Fiona Winters: Another Baldur's Gate fanfic playthrough
Draith012
Member Posts: 174
Hello everyone and thank you for taking the time to view yet ANOTHER fanfic based on Baldur's Gate. Not to sound pessimistic in the least, only that I like to keep myself heavily dosed with realistic expectations. But with my quarks aside, I'll give you a quick rundown of how this play through is plotted.
Mods: Rogues Rebalanced + Stratagems
Hardcore Playthrough (no reloads and no deaths allowed)
Pen n' Paper will be applied for purposes of kit selection for multi and dual class options (game limitations
still prevents multiple kits to be applied)
Pen n' Paper rules will be applied when applicable: Example: Jaheria may not wear metallic armor.
NPC's maybe refitted to kits that are more suited to their persona: Example: Kavin - Archer
All npc's will be role-played to player's best ability. Example: No equipment sharing if uncharacteristic.
The protagonist's stats will be manually selected based on the most common point build of the joinable NPC's
(16 NPC's had stats between 80 to 86, therefore Protagonist will be based off a 84 point build)
That's pretty much the jiff of the mechanics entirety. As for the fanfiction, some liberties may be taken to interesting new developments while certain plot devices remain unchanged. The more important feature is: how does the fan-fiction reads? So more effort will contributed to the actual telling of the story than a rundown of stats and strategies. The tread will also feature self-made drawings. For starters they'll be small scale drawings until I get a better handle on presentation on the forum. But for now, please bare with me on any poor scans or overly large pics.
Now with that aside, allow me to present: Baldur's Gate: A Fiona Winters' Tale
Mods: Rogues Rebalanced + Stratagems
Hardcore Playthrough (no reloads and no deaths allowed)
Pen n' Paper will be applied for purposes of kit selection for multi and dual class options (game limitations
still prevents multiple kits to be applied)
Pen n' Paper rules will be applied when applicable: Example: Jaheria may not wear metallic armor.
NPC's maybe refitted to kits that are more suited to their persona: Example: Kavin - Archer
All npc's will be role-played to player's best ability. Example: No equipment sharing if uncharacteristic.
The protagonist's stats will be manually selected based on the most common point build of the joinable NPC's
(16 NPC's had stats between 80 to 86, therefore Protagonist will be based off a 84 point build)
That's pretty much the jiff of the mechanics entirety. As for the fanfiction, some liberties may be taken to interesting new developments while certain plot devices remain unchanged. The more important feature is: how does the fan-fiction reads? So more effort will contributed to the actual telling of the story than a rundown of stats and strategies. The tread will also feature self-made drawings. For starters they'll be small scale drawings until I get a better handle on presentation on the forum. But for now, please bare with me on any poor scans or overly large pics.
Now with that aside, allow me to present: Baldur's Gate: A Fiona Winters' Tale
7
Comments
It was of the year 1349 when a heavy downpour drenched the mighty citadel of Candlekeep. It was a day much like any other with a storm that was not uncommon along the bluffs of the Sword Coast. What was uncommon was the horse-pulled wagon that wobbled along the eastern road.
The mud made the traveling difficult and the hooded canvas kept its occupants relatively dry. Only the driver suffered the weather. What made this scene odd was its arrival at such an ungodly hour of the night and in such conditions. Candlekeep was but a stronghold of knowledge with considerable entry fees. Whoever transverse the lands thusly was a desperate lot indeed.
Image: Midnight Arrival
The main gates opened when the guards spotted their arrival from afar. Emerging forth was a slender armored figured accompanied by a somewhat heavy-set fellow bearing a hooded lantern.
The wagon came to a halt several yards from them and the stout fellow came trumping forward, feet slapping up puddles of water. He nods to the driver and waddles around to the back of the wagon where a man carrying a pack upon his back and a buddle of cloth in his arms stepped down and exited the rear.
"Gorion," huffed the large man. "by the gods, ye made it!"
"Is everything taken care of?" the man asked him while making his way towards the gates. His back was hunched forward to protect the bundle in his arms.
"Aye, when I told them munks of ye, they 'ere happy to open their doors."
"Thank you, Winthorp. I feared I had little shelter for this one."
"Not a worry. Ne'er let a friend done, I won't. Even kindled a fire for ye to shake off this damnable weather."
The two of them disappeared into the outer walls of the keep. There in the comfort of the dry passageway, Gorion relieved himself of his pack and examined the contents of the cloth bundle, a soft white delicate nose poking out of it.
Winthorp snuck a peek and struggled to put his thoughts to words, "Eh, uh, Gorion... ye shur 'bout this? Not like ye to be, er, fatherly."
With a soft smile Gorion replied, "I would be lying if I did not feel trepidation to the thought, but..." He gazes into the little babes emerald eyes and continued, "perhaps it's time for these old bones to rest."
"Mayhaps," replied Winthorp. "What's the babes name?"
"Fiona."
And thus the elven lass Fiona Winters was raised within Candlekeep's walls. Ever ignorant of her origins. Ever blind to her destiny.
The silence of the library was broken only by the shuffling of feet and faint distant coughs. Light was provided mostly by candelabras placed ideally along the main halls and ends of what would be forebodingly dark corners.
Much of nothing ever occurred within the walls of Candlekeep. There in the depths of the library, the elven youth that Gorion brought to the citadel's gates so many years ago busied herself skimming through the content of numerous tomes that the head librarian left in her care.
She was tasked with organizing them and sending them off to their proper shelf, to once again, be lost in a sea of antiquated knowledge. The young girl didn't find her work tiresome. It had often led her curious mind into tales of adventure, unusually graphic stories of romance and bits of geographical wonderment of faraway places. In fact, much of her time was spent daydreaming about the world outside the walls that her hands simply did the work autonomously.
The precision to her chores had left her independent from monk overseers. It wasn't long into her teens that they had accepted her as one of them. She was studious, attentive, a quick learner and above all else, extraordinarily bright.
Image: Fiona Winters
Her gifts of the mind made her an excellent apprentice and future successor of Gorion's arcane lore. So talented was she that she had mastery of the basics far earlier than most. It was to the resentment of envious scholars and the joy of a tired old man.
But her mind wasn't busy solely by the mystical arts, her deft hands had allowed her into other unusual skill-sets perhaps not as praiseworthy as the former. When freed from her tasks, Fiona often made the routinely trip to Candlekeep's Inn to visit the other lonely soul: Imoen.
Together, the two were a mischief that plagued the keep. Imoen was brought to Candlekeep much like Fiona. She was an orphan brought into the care of Winthorp, the boisterous and large innkeeper. Her fondness of him could be traced in her playful nickname for him: Puffguts. Imoen had a knack sneaking around and shadow-hopping. While 'busied' with her chores, she often found ways to make sophomoric pranks and traps for her unfortunate caregiver. It was a game like any other and soon, the two became a deviant duo.
The occasional traveler often put themselves up at the inn, and with the keep's notorious entry rules, only the wealthy had the pleasure of resting in their beds. These two girls, those of which were not only mischievous but was blessed with womanly beauty; Imoen with her high-spirited demeanor and girly features and Fiona with her raven-black hair, slender eyes and elven elegance, made prey of these rich and quite often generous males.
Nothing ever gotten further than unwanted groping and disgusting yet unimaginative innuendos. They often spur their interest and left them wanting, leaving them with the task of wooing the girls with trinkets and verbal affections, only to be left with unresolved sexual tension and quite often paired with a 'what-if' regret.
Winthrop didn't mind much as it brought his customers to order more mead, ale, or even expensive wines. It was when a jealous suitor took to his fists that the Watchers had to weigh in their hands and break up the mess.
Fuller, one of the Watchers, never cared for the girls' behavior, but as fancied as he was with the lass Fiona, he never showed up without fail to these brawls to rescue his damsel in distress. Though not too distress as he personally trained the lass in swordsmanship. Nevertheless, he often prayed for an imaginative conclusion of their consummation. Unfortunately for Fuller, Fiona had never precipitated these idle fancies and nor would she ever as the day of her departure inevitably wane closer...
*Bookmarks thread*
It was a clear morning day on the first of Mirtul and new concerns had started cropping up on the tongues of concern countrymen. Yet these concerns were but a whisper within the walls of Candlekeep. Today - was just another ordinary day.
Fiona was in Reever's storehouse clearing out the infamous rat infestation. There, sitting on a webbed-covered barrel, was our dear elven lass waiting idly by as she watched a shadowy feline figure dart behind the scenes. After the sounds of crashing crates and sharp scratching of claws upon wooden boards, the little black cat emerged triumphant with its prey clutched within his teeth. He peered up to her expectantly.
"What?" She replied sharply. "My hands are too delicate for such brutish undertakings."
The cat growled and paraded off around the rest of the storehouse with his trophy.
"And I can -do- without the attitude mister!" Fiona informed him. With a brisk sigh she hopped off the barrel.
"Guess that's the last of them," she murmured. Taking a moment to dust herself off, Fiona slowly scan the warehouse one last time before stepping outside.
A husky ale-soaked voice bellows up at her. "Aye! And how goes the war, lass?"
"Don't go in there, my fair ol' dwarven taskmaster! The ravages of this skirmish would set your heart asunder."
"No," the stout little man gasped with wide eyes. "Not me..."
Fiona nods slowly as she knelt down beside him, embracing the worried dwarf. "Sorry Reever. I couldn't save the brandy."
"Damn there beady little eyes!" Reever howled.
Standing upright, Fiona continued, "You know, you'd save yourself the heart-ache if you just fronted up for some traps. Imoen makes some pretty good ones."
"Ah," Reever groaned. "Ye are the only trap I need. Now off with ye." He hissed at her while tossing her some coins.
Fiona smiled and went on her way. The truth of the matter was that the rats never actually got into the brandy. She just enjoys the little man's over-reaction spurred from a hobby she could relate very little to. And the rats weren't of their own doing either. Imoen, with her deft hands, often caught them and set them loose in stores that could 'benefit' from her self-made mouse traps. Not the worst of things, certainly, but it did leave Fiona the task to clean up her little tomfoolery when the copper-pinchers didn't want to put down the coin.
She was making her way through the inner bailey when she noticed a page hustling towards her.
He didn't spent much time with pleasantries. "Miss Fiona, Gorion sent me to find you."
"Oh? Why's that, Temrin?" She asked.
Temrin related his instructions to her; a message which left her stunned. Could what he had said be true? Fiona made off towards Gorion's quarters that instant.
As she marched through the keep, she pressed pass many halls to locate her destination. And when she came upon Gorion's quarters, she was taken aback to what she saw. There before her, Gorion was busying himself stuffing his old traveler's pack with essentials. It was obvious he was prepared to leave much behind.
"Gorion?" Fiona managed to whisper.
Twisting his body, Gorion peered around towards her, concern upon his face. Taking a moment to recompose himself, Gorion addressed her properly. "Ah, my dear child. I see that the page find you well?"
"Yes. Wha - Why are we leaving Candlekeep?"
"I'm afraid we overstayed our hand here." He answered while continuing to gather belongings. "Ready yourself for travel. The roads aren't as safe as they use to be."
"Then why leave at all? I don't understand."
"Just do it, Fiona. We haven't the time!" He scold. Taking a moment to let out a heavy sigh, he readjusted his tone. "I -know- this is hard to take in all at once. But you must find it within you to do so and believe in me when I tell you: we must leave tonight."
She stood there for several moments listening to the sound of his belongings being stuffed into his pack. He continued, "Get what you need and meet me in a couple of hours at the main gate."
"I don't even know where to begin! Or even how long a travel to pack for..."
"Two days, no more than three. We'll be at the next town by then. Get that blade of yours and place it at the ready. You'll may need it at a moment's notice."
Fiona slowly backed away from the doorframe and studied him a bit longer. She then walked away, fingers caressing each other as she ran through a mental list. By the time she reached her quarters, she already knew what she needed to pack. Unfortunately, she hadn't the backpack to put it all. A trip to Winthorp's was in order. But for the time being, Fiona gathered what she thought was critical and placed them upon her bed.
She fastened a sturdy belt around her waist and hooked the harness to her sheath onto it. Fiona had never used her sword for actual bloodshed before, but through all the lessons Fuller had given her, she was quite familiar with its handling. She wondered if she'd actually be forced in applying it. A performance she wasn't sure she was up for.
But there wasn't much left for her to do here so she vacated the living quarters and hurried over to Candlekeep's Inn. Little did she know, she had a shadow following her activities.
The inn was in its usual motions. A few snotty nobles, visiting for the bragging rights of their prestigious position to garner entry into Candlekeep and a few traveling scholars who actually make use of the library's vast collection of books. Fiona didn't have time to spare on them today. She hurried over to the bar and greeted the boisterous Winthorp.
"Oh, Fiona, darlin' have you seen that lil' tiefling of a daughter of mine? She's hasn't turned over te beds of four rooms and I need 'er to pop a lock one of the suites. Some daft noble locked himself out o' there."
"Tiefling? I never seen horns on her or a tail for that matter."
"Egh, for all the stunts she pulls 'round here she might as well have 'em. Er but, Fiona - girl - you came by for somethin'?"
"Yeah. I, uh, need a backpack. A good sized one for travel."
"Oh," Winthorp croaked, his eyes and brows adjusting itself several times to the thoughts scrambling around his head. "So, just the pack? I only got the one. Thought I had 'nother but that went missin'."
"Yeah, just one. Might need a hunting knife."
"Er? You ever used one?"
Fiona snorted a chuckle, "'fraid not. But maybe Gorion knows a thing or two."
Winthorp peered around his stock looking dumbfound. "Wish I could 'elp ya'. But all me knives went bad this last season. Rotted when set to the cuttin'. Don't think I got anything that could double as one."
"Really? They rotted?"
"Aye. Never seen anythin' like it. But if what they been sayin' be true. Be a lot of trouble gettin' some new 'uns."
"Oh? What are they saying?"
"Mines down in Nashkel is riddle with somethin' sinister. Pro'ably cut into the hells themselves. Been sayin' miners been coming up dead. No good for the local folks neither. Bunch of farmers down there they are. Won't have the metal to make new tools for harvest at this rate. And we won't be seein' any new knives coming up that way either so, I don't know what else to tell's ya."
"Huh. That certainly is interesting. Guess I'll just pack some extra feed from the larders just in case."
"No doubt. But, uh, sure there's nothing more I can get for ya?"
"Thanks Winthorp. But I think I got as everything I'll need." Fiona reached over the counter and gives the big guy a hug. "I'll miss you, you sweaty old sack of potatoes."
"Ah. Just be sure to bring yerself back in good health. Aye? Don't think Imoen could sit still if yer missin' a limb."
"When has she ever sat still? But, yes, the feeling is mutual. I too wish to keep all my limbs." Fiona glanced around. Hand tapping the wood of the counter. "Guess I should go find her before it's too late."
"Bye, lass. Be sure to send her over. Damn rats are back 'gain."
Image: Imoen
The outer walls of the keep interconnected to various structures. If one knew their barings well, one could find themselves in nearly any part of the keep. This time, however, Fiona found herself in the old bell tower, climbing the long stairs to the top. She had made the trip many times before but this would mark her last venture up these steps.
The hatch was never secured, so it was accessible to anybody. Not that many had any reason to be up in the belfry. Fiona knew this and kept her little secrets stashed away here. After prying out a loose stone, she reached in and pulled out a small wooden lockbox. She caressed it fondly.
A clatter brought her to stir when the hatch to the belfry swung open suddenly. Out peered a coppered-colored short-haired head. Her big eyes spying on Fiona suspectingly. "Hand in the cookie jar, eh?"
"Imoen! Winthrops has been cursing your name."
"Ah, let the ol' Puff-guts holler. I got all day to flip them beds."
"Oh, and you may want to simmer your plague of rats. Looks like your traps aren't keeping up with the task."
"Forget that. Can't do a whole lot 'bout it anymore. The metal bits are breakin' on my old ones. And Winthorp can't get his hands on new ones. So everybody just gonna have to catch 'em their selves."
Fiona scooted over a bit and signaled Imoen to join her. They both looked on in delight as Fiona opened the box. There gleaming before them were the sparkles of trinkets they had accumulated over their flirtatious exploits.
Many of them had curious tales that the two of them had invented for them. Together, Fiona and Imoen bantered on giddily while going over said tales and hapless fools. Until a solemn look crossed Imoen's face.
"So you're really leaving Candlekeep?" Imoen asked.
"Yeah," Fiona muttered. "In fact, I really don't have much time left."
Imoen returned the trinkets to the lockbox and closed the lid. "Take it." She said.
"What? All of it? Half of it is yours."
"Nah. You keep 'em. Might do you better than havin 'em sitting up in this ol' bell tower anyways."
Fiona gazed at the lockbox reflecting on the thought, then popped it open once more and reached in for one particular trinket.
"Then take this one," Fiona replied. In her hand was a ring with colorful patterns of red and orange.
"Agh!" Imoen blurted out. "Your flamedance ring?!"
"I know.. how much you liked it." Fiona smiled at her. "I want you to have it."
Imoen embraced her before her face revealed herself. "Don't go dying on me, you goof."
"Who said anything about dying? Though Gorion is acting unusual. Don't think it'd come to that."
"Yeah well, it sounds like you be kickin' your feet a long ways. Could use all the well wishes you could get."
"Thanks Imoen." Fiona said while getting up. "Gorion's waiting on me and I still gotta run by the larder for some food... then back to the room to get the rest of my stuff." Fiona climbs into the window frame overlooking into the keep's bailey. "Guess this will be the last time I'll get to do this too."
Fiona peered over to her friend who's lost in thought fiddling with the ring in her hand. "Bye Imoen," Fiona said.
Imoen looked up to her, a bit of glimmer in her eyes. She waved to her and the word formed silently on her lips, 'bye'.
With a push, Fiona launched herself out the window. The wind rushing around her. With her eyes closed tight, Fiona focused on a bit of pent energy locked within her. And with a word, her body comes to a rapid deceleration. Garments fluttering in the air as she glided to the surface like a celestial being. Her toes landed gently on the grass and her body firmly planted on the ground. Fiona peered back up to the belfry and walked off to her next destination.
After packing the remainder of her essentials, Fiona made her way to the larder. It was, as much as one could expect, as a larder should be. Spacious, cool and littered with salt. The oddity came from the commotion Fiona heard from around the bends. She watched as an apple rolled pass a few barrels.
Cautiously, she crept up to get a better view, detecting the huffing of an exhausted man. Peering around the creates were the legs of a resting body. She looked up from there and towards the heavy breathing to witness a man wiping his brow.
Finally, he swallowed and huffed out, "Not takin' this mark from me, you won't." In his hand a bloody shank. He glances up and takes a double look at her. "Oh shit!" He blurts.
Fiona backs away in a panic, groping for her sword.
The man steps from around the creates with his blade at a ready. "Wait - you. You're dat whelp!"
"Who the hell are you?" Fiona shouts.
"Ah, dat don't matter much. What -really- matters is who da hell you are. Hah! Who'd thought I nab you first. A pretty coin for you, there is."
"What?!"
The man lurches at her and Fiona screeches. She darts to one side and evades his swing. Her sword exposed and tip pointed towards his heart. She makes a stern demand, "You! Who are you? What do you want?"
"Ah, girl. Don't make dis any harder."
"I swear to the gods, I'll cut you open if you come at me again!"
"Think ya know what to do with that der blade do ya?"
"Just try me."
The man watches her for a moment as his hand continuously weighs the blade he holds as if the blade itself was about pounce. Both of them hesitantly move their feet as they gauge each other. Finally, the man lurches at her again, his movements sluggish and obvious. Fiona grits her teeth and closes her eyes shut as she swings her blade from the upper left to lower right. Her body moves swiftly under his arm and to his side, placing her passed him and unscathed.
When she opens her eyes, she finds the man struggling over some collapsed barrels, his arms clutching his stomach as blood drips from his torso. In his panic, he falls over after failing to balance himself upon the rubble. The more he struggles, the loader and more helpless he becomes. Once loosing the energy to resist, he slowly becomes still. Just his chest heaves up and down. Heavy breaths emit from his mouth.
Fiona watches him with terrified eyes. His blood beginning to cover the corner of the larder he occupied. After finally collecting her thoughts, she hurries herself to stuff her pack with provisions that should last a few days and dashes out of there. Glancing only briefly at the elven man he had earlier slain. Another unfamiliar face.
She shuts the door quickly and leans on it for support. Her body slumps to the ground. Fiona buries her head in her arms and focuses only on breathing.
After taking several minutes she sets herself upright and returns to her feet; sheaths the sword to its holster and readjusts the pack on her shoulder. Her soul searches for a tiny entity. Her mind links to another mind and she relates a quick message to her familiar. "Get yourself to the courtyard and meet Gorion at the main gates."
Gorion rubs the back of his neck as he counts the minutes. Fiona had taken longer than she should have but at least her little black cat had came prancing over.
"I hope you told her to come already," he instructs the cat.
The cat plops down on the ground and relaxes in the sun.
There is relief in his face when he spots her crossing the outer bailey. "Ah, child. Your ready then?"
"Y-yes. I think that's everything."
Image: Leaving Candlekeep
Gorion looks at her curiously. It wasn't like Fiona to stutter. Her voice sounded shaky, even. "Don't worry. We'll be fine on the road. Did you say your goodbyes to everybody?"
Fiona nods.
"Alright, Fiona. Listen to everything I say." His voice grew serious suddenly. "If for whatever reason we are separated, make your way to the Friendly Arms. There, you will find two friends of mine. Khalid and Jaheria. You can trust them."
"So..."
"Remember it. Khalid and Jaheria. A pair of elves. You won't mistake them."
The portcullis rises and Gorion indicates her to follow him.
As Fiona begins crossing the outer walls, a hesitant voice calls for her.
"Fi, uh, Fiona." The guard says.
She turns around to identify the voice. "Oh Fuller! I could never tell with that helmet on."
"Ah, um. Well... I-I guess you'll be leaving us now huh?"
"Yeah. Not quite sure of it myself but that's what it is."
"Then - take this with you. It was my pa's." Fuller removes the dagger and it's sheath from his belt and presents it to her. "It may not be much but my father swears by it, it took down an orc once. Thought maybe it'd help you in a pinch someday."
"Oh, Fuller, I really shouldn't."
"Nah, it's okay. It'd get more use with you than stuck up here. Just, um, you know. Be safe."
Fiona tries to smile, albeit weakly. Not because she didn't care for the offer but the idea of using it made her feel more and more uneasy about the trip.
"Thank you," she says to him as she moves in to give him a hug. "Take care of Imoen for me okay?"
"Sure thing."
She didn't want to spend any more time on goodbyes or else she surrender to sulking the entire trip. Once Fiona caught up with Gorion, he leads her into the forest and they both come to a stop.
"Guess you won't be needing this," Gorion mutters as he reaches down the Fiona's cat. He unbuckles the collar and takes a few steps back.
The cat croons as his body begins to twist and morph. The groaning gets loader as the changes become more drastic. Soon, sitting before them was a leathery, winged beastie with a barbed tail.
"Must been forever since the last time you been in your own body." Fiona says.
"Ahk!" Squeaked the imp. "I'll never get use to that, I won't!"
The story on how Fiona came upon this devilish creature is a long one. But suffice it to say, the calling of one's familiar often involves unusual and exotic creatures answering the ritual. Typically, it is a creature that reflects the caller's soul, though, why an imp would come to her, Fiona could never rationalize. Gorion only said that for her, this case was a very unique scenario. She never cared for the explanation. After all, she was hoping for something pretty.
Fiona Winters - Swashbuckler/Mage - True Neutral
Experience: 192/192 Level Up At: 1250/2500
Strength: 8 - Dexterity: 19 - Constitution: 7 - Intelligence: 17 - Wisdom: 15 - Charisma: 18
Move Silently 30 Find Trap 15
Hide in Shadow 30 Set Trap 10
Open Lock 25 Detect Illusion 15
Pick Pocket 70 Backstab x1
HP: 11 AC: 4 THAC0: 18
Proficiencies: Long Sword (Specialize)
Spells: Feather Fall - Find Familiar - Identify - Mage Armor - Shield
Familiar: Imp
The night comes early this eve as the two trek through the woods. Gorion had stir them north of the road for reasons he had yet to share. Though it has been half a day's journey, Fiona begins to feel the ache within her feet.
"Can we not rest for the night, father?" She asks. "The pace is not kind to my inexperienced legs."
Gorion continues on, his eyes keen while navigating the dark wilderness.
Fiona drops her pack to the ground and reaches for her foot. She moans wearily as she tries to rub the pain away. "Ugh, how do people manage this? It causes the skin to bubble and split at the edges. Stings something awful."
Her complaints brings Gorion to halt, tapping his walking staff into the ground before him. He turns to look to her, "They'll get use to it in time. Can you manage a bit further?"
"Yeah," she sighs. "I imagine I can kick my feet a league or two - Well maybe not two."
Gorion nods to her and continues on.
Fiona lifts her pack back up with a grunt and hobbles along, trailing behind her father. "So we're not even half a ways to the Friendly Arms? I never thought the world was so big."
He grins at her comment. "It is a good resting area before we make for Baldur's Gate. From there, the seas can take us just about anywhere."
"Anywhere? Do we not have a destination in mind?"
"Afraid not, my child. We must go where the situation takes us."
"And what -is- the situation?"
They enter a small clearing in the woods laid with druid calendar stones upon the ground. Gorion's pace is noticeably slower. Thoughts linger in his mind. "I wish there was an easy way to explain this. Know that whatever must be, be strong; be enduring. Much rests on your shoulders and the day will come when you must make decisions that will affect the realms forever."
"Hogwash! A world saved by one man is a world not worth saving."
Gorion snorts. "Quoting the very books I read to you as a child, hm? You won't be alone in this endeavor."
Fiona begins to fidget in her place. "WHAT are you talking about? Your explanation is as elusive as the local fauna."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd thought I see something along the way, but the woods are most vacant."
Gorion turns about and scans the area cautiously, "Truly? No beasts about?"
"Yeah, like in those story books. When the creatures are scared of something in the area."
"Look carefully, Fiona. Do you not see anything?"
She notices the tone in Gorion's voice and scans the area uncertain to what she is looking for. But her elven eyes do not see the warmth emanating in the night. Not bird, nor rodent nor beast. It was as if her eyes were made human. The notion baffles her. She often peeped a creature from the bell tower back in Candlekeep; and now in the den of the beast, nothing?
No, not nothing. There in the distant, she spot a glimpse of a beast of a different sort. It was large and using the vegetation as cover. How peculiar that it seem to be hiding from them in particular. Even more peculiar was that it wasn't alone.
Fiona points her hand in their direction, "Wait. Over there. Behind those trees lining the clearing."
Gorion whispers to himself and Fiona could sense the linger of magic before his mouth. Gorion then peers steadily into the direction specified.
"Run, child. Get out of here!"
Fiona hesitates to act, her mind stammers with inexperience to urgency.
A deep voice booms from the darkness, and the traces of heat step out from behind their cover, "They said you were a hard one to surprise."
"It'd be a cold day in hell before I let you get what you want." Gorion replies.
Entering into view, an aggregation of brutes gather before them. There, leading the pack, is a massive man clad in obsidian armor. His eyes glowing behind the jagged-tooth bone mask of a scarred horsed-hair helmet.
Image: The Armored-Clad Fiend: Sarevok
"You think you can keep me from what I want?" The armored fiend asks.
"With every ounce of power that courses through my being. I will strike you down before any harm befalls her."
The man raises his claymore to his side. "Then strike at me. Strike at me so you'd know that there is NOTHING that will stop this." He drops his sword-arm, signaling to his crew. His bowman lets loose an arrow that whizzes pass Gorion.
"Fiona!" Gorion shouts looking to her. He sees her there staring in uncertain shock at the arrow sticking out from her arm. There was little else that he could do. The applied magical energy he had prepared earlier that day began to unfold itself to the contingency he had placed upon it.
The space around her shifts and distorts. In nearly a blink of an eye, it engulfs her and whatever what was Fiona was now gone, lost to the fabrics of the shadow plane.
The shift leaves her disoriented and stammering around in an unfamiliar world. Nothing seem stable. Fogs of shadow drift in every direction. What was in one direction was now gone and replaced behind the curtains of night. This transformation seemed constant. And she vacillate in whichever direction revealed itself to her.
Her consciousness begins to drift. When she was so vividly awake a minute before, the call of slumber beckoned her strongly. The thought of poisoned arrows whispered in her mind.
The midnight world spins around her and shifts suddenly. Her feet slaps on a dirt road. She recoils away and her back slams up against a tree. Her breaths are heavy. She struggles to keep her eyes open.
"Am I dying?" She wonders.
A serene morning forest hums with a gentle breeze rustling through its leaves. The ambient of the local bird chirps softly from every-which-way as though surrounding the area but soft enough to not be all engulfing. There, sitting motionless, is one Fiona Winters, eyes shut and skin bleached white.
The sounds of foot-falls approaches her and stop just short of upon her. The individual crouches down to examine the body, nudging it cautiously.
"Hey," the woman murmurs.
Prompted by a few more taps, Fiona lets out a gasp and her eyes pop open, peering around wildly. She huffs with heavy breaths as she tries to assess the situation and stares at the approached figure with a terrified stare.
"Woah, easy!" The woman blurts. "It's me, Imoen!"
It takes a few more puffs before Fiona eases back into her mind and her heart deescalates. The recognition in her eyes take a long time to form, but they finally come to.
"Imoen?" Fiona mumbles.
"Yeah, 'fraid I lost ya. You up 'n disappeared like a shade back then."
"Where am I?"
"Just along the road here up to Lion's Way. Good ways from Candlekeep too."
Fiona grasps onto Imoen's hand. "Wait, what are you doing here?"
"Oh," Imoen says sheepishly. "I, uh, sorta snuck out n' followed you."
"D-did you see?" Fiona looks hard into Imoen's eyes. "Did you see?"
"I'm... real sorry 'bout Gorion. He - he didn't make it."
Fiona's lips tremble but she does not utter a word. She attempts to get up but winces from a pain. She looks to her side to find the arrow from the night before still lodged into her arm.
Imoen's hands prissily fusses around the arrow, not knowing what to do with it. "Do you.. just pull it out?"
"No." Fiona replies. She attempts to peer around the wound with little success. From moving her arm, she knows the arrow had shot clearly through. The bone was still intact.
"Oh," Fiona groans. "Just a flesh wound. But you can't just yank out an arrow."
"So..."
"Gotta cut off the feathered end and push the arrow through."
"Cut it off how? I didn't think to bring a blade."
Fiona thinks for a bit and then reaches for her hip. She plucks out the dagger Fuller gave her the day before and hands it to Imoen. "Here."
"So just cut it off huh? Isn't this gonna hurt?"
"Probably, but it's how it's done. Just - be steady with the blade."
Imoen hovers the blade over the shaft of the arrow and grips her free hand around the feathered end. She thinks to test it by tapping gently against the shaft but hesitates to do so. After mustering up the courage, she meekly swats the blade. It cuts clear through, surprising Imoen in the act.
"Wow. That's a keen blade!" Imoen blurts.
Fiona exhales in relief. "Yeah. Didn't even feel it."
Reaching her hand around to the other side of the wound, Imoen grips the arrow-head end. "Okay, you're ready?"
Fiona nods. Both of them grit their teeth. And Imoen begins to pull the arrow shaft out.
It slides with a sickening fleshy tone as Fiona begins to whimper. The shaft slips out causing Fiona to gasp with bitter tears dripping from her cheek. Imoen rubs her shoulder.
"Imoen." Fiona mutters. "Reach into my pack and look for a blue flask."
She complies and searches through Fiona's belongings. "Huh. You sure got a lot of these in here... all sorts of colors too."
Finally, she plucks one out and hands it to Fiona. "This one?" Imoen asks.
Fiona looks to it and nods; retrieves it and uncorks it. Without hesitation, she slugs down the contents and discards the flask un-ceremonially.
Fiona stretches her arm. "Oh, that had done it."
"Heh. The power of magics. Bet I know where you got that one."
Taking a moment, Fiona just sits there. Then asks, "How did you find me anyways?"
"Oh," Imoen replies looking up to the tree branches. "That lil' bugger there."
Swooping down to the ground, Fiona's imp lands in the grass next to her legs.
"Oh, Draith. That's where you been." Fiona tries to reach a hand out to him but her arm limply falls short as she finds herself with little strength to apply anymore effort. The beast croons.
"Guess we could wait here a bit longer," Imoen adds.
"Yeah - don't know why I feel so weak..." Fiona thinks back to the night before. She wonders about the possible poisoning, though if it were true, would she still be alive? She read of poisons once before. They generally have a predictable affect though how one's body handles the potency varies. Was it paralytic or simply lethargic inducing?
Regardless, the three of them doddle for a bit longer before Fiona finds her strength. Once on her feet. They look up and down the road somewhat at a lost to what comes next.
Both of them felt the urge to simply return to Candlekeep, but without Gorion, Fiona knew there was no means of reentry.
"So, do you know who that brute with the helmet was?" Imoen asks.
"No. But Gorion seemed to. Though he was tight lip about it all. It was like he was hoping to hide from it my entire life."
"We... could go back there. He left when he thought they lost ya."
"Just 'he'?"
"Yeah. Gorion made short work o' the others. Not a pretty scene neither."
"Not sure I want to go back there."
"I wouldn't either but if he has a journal or somethin'."
Fiona has a long stare look in her eyes. "How bad was it?"
Imoen didn't answer. Instead, she looks to the dirt road and shifts her feet in silent contemplation.
Together, they begin to track back into the woods.
It wasn't long before the two reached the clearing. There, amongst the druid stones, were the crumpled forms of several cadavers. And scavenging upon them where a cluster of wolves. One particular wolf towered over the others, dwarfing them in size.
Fiona and Imoen duck behind the outlaying trees.
"Sweet Lethander!" Squeaks Imoen. "That wolf is HUGE!"
Together, they observe the pack rummaging through the feast. Collectively, they were far too many for the two girls to chase off. And though, Fiona had never laid eyes upon a dire wolf before, she was certain that the monstrous beast before them was exactly that.
One of the pack stays from the others and begins sniffing the lone figure laying idle in the grass. It bared the trappings of gray robes and had gray fiber hairs upon his head.
When the wolf examined the body, certain of its demise, the beast jaws latches upon the figure's leg and begins tugging it away from the field.
"We gotta do something," Fiona mutters.
"That's crazy!" Imoen replies. "What do you think -we- could do?!"
Fiona looks up to the branches and spots her familiar.
"Draith," she speaks to him telepathically. "Think you can instill fear in them?"
"Don't know 'bout the big one, boss. Not like we're casing off the pigeons here."
"Just do it when I go out there."
"Do whatever. I ain't leaving this branch."
Fiona closes her eyes and begins focusing on the inscribed energy laying dormant in her mind. She begins whispering in undiscernibly words. Imoen watches her as the pressure around her shifts and a faint aura shimmers around her then fades away.
"What're you doing?" Imoen asks.
Fiona steps away from the tree and begins walking into the clearing. Steadily and slowly, she creeps into the sunlight and draws out her longsword.
"Draith, now!" She links to him.
Fluttering up to the closes branch to the clearing, Draith calls upon his ties to the infernal realms and concentrates on the task at hand.
The wolves take notice to Fiona's approach, gazing at her with unblinking eyes. The dire wolf steps forward. The other's follow.
Fiona readjusts herself and grips the sword with both hands, positioning it between her and the pack of wolves. She could feel her feet tremble with each and every step. It was as though her body was beginning to fight against her.
Draith's voice pops into her mind, "It's done boss!"
Suddenly, the wolves begin to cringe. Whine. And run off at full speed. All except the dire wolf whom stood defiantly before her, snarling with his teeth bare, a jagged jaw stained pink from blood.
"Uhh... Draith?!" Fiona utters verbally.
"It's no good boss! Get outta there!"
Fiona freezes up, meeting the gaze of the monstrous beast before her.
"Shit!" Imoen mutters beneath her breath. Quickly, Imoen scrambles up the tree beside her and straddles the first branch she reaches. Without taking a pause in her actions, Imoen pulls out an arrow and draws back her bow.
As the wolf gradually approaches, an arrow snags into the ground beside him. He wheels back and looks to the arrow with bewilderment.
Fiona swings her sword with futility, being nowhere near striking range. The dire wolf responds with growling snaps of his jaw only to be re-interrupted by another arrow. Him strides back in a short retreat turning back with concern. His eyes searching for the invisible foe.
A third arrow nags him in his haunch and he yips in pain. He crouches with tail between his legs, teeth bare and ears down.
Fiona does her best to seem threatening, waving her sword and hollering at the wolf from a safe distance.
Testing his retreat, he makes several sudden movements away from the clearing and when he observes no resistance to his flight, hobbles off as quickly as he could.
With a sigh of relief, Fiona rests her sword into the grass and looks wearily to Imoen.
Protruding halfway through the dirt, a burnt corpse sits cemented there clutching a bow and expressing a most profound pain upon his visage. He was much like his female companion in his cosmetic appearance. That which had taken place here the night before was not very forgiving to many of whom who had gathered here.
Imoen examines the unfortunate fellow. On normal occasions, she would have felt a sort of compassion for such an individual, but knowing his part in all this, Imoen could only muster disdain. She did, however, satisfied some curiosities by plucking his bow string and poking his torso with an arrow shaft.
There were many grizzly corpses that accompanied the clearing, one of which Fiona found herself hard-pressed to approach.
"It's okay... if you're not ready." Imoen tells her as she approaches the lifeless body that was once Gorion. Carefully, she begins rummaging through his belongings.
Fiona looks away. Giving herself several minutes before she slowly makes her way beside Imoen.
Looking down to Gorion, Fiona feels her heart sink as she looks upon the cavity in his chest. His eyes staring up into the sky as though he was staring back at something before he died.
A soft hum emanates from Imoen. There in her hands is an old tattered journal.
"Here," she says, handing it to Fiona.
Fiona stares at it with a lifeless gaze.
"Imoen," Fiona whispers. "What happened exactly?"
"With Gorion?"
"Yes. What really happened?"
"Well..."
"Nydia, where is she?" shouted the armored fiend.
The priestess closed her eyes and concentrated her magics. "She is not invisible... nor is she in this realm."
"Scry all you like," Gorion interjects. "No magic you can muster will ever find her. She is lost to you and forever outside your grasp. Your quest ends here."
"He warded her from detection." Nydia continued.
"Ah, Gorion," the fiend replies. "Ever the cautious one. They, too, said you were a tenacious old fool. How long do you think these tricks will hide her from me?"
"No. Nothing stays hidden forever." Gorion replied.
"Oh."
"That's why I intend to finish this now."
The large man bellowed with a heavy laugh. His voice resonated through the forest.
"I'm right here, you old goat."
The fiend's enforcers advanced, their brutish weapons gripped firmly in their hands as they rushed forward.
Gorion extended his arm and shouted a single word. Index pointed to the intended victim; one of the enforcers' flesh shreds off his body. His muscles melts and his bones explodes into a fine black ash. His remains deteriorating to nothing but dust upon the wind.
The last enforcer swung his barbed club down upon Gorion's head only to see it dangle just above it. A tangible force, invisible to the naked eye, resists the might of his strong arm as the giant brute tries harder and harder.
Gorion noticed the voice of the priestess' incantation and proceeded to hurry this further. He forms the glowing force of energy into a large disembodied fist and brought it to grasp the other enforcer. By his direction, the fist began to emanate with sounds of cracking bones and the enforcer howled in agony.
A flame engulf around Gorion and burst up into the heavens. Only the roaring of flames could be heard.
"Hmph," Nydia snorted. "Not much now, is he?"
Her boasting ended abruptly when her attention was stolen from her by the ground beneath her. She gasped in a panic as she watched her legs sink into a deep sluggish clay. The armored fiend stepped away as the watery ground began to spread and entraps the bowman.
"Ah, Boss!" He cries. "Help!"
The fiend growled and marched off, "useless sots."
The priestess tried to shake off her fear and began her next spell.
As the flames continue to sprout out and into the sky, a ball of spit-fire shot out from the pillar and crashed into the priestess' face, erupting into a wave of fire, scorching her and the bowman into a charred and twisted form. Their bodies continued to burn as the flames cling to clay and flesh. Struggled as they might, the fire hardened the surface and sealed them to their final half-burial.
Gorion bats the flames aside, emerging forth burnt and blackened. He steps to one side, evading briefly the enormous blade the armored fiend slashed skillfully towards him. And with every step hence forth, he used to back away from the armored man's assault.
Soon, he was upon Gorion to the point of no survival. The last bit of energy Gorion managed to place on the tip of his fingers must be the all winning factor to this duel to the death. A blinding burst erupts forth concealing both in a final act of magical display.
Imoen collapsed behind a tree, clinging to it with eyes shut tight. When the light subsided, she dared a glimpse of the aftermath. There, an acre away, stood the armored man, his sword buried into Gorion's chest.
With a raspy voice, Gorion utters. "How could I... not have seen... it. That armor."
"You think I'd come unprepared to face your spells? You have grown softer behind those walls of yours."
"Your death... will haunt you. Some day."
"How sad for you then, that today was not that day." And with the twist of his blade, he snuffs the remaining life from the wizened old man.
Fiona and Imoen sits down the last stone into the pile. Now all that was and all that ever will be of the great Sage Gorion lies buried underneath these stones. When they peer around and found no rocks left to add to the collection, they look back to the pile in silence.
Imoen lays her hand upon the blade of Fiona's shoulder. If there were words to be said at this moment, Imoen couldn't find them. They just stand there for the time being.
"I couldn't do anything." Fiona whispers.
"Fiona," Imoen replies.
"I saw them coming and I did nothing."
"You can't blame yourself."
"Yes, I can. And I do. I let this happen because I was too stupid to do anything but stand there."
"Even I couldn't do nothing."
Fiona stares down at her feet and grimace.
"And I was scared..." Imoen continues, "..out of my mind. All I could see was those awful eyes. I-it felt like - like Death was swingin' a sword. But what could we do?"
"Kill him," Fiona utters.
Imoen looks to her.
"I will kill him."
Imoen - Thief - Neutral Good
Experience: 192 Level Up At: 1250
Strength: 9 - Dexterity: 18 - Constitution: 16 - Intelligence: 17 - Wisdom: 11 - Charisma: 16
Move Silently 30 Find Trap 15
Hide in Shadow 20 Set Trap 15
Open Lock 35 Detect Illusion 10
Pick Pocket 25 Backstab x2
HP: 6 AC: 6 THAC0: 18
Proficiencies: Short Sword - Short Bow
But now that it's already been done, I've decided to continue the story. But those entries were just brief descriptions of the playthrough and I decided to redo it from the start with a full novel form.
The project does take a lot of time to accomplish but I'm hoping to finish this and return to my Icewind Dale 2 story as well with complete storytelling and drawings to go with it.
If you have already read Chapter 4 before I posted this, I had decided to add additional dialogue there that was originally going to be in Chapter 5 but decided it was more fitting at the end of Chapter 4.
I remain bookmarked to this thread and look forward to future updates!
Fiona and Imoen exit the woods. Emerging back along the road where Imoen originally found her friend. They turn eastward and follow the path before them. And they did so in silence.
As they kick their legs along, Fiona stares idly at the ground passing by her feet. Her paces gradually becomes slower till she comes to a complete halt. Her body straightens and she turns on her heels and peers behind them.
Imoen, noticing her peculiar behavior, turns likewise, searching for anything of importance. And when failing in that, she asks, "What is it?"
Fiona glances down and grimaces. Turning back around she continues eastward. "If you were traveling in the direction Gorion and I were traveling. Where would you think we were going?"
"Baldur's Gate or the Friendly Arms I reckon. Wouldn't look for ya in Cloakwood. Maybe the farmlands."
Fiona snorts, "You're surprisingly familiar with the land north of here."
"Aye, guess one of them books found its way to me head. Not much else to do round Candlekeep."
"I've never seen you read."
"Shh. It's a secret."
They trod along a bit further before Imoen asks Fiona, "You think they be up at Friendly Arms?"
"Maybe. It's a good start. But the coast way is a lot of ground to cover if they intend to stop me before Baldur's Gate."
"Doubt it."
"How so?"
"They don't take kindly to violence there. "Common Sense" rules the Friendly Arms, they say. Can't start a scuffle without de guards tearing into ya. Even heard the waitresses are golems disguised with magics."
"You read that one in a book as well?"
"Heh, nah. People talk lots at the inn. But no one fights at the Friendly Arms, that's for sure."
"We still going?" Imoen asks.
"I was starting to dread the idea. Was thinking heading down to Beregost instead."
"Next thing we be walking off the road."
Fiona frowns.
"I'm worried too Fifi, but you're so bogged down in yer head that you don't know where ya goin'."
Fiona sighs.
"You disappeared like a ghost," Imoen continues. "I wouldn't know what ta make of that."
"Didn't you? You found me easily enough."
"Only because your imp showed me tha way."
"Right."
"So why we set for the Friendly Arms anyways?"
"Gorion has two friends there waiting for us. Maybe they can help. Plus... I -really- don't know what else to do."
"Not gonna read that journal?"
"Once we have time to sit still. I'm not gonna stay out here any longer then I have to."
"Blast it all!" Shouted the halfling. "Ye stirred us off de wrong road. Beregost is THAT WAY!"
"Silence Montaron! This is the way."
"Da milestone said otherwise ya daft bastard!"
"Milestones needn't speak! They rot along the road and never see the world beyond. What would they know of ways and roads?"
"They seem a bit odd," Imoen mutters.
The two girls gingerly walk down the eastward road, spotting the man and halfling arguing amongst themselves.
"And loud." Fiona replies.
"Maybe we aught ta cut through the woods after all."
"Wouldn't help. We're clear as day to them."
"But what if they're one o' 'em?"
"Then I rather them be out in the open then following us in the woods."
Fiona gentle lays her hand on the hilt of her sword. Imoen begins wishing she had one but confides in fingering her bow string that was slung over her shoulder.
When the two were in a reasonable distance, they noticed the gangly man had wild and tangled hair, his eyes lined with a tiredness of age. His face inked with several dots upon his forehead and a jester's grin around his lips.
The halfling did not look much better but was blessed with a unmarked face, as far as ink was concerned. Had a few nicks upon his cheek and lip but nothing unexpected of a fighting man, if that sword upon his belt was used just for such a cause. They didn't make any motion that warranted concern, so the two girls kept their pace and hoped that no words would come to pass. Though Imoen could not help but stare at the odd tall man.
"Hold, Wanderer!" Bellowed the lengthy man. "Has danger befell you elfling that you barely escape with your life?" He motions towards her blood stain sleeve.
"Hmph," grunted the halfling. "Been roughed up quite well, no doubt."
Fiona glances to her arm. "Oh, I'm quite fine I assure you."
Imoen leans up against Fiona and whisper, "don't those marks make him one of dem court fools?"
Fiona didn't know how to respond.
"Are you now?" the man continues. "I can bestow upon you a healing potion, if you so wish it. A token of our good will."
"I appreciate your gift, but as you can see," she presents her arm, "I have already taken care of it."
The man gestures towards her, extending his arms as though he was displaying her to his halfling companion. "See this, Montaron? This one is ever resourceful. Unlike your constant backchatter. Perhaps she'd can offer her council to our debate?"
"Oh, by all means," huffed the halfling, "why not ask every ruffed up stranger 'bout our business?"
"And that I shall, half-man." He then addresses Fiona once more, "Heed him no mind or else you be half of one by end-day, but we do seek accompany to the pits of Nashkel. Tis a troubled area with troubled rumors, yes. We are charged to investigate the mines. This iron shortage has left our associates quite concern. Oh yes, quite concern indeed. In particular, to which the blame does lie, like a trollop and her coin. You'd be quite useful, being of this region. We are but strangers here."
"I wish you well on your journey but my friend and I are heading the other way. We're meeting some friends at the Friendly Arms..."
"You hear that Montaron?! She wishes to include more able bodies to our task!"
"Oh heavens be praised," halfling replies with a sarcastic ring. "Such a happy day, calloo callay... Aye, we can spare the time if it makin' the job quicker. A pretty ding like you two won't get pass them bandits on ya own."
"What bandits?"
"Yer Sword Coast is riddled with robbers n' cutthroughts bleeding every sane man that walks up n' down this road. Luckily, they have no traffic with mad men."
Fiona peers a questioning look towards Imoen, "I guess we could use an escort..."
Imoen replies with a wide-eye concern upon her face.
Image: Xzar
Fiona signals her to settle down but despite it, Imoen continues to dread their new companions.
"By the by," the man continues, "you may call me the Magnanimous and most Sublime Xzar from the - uh. Er.. Hm. Yes, from the Places, yes, Places Most Far Away. Far away indeed. And this stout little manling is Montaron. Do not eye it. It will only encourages it to talk with a forked tongue that bits at the nerves and yips at the heels."
"Aye, and if you lend an ear to this one, ye be wearing your breaches on yer head and rolling in the muck by end-day."
The two of them start walking down the road without Fiona and Imoen, continuing their exchange.
Imoen looks to Fiona and says, "I really hope ya know what'cha doing."
Fiona lets out a sigh, "I hope so too."
Imoen follows the two oddities from a safe distance. But Fiona pauses as a glimmer catches her eyes. There in one of the trees, a slight shimmer of light coming out from its hollow. She eyes it curiously and approaches. Though face to face with the object, she was more in disbelief with it than her uncertainty to what it was. It was a clear crystallized glass, or rather a kind of shard resembling glass. She plucks it out from the cavity within the tree and examines it further. If it is indeed what she thought it to be, she is overwhelmingly befuddled to how such a thing found itself here and what luck it was for her to find it at all. Fiona pockets the shard and follows the entourage eastward.
It wasn't before long that another oddity found itself before the four travelers; an elderly man with a flowing white beard and heavy red robes. His form sticking out from the natural scene of the crossroads. He stares mesmerizingly at the sign that indicating which way was which as he strokes his thick white beard. When the four approaches him, he seems to snap back into reality and turns towards the group.
"Hm? Oh dear me." He mumbles. "I did not see you there. I was just, uh..." he peers back at the sign and locks his gaze onto it. "I was just contemplating on the path I should take."
"Dont'cha know where ya going?" Imoen asks.
"Oh, well. Indeed I did at one time or another... But every day, life gives you new choices. New Paths. Sometimes the most obvious one may not be the one one should take."
"Bah, what gibberish is this?" Montaron grunts.
"Quiet Montaron, there is greatness in his madness." Xzar interjects.
"Well what path are you looking for?" Fiona asks.
The old man nods to himself. "I think," he says as he slowly turns towards the westward road and begins walking. "The path for me... is the path that swords aren't needed."
He shuffles slowly through the group on his way to Candlekeep. He stops just in front of Fiona and beams a soft smile to her. "Violence is a nasty business. Completely unnecessary if one remembers she always has a choice. Never know what you might find on a different path. Hidden treasures in the holes of trees and rocks. Fortune isn't always found on the tip of a sword." He winks to her and continues down the road.
What a peculiar sentiment - Fiona thinks to herself. Her fingers rubs the shard object she found earlier.
"Lets get on with it." Montaron spouts. "Night be on us soon. And I ain't waiting 'round here with de likes of -this- fool."
"Geez, don'tcha ever say anything nice?" Imoen replies.
"Aye, n' flowers blossom from the crack of me ass too."
The group continues on while Fiona is lost in thought. The road towards the Friendly Arms is seemingly quiet. And while the others continue their idle banter along the north road, Fiona notices the holes in the stone markers that indicates each league along the path. Suddenly, Fiona stops without the others noticing her and she strays from the road. She reaches into the hole of one of the markers and pucks something out.
It was nightfall when they surmounted the last hill. There before them in the distance was the Friendly Arms Inn. Its walls baring high and sturdy. Not quite as welcoming as its name would imply.
The inn originated from a keep that once was ruled by a priest of Bhaal but had been overtaken by its current residents, the Mirrorshades; a gnome couple - one an accomplish illusionist and the other a priestest of Glittergold.
Now with its former occupant dispatched, they turned the walled keep into an inn for travelers seeking shelter along the Sword Coast. A small hamlet also grew from the keep by those that worked at the inn. Rumors would say that the barmaids were actually golems disguised with magics as women. Though the guards provided enough protection that such an idle fancy had never been tested.
"Where's Fiona?" Imoen asks.
They look about themselves in realization that their elven companion had disappeared. It wasn't long before Imoen saw her off the road crouching down by a rock, her hand reaching into it. Fiona casually stands and returns to their side, her eyes studying something in her palm.
"What's ya lookin' at?" Imoen asks her.
Fiona's brow furrow with uncertainty. She stuff her hand into her pocket and looks to her. "Um. Nothing really. Just - something caught my eye."
"Wadda ya need, a lesh?" Montaron spat. "We spent enough time backtrackin' ta get ya here. Let's gets this done with already."
"You're a bossy little man, aren't you?" Fiona retorts.
"When it comes to my time, aye. I don't suffer dolts willingly."
"I would agree that some suffering is occurring."
Fiona nods in the direction of the Friendly Arms Inn and they begin walking downhill to the main gates. There at its edge were the customary guards keeping an eye out for travelers.