I tried playing Baldur's Gate in a whole different way this time, with some serious roleplaying, which I have never tried before, and it was wonderful. It felt like a whole new game. I ended up with a great and extensive journal, which I thought I should share. If anyone is interested in reading I could post more of it. (I am not that well versed in the world of Dungeons and Dragons, so I may make mistakes in the story.)
It is of course only intended for those that has played through the game, since it is all one long spoiler.
And here is the main character:
Devorah
[ATTACH]3877.vB[/ATTACH]
Female Tiefling
Fighter/Mage/Thief
Biography:
Her mother carried the blood of an Outsider, and as such, Devorah was born. With naught but a name and a blurred past she was taken in by her foster father Gorion, and grew up among the dusty tomes of Candlekeep.
"Demonspawn," people muttered, until Gorion walked by. He protected her from harsh words and young fear alike. For this she loved him dearly, and he was the only man she ever respected. The rest could burn for all she cared, in such a hell as they claimed had spat her out.
Tiefling. With no where to go and no where to turn except inward, she did exactly that. Candlekeep was a bastion of knowledge and she a child of learning. She read it all, day and night. She stole into the vaults and ancient catacombs beneath the rock itself and came upon such tomes and such horrors that she often found herself wondering if it was all worth it.
From the shadows, she observed the visiting noblewomen. How they moved, what they said and did. At fourteen her only friend Imoen had to accept that Devorah had grown up. Pride was in her bone, her head borne high, and even though it was all and act, the masquerade carried fruit. With time it flowered into truth.
Ruled by wit more than whim, Devorah is no fickle creature. With never even the faintest smile, she keeps a stern exterior and an outward calm in situations where others would melt. She knows that the face of dignity is the face of strength, and as she laughs, she laughs inside.
---
The Journal of Devorah
Gorion's Ward
---
Chapter One
---
1 Mirtul, 1369
Gorion. Dead. I know not how to put this down in words. Tears are futile I have learned. They blot the ink and run black and white with the risen moon's blind eye. They muddle the senses and rip through chest and heart alike. nothing will come of them and therefore they are wasted.
I will remember those eyes, for they belong to a dead man. I do not refer to my father. He was helpless against that beast, his magic cast in vain. I will have power such as this, of that I swear. Gorion will be avenged, but not tonight.
The Friendly Arm. And two friends whom I may trust. That was what he said at least, but after this, I doubt I'll ever trust again.
It is as dark as it gets here. Hidden away in the bushes beside the road, wet and cold as I am, with little more than my familiar to huddle against for warmth. I get the feeling that things will get worse. Rain perhaps. I do not know.
2 Mirtul, 1369
I buried Gorion today.
I met Imoen with the dawn, and we should return to the road. There is no knowing what beasts lurk in these woods, but I feel I must take note of what I found. There was a letter in my father's robe, signed E. I need to find the one behind this initial if I can, for it seems he would know things I need to hear.
2 Mirtul, 1369
The Friendly Arm
Sometimes this gloom overwhelms me, in the light of a single candle. With the eyes of a predator watching me, feline body curled up upon the desk. Sometimes I know not what to do. I am so tired, and there is a bounty on my head.
Two hundred golden coins. Is a life worth no more? They will learn that this one is. As we arrived at the Arm, now a party of four, we were attacked. Xzar and Montaron held their own in the fight, and the assassin was slain, his blood tainting the very steps of the inn.
Those two interest me, especially the necromancer. There is much I could learn from him I gather. I agreed to come with them to Nashkel, if only for the opportunity of being in pilfering range to his spellbook.
I don't know what I think of Gorion's friends. Jahiera is a hard woman, it seems I need stare her down at every glance, and Khalid is her opposite. Stuttering. Meek. Pathetic. The woman I can respect, in a way, but that man gets under my skin.
As I came here I learned that the roads north have been closed. So it would seem that my path leads to Nashkel after all, where incidentally, Jahiera is also heading. It is too much of a coincidence for me, these two pairs of adventurers heading the same way, crossing paths with me on the same day, and claiming not to know one another. I will watch them all as I am sure that they watch me. Gorion may have thought the best for me, but he was not without his faults.
It nags at me, that voice in the night. I must find that man and kill him, it is the only thing that matters. Imoen, Xzar, Montaron, Gorion's friends, they can all rot, if I knew who he was. But I don't, and this road looks to become a long one, its nights lonely and cold.
At least these people see longer than the blood of the planes that run through me. Or so it seems. But as they get to know me, they will learn better. I am not a good person. I deserve to be alone.
3 Mirtul, 1369
Beregost, Feldepost's Inn
At least no one has tried to kill me today. I refuse to count that fool farmer with the big mouth. Montaron gutted him like a fish.
But who knows, perhaps there is still time for someone to end my life. With Xzar sleeping in the next room, wailing and muttering about his "mother" in his sleep, who can be sure what this night brings? I am becoming quite certain that that mage is mad. He keeps his room warded however, and no spell I knew could dispell it without him knowing. Disappointing, to say the least.
I asked around, discreetly of course, about my father's murderer, but this inn is filled with drunkards and commoners, and not an ounce of sense. Sweating and smelling. Clad in rags at best. Disgusting. This room is pleasant however. A broad desk. Sturdy wood. Gorion would have liked it.
I need to take my mind of things, if such is possible.
"Vengeance is not the way," Jahiera said to me. "It is a dark path to walk down, child. Consider it well."
I said nothing. But in my mind's eye, my fingers were clasped around a man's throat. His tongue turning black.
The Journal of Devorah
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wise grimwald
- Posts: 861
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I agree with wise. This be some good stuff. I really enjoyed reading it. Please keep it coming.
To be able to get something out of a game, like you did this Journal, is a testament to why RPG's are gold.
To be able to get something out of a game, like you did this Journal, is a testament to why RPG's are gold.
Why is it that whenever I finally get around to playing a new game for the first time,
I feel like playing Baldur's Gate for the second time...
I feel like playing Baldur's Gate for the second time...
I'm very glad you liked it. Here is all from chapter 2 and 3, just for you. Do you know any good way of getting this out of the game, other than simply typing it all over again? (I'm using Tutu. I think that you cant write your own stuff in the original thing.)
Hmm. It seems that it is too long for one post. Maybe not all of the chapter 3 stuff then.
---
Chapter Two
---
4 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Belching Dragon Tavern
I found some time to write, sitting in this damp tavern I loathe to even name. This is a town of farmers, filthy beggars, unwashed mercenaries and cheap wine. The stink lies heavily over it all, or perhaps it is me. I've had little time to bathe since this all began, and my clothes are all dusty and torn from one fight or flight too many.
We arrived with the promise of gold. Apparently the mines to the south are plagued by disappearances, and nothing but tainted ore leaves the depths. The mayor requires our help, and I have decided to grant it.
Gold would be pleasant indeed. I have heard that the finest silks and weaves are to be found in Baldur's Gate. Perhaps if we clear up this iron shortage the roads might open again.
My familiar is cuddling with that woman across the table. Jahiera. What he sees in her I do not know. That cat is mindless. Imoen babbles away with that long-winded scribe, Volo. He thought I was rude. Burn him. I've half a mind to go over there and break a mug over his lousy beret. But I guess that's the wine talking.
I have tried to get Xzar drunk, at least enough so that he might forget to place his wards upon resting, but to no avail. The necromancer has not touched his drink all night. He sits staring straight into a wall, gnawing at his fingernails with yellowed teeth. I guess I should see how far female charms might get me. Revolting thought.
4 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Nashkel Inn
Xzar, that misfit! Ugh! It is impossible to talk to the man. I ask him about himself and he goes on and on about dragons with feet like rabbits, and how he would like to have infravision like the elves but that it's more than just taking their eyes. Dreadful stories and mementos of some vile mind, surely, but nothing of value.
But he is interesting to watch, as he skitters back and forth between topics, twitching with every second word. Completely uninterested in me however, and as I pressed the issue, he said I was too stringy.
Of all things!
I almost lost it there, and we would probably have burned the inn to the ground flinging spells at each other had I not left the room. He didn't even notice and continued speaking to himself. I will break that ward of his. And if I am unable, a dagger in the ribs will do.
Oh, yes. It almost slipped my mind. Another assassin found us. It seems that my price has gone up. I would be flattered if it were not my life that was for sale.
5 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Nashkel Inn
It was only a dream. And yet, I awoke and felt... different. I saw my father's death, over and over again, until I no longer cared. It became naught but ghosts of long dead men, faded and bleak in a light that was no light, as is the way of dreams.
I tremble still. The depth of night creeping in through the shutters, freezing the sweat upon my skin. Is this what I have to expect? The death of my father robbed of meaning, riddled with ashes? Will there come a day when I no longer care? It chills me to the bone.
I should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we head out for the mines, though as of right now, I wonder what good it will do.
I will not forget.
---
Chapter Three
---
5 Mirtul, 1369
We have left the depths, and by the light of an evening fire, every face seems different. Including my own.
I remember the feeling, down there in the pitch black darkness of the mine. I spoke one word and the kobold that ran yapping toward me fell, shattering bow and bones against the rock. I remember that spell, but I have not cast it since I was a child, and have since long stricken it from my book.
It came from somewhere else. And it felt different. My lips twitched, struggling to form something that resembled a smile. It felt wonderful. But I am no sorcerer. I am a tiefling, a bastard of the planes, and this should not happen to me.
Montaron fell screaming to the ground, ripped to bloody shreds by our enemies. I could have stopped them, but I stood motionless. Staring at my hands. Jahiera never looked at me the same way after that, but she said nothing. Even now, her head close together with Khalid's, sitting on the other edge of the fire, I wonder what she's planning.
The halfling was no great loss, and Xzar was unconcerned. Perhaps I may yet profit from this, as I will no longer have his companion looking over my shoulder.
The brain behind the mine's tainting proved to be no more than a lackey however, and the trail leads onward to Beregost, and further still to the Iron Throne. We met another group of assassins as we surfaced from the mines, and that was their words: "You will never interfere with the Iron Throne again."
As the league of ruthless merchants they are, orchestrating this iron shortage for their own gain is not beyond them. But what do they want with me? This might of course be an elaborate ruse to lure me of trail, and I will keep my options open.
Jahiera is trying to leash me. I am sure of it. She attempts to steer me toward the path I have already chosen, as if she feared I might stray from it, but her motives remain unclear. Had she something to do with my father's death I wonder? It might be time to leave her and her stuttering friend behind.
We met an elf down there and rescued him from his captors, though that was not my intent. Xan, a greycloak of Evereska, now staring blankly into the fire with his moonblade resting beside him. It is an item of considerable power, but as all moonblades, it refuses to be wielded by anyone other than its master.
The man draws my eyes more than the blade however, as he is graceful in his ways, though his mood seems far bleaker than most. I usually despise the fair folk, but this one is different. After hearing my tale he was convinced that I would suffer a gruesome fate and said that he would try to keep me alive as long as possible, even though he had no chance to succeed.
He is so obsessed with doom, his own and others, that he sees little else. It is amusing to hear Imoen's attempts at random cheerful comments being crushed by Xan's gloomy voice, and her face alone makes it worth it. I have trouble not trusting a man like that, though that might be folly. I must consider this matter further.
6 Mirtul, 1369
Another dream of death, and daggers like claws digging their way through my chest.
I awoke alone, though surrounded by sleeping figures, hidden by blankets in the dark. The coals of the fire had not yet died and cast the faintest light there is.
The watch was abandoned. They were all sleeping, except the necromancer. It was his turn, and he was not there. Had he finally decided to betray me? Were my enemies closing in on me right then?
I sprang to my feet, muttering the words of a spell as I saw him in the distance. Among the corpses of last night's attackers he stood, animating one of them with dancing fingers and humming a haunting tune. The spell hit him squarely in his back. He stumbled and the corpse fell heavily to the ground, new bloody gashes added to the ones already inflicted.
"I am become death!" Xzar roared as he turned towards me. "Destroyer of worlds!"
He wove his magic and a second spell struck him. All blood drained from his face, but none of the manic gleaming left his eyes. I closed the distance and the final cut was my sword.
I told the others that he had gone insane with the death of Montaron, and that my way had been the only one. The fool Imoen swallowed it, but I can tell that Jahiera does not believe me. There is a new wariness in her eyes, and I do not blame her. I don't know why I killed him, but I remember that voice from the dream.
Listen to what is bred in the bone.
I will not sleep tonight.
6 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Nashkel Inn
Never have I read something so foul. Xzar's childish hand is almost illegible, but with a few cantrips the murky print has cleared somewhat. The tome is filled with spells I never thought possible, or even considered trying. There are things here that does things to men I try not to think about. But I memorized them all, one by one, before I burned the pages. Knowledge should never be lost.
Imoen asked me what was burning. I told her it was all her hopes and dreams. It is most likely true.
7 Mirtul, 1369
Beregost, Feldepost's Inn
Now that I've finally gotten into a bath and some respectable clothes, of course, we're heading into the wilderness again.
Tazok, I have learned, is the name of the one who leads the bandits raiding the iron shipments. His camp is supposed to lie somewhere in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. I will have to pay him a visit. An invisibility spell and a poisoned dagger might possibly end this damned shortage. I'm getting tired of blades that crumble as I strike.
Imported silk. The cheap kind, but there is nothing else to find in Beregost. It will do for now.
"You're going to die in style I see," Xan said as he saw me.
He knocked on my door this evening. We spoke of Candlekeep and my father. Xan is not like that child Imoen. He listens to me, and I found myself telling him things I had kept even from her. As we talked, he became even more convinced that I was heading for my death, and that I would take all those close to me along into the grave. And despite this he follows me. I asked him why, and he lowered his head toward the ground in a respectful bow.
"You saved my life, noble tiefling. I will remain."
Hmm. It seems that it is too long for one post. Maybe not all of the chapter 3 stuff then.
---
Chapter Two
---
4 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Belching Dragon Tavern
I found some time to write, sitting in this damp tavern I loathe to even name. This is a town of farmers, filthy beggars, unwashed mercenaries and cheap wine. The stink lies heavily over it all, or perhaps it is me. I've had little time to bathe since this all began, and my clothes are all dusty and torn from one fight or flight too many.
We arrived with the promise of gold. Apparently the mines to the south are plagued by disappearances, and nothing but tainted ore leaves the depths. The mayor requires our help, and I have decided to grant it.
Gold would be pleasant indeed. I have heard that the finest silks and weaves are to be found in Baldur's Gate. Perhaps if we clear up this iron shortage the roads might open again.
My familiar is cuddling with that woman across the table. Jahiera. What he sees in her I do not know. That cat is mindless. Imoen babbles away with that long-winded scribe, Volo. He thought I was rude. Burn him. I've half a mind to go over there and break a mug over his lousy beret. But I guess that's the wine talking.
I have tried to get Xzar drunk, at least enough so that he might forget to place his wards upon resting, but to no avail. The necromancer has not touched his drink all night. He sits staring straight into a wall, gnawing at his fingernails with yellowed teeth. I guess I should see how far female charms might get me. Revolting thought.
4 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Nashkel Inn
Xzar, that misfit! Ugh! It is impossible to talk to the man. I ask him about himself and he goes on and on about dragons with feet like rabbits, and how he would like to have infravision like the elves but that it's more than just taking their eyes. Dreadful stories and mementos of some vile mind, surely, but nothing of value.
But he is interesting to watch, as he skitters back and forth between topics, twitching with every second word. Completely uninterested in me however, and as I pressed the issue, he said I was too stringy.
Of all things!
I almost lost it there, and we would probably have burned the inn to the ground flinging spells at each other had I not left the room. He didn't even notice and continued speaking to himself. I will break that ward of his. And if I am unable, a dagger in the ribs will do.
Oh, yes. It almost slipped my mind. Another assassin found us. It seems that my price has gone up. I would be flattered if it were not my life that was for sale.
5 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Nashkel Inn
It was only a dream. And yet, I awoke and felt... different. I saw my father's death, over and over again, until I no longer cared. It became naught but ghosts of long dead men, faded and bleak in a light that was no light, as is the way of dreams.
I tremble still. The depth of night creeping in through the shutters, freezing the sweat upon my skin. Is this what I have to expect? The death of my father robbed of meaning, riddled with ashes? Will there come a day when I no longer care? It chills me to the bone.
I should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we head out for the mines, though as of right now, I wonder what good it will do.
I will not forget.
---
Chapter Three
---
5 Mirtul, 1369
We have left the depths, and by the light of an evening fire, every face seems different. Including my own.
I remember the feeling, down there in the pitch black darkness of the mine. I spoke one word and the kobold that ran yapping toward me fell, shattering bow and bones against the rock. I remember that spell, but I have not cast it since I was a child, and have since long stricken it from my book.
It came from somewhere else. And it felt different. My lips twitched, struggling to form something that resembled a smile. It felt wonderful. But I am no sorcerer. I am a tiefling, a bastard of the planes, and this should not happen to me.
Montaron fell screaming to the ground, ripped to bloody shreds by our enemies. I could have stopped them, but I stood motionless. Staring at my hands. Jahiera never looked at me the same way after that, but she said nothing. Even now, her head close together with Khalid's, sitting on the other edge of the fire, I wonder what she's planning.
The halfling was no great loss, and Xzar was unconcerned. Perhaps I may yet profit from this, as I will no longer have his companion looking over my shoulder.
The brain behind the mine's tainting proved to be no more than a lackey however, and the trail leads onward to Beregost, and further still to the Iron Throne. We met another group of assassins as we surfaced from the mines, and that was their words: "You will never interfere with the Iron Throne again."
As the league of ruthless merchants they are, orchestrating this iron shortage for their own gain is not beyond them. But what do they want with me? This might of course be an elaborate ruse to lure me of trail, and I will keep my options open.
Jahiera is trying to leash me. I am sure of it. She attempts to steer me toward the path I have already chosen, as if she feared I might stray from it, but her motives remain unclear. Had she something to do with my father's death I wonder? It might be time to leave her and her stuttering friend behind.
We met an elf down there and rescued him from his captors, though that was not my intent. Xan, a greycloak of Evereska, now staring blankly into the fire with his moonblade resting beside him. It is an item of considerable power, but as all moonblades, it refuses to be wielded by anyone other than its master.
The man draws my eyes more than the blade however, as he is graceful in his ways, though his mood seems far bleaker than most. I usually despise the fair folk, but this one is different. After hearing my tale he was convinced that I would suffer a gruesome fate and said that he would try to keep me alive as long as possible, even though he had no chance to succeed.
He is so obsessed with doom, his own and others, that he sees little else. It is amusing to hear Imoen's attempts at random cheerful comments being crushed by Xan's gloomy voice, and her face alone makes it worth it. I have trouble not trusting a man like that, though that might be folly. I must consider this matter further.
6 Mirtul, 1369
Another dream of death, and daggers like claws digging their way through my chest.
I awoke alone, though surrounded by sleeping figures, hidden by blankets in the dark. The coals of the fire had not yet died and cast the faintest light there is.
The watch was abandoned. They were all sleeping, except the necromancer. It was his turn, and he was not there. Had he finally decided to betray me? Were my enemies closing in on me right then?
I sprang to my feet, muttering the words of a spell as I saw him in the distance. Among the corpses of last night's attackers he stood, animating one of them with dancing fingers and humming a haunting tune. The spell hit him squarely in his back. He stumbled and the corpse fell heavily to the ground, new bloody gashes added to the ones already inflicted.
"I am become death!" Xzar roared as he turned towards me. "Destroyer of worlds!"
He wove his magic and a second spell struck him. All blood drained from his face, but none of the manic gleaming left his eyes. I closed the distance and the final cut was my sword.
I told the others that he had gone insane with the death of Montaron, and that my way had been the only one. The fool Imoen swallowed it, but I can tell that Jahiera does not believe me. There is a new wariness in her eyes, and I do not blame her. I don't know why I killed him, but I remember that voice from the dream.
Listen to what is bred in the bone.
I will not sleep tonight.
6 Mirtul, 1369
Nashkel, Nashkel Inn
Never have I read something so foul. Xzar's childish hand is almost illegible, but with a few cantrips the murky print has cleared somewhat. The tome is filled with spells I never thought possible, or even considered trying. There are things here that does things to men I try not to think about. But I memorized them all, one by one, before I burned the pages. Knowledge should never be lost.
Imoen asked me what was burning. I told her it was all her hopes and dreams. It is most likely true.
7 Mirtul, 1369
Beregost, Feldepost's Inn
Now that I've finally gotten into a bath and some respectable clothes, of course, we're heading into the wilderness again.
Tazok, I have learned, is the name of the one who leads the bandits raiding the iron shipments. His camp is supposed to lie somewhere in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. I will have to pay him a visit. An invisibility spell and a poisoned dagger might possibly end this damned shortage. I'm getting tired of blades that crumble as I strike.
Imported silk. The cheap kind, but there is nothing else to find in Beregost. It will do for now.
"You're going to die in style I see," Xan said as he saw me.
He knocked on my door this evening. We spoke of Candlekeep and my father. Xan is not like that child Imoen. He listens to me, and I found myself telling him things I had kept even from her. As we talked, he became even more convinced that I was heading for my death, and that I would take all those close to me along into the grave. And despite this he follows me. I asked him why, and he lowered his head toward the ground in a respectful bow.
"You saved my life, noble tiefling. I will remain."
(...and the rest of Chapter Three.)
8 Mirtul, 1369
Beregost
This is insanity! I must get this down. I know not what to do.
I met Elminster this morning. Burn him and his kind! The mage famous over all of Faerun has apparently taken an interest in me, though I wish he had kept his garish red and meddling paws to himself!
"If thou must indulge thy predatory instincts," the mage said, "at least make sure these do not take total control. This would be especially dangerous for thee."
He knew. He knew everything. And I know where he got his information. Elminster begins with an E. They're Harpers, meddlers! Khalid and Jahiera, both of them!
I remained calm. I think I did.
"This is yours," I said and crumpled the message I had found on my father's body in Elminster's hand.
"Thou hast a keen mind," the mage said, as if he had read the same. "But before thou dost something rash, let me tell thee that Gorion was also a Harper. What we have done is for thine sake."
"You lie worse than you dress," I said.
"It is no lie, child," Jahiera said.
"I am not a child!" I screamed. "I will not fall for this! You can all burn! That my father trusted you became his undoing! You sent him that letter! You...!"
"I did not kill him," Elminster said.
"Do you know who did?" I asked.
"I am sorry..." the mage said.
"THEN WHAT USE ARE YOU?!" I roared, and the words became those I knew well. A spell of invisibility flowed from my fingers, and I was gone.
"One need not walk in the steps of his father!" Jahiera called after me. "You are taking the foolish path!"
I ignored her.
8 Mirtul, 1369
Larswood
I watched Imoen and Xan search for me in the rainy dusk of the morning. I followed them, unseen, and listened to Xan's complaining about how futile it was to look for something invisible. Until I had enough.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked them as I shed my spell. "We don't have time to stand around."
"Dev..." Imoen began.
"Please. Imoen. For once. Be quiet."
She didn't say another word.
That night we made camp in Larswood. I took the first watch. Imoen slept, but Xan remained with me by the fire. He sighed with a sound that came very close to: "Oh, well. I might as well try it," and raised a hand to my neck. Something fell past my sight and a twig landed on the ground. He carefully rearranged my hair as I stared down at it, and then he continued talking.
We spoke of the Iron Throne. He was quite certain that it was they who was behind the iron shortage. That was actually why he had been sent to the Sword Coast, to investigate the Throne for Evereska. Of course, he thought that this quest of his was doomed to fail. There had never been any hope in that matter. None what so ever. I smiled, I think. It felt strange.
9 Mirtul, 1369
Tazok's camp
This tent is horrid. The stench of male sweat has seeped through every blanket. I feel unclean.
Infiltrating Tazok's camp was far easier than I had expected. After proving our worth to him, he accepted us as one of his own. Regrettably, he left the camp shortly after.
There are two separate bands of mercenaries here, and both have been hired by the Iron Throne, as I suspected. For every step I take it becomes clearer that my goal lies in Baldur's Gate, and the Throne's compound. I will crush their devices, puppets and plans one by one, until the way there lies clear.
The odds are not in our favor, but I have devised a plan. Imoen kept strangely quiet as I instructed her in her part. It was a welcome change.
8 Mirtul, 1369
Beregost
This is insanity! I must get this down. I know not what to do.
I met Elminster this morning. Burn him and his kind! The mage famous over all of Faerun has apparently taken an interest in me, though I wish he had kept his garish red and meddling paws to himself!
"If thou must indulge thy predatory instincts," the mage said, "at least make sure these do not take total control. This would be especially dangerous for thee."
He knew. He knew everything. And I know where he got his information. Elminster begins with an E. They're Harpers, meddlers! Khalid and Jahiera, both of them!
I remained calm. I think I did.
"This is yours," I said and crumpled the message I had found on my father's body in Elminster's hand.
"Thou hast a keen mind," the mage said, as if he had read the same. "But before thou dost something rash, let me tell thee that Gorion was also a Harper. What we have done is for thine sake."
"You lie worse than you dress," I said.
"It is no lie, child," Jahiera said.
"I am not a child!" I screamed. "I will not fall for this! You can all burn! That my father trusted you became his undoing! You sent him that letter! You...!"
"I did not kill him," Elminster said.
"Do you know who did?" I asked.
"I am sorry..." the mage said.
"THEN WHAT USE ARE YOU?!" I roared, and the words became those I knew well. A spell of invisibility flowed from my fingers, and I was gone.
"One need not walk in the steps of his father!" Jahiera called after me. "You are taking the foolish path!"
I ignored her.
8 Mirtul, 1369
Larswood
I watched Imoen and Xan search for me in the rainy dusk of the morning. I followed them, unseen, and listened to Xan's complaining about how futile it was to look for something invisible. Until I had enough.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked them as I shed my spell. "We don't have time to stand around."
"Dev..." Imoen began.
"Please. Imoen. For once. Be quiet."
She didn't say another word.
That night we made camp in Larswood. I took the first watch. Imoen slept, but Xan remained with me by the fire. He sighed with a sound that came very close to: "Oh, well. I might as well try it," and raised a hand to my neck. Something fell past my sight and a twig landed on the ground. He carefully rearranged my hair as I stared down at it, and then he continued talking.
We spoke of the Iron Throne. He was quite certain that it was they who was behind the iron shortage. That was actually why he had been sent to the Sword Coast, to investigate the Throne for Evereska. Of course, he thought that this quest of his was doomed to fail. There had never been any hope in that matter. None what so ever. I smiled, I think. It felt strange.
9 Mirtul, 1369
Tazok's camp
This tent is horrid. The stench of male sweat has seeped through every blanket. I feel unclean.
Infiltrating Tazok's camp was far easier than I had expected. After proving our worth to him, he accepted us as one of his own. Regrettably, he left the camp shortly after.
There are two separate bands of mercenaries here, and both have been hired by the Iron Throne, as I suspected. For every step I take it becomes clearer that my goal lies in Baldur's Gate, and the Throne's compound. I will crush their devices, puppets and plans one by one, until the way there lies clear.
The odds are not in our favor, but I have devised a plan. Imoen kept strangely quiet as I instructed her in her part. It was a welcome change.
Yes, you are right. I am new here. I did not notice there were such a section.
And here is everything from chapter 4:
---
Chapter Four
---
10 Mirtul, 1369
The camp rent in ashes and blood. I can feel the smell from here. The smoke has woven itself into my clothes and I reek as much as the burning ruin. Still, I am satisfied.
By the cover of night and spells to conceal, we set fire to their stores, their tents, their blankets, and it burned. We summoned forth hordes of creatures to aid us, we struck from shadow unseen, and many backs turned wet my blade. In the end I stood the victor among charred corpses.
In Tazok's tent we learned the next name on my list. Davaeron, Tazok's superior. The Throne has been stockpiling ore in Cloakwood, and that is our next destination.
Sleep comes easily, a night like this.
10 Mirtul, 1369
I dream again, but this time I was not the only one. I woke once more feeling different, but it was stronger this time. I am more than I was, somehow. It is right there, within my reach, behind my eyes, but I can not see it. It scares me, for these dreams do not disturb me anymore.
Xan lay twisting in his blankets, tears upon his cheeks, whimpering wordlessly. I wrapped my cloak around me and the grass' cold blades bent under my bare feet.
He breathed my name then and I froze. I pondered to let him sleep, for the grass had grown razors.
At first, his eyes were as blank as they were dark, but as I shook him, they regained their focus.
"Devorah... Devorah," he said. "You are alive... and well. I am sorry if I woke you."
I said nothing. My face felt carved in stone.
"It is all this endless fighting," he said. "I don't know if I can bear it any longer."
"I ask one thing," I said harshly, "and that is that you follow me to the end. Whatever end. Will you do that?"
Xan swallowed, but nodded.
"I trust you," I said. "That is no simple task. If you betray me, death will not come easily."
I know fear when I see it. I wondered how I looked in his eyes. In the heart of night, the shadows of the forest, with skin as dark as any drow, hair and horns riddled with soot and blood alike. One can but wonder what he saw.
12 Mirtul, 1369
Imoen has been unusually quiet ever since we left Beregost. I asked her about it today, but I did not like the answer.
"You told me to be quiet, didn't you? Aren't you happy now?"
I told her exactly how childish she was. She didn't take it well.
"It used to be you and me, remember?" she said. "There was no one else. I'm your friend, I'm trying to be your friend, but you've changed. I mean, you've always been stuck-up, and I admire all that, in a way, but this is different."
"So you're siding with the Harpers," I said. "Is that it?"
"No! I'm with you, I'm always with you. But everyone is not against you either. You know what they've done, but you don't know why. How can you judge them?"
"Because they lied to me," I said. "They led me and my father into this nest of vipers in the first place."
"Dev," Imoen said softly. "I think Elminster was telling the truth."
"If he was," I said, "I would have no life! It would all have been another Harper scheme. All of it! Do you understand? Elminster was lying."
Imoen said nothing more, but her words kept spinning in my head. They still do, and I can not help thinking what a fool I am.
But, no. I refuse to be a pawn in this game. I will move as I see fit! And to those that seek to bar my way: Prepare for a rather dramatic disappointment.
13 Mirtul, 1369
Claokwood
That night over the campfire, Xan told me I had the soul of the sea. Flowing seamlessly, never ceasing. Terrible in its wrath.
I asked Imoen what she was smirking about.
"Oh, nothing but the obvious," she replied.
I demanded a straight answer. She dragged me away from Xan and the circle of light, and spoke in hushed tones.
"Dev, really. How buffel headed are you? Can't you see he's fawning all over?"
I glanced back at Xan. He tried unsuccessfully to look casual.
"He's in love with you, stupid!" Imoen said.
"Are you certain?" I said after a moment's stunned silence.
"Dev, you are a good looking gal, when you're not frowning."
"But how could he be...?" I said. "How could he love me?"
"You're serious, aren't you?" she said. "Is it the horns? Just because nobody's said it doesn't mean they're not thinking it. You scare men away, Dev. You walk around looking like a queen, whatever rags you wear. What mere mortal would dare drag something so trivial as love to your attention?"
She thinks she has a point, but she doesn't know what it's like.
Tiefling.
14 Mirtul, 1369
Claokwood
All these spiders are starting to get to me. There are webs in these woods with threads as thick as my arm, and it sticks everywhere! I feel wrapped like a cocoon.
"There is elven blood in you," Xan said one day. "It was not apparent at first, but now I see it clearly."
More probably he sees what he wants to see.
"How do you deal with the feeling that you might die at any moment?" he asked.
"I march on," I said.
"This endless chain of battles," he said. "It can break any man, given enough time. Were I alone, I would probably close my eyes and wait for death. But I am not, and there is one I have sworn to protect."
"You can not yet imagine the years upon years of facing deadly perils," he continued. "of narrowly escaping death at every turn. Eventually you lose your will to live. A wielder of a blade like mine can not escape into quiet and solitude. It judges each and every one of my deeds and demands that I continue to protect my land and my people, even as it is a lost cause. I am so tired of facing this side of life, and it alone..."
"Xan," I said. "I will not die."
He sighed and shook his head. "They say pity the land in need of heroes. I say pity the heroes."
And here is everything from chapter 4:
---
Chapter Four
---
10 Mirtul, 1369
The camp rent in ashes and blood. I can feel the smell from here. The smoke has woven itself into my clothes and I reek as much as the burning ruin. Still, I am satisfied.
By the cover of night and spells to conceal, we set fire to their stores, their tents, their blankets, and it burned. We summoned forth hordes of creatures to aid us, we struck from shadow unseen, and many backs turned wet my blade. In the end I stood the victor among charred corpses.
In Tazok's tent we learned the next name on my list. Davaeron, Tazok's superior. The Throne has been stockpiling ore in Cloakwood, and that is our next destination.
Sleep comes easily, a night like this.
10 Mirtul, 1369
I dream again, but this time I was not the only one. I woke once more feeling different, but it was stronger this time. I am more than I was, somehow. It is right there, within my reach, behind my eyes, but I can not see it. It scares me, for these dreams do not disturb me anymore.
Xan lay twisting in his blankets, tears upon his cheeks, whimpering wordlessly. I wrapped my cloak around me and the grass' cold blades bent under my bare feet.
He breathed my name then and I froze. I pondered to let him sleep, for the grass had grown razors.
At first, his eyes were as blank as they were dark, but as I shook him, they regained their focus.
"Devorah... Devorah," he said. "You are alive... and well. I am sorry if I woke you."
I said nothing. My face felt carved in stone.
"It is all this endless fighting," he said. "I don't know if I can bear it any longer."
"I ask one thing," I said harshly, "and that is that you follow me to the end. Whatever end. Will you do that?"
Xan swallowed, but nodded.
"I trust you," I said. "That is no simple task. If you betray me, death will not come easily."
I know fear when I see it. I wondered how I looked in his eyes. In the heart of night, the shadows of the forest, with skin as dark as any drow, hair and horns riddled with soot and blood alike. One can but wonder what he saw.
12 Mirtul, 1369
Imoen has been unusually quiet ever since we left Beregost. I asked her about it today, but I did not like the answer.
"You told me to be quiet, didn't you? Aren't you happy now?"
I told her exactly how childish she was. She didn't take it well.
"It used to be you and me, remember?" she said. "There was no one else. I'm your friend, I'm trying to be your friend, but you've changed. I mean, you've always been stuck-up, and I admire all that, in a way, but this is different."
"So you're siding with the Harpers," I said. "Is that it?"
"No! I'm with you, I'm always with you. But everyone is not against you either. You know what they've done, but you don't know why. How can you judge them?"
"Because they lied to me," I said. "They led me and my father into this nest of vipers in the first place."
"Dev," Imoen said softly. "I think Elminster was telling the truth."
"If he was," I said, "I would have no life! It would all have been another Harper scheme. All of it! Do you understand? Elminster was lying."
Imoen said nothing more, but her words kept spinning in my head. They still do, and I can not help thinking what a fool I am.
But, no. I refuse to be a pawn in this game. I will move as I see fit! And to those that seek to bar my way: Prepare for a rather dramatic disappointment.
13 Mirtul, 1369
Claokwood
That night over the campfire, Xan told me I had the soul of the sea. Flowing seamlessly, never ceasing. Terrible in its wrath.
I asked Imoen what she was smirking about.
"Oh, nothing but the obvious," she replied.
I demanded a straight answer. She dragged me away from Xan and the circle of light, and spoke in hushed tones.
"Dev, really. How buffel headed are you? Can't you see he's fawning all over?"
I glanced back at Xan. He tried unsuccessfully to look casual.
"He's in love with you, stupid!" Imoen said.
"Are you certain?" I said after a moment's stunned silence.
"Dev, you are a good looking gal, when you're not frowning."
"But how could he be...?" I said. "How could he love me?"
"You're serious, aren't you?" she said. "Is it the horns? Just because nobody's said it doesn't mean they're not thinking it. You scare men away, Dev. You walk around looking like a queen, whatever rags you wear. What mere mortal would dare drag something so trivial as love to your attention?"
She thinks she has a point, but she doesn't know what it's like.
Tiefling.
14 Mirtul, 1369
Claokwood
All these spiders are starting to get to me. There are webs in these woods with threads as thick as my arm, and it sticks everywhere! I feel wrapped like a cocoon.
"There is elven blood in you," Xan said one day. "It was not apparent at first, but now I see it clearly."
More probably he sees what he wants to see.
"How do you deal with the feeling that you might die at any moment?" he asked.
"I march on," I said.
"This endless chain of battles," he said. "It can break any man, given enough time. Were I alone, I would probably close my eyes and wait for death. But I am not, and there is one I have sworn to protect."
"You can not yet imagine the years upon years of facing deadly perils," he continued. "of narrowly escaping death at every turn. Eventually you lose your will to live. A wielder of a blade like mine can not escape into quiet and solitude. It judges each and every one of my deeds and demands that I continue to protect my land and my people, even as it is a lost cause. I am so tired of facing this side of life, and it alone..."
"Xan," I said. "I will not die."
He sighed and shook his head. "They say pity the land in need of heroes. I say pity the heroes."
Welcome to chapter 5. The end is nigh!
---
Chapter Five
---
15 Mirtul, 1369
Cloakwood
Davaeron is slain. Of course, it does not end there.
A mine lay hidden in the depth of Cloakwood, stolen from its rightful owners, a clan of dwarves with but one survivor, Yeslick, whom we rescued from the clutches of the Iron Throne. His information proved invaluable, and there is more than bad blood between him and my enemies.
His mind is set to avenge his family, and so, our goals converge. Upon learning of my father, he swore upon his god and clan that he would aid me in bringing justice to his murderer. It is a dwarf of my own heart.
Exploiting a weakness in the foundation itself, we flooded the complex and drowned the Throne's minions like the rats they were. Stolen documents speak of Davaeron's superior. Reiltar. And another man named Sarevok. Both will know their deaths before I am done.
I look forward to knocking on that door, in Baldur's Gate, and seeing the faces of those that have hounded me every step of the way.
That day a red sun rises, and a bloody moon will follow.
16 Mirtul, 1369
Cloakwood
I dreamed of it. Blood. An ocean of it, sweeping across the land, and I, right in the middle of it. Why am I not surprised?
"Devorah! Wake up!" Xan said. "Thank... Thank Corellon, you are alive. I had a vision last night. You were so close, and then you dissolved into dust. I awoke to find you lying there pale and I..."
"Xan. Let go of me," I said.
Arms, hands, fingers slender. He truly is one of the fair folk. And he says I have elven blood. There is nothing like that in me.
19 Mirtul, 1369
It was my watch, and I sat staring into the dying coals where flames once sprung. I heard something move behind me and a hand fell lightly on my shoulder.
"May I sit with you for a while?" Xan asked.
I did not answer, and he hesitated.
"I have watched the light of the fire play in your hair," he said as he sat down. "A sight to behold. And yet, something is missing. Hm... Yes. If you would sit still for a moment."
I sat very still. I hardly breathed.
He undid my hair with graceful hands. They trembled slightly, and so did I. He brushed it slowly and carefully between his fingers, until it flowed free of tangles and twigs. Then he began weaving it into something I could not see, but judging by the trained skill of his movements, it would be a promising sight.
I glanced up at him then, and he smiled, his face looking younger than ever. But he kept his eyes fixed on his work, not at me.
"Thank you," I said as he was done and cleared my throat. "I'll take a closer look in the morning."
"Good... Good night Devorah," he said. "You may as well have your rest."
He walked off to the other side of the fire and buried his face in his hands.
In the morning Imoen said I looked beautiful, and begged Xan to do her hair to. It was an effort not to strangle her.
20 Mirtul, 1369
Baldur's Gate
The Gate, at last, though this city comes with worms of its own.
"Good day to thee, young one," Elminster said as I entered the city. "What a marvelous happenstance that we should again cross paths."
As if it was anything of the sort.
"Leave me be, old man!" I snapped.
"I am not some old letch that follows thee around for the good of mine eyes, upstart," he said. "If I am to be accused of anything, perhaps it is that I have been a touch to mothering. I think this can be excused, however, when compared to the zeal with which thy true parentage pursues thee. I trust thou dost suspect that thou art not ‘normal'."
"And why should I believe a word you say?" I said. "I harbor no delusions that I would stand the victor should this come to blows, but trust me, mage, when I say that I would gladly make the attempt."
"Thou art determined to be confrontational, aren't thee? So be it. Thy manner may come natural to thee, but obeying thine impulses is not always the best course. Being true to thyself is only wise if it is truly the self that thou dost wish to become. Off with thee then, to whatever fate will have thee!"
I marched on, but I could feel his eyes crawling over my back. My companions kept their own locked toward the cobblestones, but Yeslick stared at me, and then back at Elminster.
"Yer surely making powerful enemies, lass," the dwarf said. "That was Elminster if I not be mistaken. Yer either the bravest girl in the Coast or the biggest fool I've seen."
"What would you prefer, dwarf?" I growled. "Are you regretting your oath?"
"I am sure the lady's mind is set in this matter," Xan broke in nervously. "With assassins closing in on us at every turn, as I am sure that they are, Elminster might be the least of the contributors to our coming doom."
"Both of you," Imoen said to them. "I've learned there are times to speak and times to be quiet. This is the latter."
It seems I have finally forced some sense into that girl.
20 Mirtul, 1369
Baldur's Gate, The Helm and Cloak
This victory feels hollow. It all does.
There was blood in the Iron Throne compound, flowing and dripping thick down the stairwells, but it seems I still have work to do.
The Throne has been routed from Baldur's Gate, but two of their leaders still lives. Rieltar and Brunos. And this elusive Sarevok who seems to have taken a personal interest in my demise. Ironically those two leaders have traveled to Candlekeep, attending a meeting with another organization, whose name escapes me.
Candlekeep.
I will return. Though I know not how I shall gain entry. Luckily there is but one road that leads up to the keep. Good things come to those who wait in ambush.
I set my companions loose upon the city. Tomorrow it is the road again for us. This inn is wonderful. Fine wooden paneling, soft chairs, gilded candles. And a scented bath. Every single muscle seems to have untied itself from whatever knot they had lashed in my back. I could get used to this. So easily.
Xan came back with the most beautiful of dresses I have ever seen. Black and dark purple silks, embroidered with golden thread. Sometimes life is sweet.
Oh gods. I don't want to do this. I want to stay here where everything is warm and soft. And quiet. Running my hands over smooth fabric, all that rage and death defying anger seem distant. I know that I need it still, or I shall surely perish. But not tonight.
"I begin to understand that the Fates have a twisted sense of humor," Xan said. "I have never had the time to make friends. It is ironic that I came to know you with my life coming to a close."
He sighed with such a weary heave that all the world seemed to rest upon his shoulders, closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked straight at me.
"This will lead nowhere," he said mournfully. "There is too much death around. And when it happens... I do not know what I would do if anything happens to you. And if I die... Perhaps it would be better if I left, and soon."
"You promised you would stay," I said.
"Are you afraid of anything, Devorah?" he asked.
I felt my face break. I could do nothing to stop it, and I turned it away from him.
"No," I lied.
I am not the same anymore. It has been pointed out to me, but I see it clearly in this silver mirror. There is no elven blood, no trace of their vaunted grace. No queen with head borne high, nor the bravest girl in the Coast.
There is a tiefling. Single minded purpose. Steel-hardened eye. Murder.
That is all.
---
Chapter Five
---
15 Mirtul, 1369
Cloakwood
Davaeron is slain. Of course, it does not end there.
A mine lay hidden in the depth of Cloakwood, stolen from its rightful owners, a clan of dwarves with but one survivor, Yeslick, whom we rescued from the clutches of the Iron Throne. His information proved invaluable, and there is more than bad blood between him and my enemies.
His mind is set to avenge his family, and so, our goals converge. Upon learning of my father, he swore upon his god and clan that he would aid me in bringing justice to his murderer. It is a dwarf of my own heart.
Exploiting a weakness in the foundation itself, we flooded the complex and drowned the Throne's minions like the rats they were. Stolen documents speak of Davaeron's superior. Reiltar. And another man named Sarevok. Both will know their deaths before I am done.
I look forward to knocking on that door, in Baldur's Gate, and seeing the faces of those that have hounded me every step of the way.
That day a red sun rises, and a bloody moon will follow.
16 Mirtul, 1369
Cloakwood
I dreamed of it. Blood. An ocean of it, sweeping across the land, and I, right in the middle of it. Why am I not surprised?
"Devorah! Wake up!" Xan said. "Thank... Thank Corellon, you are alive. I had a vision last night. You were so close, and then you dissolved into dust. I awoke to find you lying there pale and I..."
"Xan. Let go of me," I said.
Arms, hands, fingers slender. He truly is one of the fair folk. And he says I have elven blood. There is nothing like that in me.
19 Mirtul, 1369
It was my watch, and I sat staring into the dying coals where flames once sprung. I heard something move behind me and a hand fell lightly on my shoulder.
"May I sit with you for a while?" Xan asked.
I did not answer, and he hesitated.
"I have watched the light of the fire play in your hair," he said as he sat down. "A sight to behold. And yet, something is missing. Hm... Yes. If you would sit still for a moment."
I sat very still. I hardly breathed.
He undid my hair with graceful hands. They trembled slightly, and so did I. He brushed it slowly and carefully between his fingers, until it flowed free of tangles and twigs. Then he began weaving it into something I could not see, but judging by the trained skill of his movements, it would be a promising sight.
I glanced up at him then, and he smiled, his face looking younger than ever. But he kept his eyes fixed on his work, not at me.
"Thank you," I said as he was done and cleared my throat. "I'll take a closer look in the morning."
"Good... Good night Devorah," he said. "You may as well have your rest."
He walked off to the other side of the fire and buried his face in his hands.
In the morning Imoen said I looked beautiful, and begged Xan to do her hair to. It was an effort not to strangle her.
20 Mirtul, 1369
Baldur's Gate
The Gate, at last, though this city comes with worms of its own.
"Good day to thee, young one," Elminster said as I entered the city. "What a marvelous happenstance that we should again cross paths."
As if it was anything of the sort.
"Leave me be, old man!" I snapped.
"I am not some old letch that follows thee around for the good of mine eyes, upstart," he said. "If I am to be accused of anything, perhaps it is that I have been a touch to mothering. I think this can be excused, however, when compared to the zeal with which thy true parentage pursues thee. I trust thou dost suspect that thou art not ‘normal'."
"And why should I believe a word you say?" I said. "I harbor no delusions that I would stand the victor should this come to blows, but trust me, mage, when I say that I would gladly make the attempt."
"Thou art determined to be confrontational, aren't thee? So be it. Thy manner may come natural to thee, but obeying thine impulses is not always the best course. Being true to thyself is only wise if it is truly the self that thou dost wish to become. Off with thee then, to whatever fate will have thee!"
I marched on, but I could feel his eyes crawling over my back. My companions kept their own locked toward the cobblestones, but Yeslick stared at me, and then back at Elminster.
"Yer surely making powerful enemies, lass," the dwarf said. "That was Elminster if I not be mistaken. Yer either the bravest girl in the Coast or the biggest fool I've seen."
"What would you prefer, dwarf?" I growled. "Are you regretting your oath?"
"I am sure the lady's mind is set in this matter," Xan broke in nervously. "With assassins closing in on us at every turn, as I am sure that they are, Elminster might be the least of the contributors to our coming doom."
"Both of you," Imoen said to them. "I've learned there are times to speak and times to be quiet. This is the latter."
It seems I have finally forced some sense into that girl.
20 Mirtul, 1369
Baldur's Gate, The Helm and Cloak
This victory feels hollow. It all does.
There was blood in the Iron Throne compound, flowing and dripping thick down the stairwells, but it seems I still have work to do.
The Throne has been routed from Baldur's Gate, but two of their leaders still lives. Rieltar and Brunos. And this elusive Sarevok who seems to have taken a personal interest in my demise. Ironically those two leaders have traveled to Candlekeep, attending a meeting with another organization, whose name escapes me.
Candlekeep.
I will return. Though I know not how I shall gain entry. Luckily there is but one road that leads up to the keep. Good things come to those who wait in ambush.
I set my companions loose upon the city. Tomorrow it is the road again for us. This inn is wonderful. Fine wooden paneling, soft chairs, gilded candles. And a scented bath. Every single muscle seems to have untied itself from whatever knot they had lashed in my back. I could get used to this. So easily.
Xan came back with the most beautiful of dresses I have ever seen. Black and dark purple silks, embroidered with golden thread. Sometimes life is sweet.
Oh gods. I don't want to do this. I want to stay here where everything is warm and soft. And quiet. Running my hands over smooth fabric, all that rage and death defying anger seem distant. I know that I need it still, or I shall surely perish. But not tonight.
"I begin to understand that the Fates have a twisted sense of humor," Xan said. "I have never had the time to make friends. It is ironic that I came to know you with my life coming to a close."
He sighed with such a weary heave that all the world seemed to rest upon his shoulders, closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked straight at me.
"This will lead nowhere," he said mournfully. "There is too much death around. And when it happens... I do not know what I would do if anything happens to you. And if I die... Perhaps it would be better if I left, and soon."
"You promised you would stay," I said.
"Are you afraid of anything, Devorah?" he asked.
I felt my face break. I could do nothing to stop it, and I turned it away from him.
"No," I lied.
I am not the same anymore. It has been pointed out to me, but I see it clearly in this silver mirror. There is no elven blood, no trace of their vaunted grace. No queen with head borne high, nor the bravest girl in the Coast.
There is a tiefling. Single minded purpose. Steel-hardened eye. Murder.
That is all.
Here it is. The end. Chapter six and seven. And to those that reads through it all, I would love to hear what you think of it. Good or bad. One day you might see the same character write her way through Shadows of Amn.
---
Chapter Six
---
21 Mirtul, 1369
Imoen! That girl will get me killed one day. Or she might just save my life. One or the other.
Of course, the first thing she does alone in Baldur's Gate is to get arrested. I learned of it this morning. Apparently she tried to break into the Silvershield mansion. Could she not have picked an easier mark? Perhaps I should thank her however, for it seems that the commander of the Flaming Fist, Duke Eltan, was interested in my services. And also prepared to let Imoen go free, on one condition: That I investigate the Iron Throne for him.
From there it was a simple matter to get the means to enter Candlekeep, with a Grand Duke backing us. I will walk upon the grounds of my home again. Will I slip into that role I played back then? Will I change into what I was just for seeing those faces?
Does it matter?
Xan has hardly said two words to me since we left the Gate. He refuses to even look me in the eye.
"What is going on?" Imoen asked as she got me out of earshot of the others. "Why are you both being so grumpy?"
"He said he was going to leave," I said.
"Why would he..." she said. "Hm. Well, it comes down to a simple question, then. Do you fancy him or don't ya?"
I took a deep breath.
"I feel empty," I said faintly. "Just thinking about it. Imoen, he scares me..."
"Devorah, dear," she said as she laid her concerned arms around me. "What has he done? I swear I'll..."
"No," I said. "Imoen, please leave him be..."
Even there. In the arms of my only friend, I wasted nothing. Not a single drop.
She did not understand, of course. And after that, she cast many a furious glance Xan's way. As if he was at fault.
22 Mirtul, 1369
Candlekeep
Gorion left me a letter. I found it in his room. I dreamed of him last night, and of Candlekeep. A black raven, perched with skeletal claws, eyes as dark as my own. I know now what it means.
I am no sorcerer, but the blood of a god runs through me. Bhaal, the lord of murder, who perished in the Time of Troubles, was my father. I am one of the Bhaalspawn, by Alaundo himself prophesied to bring havoc upon the Sword Coast, to kill each other until but one remains. Is that not what I have done?
Gorion raised me here to keep me safe. I know that now. I understand why that armored fiend was after me. Gorion should have killed me himself! I deserve nothing of what has been given, but it has been given none the less, and I am alive!
I have done what was necessary, nothing more. If I have to kill each and every one of my brothers before they kill me I shall! This changes nothing!
I burned the letter as soon as I had read it. I told no one.
My quarry is here, though I can do nothing now. I will wait until darkness falls, and then strike unseen, slipping away into the night before the Watch has time to react.
Elminster refuses to give up, and who can blame him? I met a man named Koveras. There was something familiar about him. He claimed to have known Gorion, running messages between him and the Harpers. He is probably another one of their spies.
No, I can write no longer! I must do something. Burn the others! I will take care of this myself! I should leave them behind. At least until... until this is done. If it will ever be done.
23 Mirtul, 1369
Candlekeep
This I write in a cell. It seems it shall end here. I will be sent to Baldur's Gate to hang. No one will ever know what I am.
"Devorah, please," Imoen said from the other side of the bars. "Say something."
"Now what where ye thinking, lass?" Yeslick asked me and shook his head. "They sure had it coming, but like this...?"
"She has lost the will," Xan said. "Can't you see it? There is nothing we can do."
"Oh, do get over yourself!" Imoen snapped at the elf. "What did you do to her, you mutton-mongering riff-raff!? She's never been like this before."
"I have lost the will, have I?" I said suddenly. "Will requires purpose, purpose requires truth, truth requires that someone tells me what in all the Nine Hells is GOING ON!"
"You do not understand, and you never will," I continued in their stunned silence. "Imoen, thank you for trying. Yeslick, you have been useful. Xan... I thank you for the dress, now leave me alone!"
This floor is cold. I pity the heroes.
---
Chapter Seven
---
24 Mirtul, 1369
Sarevok. And so I find his name. Koveras is Sarevok backwards. What a fool I am! I know now why I thought I knew him, for it was he who killed my father.
It seems he has been the mastermind behind this whole scheme from the beginning. I was to kill the Iron Throne leaders for him, and if I did not, his doppelganger allies would do it in my place. Candlekeep was infested with them. No wonder so many of those I thought I knew seemed changed.
With some help from within, we managed to escape through the catacombs beneath the keep. Now we return to Baldur's Gate, and Sarevok. He must be like me, a child of Bhaal. What other reason can there be for all this?
It is a quiet campfire tonight. They all risked their lives and their reputations to help me. The Flaming Fist will be after us all.
I will not apologize.
26 Mirtul, 1369
Baldur's Gate
I dream again. But this time, I do not care.
The voice of a dead god will sway me no longer. There are more important things to deal with. The Gate opens before me in this night that Sarevok dies. I will not rest until I have his head. All things are not that simple however.
One day on the road, Xan stopped the party and said he needed to talk with me alone. The others could continue ahead. I crossed my arms and waited, trying to breathe steadily.
"Devorah," he said and sighed. "Everything a man feels for a woman I feel for you. I love you. I talked to Imoen and I..."
He did not get any further. It sounded so hollow.
He had talked to Imoen. Behind my back. And now he says he loves me. I screamed at him, called him things I will not write, until I ran out of breath.
Then I said I loved him to.
"You most assuredly do not," Xan said. "That is too good to be true. You have never loved anyone. If you had you would have... recognized it. They say that it is better to cross empty arms over an empty heart than live the pain of a broken one."
I never want to see him again. I wanted to kill him. Kiss him. But I did nothing. He will see me for what I am eventually.
And then he will leave.
26 Mirtul, 1369
It is done. At the altar of his father Sarevok fell. Though before he died, he told them all.
"So he was a Bhaalspawn," Imoen said disbelievingly, wiping a smear of blood from her sleeve. "And you as well?"
Rage still burning, breathing heavily, I tore my blade free of my brother's layered armor.
"Yes!" I said, voice echoing through the underground hall. "That is what I am! That is what you have all been traveling with, risked you lives for, aided in a quest for vengeance that was most likely fueled by the dead god of bloody murder himself!"
"Lower your weapons, lass," Yeslick said. "We are not your enemies."
"FINE!" I roared, slammed my sword down against the altar, and the stone rung like a struck bell. "I need no weapons, I need no spells! It is all there. Growing inside like some sick twisted child!"
"Devorah," Imoen said, eyes widening with my every word. "I think you need to calm down."
"I am no better than he!" I said and turned a sharp gesture toward the corpse at my feet. "Have you not seen it? It is I you should be hunting! It is I who deserve to die!"
"And so it is time," Xan sighed. "She is going to kill us all. We're doomed."
"She's not going to kill anyone!" Imoen said, and looked at me. "Right?"
"What is this, do you think?" I said an pointed at myself. "What do I look like to you? Tiefling! Demonspawn! Child of Bhaal!"
"You are a brave young woman," Yeslick said slowly. "One who keeps on going, no matter the odds, no matter what people think or say. You have prevented a war. You have helped me avenge my clan, and I am thankful, as I am sure a lot of people are. Yer a hero."
"Oh, what is the point," Xan said. "She is destined for this, the fight will never stop. We will surely mourn her soon, though I know not how to bear such a loss. I should have left long ago."
"Xan stop saying that!" Imoen said, her shrill voice at the edge of tears. "Can't you see that she..."
"I will go now," I said quietly and whispered the words of a spell.
They called after me as I ran off into the dark, unseen by all eyes but those that watch me always.
And dream of murder.
---
Chapter Six
---
21 Mirtul, 1369
Imoen! That girl will get me killed one day. Or she might just save my life. One or the other.
Of course, the first thing she does alone in Baldur's Gate is to get arrested. I learned of it this morning. Apparently she tried to break into the Silvershield mansion. Could she not have picked an easier mark? Perhaps I should thank her however, for it seems that the commander of the Flaming Fist, Duke Eltan, was interested in my services. And also prepared to let Imoen go free, on one condition: That I investigate the Iron Throne for him.
From there it was a simple matter to get the means to enter Candlekeep, with a Grand Duke backing us. I will walk upon the grounds of my home again. Will I slip into that role I played back then? Will I change into what I was just for seeing those faces?
Does it matter?
Xan has hardly said two words to me since we left the Gate. He refuses to even look me in the eye.
"What is going on?" Imoen asked as she got me out of earshot of the others. "Why are you both being so grumpy?"
"He said he was going to leave," I said.
"Why would he..." she said. "Hm. Well, it comes down to a simple question, then. Do you fancy him or don't ya?"
I took a deep breath.
"I feel empty," I said faintly. "Just thinking about it. Imoen, he scares me..."
"Devorah, dear," she said as she laid her concerned arms around me. "What has he done? I swear I'll..."
"No," I said. "Imoen, please leave him be..."
Even there. In the arms of my only friend, I wasted nothing. Not a single drop.
She did not understand, of course. And after that, she cast many a furious glance Xan's way. As if he was at fault.
22 Mirtul, 1369
Candlekeep
Gorion left me a letter. I found it in his room. I dreamed of him last night, and of Candlekeep. A black raven, perched with skeletal claws, eyes as dark as my own. I know now what it means.
I am no sorcerer, but the blood of a god runs through me. Bhaal, the lord of murder, who perished in the Time of Troubles, was my father. I am one of the Bhaalspawn, by Alaundo himself prophesied to bring havoc upon the Sword Coast, to kill each other until but one remains. Is that not what I have done?
Gorion raised me here to keep me safe. I know that now. I understand why that armored fiend was after me. Gorion should have killed me himself! I deserve nothing of what has been given, but it has been given none the less, and I am alive!
I have done what was necessary, nothing more. If I have to kill each and every one of my brothers before they kill me I shall! This changes nothing!
I burned the letter as soon as I had read it. I told no one.
My quarry is here, though I can do nothing now. I will wait until darkness falls, and then strike unseen, slipping away into the night before the Watch has time to react.
Elminster refuses to give up, and who can blame him? I met a man named Koveras. There was something familiar about him. He claimed to have known Gorion, running messages between him and the Harpers. He is probably another one of their spies.
No, I can write no longer! I must do something. Burn the others! I will take care of this myself! I should leave them behind. At least until... until this is done. If it will ever be done.
23 Mirtul, 1369
Candlekeep
This I write in a cell. It seems it shall end here. I will be sent to Baldur's Gate to hang. No one will ever know what I am.
"Devorah, please," Imoen said from the other side of the bars. "Say something."
"Now what where ye thinking, lass?" Yeslick asked me and shook his head. "They sure had it coming, but like this...?"
"She has lost the will," Xan said. "Can't you see it? There is nothing we can do."
"Oh, do get over yourself!" Imoen snapped at the elf. "What did you do to her, you mutton-mongering riff-raff!? She's never been like this before."
"I have lost the will, have I?" I said suddenly. "Will requires purpose, purpose requires truth, truth requires that someone tells me what in all the Nine Hells is GOING ON!"
"You do not understand, and you never will," I continued in their stunned silence. "Imoen, thank you for trying. Yeslick, you have been useful. Xan... I thank you for the dress, now leave me alone!"
This floor is cold. I pity the heroes.
---
Chapter Seven
---
24 Mirtul, 1369
Sarevok. And so I find his name. Koveras is Sarevok backwards. What a fool I am! I know now why I thought I knew him, for it was he who killed my father.
It seems he has been the mastermind behind this whole scheme from the beginning. I was to kill the Iron Throne leaders for him, and if I did not, his doppelganger allies would do it in my place. Candlekeep was infested with them. No wonder so many of those I thought I knew seemed changed.
With some help from within, we managed to escape through the catacombs beneath the keep. Now we return to Baldur's Gate, and Sarevok. He must be like me, a child of Bhaal. What other reason can there be for all this?
It is a quiet campfire tonight. They all risked their lives and their reputations to help me. The Flaming Fist will be after us all.
I will not apologize.
26 Mirtul, 1369
Baldur's Gate
I dream again. But this time, I do not care.
The voice of a dead god will sway me no longer. There are more important things to deal with. The Gate opens before me in this night that Sarevok dies. I will not rest until I have his head. All things are not that simple however.
One day on the road, Xan stopped the party and said he needed to talk with me alone. The others could continue ahead. I crossed my arms and waited, trying to breathe steadily.
"Devorah," he said and sighed. "Everything a man feels for a woman I feel for you. I love you. I talked to Imoen and I..."
He did not get any further. It sounded so hollow.
He had talked to Imoen. Behind my back. And now he says he loves me. I screamed at him, called him things I will not write, until I ran out of breath.
Then I said I loved him to.
"You most assuredly do not," Xan said. "That is too good to be true. You have never loved anyone. If you had you would have... recognized it. They say that it is better to cross empty arms over an empty heart than live the pain of a broken one."
I never want to see him again. I wanted to kill him. Kiss him. But I did nothing. He will see me for what I am eventually.
And then he will leave.
26 Mirtul, 1369
It is done. At the altar of his father Sarevok fell. Though before he died, he told them all.
"So he was a Bhaalspawn," Imoen said disbelievingly, wiping a smear of blood from her sleeve. "And you as well?"
Rage still burning, breathing heavily, I tore my blade free of my brother's layered armor.
"Yes!" I said, voice echoing through the underground hall. "That is what I am! That is what you have all been traveling with, risked you lives for, aided in a quest for vengeance that was most likely fueled by the dead god of bloody murder himself!"
"Lower your weapons, lass," Yeslick said. "We are not your enemies."
"FINE!" I roared, slammed my sword down against the altar, and the stone rung like a struck bell. "I need no weapons, I need no spells! It is all there. Growing inside like some sick twisted child!"
"Devorah," Imoen said, eyes widening with my every word. "I think you need to calm down."
"I am no better than he!" I said and turned a sharp gesture toward the corpse at my feet. "Have you not seen it? It is I you should be hunting! It is I who deserve to die!"
"And so it is time," Xan sighed. "She is going to kill us all. We're doomed."
"She's not going to kill anyone!" Imoen said, and looked at me. "Right?"
"What is this, do you think?" I said an pointed at myself. "What do I look like to you? Tiefling! Demonspawn! Child of Bhaal!"
"You are a brave young woman," Yeslick said slowly. "One who keeps on going, no matter the odds, no matter what people think or say. You have prevented a war. You have helped me avenge my clan, and I am thankful, as I am sure a lot of people are. Yer a hero."
"Oh, what is the point," Xan said. "She is destined for this, the fight will never stop. We will surely mourn her soon, though I know not how to bear such a loss. I should have left long ago."
"Xan stop saying that!" Imoen said, her shrill voice at the edge of tears. "Can't you see that she..."
"I will go now," I said quietly and whispered the words of a spell.
They called after me as I ran off into the dark, unseen by all eyes but those that watch me always.
And dream of murder.
Thank you. Yes I like it dark. The combat and all that was me playing, this journal was me trying to figure out what my characters feelings and motives were, and why she kept on going. Sometimes she completely surprised me though, like the first meeting with Elminster. I had no idea she would get so worked up.
Including all the endless battles would have been tedious, for in this story, they do not matter. When writing one should always remove the unnecessary parts. Every word should have a purpose, and a reason for being included. That is what they teach us in Sweden at least. I'm taking a writing class, and this was good practice. It is nice to write in English for once, it was some time since my last attempt. It is a beautiful language.
Including all the endless battles would have been tedious, for in this story, they do not matter. When writing one should always remove the unnecessary parts. Every word should have a purpose, and a reason for being included. That is what they teach us in Sweden at least. I'm taking a writing class, and this was good practice. It is nice to write in English for once, it was some time since my last attempt. It is a beautiful language.
I think you consider it beautiful because it's not your own. The words are words you don't speak daily and so there's something foreign to them, something exotic. At least, that's how I feel about it (I'm Dutch). Perhaps I'm way off, though. 
You said you wanted us to tell you what we think about it. Does that mean you want a critique--a close reading, if you will--about your writing, or do you want our opinions about your interpretation, your experience, of your BG I journey?
You said you wanted us to tell you what we think about it. Does that mean you want a critique--a close reading, if you will--about your writing, or do you want our opinions about your interpretation, your experience, of your BG I journey?
"Sometimes Dreams are wiser than waking"
No, I think that's absolutely right. Although there are languages I don't speak that I still think are less attractive, like German for example. Maybe because I studied it for three years (in lack of better things) and had a really lousy teacher.Sytze wrote:I think you consider it beautiful because it's not your own. The words are words you don't speak daily and so there's something foreign to them, something exotic. At least, that's how I feel about it (I'm Dutch). Perhaps I'm way off, though.
And English does have much more words than Swedish does, I have noticed. I often find myself thinking something in English but being unable to express it since I find no Swedish for it.
Anything you have to say would be very nice, just so that I know that it has been read. But such a close reading would of course be optimal, but that takes a lot of time and effort from the reader. I do about four or five of them a week, and it can get tiresome.Sytze wrote:You said you wanted us to tell you what we think about it. Does that mean you want a critique--a close reading, if you will--about your writing, or do you want our opinions about your interpretation, your experience, of your BG I journey?
Pointing out what it is you as a reader likes and why you like it is always very helpful. Also what it is you dislike and why that is. What the story made you feel, if anything. What you read between the lines, what you think makes the main character tick, and so on.