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<The Path to Menzoberranzan>

I cannot stand Minthara, I can't stand Minthara anymore.

After sleeping together for over a dozen nights, I am finally certain: Minthara hasn't thought about killing me even once. Can you believe it? Not even once. There were a few nights when I slept very deeply—there were always so many chores, so I was exhausted. I leaned against Minthara's shoulder, smelling the faint scent of blood, dirt, and mushrooms on her, and slept right through until dawn. And what did I see then? Minthara was snuggled against my shoulder with the exact same lack of defense, and when I got up, she even rubbed against my arm. Such a tranquil, peaceful morning.

I cannot stand Minthara. She hasn't even thought about killing me at all. Am I actually special to her or not?

Minthara has many enemies, but the ones she loves talking about the most regarding revenge, bloodshed, victory, and conquest are those special people. She talks enthusiastically about her mother and her kin, planning how to poison them at a banquet, leading an army of her own to fight back into Menzoberranzan. She loves this operation so much that she's recently been talking about how to ascend the highest point of Qu'ellarz'orl; she absolutely must build a printing press, she emphasized. She spoke of standing in the hall of House Baenre—a hall with an ever-burning chandelier, a surface product, exclusive to the nobility—and then our army would move on command, dragging out all the Baenre family members from every corner, chopping off their heads, listening to their echoing pleas before death. I can understand that urge; the death of the dearest person is always the best. Several times, while kissing Minthara's delicate shoulder blades, I fantasized about slicing open her equally delicate sternum, kissing the peritoneum, kissing the drawn-out entrails. I held back, because our relationship could still go a step further. The death of a lover is a delicacy that must be cooked with patience; only a betrayal when feelings are the thickest hurts the most and brings the greatest joy. Minthara clearly understands this principle, I think she understands it. She even wants to kill Orin, but she specifically left me out.

Yes, she is good, very beautiful, and still as breathtaking as when we first met. At that time, she was threatening a goblin, threatening him that if he couldn't find more clues, she would cut off a part of his body. I stood to the side and happily fantasized about that scene for a while—tearing off his limbs one by one amidst the goblin's screams, blood gushing from the wounds. At that time, Minthara was as divine and beautiful as a goddess, and she still is now. Later, she said that if I lost control, she would kill me herself. I still remember the elated mood I felt back then; this is love, she just confessed to me, I thought. I love you, I thought.

But something between us has changed. Tonight, she didn't even try to assassinate me. After dinner, she took me to the wilderness, kissed me, and then commanded me to lie down, intimately whispering and rubbing against my cheek, occasionally revealing a murderous intent that filled me with anticipation, making me think she had just been preparing all these days for a grand assassination against me—can you believe it? I had to try hard to suppress my excited trembling. I didn't want Minthara to find out that I knew about the surprise she prepared. I wanted this to seem... relatively natural and calm. Finally, after making love, I pretended to be fast asleep. But the result was that Minthara just stroked my face and lay down beside me, without pulling out a single weapon, not even the poison she had smeared on her lips last time.

I can't stand Minthara anymore.

The camp's rogue saw me sitting sulkily on a log and walked over. I remember his name seemed to be Astarion, a very handy locksmith. He walked over and greeted me with his usual dramatic tone: "Isn't this our leader? What's the matter? Had a fight with the drow? You know, perhaps you have better options?" He squinted at me, smiling. He is so annoying. I didn't provoke him at all, so why did he come to mock me? So, I beat him and chased him away. Then I realized an even more serious problem: something had indeed gone wrong between Minthara and me, so much so that even the others in the camp could tell at a glance.

Thinking about it carefully, Minthara never actually told me her reasons for falling in love with me. Naturally, I firmly believed I was her only choice, since we shared a common dream of blood and iron. However, a Dragonborn's lifespan is only eighty years. No matter how hard I try, there are only these brief eighty years. I am still a particularly young Dragonborn. If counting from when I broke free from Bhaal's blood, I might only be a few days old, while Minthara... the time she has lived is enough to outlast three Dragonborns with time to spare. Her expression when talking about her mother was so sweet and dangerous, but what about when it comes to me? She told me she is loyal to me, and she demanded I repay her with the same loyalty, otherwise she would gouge my eyes out. Gouging out eyes is all very well, but what else? Hasn't she thought about cutting my head off and placing it on the dining table, so that every time she dines she could pretend we are still a couple in love, pretend to affectionately feed my rotting head?

I just can't figure out what Minthara means, sigh.

How I wish I could return to that first night we were intimate, even though at that time she raised her dagger for the Absolute, not for me, but the murderous intent was real. She cared about me, was so afraid of being influenced by me that she wanted to kill me; why won't that work now? I uprooted a cluster of flowers beside me and plucked the petals like a human. A Dragonborn's claws aren't very suited for such delicate work; the flowers were poked to pieces by me, and in the end, I couldn't count out clearly whether Minthara cared about me or not. She cares a lot about Orin. When she mentioned this Bhaalspawn, I felt fear from the tadpole. She cares about Orin so much that she almost broke up with me over it. We must kill Orin, she said. But she never says we must kill the Dark Urge, never. Orin, such an insignificant blood relative, who could never do a single task assigned by Bhaal well—am I not more rational and powerful than Orin? My body is strong and healthy, my scales are always as pristine as new, my claws can instantly slit several people's throats. Am I not more capable than Orin of bringing her what she wants—an empire we rule together?

I hope Minthara gets pregnant with my child, and then tries to kill me like a female praying mantis, while I resist with all my might. I haven't told her that she is startlingly beautiful when her face is smeared with blood; every time I see it, I have to suppress the urge to lick those bloodstains. Minthara likes me to act like a leader, and besides, ours is a serious relationship, so I must show absolute respect. However, I strongly suspect that when it is my blood, at that moment I definitely won't be able to resist using my final strength to stroke and lick the blood sticking to her cheeks, her neck, perhaps the blood right on the spiderweb mark on the side of Minthara's neck—lucky blood. I hope to have a child with Minthara, maybe a boy or maybe a girl. Either way, when the child grows up, they will definitely look a lot like me. I hope she brings that child to see me, whether I am alive or dead at that time.

But when and where exactly did everything go wrong? I sat there dejectedly pinching my fingers. Maybe Minthara has taken a fancy to someone else. Perhaps Gortash? No, I have already killed Gortash, he belongs to Bane forever now. Orin... impossible, I killed Orin too. What about the wizard in the camp? He looks quite ambitious as well. Also impossible. Minthara said the wizard's life is too short to be taken seriously... I suddenly realized with horror that I have a shorter lifespan than the wizard; while the wizard is still lingering on his last breath, I've already died once. If she leaves me because of my unreliable lifespan... I realized that if this were the case, I have no tenable reason to explain it. What could I say?

Just then, I heard a thwacking noise coming from behind. Turning around, I saw that it was my tail constantly slapping the ground. Looking at it just annoyed me; actually, actually even my tail is mocking me? Are you implying that everything will spiral out of control? Even my own body? That's not true! Minthara and I are perfectly fine; it's just that she hasn't thought about killing me. What does it mean that I'm not on her assassination list? It represents nothing! It explains nothing! I'm going to beat this tail to death, I'm going to tear it off my spine, I'm going to bite into the flesh and blood of this tail, snap the bone spurs on it!

I let out a roar and lunged at my tail. The tail whipped behind me again. Watch my left hook! Immediately, the tail nimbly dodged again. A trace of respect rose in my heart; my tail truly is a strong and powerful opponent.

Just like that, I rolled and crawled all the way into the camp. The wizard put down his cooking spoon and, along with other teammates who had crawled out of their tents, stared at me. The silver-haired cleric hesitantly asked me, "Are we really this desperate, is that it?" She was talking in a way I couldn't understand again. I patted the mud off my body, got up, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

I can't stand Minthara anymore; we must talk.

And so I stood before Minthara, covered in dirt, depressed and apprehensive. If only I could analyze my own emotions so clearly, but in reality, I just stared at a patch of ground by the tips of my toes. I said to Minthara, "...Has something changed? Except for when we first met, recently, you haven't tried to assassinate me even once." I felt my tail scraping against the gravel on the ground; I guessed it was sweeping across the floor. "Perhaps between us... assuming things aren't that serious between us, I'd like to know sooner."

"You said you'd kill me if my desires spiraled out of control. Does that promise still count?" I still couldn't help but ask. If only there was an answer other than "no."

Then Minthara answered. She stroked my face, making me lift my head to look her in the eyes. I saw her lips part, and she said, don't be silly, my dear.

She said, I have saved something better for you.

Huh? Something better? I watched Minthara speaking to me, and in that instant, everything seemed to return: the sounds, the light, the idle onlookers around us, the smell of food simmering in the pot, the grass dancing in the wind, and Minthara. She was speaking, she said: "On the day I kill my mother, I want you to stand beside me, to share the throne of House Baenre with me."

I felt the sun shining down, my stomach felt warm and fuzzy, just like what I thought about when I ruffled Minthara's bun and then kissed the tips of her ears. I should have torn off the elf's ears. Killing a haughty Drow matron is just too much fun—watching them writhe on the ground in agony, peeling off the skin of their faces, and they could still be alive while being peeled. But I didn't do that. I wanted Minthara. It wasn't for the reproduction Bhaal demanded; Bhaal is nothing special, neither is Lolth. I wanted Minthara, simply because I wanted her.

"I will be embedded into the Wall of the Faithless before you." I turned up the corners of my mouth, revealing my most majestic smile, along with two neat rows of sharp teeth. I knew I looked charming like this; seeing Minthara's reaction was proof enough. Her eyebrows relaxed, and a faint smile appeared. I heard that thwacking sound from behind again. I didn't even need to look to know it was my tail, so I tried to casually grab the tip of it, gripping it in my hand, lest it ruin the romantic atmosphere between Minthara and me.

"Though I am disappointed,about the part that we can't defeat the gods,however," Minthara closed her eyes briefly, "when that time comes, I will go find you. The spot next to you can only be mine."

The camp's rogue popped his head out again. He was still so dramatic. I didn't know how long he and the others had been watching from the sidelines. He clapped his hands and said: "Well, look at you two. One with mommy issues, one with daddy issues. You, what a loving family here."

I had never felt the rogue to be so friendly, so much so that I began to wonder if I had misjudged him normally—was he actually a gentle, kind vampire filled with the world's finest qualities? I was in a great mood. I treated him with my most polite smile: "Thank you." I believed this thanks came from the bottom of my heart. I hadn't expected him to bless Minthara and me. After all, he used to be such an acerbic person, loving to mock others more than anything. It seems my teammates are changing for the better too; this is what they call a turn for the better, right? "I think so too, we will definitely make a very good family." Complete with some fresh, sharp-toothed little Dragonborns and little Drow, I added the second half of the sentence in my mind.

"Fine. I only hope that when you’re making decisions for the rest of us, you won't let your... sentiments get in the way. We’d all prefer to keep our heads." For some reason, the rogue wasn't very happy. He dropped this sentence in astonishment, stomped his foot, and left. But it didn't matter, he was just an insignificant little character. I turned to Minthara, trying to fight for myself a little: "Are there really no more assassinations from now on? I'd welcome an open attack too."

"If that's the case, then live in the turbulent fear orchestrated by me, Minthara, my love. For the dagger that might appear anywhere in the very next moment, enjoy this moment." she said.

Minthara.

Minthara is the best. I felt exceedingly joyful, more joyful than in the past when I continuously slaughtered dozens of creatures and crawled up from their blood, more joyful than when I was gazed upon by the Father. She finally even agreed to my small request. If my tail weren't gripped in my hand, I had a premonition that I'd start uncontrollably wagging it again. How will she assassinate me? Will I taste potent poison on her lips tonight? Will she skewer me on a short sword? Will she turn my bones into a wall hanging, staring at me loyally night after night? Regardless, I love Minthara the most. When I stand at the highest point, ruling the world, looking down at the dense masses bowing to me, I only hope to have her holding my hand.