Author's Notes: Hey all! I'm Nonnahswriter, an avid fan of the Baldur's Gate series, and I've decided to write fanfic for all of you. It just started out as a piece of prose based on the original game's opening sequence, but before I knew it, I kept adding more to the story, and thus, the fic was born. I plan to be as loyal to the game's original canon as possible, and thus follow the main questline while including some original dialogue from the game, along with my own details. It's sure to be very fun, and I hope you all enjoy it~!

Prologue

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster… when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you…"

-Friedrich Nietzsche

A jagged flash of lightning cracked across the sky, and dimmed the full moon's glow for just an instance. The dark storm clouds have already stretched themselves over the lower reaches of the city, save for the tall citadel that pierced the sky with dark, gothic spikes. Another roar of thunder rung out, before the door at the top of the citadel opened.

A man stumbled out, dressed in battered platemail armor and a horned helmet that hid most of his face. He limped forward, and huffed a heavy sigh of exhaustion as he fell on his knees. He'd barely gotten out of there alive as he scrambled up the long staircase, tripping over his own metal-cast feet. He dared not even look over his shoulder, lest he see his assailant, and his eyes, those burning, terrible eyes…!

Thunder rumbled through the storm again, but it was the banging from the door that startled him. Suddenly, a tall, armored figure crashed through the door, so hard that it broke off from its hinges.

His entire head was encased in a helmet carved from the skull of a horned beast, with rows of teeth encircling his face. Curved spikes grew out of his pauldrons and gauntlets, piercing the air like a monster's claws before the killing blow. His eyes glowed in the dark of night, a sick, burnished yellow brimming with power…and evil.

The fleeing warrior spun around on the floor, and despite the metal locked against his body, he shook with very noticeable fear. The sight brought a grin to the dark one's yellow eyes, and he let out a low chuckle as he stepped closer.

"N-No, you can't…" the warrior stuttered as he struggled to push himself away from his hunter. He couldn't even regain his footing, with the fear weakening his legs.

The dark one only laughed harder, and pointed a metal-encrusted finger at his victim.

"I will be the last," he said, "and you will go first…"

He came closer. The warrior crawled away on the floor, until his back hit the fence. Finally, he got to his feet, pulling himself up with the help of the bars.

"Th-There are others," he stammered. "I-I can show you… Please!"

He turned his head, and yanked at the fence's bars. There had to be a way out. Any way out, a gate, a loose bar, a crack he could squeeze himself through…

But that was his mistake—he felt his hunter grab hold of his head, and slammed him against the fence with inhuman strength. He fell to the ground, and his helmet fell off, clattering against the stone floor. Blood leaked down his nostrils, and his eyesight blurred as his heartbeat pounded against the inside of his skull.

He lay there dazed a moment before he saw the metal boot of his hunter set down in front of him. But before he could move, cold metal fingers wrapped around his throat, and he was dragged back on his feet. He struggled to even breathe as the sharp metal points jabbed into his throat.

Suddenly, he wasn't even touching the ground anymore. His assailant was lifting him into the air, with just the grip of one hand. A terrorized scream ruptured from his lungs, earning another low, growling laughter from the horned hunter. And he slammed into the railing yet again, only this time, the bars snapped broken, and the metal curled against the momentum of his body weight.

He tried to put his foot down, only to feel it slide against the slanted roof. He dared not look down; the citadel was an easy ten stories above the rest of the city's buildings. He could only stare into the hungry yellow eyes of his enemy… A murderer, a fighter, a monster, capable of terrible power and destruction. He would be the last…and he will go first.

The warrior reached for the hand wrapped around his throat, but he couldn't even free a finger. He fought to work air into his lungs, to plead for his life, but the words were lost in pained whispers that barely blew past his teeth.

Then a snap, and a sickening crack, and his neck was broken. The man fell limp in the hunter's grasp, the life gone from his gaze, and another low, victorious laugh bubbled to the surface. He could almost feel the power rising up from within him, the power it took to take another's life.

But this wasn't enough. No, it could never be enough… One man, one pathetic man whose dying breath begged for life until the very end. He needed more, more death to drink from, more bones to serve as the pillar of his throne.

Lightning split the sky once more, and with a grunt of dissatisfaction, he tossed the body over the side of the citadel. He barely heard the crunch of bones under the rumbling thunder. The last he saw of the poor fool was his blood flowing from his corpse. Like a red river carving a path through the hills, perfectly melded into the ebbs and contours of the cobblestone road.

"The final confrontation was near. Dan Silvershield stared down the ogre, his fingers wrapped around his morningstar. The monster that had destroyed his home, his family, even kidnapped his beloved Shara from right under his nose. Yet when the ogre met his glare, he bellowed a loud laugh, and waved his club high above his head in challenge…"

Gorion looked up from the book to see the bright, wide eyes of his nine-year-old foster-son. The young elf's dark green eyes were fixated on the page, his mouth hanging open just slightly agape. If the old sage didn't know any better, he swore he could see the book's scenes playing out behind the boy's eyes.

He kept quiet a few moments longer, before the boy frowned, and shot an accusing look at him.

"Well? What happened next?" he asked.

"Shouldn't you already know?" Gorion chuckled. "We must have read it a dozen times by now."

"So?" the boy pouted. But at Gorion's wry stare, he let out a longing sigh. "Come on, please Dad? It's my favorite part!"

He held the stare a while longer, absorbing the boy's features. He looked so much like his mother, with the raven hair shining against the faint candlelight, the perfectly smooth and fair skin, and deep green eyes that reminded him of the elven forests, where he was born. Sometimes he could still see her when he looked at her son, lying broken and bloodied in the snow that winter day. He had taken her hand, pressed it close to his chest in hopes that could keep her there with him, even as her spirit slipped away…

"Dan Silvershield charged at the ogre," Gorion continued. "They say that they battled for three days and three nights…but in truth, it was over within three blocks, and three strikes. Dan's trusty shield with his family emblem caught the ogre's club three times, until the family crest splintered apart, and the great shield cracked in two."

The boy gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. Gorion bit back another chuckle, but couldn't resist the tug of a smile at the corners of his lips.

"Without his shield, Dan could only dodge to the best of his ability, and hope the ogre missed on bad luck. But his beloved Lady Shara was counting on him, and he couldn't—and wouldn't—give up so easily.

"The ogre struck out at Dan, slamming the club into his shoulder. That was one. And one more at his foot. But the third and final strike wasn't done by the ogre—it was done by Dan himself, a slam to the ogre's stomach, with every last of his strength."

Gorion raised his fist to the air and shook it for emphasis, and his foster-son joined him in the shout as he reenacted the great swing into the monster's gut.

"'For Shara!'"

"He had screamed, despite the broken bones in his foot, the bleeding in his shoulder. The ogre fell over, limp and lifeless, and the club left his hand. Shara was in a cage in the ogre's cave; Dan cut her free, and after she healed his wounds, he scooped her up, and brought her to their new home as his bride."

With that, Gorion closed the book. "The End."

"A very good end!" his son exclaimed with a jump and a grin.

Gorion shook his head hopelessly. "Now if only I can get you to read with the monks."

The boy pulled a frown. "They all read boring stuff… Besides, I like to hear you read, Dad. The way you tell the story… It almost sounds like we're really there!"

"Once upon a time, I had my own adventures too. Now… Now they're just memories."

A reminiscent smile stretched across his face for just a moment, before he picked up the book and returned it to its place on the shelf.

"Go on, now," Gorion ordered. "Into bed. I've kept you up late enough as it is."

The elf boy jumped to attention like a soldier to his captain and climbed into his bed. He hardly seemed tired, still twitching with the excitement of the reading, even as Gorion pulled the blankets over his small body.

"Dad…" he began, twiddling his fingers against the blanket's edge. "Do you think, maybe when I'm older… Could I be an adventurer someday?"

"Oh? Do you want to be?"

"Well, yeah! It sounds so exciting! Fighting monsters, hunting for treasure, making friends, and becoming strong! Why, I'd be so tough, I could scare off an entire town of kobolds with the swing of my sword! Hyah!"

He leaped up and stood on the bed again, swinging around an invisible sword haphazardly. He almost hit Gorion square in the nose, before the old sage grabbed his wrist and eased him back under the covers.

"What?" the boy asked when his foster father said nothing. "You do think I could do it…right?"

Gorion let out a heavy sigh, enough to make the wick of the candle quiver in the faint breeze, and he laid a gentle hand atop his son's head. From far away, he swore he could still hear his mother's words whispering to him, with her own dying breath in the snow:

"Take care of him, Gorion. Don't let him…become like his father…"

"I've no doubt you could…" Gorion sighed. "…but I would hope that you'd never have to."

The boy tilted his head, but knew all too well the look in his foster-father's eyes. The dim, cloudy, sad look that seemed to stare past him as if he weren't even there. He'd be getting no more answers from him tonight, that much was certain.

But it only lingered a few moments longer before Gorion blinked away the oncoming grief, and the gentle smile had returned to his features. He patted his head and picked up the candleholder as he stood back up, and his shadow seemed to grow twice its size.

"Goodnight, Markra," he said. "May you rest well tonight."

"You too…" Markra replied, with a shy wave goodbye. And Gorion closed the door behind him, plunging the small room into pitch darkness.