back of the same documents, presented previously, by Rothe's brother Sebastian.

Dearest Rothe,

As you hold these documents, couriered by a Saint, know that we will never reconcile.

However, let me tell you what your mind cannot seem to grasp. There are truths that you have forsaken. I hope that presenting them to you will cease whatever justification you have for siding with those that would kill our family.

I take you back to our childhood, to your youngest days with our mother. I saw the men come and go, freshly departed from ships, into our mother’s room. When she thought we would be a problem, she would use her arcane songs to hold us asleep. I will tell you too, that I knew she did not just sell her body for money. Some of our dreams of men ripping into our flesh were indeed real. The things they did to us that fractured little Taltruss’ mind, drove you to a place distant and cold, and me to a slow, burning hatred. There are few nightmares more horrifying than our youth and you must read more of it.

We will never know who our father was, if we even had the same one. I doubt our (germbag) of a mother could have even pointed to him passing on the street. He must have been truly dark indeed to give us the ability to do the things we did. No child should be capable of such things.

Then there is the matter of our mother’s death. Even though she was a hateful creation, she was our mother, and you destroyed her. The merciful thing would have been to allow her to end us, just as she bore us into this world of pain. I will never forgive you for taking her life, older brother. Know that firmly and truthfully.

I remember watching as you used your bare hands and teeth to tear her apart. It was as if you knew, deep down, what she had done and it all came forward in one violent, final feast of blood. You even chewed out her tongue, big brother. That was your one fitting act, as she used that to hold us still.

When the priests came to lap up the blood-soaked carrion, I lied to them. I told them words of innocence, when all the while I screamed in my head that you should be burned alive for what you did that day. I hope that still comes to pass.

At the orphanage, I saw you break with sanity again. You saw them holding Taltruss’ limp body, with nose bloody. You did not know that Taltruss had passed out from a seizure, breaking his nose. You assumed what was not there and you ripped that boy to pieces. He survived, but not by your best efforts.

When Taltruss and his friend began taking the other boys for slaughter, I knew. I knew what he was doing and remained silent. Had I spoken it to you, you would have bathed those boys in blood, and I doubt that you would have discriminated between sinner and saint.

When I set that fire to cover our tracks, to escape from the orphanage, you could have stopped me at any time. I wanted you to. I knew, deep down, what would happen. But would their screams be enough to quiet your rage? The place was wooden, built like an oven, and you are no idiot.

Then you abandoned our brother to the Bhaalists. You had to know that he would die. You knew that his zealousness was born of madness and fueled by your actions. You let him go. You let him die.

Then again, in Neverwinter, when I ran afoul of the moneylenders, seeking to buy food for us. They had the watch come for me. You watched them take me. There was no lesson for me to learn in their captivity. That last view held the last vestige of my innocence. How well do you think young men fare in jail? They put their evil in me, in both body and soul.

When you finally found the brother you abandoned to be brutalized, covered in maggots, what did you think? Did you think for a moment that he got what he deserved or that it should be you dead on the side of the road? I hope you see those writhing maggots every time you close your eyes. I imagine them crawling through your flesh eating their fill of a rotten soul.

There is an evil in you that even you do not see, Rothe. You call upon it like a (germbag) when you need it and it takes you wholly.

Do you think they will ever accept you, brother? I see you talking to her. The liar with a halo. I can see the way she looks at those men in shining armor.

Greetings to you, Saint Merielle Silene. I have given you this response and offer you a choice. A choice that I never had.

You may choose to give this to him, knowing that it will shatter whatever innocence he has left. You will have done the right thing and helped to make whole the man’s memories. Who are you to say what he should or should not know?

You may choose to discard this letter and I will never speak again of its contents to my dear brother Rothe. He would keep his hope for reconciliation and forgiveness. He would keep the smile that I now see beginning to form on his face. You would bear this knowledge for him, so that he would not be pained by it. You must know that this letter would shatter him wholly.