This Feeling Inside

 "What is going on with me?"

This is Draknar's question as he wanders into the snow, torn between a sense of deep certainty that this is where I need to go, an enduring desire to build an army and raze most of the ten towns, and a deep puzzlement at precisely how he went about solving the Torga situation.

Something doesn't add up!

A Drow matriarch, who doubled up as a cleric of Lolth, that Draknar once worked with briefly before things soured with the Drow (all due to a misunderstanding after a Drow party was ambushed and someone didn't check the bodies carefully enough, so that one survived to report the deed back to the matriarch), once pointed out that when there is confusion, one must surrender to the Goddess and let her bring clarity, or darkness, as is appropriate.

At the time, Draknar thought that advice was a load of spider excrement.

He still thinks so. The only time a god-like being ever took interest in his life, it was to blow his mind and send him into a foggy fugue that lasted weeks or maybe months, which he only emerged from because... well, add this to the list of puzzles. Why is Draknar himself again? In fact, why does he feel like a better, stronger, more lively version of himself? And is it even himself? Can he trust this sense of who he is?

Draknar shakes his head. That way lies madness. What we need now is good, old-fashioned sanity, the calm and methodical kind.

So let's take things one by one. Let's start with The Certainty.

It started after they killed the bodyguard. It was a shame the man couldn't be recruited. He would have made a fine addition to the team. Perhaps not entirely compatible with Draknar's current predilection for fire magic, but something could have been arranged. Oh well. No point in crying over spilled milk. Or ice. Whatever the hell that thing was. It wasn't human, that's for sure.

Anyway, after it died, The Certainty emerged. A sense of direction. Draknar could resist it, but it takes mental effort. And with each step he takes in the direction The Certainty points to, it grows stronger. If it is a trap, then Draknar is being drawn in like a moth to a flame. It feels inevitable now, though. The moth will burn. But Draknar doesn't feel like the destination is hostile. That sense of safety could be part of the trap, some part of his mind whispers, but he can barely hear it, and it is unpleasant to think about. Onwards. The direction feels good. Really good.

Draknar takes a deep breath, fills his lungs with Icewind Dale's icy air. Yes, good. Good.

What about the desire to build an army and raze the towns? Yes, that is still there. Good. That is part of who he is. It always has been. If he loses that, he'll know he's truly lost himself. That is a good thing to note, to pay attention to. It is a method by which he can tell if he has gone mad, an answer to the question he was asking earlier. If the lust for power and for retribution against the vile races that populate Faerun disappears, then he is no longer Draknar.

And he felt some of that lust sated, very briefly, in Easthaven. That felt good. But something else felt good.

Hmm.

There's something niggling at Draknar's mind there. Something really doesn't add up.

Draknar goes through the steps of how he went about solving the Torga situation. Sending the Kobold to his possible death to avoid risking his own neck. Ok. Hiding in the inn. Perhaps not the wisest place to hide, but that's just something to learn from for next time. Hiding the gems under the floorboards. A dubious, rushed decision, but he didn't have the time to think things through. It's understandable.

Setting the inn on fire was a brilliant move to create the distraction that enabled him and the Fairy to go rescue the Kobold. But... but...

Ah, there it is.

Rescue the Kobold? But why?

Draknar had all of the party's funds with him. He's now strong and lucid enough to take care of himself and not get immediately robbed. He can hire help - mercenaries that will actually obey him instead of behaving unpredictably and having their own ideas about what to do. Why did he need to rescue the Kobold, or indeed the Fairy, whom he could have left with Torga's people? They would have disposed of the moody barbarian for him.

That was a lot of effort and a lot of risk. Why?

Yes, things might be marginally more difficult without these companions. But... he risked his life and put his wit to work to engineer the daring rescue of... a Kobold. A meaningless, faceless Kobold. Why?

Draknar glances back. The other two are talking, some fifty feet behind. He feels a surge of The Certainty and waves them onwards and marches on, his thoughts churning.

Why risk his life, his money, his ambition, his future, his legacy, everything that he cares about... to save a mere Kobold?

There's just no good explanation.

Draknar wrestles with this dilemma for many long minutes, when suddenly an answer emerges, unbidden: "Because you like Flynx."

He stops in his tracks momentarily, and, horrified, whispers, "but he's a Kobold!"

He shakes the thought out of his head, takes another few steps.

Ok, so Flynx is a Kobold. And... what's the other one's name? Aarki. Aarki is a fairy. They can never truly be equals. But... they have saved his life before. They have trusted him. He's relied on them. So far, it's worked out fairly well. Here they are, stronger, more capable, working as a team. And they now have over 2,000 gold in gems, and with a growing reputation in Ten Towns that can be leveraged for power at some point. Things are going remarkably well for Draknar since he joined up with these two.

But that's not it. Some part of his mind rejects this purely utilitarian perspective. You don't risk your life for useful tools. You use them, and when they break, you get new tools.

Something else then. Something deeper.

The humans, Nirni and Gler, exploited Draknar in his weakness. Flynx and Aarki, in their own way, took care of him. Even when he was utterly helpless, so naive that he would do anything anyone told him, like a mindless toddler. No one in Draknar's life ever behaved towards him like this. He himself would have gladly sacrificed both Flynx and Aarki for a few hundred gold mere days earlier. In fact, he did, sending Flynx to his possible doom out of pure selfishness.

Maybe... maybe he wanted to rescue Flynx, because he "likes him"? Because he "trusts him"? Because... he's "a friend"? Is that what that feels like?

The thought feels strange and cumbersome. But it has a certain reality to it. It feels good inside. Not as good as The Certainty. But... there is that feeling. And it is the only way to explain Draknar's recent, reckless behaviour.

For his whole life, Draknar only ever took such extraordinary risk for something extremely rare and valuable.

He risked his life to gut the previous Golbin Warchief at his own victory feast and take his place. He risked his life to betray another Warchief in the middle of his own camp under the pretence of offering an alliance, and unite the two tribes under him instead, growing his power base. He risked his life, and broke his body to gain his current powers, in hope it would be the key to achieving his ambitions. So it stands to reason, if he risked his life, there is something rare and valuable and important here.

"Friendship," he mutters, trying the word out. He never understood why people fell for such a dumb idea. And here he is, falling for it.

And, unbelievably, it feels good. The more he embraces the thought of Flynx and Aarki being friends, the better he feels inside. It's like a warmth that spreads inside his chest.

Can he trust it? He checks for the other feeling. Yes, images of burning towns, tortured villagers and goblin armies still warm his heart too. He's not lost himself.

Taking another deep, satisfied breath, he turns around and walks over to the pair. They pause their conversation as he approaches, smiling, beaming. Words tumble out of Draknar, unplanned, cheerful, bizarre.

"Flynx, I can't tell you how happy I am that we saved you. Life wouldn't be the same without you. I'm really glad you're with us. It was all worth it."

As he says this, the warmth inside grows. And The Certainty tugs. He grins happily, pats Flynx on the shoulder, then turns around to carry on walking. "Come on, we need to go this way! Follow me!"