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Stockholm Syndrome	By : BlueSchmoo Category: +A through F > Baldur's Gate Views: 5857 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Baldurs Gate, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Warning: this chapter contains some disturbing scenes (vivisection). If this bothers you, please press the back button now. You have been warned.

Chapter 4.
Imoen was numb with mental fatigue, and at the moment, felt less than useless. She was no longer making progress with the complex spells Jon was teaching her, yet he still pushed her to try again and again anyway. They were back in the �tank room� as she had dubbed it, with all of the glass containers that housed the strange beings they used as their test subjects. She was once again working on arcane-based healing spells, and they were using the same female creature as before.
"You must focus, Imoen," Jon reprimanded her sternly. "You are losing concentration and allowing your mind to wander. That is unacceptable."
"But I am so tired! I can�t cast when my mind is tired. I need to rest," she pleaded, backing up to the adjacent wall so that she could briefly rest against it. He shoulders and head sagged in exhaustion and frustration.
Jon stared coldly at her for a moment. "You don�t get it, do you? That is the whole point of these exercises, Imoen. Let me ask you this," he said pointedly. "The tim time you are in the thick of battle with arrows coming at you from all directions, and mages throwing fireballs in your direction, will you be too tired and confused to heal either yourself or your companions? What about changing your focus and mentally switching to an offensive spell? What if by failing to do either one of these because you are too tired means guaranteed death? Then where will you be? As I said before, Imoen, giving up at this point is not an option." She winced at the truth behind his statements. Never before had any of her previous teachers demanded so much of her, and she was ready to break down in tears in frustration and hopelessness.
His voice softened just slightly, to take the rebuke out of his next statement. "You will make the most progress if you practice casting these spells when you are weak and under the stress of fatigue. If you cannot do so here, within a controlled environment, then when you need it on the battlefield you are guaranteed to lose your spell. Now, stand up and come over here," he commanded, his tone gentle but laced with a resolve teelteel.
Jon realized how tired she was, but he needed her in this weakened state. There was no way he could summon the essence of Bhaal from within her, as this was something she had to achieve herself. However, if he could place her under the right conditions and force her to reach deep down within herself, then there was a greater chance of her tapping the inner reserves inherited to her by her father, the Lord of Murder. He needed to push her to the limits of her abilities, then further.
She had come so far already, he wondered if she was able, yet, to feel and experience the energies behind the arcane spells he was teaching her, or if she still just cast them by rote memorization. Either way, she would learn a new lesson before the evening was through. Life and death. She would either provide life to the clone on the table, or learn that failure to do so would result in death. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it may provide the incentive for her to push herself further in futufuture.

He watched in satisfaction as Imoen pushed herself off the wall and slowly walked over to stand beside him.
"Now, one more time, Imoen. Wait for my command." Once more, Jon picked up the scalpel and choosing his target carefully, he made a large incision, laterally, across the creature�s abdomen, just below the navel. Blood seeped out, and Imoen made to raise her hands.
"Not yet," Jon replied. He continued to cut deeper, slicing through abdominal fat and connective tissues, until the coils of her intestines appeared. Reaching into the incisions, he pulled out part of the bowels, and placed them on the clone�s stomach. He sliced a coil open, and the filth seeped out to fill the air with its stench.
He turned to see Imoen turn a sickly shade of green and close her eyes in disgust at the sight before her, but she held her composure. This was excellent. One week ago she would have been vomiting on the floor at such a sight. He was pleased with her progress.
"Now, Imoen. Heal her," he whispered softly, staring intently at her.
She looked up at him, and he saw the doubt in her eyes. He moved to stand right behind her, and lightly, so as not to frightened her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and grasped them softly. He bent down until his lips were right de hde her ear. He was so close that he could see his breath move the hairs along her temple. He watched as a shudder ran through her in response to his hot breath along the sensitive skin there.
"You can do it, Imoen. Dig deep down inside you. Reach out with your need - a power lies dormant within you. Awaken it with your call. It will answer you if your need is sufficient."
Taking a deep breath and calming herself, Imoen raised her hands and focussed on the intricate pattern of the spell in her mind. Starting the incantation she focussed on the gaping slash in the being�s stomach. The level of spell required to heal this specific type of wound was fairly high, and it would take longer to cast than most spells. She was halfway through the chant, building and forcing her voice in higher and higher pitch, when she felt the beginnings of the tingling. This almost always happened to her when she cast these new spells. The stiontion grew, and she felt an encouraging squeeze from Jon�s hands on her shoulders. His touch � so rare and foreign to her, somehow gave her hope to continue, until she happened to look over into the eyes of the poor creature laying there on the cold steel table in front of her. She stared at Imoen, her gaze vacant, while she brought her hands up to touch the coil of severed intestines on her stomach. She slowly bled out onto the table, her life�s essence ebbing away heart beat by heart beat. For a fraction of a second, Imoen hesitated in the casting of the spell. However, it was enough to disrupt it, and she felt a fizzle of energy dissipate around her hands. With a small cry of disappointment, Imoen realized she had lost the spell.
"No � I lost the spell!" she cried, her disappointment obviin hin her voice. "What do I do? How do we help her?" she asked, looking around for a towel to stop the bleeding that was now coming faster and faster from the internal wounds of the woman in front of her.
Jon had removed his hands from Imoen�s shoulders and backed up. In many ways he hated to do this, but he wanted her to learn � even the hard way.
She turned to him, frantic in her effort to prevent the woman from bleeding out before their very eyes.
"Jon! What do we do? Help her!" she implored. Jon just stood there staring at Imoen.
"These are the consequences of your actions, Imoen," he said. "You failed to heal her, and now she will die." He made no move to help the creature, much to Imoen�s dismay.
She turned to him, pleading. "Please! Jon! You can heal her. Stop the bleeding." She looked back and forth between the mage and the dying creature on the table, finally realizing that he would not help. A gurgling sound came from the creature�s mouth, and Imoen stared helplessly as the final breaths left the woman in fits and gasps.
Jon waited until he was sure the woman would die before acting. Quickly he reached out and from behind her, he grabbed Imoen�s hands around the wrists, forcing them out over the being.
"What� what are you doing!" she cried, confused.
"Feel it, Imoen," he demanded, his voice as serious and deadly calm as she had ever heard it. "Feel thee foe force as it leaves her body."
Imoen struggled against his hold. "No! There is still time to help her!"
Jon was angry now, as they had mere seconds left, by the sounds of the clone�s wracked breathing.
"Have you listened to nothing I have been teaching you? Do not make this a wasted death, Imoen. Learn from it. Allow the soul to touch you as it leaves the body. Close your eyes and feel for it," he instructed.
Imoen realized that there was no way Jon would help the woman before her. Accepting that there was nothing else she could do, she relaxed, and stopped struggling against his grasp. With his fingers still around her wrists, she held her hands out over the body before her, closclosed her eyes. She heard a long, rattling breath be drawn, and then nothing. Silence. Ignoring the fatigue that wracked her mind and body, she opened all her senses.
She waited. Nothing. From far away she heard a faint whisper in her ear � Jon�s voice. "Be patient, Imoen."
She sensed, rather than felt, a coldness stir her fingertips. It was not a cold as in a frigid wind, but more like a cold energy. She felt it pass through her, as if something was ascending upwards, travelling through her as a sunbeam penetrates a window pane. Intangible, but undeniably theImoeImoen realized that what she was feeling was the death of the creature on the table. If it were not for her lack of skills, perhaps this would have never happened. In a way, she was responsible for the death of the creature, and that thought filled Imoen with regret and remorse.
S
She waited until the last of the cold energy left, but she still held her hands out, frightened, not wanting to face Jon just yet. She felt the weight of his touch as he lowered her hands for her, and placed them at her sides. She was surprised when he did not let go, but instead, reached out and wrapped her hands in his. She felt the length of his arms resting against hers, and as she straightened, her back came to rest against his chest. She tried hard not to let him feel her trembling.
"Did you feel it, Imoen?" he asked quietly from behind her.
Silently, she nodded her head. She was still filled with such guilt and remorse over the death that just happened, that she did not trust herself to speak just yet.
"Do you understand now, what happens, what it means when a soul leaves its body?" he asked, wanting her to understand the implications of the death, and not just the process.
Again, she nodded.
"Imoen, when a soul is released, there is also a release of a special kind of energy. What you felt was the energy, not the soul, per se. It is that energy that a necromancer summons when casting an arcane spell. If that energy is summoned, and directed towards a living being, it can result in the healing of that being. However, if that energy is directed towards something that is dead, then you can reanimate the body, creating an undead that will forever be undeur cur control until its body has been destroyed, or it can no longer function."
Jon spun Imoen around so that she was looking at him, their faces mere inches apart.
"Now, I ask you again. Do you understand? Do you finally comprehend what I am teaching you? Do you realize how powerful you, a spawn of Bhaal, daughter of Murder, could be if you so chose to use your powers? You have the essence of a god within you, a god that did nothing but murder and kill, and has access to the life energy of hundreds of thousand?" he asked. He tried to force her to come to grips with the reality she had denied for so long now.
"No! No� it can�t be," she said, breaking away from his touch, and pushing herself away from the table. She shook her head, trying to deny the truth of the situation. "Damien is Bhaalspawn � not me! That is just not possible!" she said, backing up towards the exit to the room.
Jon stood there, letting her comprehend the enormity of the situation; her undeniable potential.
"Yes, Imoen. You too. Although you had different mothers, you and Damien share the same father. You too are a child of Bhaal."
"No," she uttered in denial, backing up further. She bumped into one of the tanks, and turning around, she was startled by a face that swam up to the surface. I have to get out of here, she thought to herself. Imoen turned and fled the room, not looking behind her.
Jon sighed. This was not going exactly as he planned. He realized that the goodness in Imoen was warring with the truth of her Divine parentage, and it would take time for her to come to grips with it. He started out after her. Just as he exited the room, he saw her disappear around the corner. He followed her.
She heard him behind her, and the last thing she wanted was to be by by him. Seen by him, she repeated to herself, and something clicked in her mind. Looking around, she opened the closest door near her, hoping desperately that it was not trapped. She did not have time to look carefully for the tell-tale signs. The door opened, and she thankfully entered, and shut it quietly behind her. She pressed her back up against the door, listening for Jon�s footsteps. They passed the door, hesitated, then moved on. Pushing herself off the door, she looked around. To her horror, there were two golems standing guard there, quivering, as if ready to move and demolish the first thing in sight.
Swallowing hard, Imoen stopped to think. Golems were unusual in that they would not attack at first sight, you had to do something to trigger them � either touch something, or open something they were guarding. As long as she did not try anything stupid, she should be OK.
Getting her breath under control, she closed her eyes. She was so tired, she was not sure this would work, but she had to try.
Gathering what remaining strength she had around her, Imoen started to cast Invisibility on herself. She finished the spell with a clap, hoping it was not too loud to draw undue attention to herself. Opening her eyes she looked down at her hand. It was transparent, except for a very, very faint shimmer along the outline of her arm. She smiled. For the first time since waking up in this dungeon, she felt like she had a bit of control over what was happening to her.
Her happiness fled her quickly. Now what. Where was she to go? There were two things she wanted to know. First, if Damien and the others were here as well, or if she was the only one captured. Secondly, if there was an escape out of this place somehow.
With a last look at the quivering golems, Imoen reached for the door. She paused, listening for sounds on the other side. Not hearing any, she opened it a fraction, peeing through the crack. The hallway was empty. She opened it further, slipping through the narrow gap and quietly closed it behind her. To go left or right? Always the question. She chose left, and keeping to one side of the hall, she started up the passageway�
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Stockholm Syndrome