First time doing Pillars of Eternity. It will follow the story with tweaks here and there. I am still uncomfortable with the extent I am able to change the story to, so I will gradually try out some things. I will try to be realisitic in Maryden's reactions.

English is not my mother-language, I will try to avoid mistakes but can't promise anything. If you like this please give me a heads-up to continue. Feedback is always appreciated.

Beginnings are always difficult, future chapters are better. See for yourself ;)

Chapter 01

Figures with long dark robes stood in front of a pillar-like contraption, which was infused with Adra, twisted and intertwined. It was humming, not audible but she could feel it like a buzz in her bones and the back of her skull as she approached the small crowd. The dark fabric of the robes of her own brushing against her legs.

In front of them, just at the base of the pillar, a man stood she knew well. He wore similar ceremonial robes, but with much more ordain, separating him from the flock as someone with much more power and influence. He also wore a horned headdress symbolizing their goddess; Woedica. A sense of reverence swelled in her heart at the sight of him as he spoke to them with a deep booming voice that once stilled and reassured her nervously beating heart, but it was overshadowed with the numerous of mount of troubling questions that were still unanswered. One question stood out above all else.

She pressed between the small crowd, her pace hurried whilst she tried not to make it apparent. When she was almost near him, her eyes instinctively found his as he finished a sentence. The question must have been laid bare on her face, because suddenly his jaw tensed and his once so warm eyes were set hard and cold.

With a gasp Maryden awoke, cold sweat dripping down her forehead in small beads. With the back of her skull pounding painfully, she carefully sat up. Experience made her check herself out immediately, but her relief that she wasn't hurt except for the head was short-lived.

On her left were the forms of Calisca and Heodan. Both dead with bodies formed in twisted angles. With knees feeling like jelly Maryden managed to crawl on her feet, her throbbing head challenging her balance. Her breathing hard. With a few almost-stumbles and deep takes of breaths she steadied herself and the weakness slowly subsided.

She stroked away the matted and wet strings of hair clutching to her face behind her eyes and looked on ahead. In front of her stood the same pillar she had in her dream. The memory of a concussive wave, propelling her and her friends flashed before her eyes. Maryden breathed deeply through her nose and stumbled to a soft patch grass and dirt amidst all the stone.

There was no way she could drag both of them with her and leaving them there for beasts to feast upon conjured a sick taste on her tongue. The least she could do was to bury them properly with honor, so Maryden did after relieving them of useful potions and coin, muttering apologies not only to them but also to herself and whatever God was listening in.

"I heard that the Gilded Vale has been taking in refugees," Ralof said. He poked with a wooden spoon into his bowl of stew. The light of the campfire flickering in his dark eyes like burning coals.

"I heard that the lord- a fellow named Raedric- only does this so that he can extort us from our money," one of the men sitting around the same fire retorted.

"Horse crap, why would he do that?"

Maryden glanced at the two from a distance, taking notice as they ensued a discussion as she huddled in her blanket and scooted a little closer to her own campfire when a feverish shiver wracked over her. Wordlessly she turned her attention back to her stew, which was some kind of concoction of boar, berries and other things that she was unable to identify. At least she was able to keep it down, despite her sickness.

"Have you ever been to Gilded Vale?" She finally asked her friend, and took a small bite.

Calisca, who have been sitting opposite of her, looked up from her own bowl and apparent silent contemplation. Maryden noticed her eyes looked past her to the bickering men, and then readjusted on her again.

"Never, but I have a sister living there. Her name is Aufra," she said, her tone of someone reserved.

Maryden nodded, having enough knowledge of body language not to pry, and returned to her stew.

Maryden allowed her feet to continue forward, following the road to god knows where. She was unfamiliar in Dyrwood and hopefully followed the cobblestone road took her to civilization, which she welcomed now more than she ever had because her sickness was getting worse.

She did not feel as feverish as before, but faint whispers had seeped into her head just after she had buried her friends and decided to continue onward. They were soft, just at the edge of her hearing and constant, not subsiding. Not only that, but even in bright moonlight she sometimes thought to see things in her peripheral vision. Only to discover that there was nothing there whenever she looked, resulting in her gaze often darting this way and that like a nervous tic. Afraid that if she believed that it were just tricks of the eyes and did not react, the next time it would be a real threat and she would be too late to respond.

When the clouds drifted in front of the moon and did not seem to disperse, Maryden decided to set up camp, as far as she could. She built a small fire that hopefully did not attract too much unwanted attention, but kept her from being chill.

She rested her back against a tree, relishing in the faint illusion of safety that her back wasn't out in the open. Her greatsword rested against her thigh on the ground, ready to be picked up and swung in a heartbeat. Exhausted, but unable to sleep Maryden pulled up a knee and rested her forehead against it, eyes closed and tried to listen to the whispers. But it was too soft to make any sense of it.

In between all of the frustration, exhaustion and dreading feeling of what was going to happen, Maryden still managed to doze off a bit. At the earliest signs of dawn she woke due to drops hitting her one the nose. Feeling even more tired than before she had dozed off, Maryden stood up and readied herself for the road, suffocating the fire with sand and ignoring the hunger that clenched down on her stomach.

The downpour was relentless as she continued walking. The movement in her periphery took on more shape every now and then instead of just tendrils or the thought that something was there. They turned into wisps of people strung up, or tied to a pyre writhing and screaming without sound. Sometimes a lone person, other times a dozen could be seen at once, but every single time when she focused on them they disappeared.

Eventually her cloak was so drenched that it could not protect her against the onslaught of rain anymore. Wet, cold and with her patience (and perhaps even sanity) thinner than ice she finally passed some kind of archway. Guards were posted on either side of the arch, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she passed. Maryden tried not to notice and caught herself doing a double take on everything she passed, even the beggars trying to shield from the rain at the other side of the city wall whilst wailing for alms.

Maryden ventured into the small village. Despite the bad weather is was still bustling about, people passed her on foot and horse. The lit homes and the civilization should have brought her comfort, instead it did not. Everyone seemed distant, even the guards, not willing to converse or meddle with another's business. How and where was she supposed to get help? Suddenly she halted in her step.

In a small clearing ahead of her stood a tree. It was barren, its branches twisting in weird and almost unnatural angles, but the bodies hanging from them was that made Maryden stop. Some were fresh, but most were new. All dangling and swaying in a barely noticeable wind, the robes around their necks and the branches of the tree creaking and groaning with it. A feeling of caution settled in her gut.

A man approached her, his eyes sunken and lifeless and with a skin as pale and gray as the village around them as well as his guards on either side. "You must be one of the new settlers," his dry voice croaked. "My name is Urgeat. Welcome to Gilded Vale."

'So much for feeling warm and welcome here,' she wryly thought.

"You'll be pleased to know that we've had some recent vacancies," he said. His eyes glancing to the gnarled monstrosity of a tree near them. Maryden followed his gaze.

"I might start to reconsider your Lord's offer.." she started but was cut off by the man.

"Nonsense. Gilded Vale is a perfect suitable village for those who respect the lord's decrees. Besides," Maryden felt uncomfortable as he took in her exhausted form. "You look like you could use a fresh start, but we need to make some inquiries first. Our inestimable Lord Raedric the 7th has gone to great lengths to insulate our town from Waidwen's Legacy." Urgeat cocked his head at her, Maryden nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Of course," she murmured. Not liking where this was going.

"Have you ever birthed a Hollowborn child?"

"No. I don't even know what that is."

Urgeat sighed, not even trying to hide his displeasure of her lack of knowledge and that he had to explain the obvious. "An infant born without a soul, of course. Lord Raedric has made it one of his first priorities to eliminate the scourge from our borders. Now, I must press that we have little kindness of dissidents, charlatans or any other sort of criminal who would hide the curse in our midst." He nodded to the tree in silent threat.

"At the moment I won't be able to grant you permanent housing, but for the mean while you can find some residence at the inn south west from here," he gestured in the direction. "If you don't have any questions-" He turned around and left, leaving Maryden there in the middle of the road.

She had wanted to ask him about the bîawac and her illness with the whispers, but her gut told her not to. This whole village felt wrong and it wasn't her head nor the whispers messing with it. Her eyes glanced occasionally to the tree as she rounded around it. The resemblance of the bodies hanging on its branches and those in her visions were eerily similar.

"Were you looking for someone up there? I could introduce you?" A voice suddenly said behind her in strained morbid humor, making her startle. Instinctively she placed a hand on the handle of her greatsword when turning around.

A man leaned against a wall of a house, shielded from the rain and smoking his pipe in a seemingly relaxed manner, but she could see his eyes glance from her face to her hand on the hilt of her weapon in a slight suspicious matter. Maryden could not blame him.

His being was mostly concealed with robes and armor, but in the shadow of the house she could see he was a blond and sported a short beard. Not wanting to cause a scene she relaxed her grip on her weapon and was silent for a moment, taking the man in. Her eyes flitted back over her shoulder to the tree momentarily before sighing, her shoulders sagging under her mental weight as her gaze fell to the soggy ground.

"Looking for someone who could help make me feel better."

The man gazed at her, his eyes unreadable as he nodded understandingly and took another long drag from his pipe. "My condolences." He exhaled and turned away his attention, watching the drenched village around them.

"Thanks," she murmured and resumed her pace. This time without looking back to the tree.

As she made her way to the direction of the inn Urgeat had pointed out, the bells of a distant church tolled three times. Around her, people huddled together hushing. As Maryden passed she picked up snippets here and there.

"A Raedric died-"

"-Oh no, poor child."

"Another Hollowborn?!"

'What is going on here?'

Rounding the corner Maryden noticed a group of four cluttered together right in front of the inn. Their voices were raised, obviously in argument. The one who seemed to receive the brunt of it all was hooded, partially shielding his face, but his tall, thin and straight stature suggested an elf. He had his hands raised, trying to keep the peace, but clearly it wasn't helping.

"It was surely all a misunderstanding," the Elf croaked. "I surely didn't say what you think I was-" Suddenly his demeanor changed and his fists clenched. Something raw flickered in his eyes. "We've nye quarrel," he said with a different accent.

A woman, who was part of the three yelling at him, drew her blade. "That's where you are wrong."

The scrape of metal against metal had Maryden moving, she planted herself almost between the two parties, her hand on her sword for the umpteenth time that day. "What are you doing? Fighting in the middle of the street, are you mad?" Her voice was sharp above the rain and her eyes flitted back and forth from the elf to the other three. "Back down."

"No one gives us orders, foreigner," the woman barked.

"Sounds like you're defending him" one of the men said, squinting at you with red rimmed eyes.

Without another word spilled the two men followed the woman's example and drew their blades and charged. Smoothly Maryden pulled out her sword and in a practiced timed swipe she drew it across the front of the first one reaching her, cleaving open his chest cavity. As he collapsed she used her momentum to turn, stepping away from the elf on the meantime in the hope not to hit him, and decapitated the other.

Behind her, she heard incantations that could only mean that something was being cast and the draw of energy made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The elf was a wizard? She turned and saw that three bright missiles erupted from the elf's book that was open in his arms, it struck the woman right in the guts. Sending her backwards into the mud at the side of the road and there she laid still, dead like the other two.

Whilst sliding the greatsword back in its hilt on her back, the elf approached her, seeming oblivious to the carnage. Most wizard were squeamish of blood, but not him. Indicating that this wasn't the first fight he had been in and judging the speed of his incantations and the power of his spells he wasn't a novice either.

"Thank you for your timely assistance with that.. awkward situation," he began, gesturing to the three bodies. Faintly Maryden wondered why no guards was rushing towards them to cuff them in shackles, but hey; no complaining here.

He was kind to her, even though she surely must have been ablaze and all.. She could already feel the looks of distrust prickling on the back of her neck. Despite of it all, she allowed herself to relax a bit. Too many heavy emotions would make it more obvious.

"Glad I could help."

Maryden took him in. He was matching her height and of what she could see underneath the hood he had a kind, but typically sharp and etched for an Elf, face with a smooth skin surely every normal woman was jealous of. His voice was somehow disarming, and soothing her heartbeat.

As the adrenaline drained from her veins, the fatigue hit back double as hard, making her suddenly a bit woozy. She had no idea that she was swaying when he placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Normally she would've remarked sharply to someone touching her, but now she could not.

"You alright? You look pale," the Elf said, worry etching in his voice.

Maryden took a few deep breaths and straightened herself when the wooziness slightly dissipated, her stomach growled. "Yeah, just been on the road for far too long."

The Elf searched her eyes for a moment, a small smile suddenly tucking up the corners of his mouth. "I'll buy you a meal, it's the least I can do to repay you as I am sure you will agree. Name's Aloth Corfiser, if we should exchange pleasantries."

"Maryden, pleasure," she murmured back. The thought of a warm meal making her stomach growl even more.

As she followed her new acquaintance through the front door of the inn, she really tried to ignore the silently screaming woman in the corner of her eyes. Burning alive by see-through flames in the pouring rain that drenched Gilded Vale.

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