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Chapter 20 - Clashing Ideals

"Gods, my head..." Bart grumbled as he woke the next morning. He groaned as he sat up and looked through blurry eyes to find the room empty. He could hear the clatter of steel off in the distance, and figured they were training in the yard. The sound could be heard even through the closed windows, and he pulled the covers tightly over his head. Bart had no intention of joining them. It was far too noisy for his liking, and Hilfa was likely out there prepping her troops for one thing or another. The last thing he wanted to deal with was her nagging.

He decided he'd sleep some more and try to wait out the hangover. He doubted anyone would miss his presence. Most of the survivors from Olaraa were familiar with him and tended to leave him alone.

It seemed fate had other ideas in mind for Bart. His head touched the pillow as he heard the door's hinges squeak open. He barely had his eyes closed when he looked over and spotted Arion walking into the room.

Great, he thought bitterly, trying to ignore the feelings of fear that were starting to surface.

"I've been wondering where you've been hiding lately," Arion said as he strolled into the room, arms crossed behind his back.

"An' I've been wondering if ye died in Olaraa, but I guess that didn't happen," Bart shot back, pulling the covers tighter around himself. Going out into the yard and dealing with Hilfa was looking better and better by the second.

"Chipper as always, I see." There was a slight pause, and Bart had hoped Arion had left. He was wrong. "You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

Bart snorted. "Yer annoyin', what did ye expect?"

"I meant more than usual."

"I'm tired of yer persistent desire ta help me. I don't need savin', ye pompous ass." Bart wanted to be rid of the mind-reader as quickly as possible. He wanted sleep, he wanted to be left alone, and he didn't want his secret being found out. "How many years has it been? I ain't gonna say 'Yes' ta yer offer!" Bart lowered his back down onto the pillow and covered his closed eyes with his arm.

Why does shouting have to hurt so much? He thought as he waited for the pain to subside.

"You don't think you need help when you're wasting all that time and money on alcohol, narcotics, men and women every night?"

"Got nothing better ta spend my gold on. An' fer yer information I ain't touched a drop in months 'til last night." What right did he have to judge him anyways? Whatever religion Arion followed had no sway over him. "It's my money an' I'll spend it how I see fit, not how some uptight religious monk wants me to! Ye don't know a damn thing 'bout me!" Bart sat up in the bed and swung his legs over the side. The sudden movement made his head spin and he leaned forward to get the room to stop whirling about. He began to lace up his boots to head out. If he wasn't going to be granted the comfort of a longer sleep, he'd go for a walk. Anything to get away from Arion.

"Whatever it is you're running from, Bartholomew, you can't run forever, and you'll eventually have to confront it."

"Noted," Bart said dismissively. I know you can read my mind, so read this: shut up and leave me alone! Bart thought it as hard as he could, hoping that maybe it would at least drown out the other thoughts on his mind that desperately wanted to surface.

He wasn't sure if Arion actually heard his thoughts or not, but the monk sighed anyways and said, "I'll leave you then, since you're so unwelcoming towards your own kind."

"Ya, cut the crap, monk!" Bart snarled. "Ye ain't winnin' any friends talkin' like that, an' I told ye before, I ain't one o' ye.

The ursar stared at him a moment more, looking disappointed. "At least let me ease that headache for you. There's no sense for you to be in pain." Arion reached out with a paw for Bart's head.

Bart flinched and leaned away from Arion's touch. He kept telling himself not to think about anything with the other ursar so close.

Arion paused, and his breath caught in his throat. "Bartholomew, what are you hiding?"

Springing up from the bed, Bart backed away from Arion, shouting, "Stay out o' my head! Stay away from me!"

"Bart, what did you do?" Arion asked, more sternly than before. His eyes flicked back and forth, scanning him for some answer to his question. His eyes shot open, then his face scrunched up into a scowl. "You murdered them!?"

Shit!

"I th-thought you didn't read peoples minds!" Bart said, panicked as he tried to keep the distance between them.

"I wasn't. You're thinking your thoughts so loudly, it was like you were practically shouting them at me!" Arion advanced on Bart, balling his paws into fists at his side. "How could you kill those people in cold blood!? They didn't deserve that!"

"O' course they did! The way they treated me, the things they did to me... they brought it on themselves!" Bart continued to back away from Arion. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to gauge the distance between him and a weapon rack that was placed against the wall. "Someone has ta get rid o' people like that! Th' law failed ta do anythin'!"

Damn it! Still too far to make a dash for them. Need to stall him a bit longer.

"You hadn't even seen them in over a decade!" Arion shouted. "No one deserves death!" The monk was furious, and it occurred to Bart that this was the first time he'd ever seen him angry. Knowing that at any second his psionic powers could be unleashed at any second made his heart race.

"Like ye would know anything! Ye stay in yer temple day and night and never see the outside world. Ye've never been mistreated or beaten by the people yer supposed ta trust, and ye tell me what people do and do not deserve?" Bart's heart raced and adrenaline coursed through his veins. His anger grew as he remembered every bitter defeat at the hands of the Stoutmantle family. He used it like fuel, to keep his anger going and his adrenaline pumping. He hoped that Arion was reading his mind at that moment, and he hoped that he was watching all the memories playing out in his mind. He wanted Arion to know how he felt and why he'd been driven to killing the Stoutmantle's off.

"You're right, I haven't ever had those kinds of experiences. But I don't need to live through that to believe that all life, even the lives of those who hurt others, is sacred."

"Sacred!? Are ye mad? Ye think that the life o' someone who hurts others be sacred?" The idea that all life was equal baffled Bart. How could such a thing be possible? He was better than the Stoutmantles, how could their lives be worth just as much as his?

"Are you suggesting your life isn't just important as another person's?" Arion asked. "You've certainly hurt your share of beings in your short life."

"Ya, that's exactly what I'm saying!" Bart yelled without even thinking about it. Wait, that didn't make sense? He was better than the Stoutmantles. His life was inherently worth more! Realizing his folly, he quickly added, "Sh-shut up! Yer just trying ta mess wit' me head. You're trying to tell me I'm wrong, and I won't believe a word you say!"

"Everyone is entitled to a chance for redemption, even if they have hurt others. They don't deserve to die for what they've done. No one does, and neither do you."

Bart laughed at Arion. "Ye forgot one thing..." Finally within arms reach of the weapon rack, Bart lunged and grabbed a loaded crossbow before pointing it at Arion. "...the foolish can't be redeemed, an' the only cure fer stupidity be death!"

The crossbow fired, launching the bolt at Arion. Moving with amazing speed, the monk dodged the shot. The bolt harmlessly struck the ground and tumbled through the air. Before Arion recovered, Bart grabbed a second crossbow and fired, but it too was dodged.

"Damn it! Stand still!" Bart shouted as he grabbed the final two loaded crossbows from the rack and fired them in quick succession. Arion dodged the first shot, but couldn't move to avoid the second. Bart grinned, but it quickly faded when he saw the tell-tale eye flash and watched as the bolt bounced off an invisible barrier.

Bart roared in a fit of rage and frustration, the sound rattling the remaining weapons on the rack behind him. He grabbed a pair of swords and charged at Arion, but even after stab after stab, slice after slice, all he was able to hit was air. His swings were quick and frenzied, and his arms swiftly grew tired. He couldn't give up. He had to keep going and beat Arion. It was the only way to keep his secret safe!

Why can't I hit him!?

"Do you intend to murder me like you murdered that family?" Arion said without a hint of anger or fear in his voice. He spoke in a simple monotone that only served to annoy Bart. His voice radiated confidence, like he knew that he was going to come out on top in this conflict.

"I have ta shut ye up somehow!" Bart swung and this time he struck his target. Or so he thought. Arion grasped the blade with his paw and held it at bay with ease. Bart growled and aimed for Arion's chest with his other blade, but it was easily slapped out of his paw by the monk.

"My turn." It was all Arion said before he finally went on the offensive. He ripped the dagger out of Bart's hand and tossed it aside before he struck. Bart was caught off balance when the first punch struck him in the jaw. He fell backwards with the force of the blow, then was slammed in the chest by a lightning-fast kick. The ursar spun towards the ground and coughed. Blood flew from his mouth and spattered against the floor.

"D-damn it!" Bart cursed, struggling to get up. Was this what it was like truly fighting Arion?

"Do you even feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you've done?"

"Why th' hell should I feel sorry?" Bart wiped blood away from his muzzle using his arm. He pushed himself up onto his knees, then slowly he got back on his feet. "I did what I had ta do, what no other being could do. I ain't gonna feel sorry for killin' those arseholes either."

Bart swung out at Arion and tried to catch him with a left hook, but the monk leaned to the side to avoid it. His paws came up and gripped his arm, holding Bart in place so that he could firmly plant his knee in the ursar's stomach.

Bart lost all the air in his lungs and dropped on the spot. As he tried to regain his breath as quickly as possible, he waited for the followup that was sure to come. Arion never made a move, however. The monk was toying with him, giving him time to recover.

"Have you had enough?" Arion asked, kneeling down to look him in the eyes. "It's not too late to give up." He offered his paw to help Bart up, but there was no way the ursar was going to take it.

Bart roared as he lunged at Arion, tackling him to the ground. Claws flashed out and sliced the monk's face. Deep wounds opened up as blood began to seep out and tint his white fur red. Wasting no time, Bart slammed a paw into Arion's chest and dug his claws in. Arion groaned as the claws tore through his flesh. "Ye can't predict what I'm going ta do if I ain't thinkin' it, can ye?" Bart laughed as Arion writhed beneath him, feeling triumphant that he was able to overcome some aspect of the other ursar's psychic abilities. His mind receded and he allowed instinct to take over as he continued to ravage his opponent. "That's yer secret right? Ye ain't fast, ye just know what a being be thinkin' before they do it. An' if all they're thinkin' be how stupid ye are, ye can't react in time!"

"No..." Arion closed his eyes and gave a grunt of exertion as a wave of telekinetic energy hammered into Bart and sent him flying. The ursar cracked his back against a bed frame and groaned from the impact. "...but I can still do that."

It's just one trick after another! he thought as he fought to regain some composure. How the hell is anyone supposed to kill this bastard!? He cursed his luck at being born magicless. If he had some control of the arcane, maybe he'd stand a chance. But as he was, he had few options for dealing with Arion.

They each lay on the ground, breathing hard and not speaking to one another for a moment. Placing a hand on the bed frame, Bart pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, forcing himself to stand before his opponent did. His face hurt, his chest hurt, and his back really hurt, but he wasn't going to let any of that stop him. He was determined to finish what he started. Bart began to stumble back towards Arion as the monk began to get up.

"Don't do it," Arion warned.

"I'll kill ye, ye bastard!" Bart shouted as he wound up for a great swing of his thick paw, claws and all.

"No." The ursar caught his arm by the wrist and held him at bay. Arion's eyes began to glimmer with a golden light. "I'm ending this, now!" He winked out of view just as he was about to be struck by Bart's other paw.

Bart's eyes darted around the room as he tried to find the other ursar, but before he could turn to look behind him he felt something strike his left arm at the joint. He screamed as his arm went limp and he could no longer seem to move it. He turned around as Arion moved to strike his right arm.

Bart twisted his arm and swiped with his claws, catching Arion just below the neck, on the collar, and drenching his white fur with a fresh splash of red. The monk was able to counter-attack, bringing his left arm up and striking Bart's shoulder joint before that arm, too, became dislocated. In one final move, Arion appeared in front of him and slammed his palm into Bart's muzzle, breaking his nose. He groaned as he fell to the ground and landed with a dull thud.

"Ye bastard! Ye never were gonna fight fair, were ye? Hurry up an' finish me then!" Bart spat on the other ursar's feet.

Arion thrust his hand down and clutched Bart's head. The grip was not hard and his fingers didn't dig into Bart's face, but it was firm, and he could feel his palm pressing down on the top of his muzzle. Both Arion's eyes shimmered a bright gold as his pupils and irises faded to be consumed by the light. Bart's vision darkened as the world around him began to fade away.

"W-what are ye doin'?" Bart stammered, struggling to force each syllable out of his mouth. It felt like he was being put to sleep, but he was still fully conscious. Slowly, his body began to shut down. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak any further, he couldn't even open his eyes.

The voice that he heard next echoed, as if multiple people were speaking at once. It radiated power and confidence, and it scared Bart. "Recognition is a powerful skill, and it'll let me see what you did, Bartholomew. This is going to hurt you just as much as it will hurt me. However, it is necessary, because I want you to feel what those you hurt felt when you killed them. Who was the first?" Arion asked idly, as if he were reading from a book. "Garen Stoutmantle, huh?"

Images flashed before Bart's eyes, as if he were living the past few weeks in reverse and at high speed. They seemed like a jumbled mess of sensory information with no coherent order as they flew by, but gradually they began to tell a story of the last couple weeks as they were pieced together, almost like a puzzle. When time seemed to resume its slow crawl forward, he found himself just outside of a forest. It looked familiar, but everything looked so large compared to him. He stumbled backwards and hit something solid. He mumbled an apology and spun around to face whoever was behind him. He gaped, horrified, as he stood looking up at himself.

"It's okay, dear brother," Bartholomew said to him. The beast loomed over him, easily standing several feet taller than him. Why was he so imposing?

He'd bumped into himself, and yet, the apparition standing before him wasn't fully recognizable as being him. His fur was mangy and disheveled, and the eyes were blood red. Were they always like that, or was it the infrared spectrum they saw through? The claws were extended and gripped a large crossbow, bigger than his head. As the apparition leaned forward with a wide, toothy grin, Bart could see his reflection in the depths of the ghost's eyes.

He was Garen! The body that he was in was the body of his former brother.

Every part of his body was frozen, he couldn't move. Could he even run from this memory, or was he being forced to stand in place? As the apparition spoke the words he himself had used only weeks ago, Bart was filled with utter dread. His legs shook and though he wanted desperately to run, they would not move. His heart raced. His palms were sweaty. His leggings were wet. For the first time in a long time, Bart felt utterly helpless and unable to do anything. The apparition finished speaking and fired a crossbow bolt into his head. Pain blossomed in his skull as the fletchings on the bolt bloomed into the top of his vision. Only one thought remained before everything went black.

I'm sorry... Bart couldn't figure out whether they were his thoughts, Garen's, or if the monk had planted then there. He wasn't sure which was more terrifying.

Bart's vision returned and he could now see everything clearly. He was back inside the barracks in Sanctuary, but for how long? Arion's paw remained on his face, held there firmly. He could still feel the pain of the bolt entering his skull, and he uselessly tried to use his hands to check to see if there really was a hole there. It was no use with his arms dislocated.

"Please, no more!" Tears streamed down Bart's face. his heart was pounding in his chest and he worried that it was about to burst. He'd had enough.

"No, you haven't." Arion focused again, and conjured up more images, when Bart had killed Neriti and Remi. The same feelings as those he had just felt as Garen returned. He was no better than them!

As he inhabited Neriti's body, he could feel the sharp edge of the knife drag against his neck as tears streamed down his face, watching helplessly as Remi ran towards him. He couldn't do anything to save her. Not only that, but the entire time they were together, she'd been too afraid to speak up, afraid of what he'd do to her if she tried to stop him from treating Bartholomew the way he and Garen did.

The ursar had never before felt such hopeless remorse in his life. He felt his body slump over as blood gurgled in his throat. It wasn't possible. Neriti couldn't have had any regrets for the way they treated him. Even when they were alone, she was cold and unfeeling. It had to be a trick! But the sensation was so strong that it overtook Bart's other senses, and all he could feel was the regret that ate away at his soul as his life faded away.

Then when the vision faded and was replaced by Remi's memories, he watched in horror and rage as his wife was taken from him, and felt the utter shock and betrayal as the knife was driven into his chest from under his arm. He watched the sneering face of the ursar monster as it breathed in the stench of death. He never liked Bart, but deep down he questioned his actions and what his religion told him. But through the haze of alcohol and exhaustion, he couldn't fight those xenophobic ideals. He knew he never should have allowed the state to leave Bart in his hands, but the stipend was too much and it would've allowed them to live easy for the rest of their life.

He reached out at Bart as he tried to cling to the living world. The beast just sneered in his vile way. As Bart watched the world around him dim, the only thing that remained was the burning pain of the knife in his side.

When next the waking world returned, Arion pulled his paw away from Bart's face. "Now, you're done," he said, panting. Whatever Arion had done, it had taken a lot out of him, and it looked like he was in pain. If only Bart could move his body, he'd finish him off! But after struggling, he resigned to his fate and felt his eyes water.

"Well, finish me then!" Bart sobbed. When he closed his eyes to shut the tears out, he could see their deaths again and again. It played out in an endless loop in his mind. "Finish me! Free me from this, ye bastard! Ye did this ta me!"

Arion shook his head and sighed. "You did this to yourself, Bartholomew." He lowered himself on his haunches, kneeling beside him and carefully looking over his body. His expression was plain, almost unfeeling, and he appeared bored. He gently brushed aside some hair that had fallen in front of Bart's left eye, and the ursar could do nothing to get away from his touch. "Do you understand their pain? And their regrets? They were not bad people, they just made bad choices."

"Bullshit!"

"Is that why you have so much doubt clouding your mind?" Arion asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. "They were just as afraid of you as you were of them, weren't they?"

"Shut up ye braying ass! If ye won't jus' finish me off, turn me in fer my murders and let the authorities do it!"

"I don't do things that way. I know what'll happen to you if I hand you over to the courts. Besides, I can't prove it, now can I? It'd just be my word against yours. I think you get the point though, don't you?" Arion asked.

With tears running down his face, Bart asked, "Why are ye toyin' wit' me!?"

"All life is sacred, and now that you've seen the error of your ways, maybe you can try for a second chance in life. Start anew, not as Bartholomew Stoutmantle, but as an ursar like your parents."

Bart didn't answer after that, preferring instead to clamp his eyes shut and try to block out the pain Arion had inflicted on him.

The door swung open and people rushed in, exclaiming that they had heard fighting and were coming to investigate. When asked what happened, Arion only said that he had pushed a few buttons he shouldn't have, and requested for a medic to come look at Bart's wounds.

Before leaving, Arion said, "Remember our talk today, Bartholomew. I'll make sure you never forget."

As Bart lay on the ground, waiting for a medic to help pop his arms back into place, he no longer fought to maintain his already wavering composure. He cried. Without the psion in the room, he felt like he could finally break down. Tears flowed freely once again as he cried. "I don't want to be like them! I don't want to feel it anymore!"

With the memories forced upon him, he could still feel the sharp pain in his side where he had stuck Remi with his knife. It burned and really did feel like it was bleeding despite there being no real physical wound. He couldn't comprehend how the sensation was still there, or why it still ached. All he knew was that he didn't want to feel that pain anymore. He'd been wounded in combat before, but this was something different. Something new. It terrified him in a way he'd never felt before.

"Put him under!" one of the dwarves next to him said. "We can't carry him to the infirmary like this. He's squirming too much."

The priest nodded her head and uttered a short prayer to Lumine. Within seconds, Bart fell into a deep slumber, all the while fearing that he would re-experience the murder of his former foster family.

Fate seemed to be feeling generous, as he was spared the pain of reliving the experience that Arion had put him through. When the waking world returned to Bart, he found himself strapped down into a bed as the priest worked him over. His body still hurt all over, and he still wasn't able to move his arms. She and another orderly were working to pop his limbs back in place.

"This is going to hurt," the priest said as she gripped his thick arm with both her hands.

Bart closed his eyes. "Gimme a bottle of ale. Now!" he barked.

The orderly ran out of the room and came back several minutes later with a strong smelling bottle of moonshine. She stood and waited until the priest popped his arm back in its socket. The ursar bellowed in pain as feeling returned to his arm and he could move it again. Pain surged through his body and he writhed in his shackles. Once the pain faded, he was able to flex his good arm to snap the restraints. He swiped the bottle away from the dwarf, ignoring her protests.

"Be careful! That's Shinkicker Stout!" she begged, but Bart didn't care.

He bit the cork and pulled it out using his teeth before spitting it off to the side. The strong aroma of ale filled his nostrils as he began to guzzle the contents down. His body shivered as the strong, bitter drink splashed against his tongue, and he fought back the urge to vomit as he kept drinking. He was done the bottle before the priest had moved to work on his other arm.

Bart had hoped that once the alcohol kicked in, he would no longer feel the pain and he would be able to forget the memories. He was not so fortunate. The room spun, his thoughts became clouded, and he could not forget the look on his own face from the memory that Arion had shown him. Was that how he truly looked to other people? Was that fear what he really wanted others to feel? He had felt fear and helplessness before. Was he really any better than the Stoutmantles for inflicting such pain on them? How could he say his life was any better than theirs?

He began to cry again. The priest dismissed the orderly and began to work his body over with her magic. Claw marks and bruises were patched up, and deep beneath the skin, his internal bleeding ceased.

"I dun wanna be like them," Bart blubbered. "Why did I do it?"

"Do what?" the priest asked almost non-committally, like she was used to incoherent babbling coming from her patients.

"I killed 'em. All o' them," he slurred. "He found out. He made me feel everything I did."

The priest tensed as she worked, but otherwise kept healing him. "Murder is a terrible thing." Bart didn't reply. He merely let the tears flow freely.

When the priest was done healing his wounds, she put him back to sleep. In his dreams, he was chased by some unseen monster through a dense forest. His ears were filled with the sounds of brushes being trampled and of trees being knocked over. Everywhere around him was the creak and crash and screams of the forest. They were never far behind, and he felt as if whatever was chasing him was merely inches away. Fear propelled his legs, allowing him to move faster than he thought possible.

The terrain was unforgiving, and he couldn't move at full speed the whole time. His heartbeat was strong enough that he could hear it in his ears, and he knew that whatever was behind him was going to catch him. It was inevitable. What could he hope to do? Fear guided him, just as it always had through his entire life. He panted, trying to catch his breath, but he couldn't quite fill his lungs. His sides ached from a stitch from the endless sprint, and his legs burned, threatening to cramp if he didn't keep running.

Bart was struck in the side by a powerful force and flew to the side, tumbling out of control from whatever it was that had been chasing him. He felt fresh blood rolling down his side, and he couldn't feel his arm anymore. Four solid, evenly spaced cuts ran across his bicep and partly onto his back. He groaned as he tried to stand.

He was pinned against a tree by the creature. It grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him into the trunk, and he could feel his back crack. His mouth opened as he choked out a scream, and more blood gurgled up his throat. Bart was finally able to see the monster, and it terrified him as he looked into the fearsome red eyes.

It was him. Not the ursar that he thought he was, that enjoyed a good brawl and a nice drink, but rather, the murderous side of himself. The side that delighted in the pain inflicted on others. The side that had killed the Stoutmantle family and that which he had come face to face with in Arion's visions.

"You sniveling wretch!" the monster roared at him. The sounds around them fell silent, as if nature itself was afraid to cross him. The creature raised its paw to strike him. "You're weak!"

"N-no!" Bart protested, feebly lifting his uninjured arm to stop the attack. "I tried to win! I couldn't beat him!"

"You didn't try at all!" Claws swiped across Bart's muzzle, and he could feel a tooth or two being ripped out by the force of the blow. Blood filled his mouth and he sniffled as it dribbled out of his nose. "You let him beat you! You let every single person in your life dominate you and treat you like filth! You don't deserve the life you've been given. You're too soft!"

The monster tightened his grip and reached up to clench his paw around Bart's throat. As the air was being cut off from the ursar's lungs, he began to kick out and hit the beast, but it was futile. Nothing he could do seemed to work.

"Why do you struggle?" the monster asked, cocking his head to the side and leaning in. His voice was low, but rage bubbled just beneath the sudden calm that had come over him. "Am I not everything you wanted as a cub? I'm everything that you have strived to become."

"N-no, you're not," Bart rasped. The tightness around his neck was relieved some, but he could barely get any air. His lungs burned as they were starved.

"Of course I am!" The monster gripped harder and shoved Bart back against the tree harshly, forcing blood and a little bit of precious air up and out his mouth. "How many times have you relied on me because you couldn't handle something? I am the driving force in your life. I am hatred! I drive you on, and consume you!"

"No!" Bart shouted, but he knew it was a lie.

"I don't care about anyone else, because I don't need them!" the monster sneered. "Isn't that what you always thought? Isn't that what you always believed?"

"That's not true! I care about HilFA: "

"Bullshit!" The shout echoed throughout the empty forest, and not even a single animal seemed to stir from the noise. "The only person you care about is yourself. Hilfa is nothing more than a plaything to you!" It chuckled, a deep throaty rumbling that turned into a full on laugh. "And did you see the way she looked at you?" He let go of Bart's neck and allowed the ursar drop as he turned around and paced a few steps away. "She doesn't even see you as a sane individual anymore. You disappoint her, because you're just another weak drunk. You don't even realize it, but in your weakness, you've become just like Remi! Wear that name with pride, Bartholomew Stoutmantle!"

The guffaw that followed the insane beast's ravings was like rolling thunder. It rumbled up from somewhere deep in its chest, and exploded outward in a fit of harsh laughs.

"So?" Bart coughed. "What of it? What does that have to do with HilFA: ?"

The monster whirled around, the red of its eyes gleaming and with a grin on his face. "She doesn't care about you! Gods, do you need everything pointed out to you? She hated Stoutmantle, and now that you're just like him, she can't stand to be around you. And that's just fine. You don't need her. All you need is me."

"And just who the hell are you?" Bart yelled, his voice rising in pitch as he grew desperate. He was feeling light headed from blood loss. But was this even real?

"I'm the side of you that you refuse to embrace," it responded. "I am the creation of everything that you've wanted since you were a cub. I'm the one who can make your dreams come true. You want power? You want women? Money? Booze? I could get it all, and more, as long as you hand your body over to me. Do you honestly think such half-assed methods you've been using will suffice? Let your hate consume you. I can make your life so much better."

"I've never wanted anything like that!" Bart shouted at him. "You're just another apparition cooked up by that bastard, to mess with my head!"

The monster laughed at him, his voice so much like his own that it unnerved him. "Even at time like this, all you can think about is him. I suppose Hilfa was right about one thing. You're the only one who doesn't realize he loves Arion."

"Shut up!" Bart roared. The monster continued to laugh, the sound like daggers in his ears. He rose on wobbly, shaking legs, hearing leaves crunching beneath his weight. His arm flexed and he lashed out, his claws cutting four deep cuts across the monster's body. "I will never love that bastard! Never!" He continued to rake the apparition with his claws. He was unrelenting.

The laughter grew distorted as the monster's form began to fade and discorporate into a cloud. It was like watching spores being kicked up by a gust a wind of fading off into the distance. Soon, Bart was alone in the void, and he dropped to the ground, panting, crying wishing that he could return to the real world and fix what had gone wrong in his life.

He became aware of a second presence nearby. There was no sound, but he felt something, another sense of emotions present that he otherwise wouldn't have noticed. Fearing that it was the monster again, Bart spun around and got up to a kneeling position so he could pounce if necessary, but he stayed his hand.

"No, not you. Anything but you!" he said, staring wide-eyed at the apparition before him.

"What a disappointment I get to become," said the little ursar cub standing before him. He had a thick tuft of fur on his chin and messy black hair atop his head. He was tiny, wearing clothes that were just a bit too small for him. Deep bags hung under his eyes, and his arms looked stringy.

It was him as a cub, back before he'd discovered Naf and all his narcotics. When Bart looked down at the cub, he questioned whether it was really him. Did he really look like that? Though there was a layer of flab, he looked malnourished, and his eyes spoke of long, sleepless nights. A puffy red ring encircled each one, and the fur beneath his eyes were matted and wet, like he'd been crying.

The little cub terrified Bart. He wanted to run, but his body wouldn't move. He stared, partly in disbelief and partly in fear, of that which stood across from him. The cub sat on the ground, and blinked at him.

"Wh-why are you here?" Bart stammered.

"Because I'm who you were," the cub explained. "I'm the beastman you were supposed to become before everything went downhill."

"I needed the green!" Bart said a little too quickly. "I needed it to stay sane, and to remain strong! If I didn't have that..." he let the statement hang, unsure of how to finish it.

"A lot of good that did," the cub muttered. He leaned away from Bart when the ursar raised his voice. When he saw this, the anger subsided and he tried to calm himself down. "Did you like drugs more than being a better person than Remi?"

"I didn't have a choice, I needed it," Bart asked quietly. He thought back to the days when he was living with the Stoutmantles, and he remembered so distinctly how much he hated it. He was always crying, always wanting an escape, but always too cowardly to do anything. The only thing that helped cloud his feelings, or get rid of them altogether, were the drugs. They helped him forget.

"You killed my future!" The cub accused, jabbing him in the chest with such force that it stung.

"It was my future to ruin!"

"You allowed yourself to become a prisoner of the narcotics and of your hatred," he responded. The cub plopped back down, seemingly out of energy or any will to continue arguing. He began to pick at the grass and throw it aside, idly watching his paws as he worked to pluck the foliage from the dirt around him. "You became someone else, and I know deep down you hated it. Was it worth all the money lost? The nights you went hungry? Did you enjoy the fact that the first time you had sex was with a whore instead of someone you actually loved? Do you even remember Aina's name? Doesn't it bother you that you never got to know anything about your heritage because you were too intoxicated to care?"

"I don't hate anything about that!" Bart yelled, his voice increasing in volume as the cub's accusations were piled on. "The only thing I hate is that I was a coward back then!"

"Lie to yourself all you want, but we both know that's not going to get you anywhere."

There was a deep rumbling in Bart's chest as he growled. "Then what do you want me to do about it, huh!?"

The cub slowly stood up with a grunt. "I'd say go back to being the beastman that you were before everything went wrong, but then again, why would you listen to me? After all, I'm just some ghost made by that other ursar, right?" The cub started to walk away, fading into the darkness of the void that had suddenly replaced the forest.

"Get back here!" Bart shouted, springing to his feet and making a grab for the cub. His paw passed right through the vision, and the cub faded away as if it had never been there to begin with. After that, Bart's vision blackened and his body felt heavy as he steadily fell back into a dreamless slumber.

After several hours, Bart blinked his eyes open, clearing away the blurry fog that resided there after sleep. He still felt groggy, and his experiences in the dream quickly came rushing back to him. His body ached, but the pain was at least gone. That was something that he was grateful for. He wondered what the vision he'd had meant, and whether it was a dream or another vision Arion had created. Would it have mattered either way?

There was a weight on the bed, on the edge of the mattress just to his left. He looked over and saw Hilfa with her head resting on her arms. She was sitting in a chair and snoring lightly. Bart reached over, but hesitated, pulling his paw back. Would she even want him to wake her? Would she even allow him to so much as touch her? The tiny spark that had once been the affection he had for her lingered in the background of his thoughts, threatening to kindle itself into a fierce wildfire. He swallowed a lump in his throat and gave her shoulder a light nudge, rousing her from her slumber. Maybe she wouldn't be that mad.

"We have to stop meeting up like this," he said quietly. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and he couldn't seem to speak above a whisper. A product of whatever magics the priestess had worked on him, he surmised.

"Hmm?" Hilfa mumbled something and rubbed her eyes with an arm, yawning as she did so. "Perhaps," she said simply. She stretched herself out and leaned against the backrest.

"I would have thought that a General would have something better to do than to take a nap on my bed."

"Most of us do, yes, but I made some time to come and see you," Hilfa explained. Her voice was soft and inviting, and it sounded less like she was upset with him than the last couple of times he'd seen her.

"Why?" Bart asked.

"I'm honestly not sure why. I just decided to come down to the infirmary when I heard you were here," Hilfa replied. "I thought you got stinking drunk and picked a fight with someone again, but when I heard that you were sober at the time you got into a scrap, I eased up a bit on you." She shrugged her shoulders as if resigning to something.

Bart nodded his head slowly, feeling content that she had come to see him regardless. "Thank you."

Hilfa raised an eyebrow at his remark. "Is that thanks from the self-serving jerk I used to know? What happened to Bartholomew Stoutmantle?"

Bart snorted, the sound of his former surname burning in his ear. "He had some sense knocked into him."

"Was it the monk?"

"Yeah," he admitted. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. "I got angry with him and attacked first. Guess that was a mistake."

"Why did you do that?"

"I was feeling sick, I guess. Not right in the head. I was drinking at a tavern last night because I wanted to try and forget about him. I still keep thinking about him, from time to time." It was technically true, but it wasn't the whole truth. The last thing that Bart wanted to do was admit to the murders he'd committed. He was being given a second chance, and though his mind was still clouded over with the memories and visions he had endured in his sleep, it seemed like the smart choice to take it.

Hilfa shook her head, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. "Still haven't admitted that you like him yet, huh?"

Bart opened his mouth to respond with a biting comment, but nothing came out. His mind left him wanting for something to say, but there was nothing. She was right. All this time, he'd been trying to drown out his thoughts with whatever he could get his hands on, and the truth was right there in front of him. He tugged a little at the collar of his shirt. "I... damn, yeah, I guess that's what it is." Was it a lie though? He couldn't be sure. In his dream, he vehemently denied it, but now that Hilfa was saying it, it didn't bother him so much. Had he accepted it, or was he merely trying to ignore it?

Hilfa leaned on the bed and stared him dead in the eyes. She shifted about, as if trying to look through his pupils and into his soul. "Is that really Bartholomew in there? You're being far too humble for that grouchy old ursar."

"Would you stop that?" Bart frowned, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her back down into her seat. "If I'm old, then so are you! I've just had a lot of time to think since I got here, that's all. Been feeling introspective."

"Was that before or after you had your ass beat by the monk?" Hilfa asked, and smirked again.

"Yes," Bart replied, matching her smirk with a cheeky grin of his own.

Hilfa giggled lightly, in a way that Bart hadn't heard in years. "I think this is the first time since our school days where I've heard such smartaleck remarks coming from you."

Bart thought on it a moment, then shrugged. He thought that he was pretty funny when drunk but Hilfa didn't seem to think so.

"I guess I just figured maybe hating people all the time wasn't doing me any favours."

A hand much smaller than his own gripped his paw and Hilfa said, "Welcome back, Bart."

The priestess entered the room then and brought with her a tray with some bread and a cup of water. She set it down on the nightstand next to Bart's bed and said, "I heard voices from the other room so I assumed that he was awake. Mind if I check him over real quick, General?"

"Do whatever you need to do," Hilfa responded.

The pair continued to talk as the priestess went over Bart's body with a level of precision and care that the ursar wasn't used to seeing. She checked to make sure he had full range of movement of his joints, that he could stand and walk, and that he wasn't experiencing any pain. Beyond the few lingering reminders of what had happened between himself and Arion, he seemed to be fine, and she cleared him to leave.

Bart sat back down on the bed as he began to lace up his boots. He was still bothered by what the monster in the dream had said to him, and he wondered how much of it was really true. He pulled the laces taut and sat up, contemplating whether it was worth asking Hilfa or not.

"You got quiet all of a sudden," Hilfa remarked, sitting on the other side of the bed.

"Just thinking about some things," Bart said. Though he was dressed and could leave at any time that he wanted, he was hesitant to go.

"What about?"

Bart let a sigh out and twisted his upper body around to look at her. "Why did you hate that I drank so much?"

"What's this about?" Hilfa asked.

"I just want to know. I mean, it's my money and my body-"

"On military time," she interjected.

"Well, yeah, that too. Was that why?" Bart asked.

Hilfa was slow to respond and didn't turn to face him when he asked his question. "Maybe."

Bart gave her a moment to think, but even his fledgling ability to sense emotions could pick up that she was hesitating and didn't want to provide the full truth. He had to know the answer. He couldn't leave it up to her to elaborate without further prodding.

"Maybe," he echoed, feeling a tenseness in his shoulders as he spoke, "but that's not the whole story, is it?"

Hilfa drew a deep breath and released it before she spoke. "When did you become so intune with other people?"

"I guess when I stopped denying my heritage," Bart shrugged.

"You're right, it's not the whole answer," Hilfa said in a low voice without any further hesitation. Her posture was stiff though, and he wondered how bothered she must be with his question. "I knew what Stoutmantle had done to you as a cub. A lot of us saw it, and it was pretty obvious too, but I guess no one wanted to stick their heads out for the sake of a non-dwarf. When I found you at Hell's Crucible, I thought that you just had a patch of bad luck. But once you were out of that place and on regular postings in Evergloom, I finally saw how hard you were hitting the bottle and how violent you could be. I thought you were becoming like Stoutmantle. I didn't want to watch that happen."

Bart didn't say anything, and merely showed his understanding with a short nod of his head. He scratched idly at the back of one of his paws, trying to get at an itch beneath his fur.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know?" Hilfa asked.

"Think we can go back to how it was before?" Bart asked, hopeful that maybe they could at least go back to being good friends.

Slowly, Hilfa shook her head. "It can't ever go back to the way it went. Olaraa is lost, and so many people died."

It was then that Bart saw something crack in her calm facade. It was like watching a dam about to burst. Hilfa's body shook and tears began to pour out of her eyes. She pulled into herself, crossing her arms as if to hug herself. Feelings of sadness, more profound than any that Bart had ever experienced for himself, washed over him. Without thinking, he reached over and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened when he did it, but after a moment she turned around and buried her face in his chest.

Bart held her tighter and rubbed her back as she unloaded the pent up tears. He could tell that she'd been holding it in for a long time. He felt a little awkward inside, knowing that he should be the last person anyone should come to for support. Yet he was the only one there to console her as she cried freely and openly in front of him.

The ursar was grateful that they were alone in the infirmary, and that the priestess hadn't come back to bother them. This was too unlike him. He squirmed a little, but tried not to move too much to keep from disturbing Hilfa. In retrospect, he thought, this was the kind of person he was as a cub, wasn't he? No, that couldn't be right, he reasoned. He shook the fog that still clouded his mind. The dream was affecting him, that's all.

"Rejian... Rejian is dead!" she blurted out once her crying had subsided long enough for her to be able to speak again.

The mention of the paladin's name tickled his ears, and he had wondered what happened to him so many years ago. "The war?" Bart asked, already knowing the answer even before Hilfa nodded her head.

"We married a few years ago," Hilfa elaborated. The admission caught Bart off guard, and he couldn't help feeling a pang of jealously from rearing its ugly head. "We were trying to have a child but I just couldn't seem to bear one for him, and then he... he was killed in action."

"I-I'm sorry, Hilfa," Bart told her, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't particularly care that much for Rejian, but the fact that Hilfa was so upset by his death made him care.

"It's fine," she sniffled, trying to get herself to calm down. "It was weeks ago. I just haven't had a chance to tell anyone."

"Weeks aren't a very long measure of time. Besides, I'm the last person you should be telling this to," he whispered.

"Yeah, but I don't have many options," she said ruefully.

They remained like that for a while longer. Bart continued to hold her as she needed, but eventually she pulled away and sat a short distance away from him. He was worried that perhaps she was offended and was going to leave.

"I don't think I need to tell you not to mention this to anyone," she said, wiping her tears on her arm. Bart nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I'm a General, after all. I have to maintain some level of composure, even though I'm still a person, too."

Hilfa stood up and moved to leave. "Do you think that, after whatever happened the last day or so, that you'll still end up being a pain in everyone's ass? Are you still going to spend all your time at taverns and ogling men and women of every race?"

Bart gave her words some thought. He begrudgingly admitted that whatever the cub had said in his dream was somewhat true. Everything went wrong when he started taking all those narcotics. But it was fun. Wasn't it simply the rest of the world that had a problem with it? As long as they accepted that he was a drunk and let him go about his business, then it would be okay, right? The only reason it was such a problem was because other people made it their problem.

What am I saying? Bart thought, blinking in disbelief at his own train of thinking. Is that really the way I think?

The ursar looked up at Hilfa and said, "We'll see. I'm... not quite sure, myself." His paws were clenched into fists in his lap, and he looked down at them. "The idea of someone giving me orders still pisses me off. I hate being in the military, but a part of me... I think there's a part of me that likes the fighting. And I'm afraid what might happen if I don't let it out once in a while. But I still think I'm going to hate the ever-living shit out of anyone who tries to tell me what to do."

The dwarfwoman gave another one of her characteristic smirks. "Once this whole Shadow Legion nonsense is over, I'd welcome your friendship again." She closed the door behind her, denying Bart the chance to respond.

Knowing better than to go after her, Bart just sat back down and allowed a thin smile to appear on his muzzle. Things may look bad now, what with the Shadow Legion occupying Olaraa and Arion's threats looming over his head, but at least maybe once things calmed down, he'd at least have one other friend. He looked to the side and saw that his flask, the one that Hilfa had confiscated so long ago, was sitting on the bed where she had been sitting. He picked the empty container up, and memories of his encounter with the Hands of Laren were refreshed in his mind once again. Grimacing, he threw the flask aside, almost with a casual level of indifference, and left the infirmary.