Author's Note:I intentionally wrote this to be fandom blind for a number of reasons and wanted to address some of the canon changes that die-hard fans of the game might notice.
1. It's not the "official" canon party that BG1 goes through with. Viconia and Edwin both are my favourite characters and I couldn't leave them behind.
2. I've made a sort of "base" pantheon of "the Chantry" in order to avoid having to list the twenty-odd major gods and many many minor gods of 2E DnD. Instead, eight get to play major and minor roles in the story. Since this is a three-game/fic plotline about religion and divinity, I wanted to make it simpler to approach from a noob POV.
3. A few minor changes had to be made when transferring from video game logic to novel-based logic. Despite being very funny in-game, having Edwin mutter and talk in brackets got real tiring real fast. Being Bhaalspawn also has a few more side-effects.
Aside from that, the rest of the framework should feel very familiar to anyone who's played through the Baldur's Gate games. Enjoy! Constructive criticism very much encouraged!
He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.
The tower shuddered with the whip of the wind. When lightning cracked, it briefly illuminated the city of Baldur's Gate below. The balcony of the tower was slick and shining when the door creaked ajar. A man clung to the frame for support as he stumbled out, dazed. Blood stained his tunic, but it was torn liberally to reveal broken chainmail links and an ugly wound.
Falling to his knees with a crunch and a cry, he settled for crawling across the smooth overlook. Movement was his only concern. He gasped desperately. The door slammed with a gust of wind. He waited, eyes wild with fear.
Fear of what, it was readily apparent.
From behind the door was a noise. The sound of clanking armour and slow, steady footsteps. The man shuddered as he listened with dread, but the footsteps had stopped. There was a grunt and, suddenly, the heavy door exploded outwards and splintered over the man's prone body.
The figure that emerged was mythic in proportions. Taller than the now-empty door frame and nearly as wide, darkness cloaked his armor, the black plate covered with spikes and horns. The helmet's face piece was carved into a skull and the eyes glowed gold with some inner magic. An almost inhuman roar left the figure, which dissolved into a cold laugh that echoed over the thunder.
"N-N-No, you can't!" the man on the ground cried. Blood bubbled from his mouth and he choked on it. Finding renewed energy, he backed away, trembling with the fearsome sight of the armored figure, but the only things behind him were the wrought iron railings and the city roads many stories below.
"I will be the last," the armored figure proclaimed, "and you will go first." He pointed one curved claw at the whimpering man.
The man dragged himself up by the iron railing as he moaned in pain and fear. "Th-Th-There are others I could show you!" he begged. "I could lead you to them! Please!"
The armored figure pulled back a fist and punched the man in the face. He collapsed, dazed, as blood began to flow from his broken nose. He let out one long, wet, rattling breath that sounded as though the Shadow had already sat in his breast, but it was put to an end as the armored figure wrapped a hand around the young man's skinny neck and lifted him.
The figure held the young man by his neck off the balcony. Dangling over the city, the man kicked out desperately, but only caught the twisted railings, unable to find purchase.
The grip tightened and there was the crack of bones and a sickening wet sound as the man groaned. His face turned purple, then red and white, and he lived no more.
The armored figure heaved the body over the rooftop. But it never hit the ground with the expected crunch. Instead, as the body whipped through the air, it glowed briefly, black smoke curling through the wounds and flesh. As it fell, the body seemed to collapse into dust. First the fingers, then the face, but soon all of the young man disintegrated into clouds of ash and smoking, charred flakes blown away by the storm.
Only empty bloody armor hit the ground.
Finished, the armored figure returned to the safety of the tower as the storm raged on. Lightning flashed periodically as the stormclouds churned away, but with a malice and intent nature did not have. The inky grey-black clouds swirled into a great circle but more shapes started to form. A skull, cracked but not yet completely destroyed. Teardrops at the edge of the circle, as though a clock's numbers. They turned in their assigned positions, dancing, mocking.
Lightning cracked, the brief flash giving sinister life to the skull's dead eyes. Its mouth opened and a single raspy word made its way to her.
Soon.
