A/N - Sporadic updates, written as and when time permits
I didn't want to do this – to write down what I remembered. What's in the past is in the past; that's the way I've always seen it, and that's the way it should be. But I suppose I changed my mind. Many already think they know me; Ellie, the girl who left Candlekeep with Gorion, and survived several attempts on her life. Ellie, the Saviour of the Sword Coast, preventing a war between Baldur's Gate and Amn. Ellie, the Adventurer, who brought an end to the banditry plaguing the trade routes during the height of the iron crisis.
Ellie – the Bhaalspawn who killed her own brother in a momentous battle in a ruined city hidden deep below the city of Baldur's Gate.
No one cared that he'd been trying to start a war in our father's name, hoping that the flow of blood and death would propel him into claiming the empty throne of murder in the abyss. No one cared that my intentions – sibling of his, or not – were not similar in the slightest to anything he'd aspired to be.
No one cared about anything, except for the fact that I was a Bhaalspawn, and so was he. Everything he'd been, they expected of me. And so, while he was initially adored by the noblemen and women of the Gate before I'd exposed his intentions, he became reviled in death. So, while I was adored for defeating him...
I was one and the same as him, in their eyes, and they had already begun preparing to revile me in death before I even left their city's gates. Wary glances were exchanged and whispered conversations were subdued whenever I passed. My companions were not immune to this, either – untrustworthy looks were directed at them, and people began to give them almost as wide a berth as they gave me. It got to be too much; for all we'd done for them, for whatever our reasons – they didn't want us there, and we knew it. So we left.
I should introduce my intrepid friends, here, I think; for without them, there wouldn't be half the tale that there already is. I will not go into detail about those who fell, as they remain etched in history as part of the ballads and songs that some bards are still known to perform. There were others, also, who walked with me for only part of the journey. But when I left the gate I was accompanied by four; of them, I'd known Montaron the longest, and his continued loyalty had been the biggest surprise. He was a vicious thing in battle; after some ale, he'd swear he was born to fight, but he was more than adept at disarming a trap and using a lock pick as well.
Branwen also accompanied us; while my own personal vengeance had lain with Sarevok since he murdered my foster-father, her revenge had been done when Tranzig fell, several weeks before. Yet she remained with us, dedicated to our cause – and only partly in gratitude for us releasing her from her stone prison. A strong-willed battle-maiden, she was, with the conviction of Tempus flowing through her veins. As long as we fought the righteous fight, her steadfastness didn't waver.
The third was a young bard named Garrick – and I still believe he was only there so he could espy on Branwen from a distance, that dreamy and adoring look caught on his face as his mind obviously wandered while he watched her deep in her prayers. Why he'd stayed with us for so long I'll never fully know; he wished for tales of heroic acts to regale audiences with, and we certainly provided it; he toughened up in our group, and had no option but to learn how to use a sword if he wished to stay alive. He hardened, both in manner and in appearance. I don't think he would have left the city, at all, had it not been for Branwen.
Finally there was Skie. Skie was spoilt, whiny, annoying and had an awful taste in men. Her lover, Eldoth, accompanied us for a short time – it was only his presence in our group that gave her the confidence to join us in the first place, I think. But we parted ways with him when we returned to our inn a little earlier than he'd expected one day, and caught him in a rather uncompromising position with one of the serving wenches. Needless to say, Skie was broken-hearted – her fantasies were shattered, and she was dealt a harsh hand from reality when it came to romance. She was the daughter of a Duke of Baldur's Gate – Eldoth had seen her as a quick way to make some money, but she'd picked up a thing or two during her travels with us. When he eventually was able to leave, he was sporting a broken arm and two black eyes. I didn't dare ask what other damage she'd levied on him.
She, of course, decided to return home after that. Her dreams were ended, and she, more than any of us, would admit that a life on the road was downright unpleasant, especially for one so pampered. I helped her to pack what little belongings she had, and then walked her to her family's estate. It was only then that we found out her father had died – murdered by all accounts.
Suddenly, another of us was desperate to avenge a death caused by Sarevok. In the days between the discovery of her father's fate and our descent on Sarevok's underground lair, Skie changed drastically. She stopped complaining almost completely, demanded that Montaron spend time with her so she could learn how better to wield a sword. Her skills were limited, but her determination was high – the nights she'd sneaked out of her home to socialise with the more dubious elements of the Gate's society meant she was used to sneaking around, and had a keen eye for details. Montaron ensured that she became able to make the most of that.
And so Skie – spoilt, selfish, snobbish Skie was trained by the Zhentarim assassin in a crash course for her own survival. She survived; and for all her faults, she became my best friend. We had so much in common, it was uncanny. Our fathers had been killed, and we'd avenged them. We were both poorly trained, though Skie had the last laugh there, proving herself capable of picking up Montaron's instruction whenever she wasn't complaining. Whereas I... Well.
Gorion always meant well by me, I'm sure of it. He made me dabble -- learn a little bit here, a little bit there. I knew the basics of so many things; herb lore, magical incantation theory, swordsmanship and chivalry, music and song. But I never got the chance to spend enough time on any one thing to become any good at them, and I hated the great outdoors with a passion. The first time I stepped inside the walls of Baldur's Gate, I knew I was a city girl. So, most people laughed when they got to know our group... We had the sneaky thieves, the capable healer, deadly fighters. And until Xzar's death, we also had someone with a frightening grip on arcane magic.
And who were they led by? Well, me, of course. And when people asked what I was? I was truthful -- better to tell the truth, than to forget the lies you've spun.
"My name is Ellie," I'd say, proud as I could be, with my chin lifted high and a defiant look in my eye. "And I... I am a cook."
--
His name was Irenicus. We didn't know that initially, of course -- he never introduced himself, and only ever spoke in a cryptic manner about power and experiments. I've managed to block most of the memories of it out, over the years, so I can't go into much detail about our time in his dungeon. What I can remember is that his 'experiments' always involved pain – and sometimes even involved death.
When he killed Skie right in front of my eyes... that's when I knew it was personal. He wasn't content with making her scream several dozen times, or even from ending her life all too abruptly. No... He disembowelled her, almost tearing her apart as he ranted on about something he was trying to find. And I was numb. Sure, I'd seen people die before, even people I liked. But not Skie... Not like this.
We weren't the only people to have a grudge against him, it seemed; his lair came under attack, and we managed to free ourselves from our cages during the ensuing confusion. Well, when I say 'we', I really mean myself, Montaron and Garrick. None of us had seen Branwen for several days, and a feeling of dread lurched through my stomach as I remembered what had happened to Skie.
Somehow we managed to find our way through a warren of tunnels, grabbing anything that looked useful in our flight so we were, at least, slightly armed. I ended up with a knife from one of Irenicus' trays, while Montaron managed to find an old, rusty sword and some armour from a dead goblin. Garrick took the chance to show that he could be useful in some situations – he grabbed a handful of scrolls to take with us, and provided some magical back-up when things got tough.
It didn't take us long to find Branwen; and my worst fears were confirmed.
--
"It... it's not... Is it?"
I moved closer to the body. I didn't want to, but Garrick had frozen to the spot, and Montaron was still standing by the doorway listening for anyone approaching. He looked over at me impatiently.
The blonde hair was a giveaway. Even in her death, it curled slightly at the ends and framed her face beautifully. Or, it would have been beautiful, if you could ignore the tears and slashes across her neck and chest, and the blood smeared across her face. Her eyes were open, staring, unblinkingly at the dark ceiling above us, and she looked pained. Something inside me stirred; a knot of anger, a tiny sensation of frustration. But it was almost instantly quelled by the feeling of sorrow that washed over me as I accepted that she was gone.
I reached out slowly and closed her eyes. I heard Garrick stifling a sob behind me.
"She'd want us to... to do something," I said hesitantly. I wasn't a woman of faith -- this wasn't my role, but there was no one else there to do it. And Branwen... her life had been devoted to Tempus. We couldn't just leave her body here, like that – she'd always been the first to object about not properly seeing to our fallen friends.
"We can no be takin' her wi' us," Montaron pointed out gruffly. "Nor can we afford te hang about here 'til someone catches us standin' around like a bunch o' cry-babies."
I nodded mutely, desperately trying to think of what she'd have done. Eventually I turned to Garrick, and beckoned him to come closer. His eyes widened in horror.
"It'll have to be you," I said, clearing my throat and trying to sound a little more insistent. "I'm not musical, and neither is Monty." The halfling muttered darkly at the use of that name. "And you... you have a good voice, and... and this is what you do."
"I don't know..." his voice trailed off, and he was shaking. I don't know how much of it was due to grief, and how much was down to fear that he might yet end up sharing the same fate as our priestess had.
"Just... just remember how well she fought in battle," I said, trying to be encouraging. "You used to spend hours talking to her. Sing."
Silence fell. I could see Montaron, out of the corner of my eye, tapping his foot impatiently, but I shook my head at him almost imperceptibly. He rolled his eyes in response, and turned back to the doorway.
I gave Garrick as long as I could, knowing that if we waited too long we'd lose our chance to use the battles echoing down the halls around us as cover for our own escape. Just as I was about to give up – just as I thought I'd have to take his arm, and drag him away, perhaps mutter a few words myself... Well. He'd closed his eyes, and begun to sing. And it was beautiful.
--
I wish I could remember what he'd sung, but I can't. It was the only time that I'd felt any emotion from his song; previously, I'd been too busy trying to avoid being killed to pay much attention, and he'd rarely agreed to perform for us as evening entertainment.
I managed to say a few words when he was finished, and I took a few of Branwen's possessions with me – her rings, a lock of her hair, some other bits and pieces. Then we moved on. I didn't get a chance to do the same for Skie.
We'd almost escaped before we managed to find anyone else in the place. We could hear people fighting all around us, but we were careful to sidestep any battles. We were in no way prepared to have to fight for our lives.
--
"So there is sanity in all this madness. If you are not in league with the evil that dwells in this unholy place, Yoshimo begs your assistance."
He was a fairly tall man with dark features and leather for armour. That was the second thing that struck me as odd. The first was-
"Ellie?"
I blinked and stared, gawping like a feebleminded kobold. The other girl was frowning as if she wasn't sure if she was seeing correctly. I knew how she felt.
"Im...oen?" I said it slowly; suddenly I wasn't very sure if that was her name, or not. She nodded, though her face kept a carefully neutral expression. Then, together, we spoke:
"What are you doing here?"
"Where did you come from?"
--
There was a brief pause, then we both laughed and the tension was gone. Imoen was the girl I grew up alongside, in Candlekeep. Gorion had been a powerful mage in his day; but with age, he'd decided to settle down a bit, and he'd taken Imoen and me to live with him as his adoptive daughters at Candlekeep.
Of course, he'd taken me there to protect me from my siblings and my heritage; I always guessed that he'd picked up Imoen someplace so I'd have some kind of company as a child. Otherwise, I'd have been surrounded by older monks, and probably quite depressed.
Imoen and I... Well. We got on. You'd think that we'd have been as close as anything, considering our upbringing, but the truth be told... we always seemed to be happier doing our own thing. We had an easy acceptance of each other, but I don't know if we ever, really, actively sought the other out all that much. So when Gorion had decided to leave, we were slightly surprised that only I was to be going with him (though in hindsight, that made sense...). And apart from some initial envy over my upcoming travels, Imoen wasn't too upset about our parting. She'd made the local innkeeper, Winthrop, as much of a father to herself as Gorion was, anyway. Maybe that's why he'd decided to leave her behind, safely in the settlement.
It wasn't that safe, though – Sarevok's doppelgangers managed to infiltrate the security and take over the guises of many of the inhabitants within. Due to the fickle nature of Fate and her timing, it was exactly when I returned, for the first time, to the halls of the library; and was instantly framed for murdering Rieltar Anchev, Sarevok's father.
It was only with the combined help of Tethtoril and Imoen that we managed to escape through the catacombs so we could make our way back to the city to expose Sarevok. Only, it wasn't quite that simple...
But, to get back to the point; after that incident; while we recovered in the Duchal Palace as Heroes of the Sword Coast, Imoen sent word that the doppelgangers had been destroyed from Candlekeep, and listed those I'd known and loved who had died during their invasion. More happiness came with her assurances that some people been kept alive for unknown reasons, and were duly freed and tended to in the weeks following the event.
I never got around to replying to her letter.
--
"You go first," I said, glancing over towards the 'Yoshimo' character. He'd backed away quietly in those few moments, and was watching the scene with open fascination.
Imoen just shrugged helplessly. "I'd just left Candlekeep, on my way to Baldur's Gate to take up a position... err, book-keeping."
My eyebrow instinctively rose. "'Book-keeping'?" I asked, disbelievingly.
Imoen's eyes twinkled. "Well, that's what I had to tell Parda," she said slyly. "An' it is working with books, sorta; tomes and spellbooks, at least. "
I grinned; so she had taken up the magical arts, after all. Gorion had always tried to persuade her to study, but she was happier running around and stealing from the few visitors who managed to make it into the settlement.
At least my only crimes were of the culinary variety. Well, mainly.
"And?" I asked, waiting for her to continue.
"Oh, well." She crossed her arms. "I travelled with one of the nobles heading up that way, and we got to the city. I... uh, registered with my new employer-"
"You went to work for the Thieves Guild, didn't you?"
"And then set out to explore the town while I had a free evening," she continued, blithely ignoring me. "Was enjoyin' the walk, when suddenly everythin' went dark, and, when I woke up..." She took a look around herself and shivered. "I don't like it, Ellie. Not one bit."
I nodded. "Have you had the pleasure of meeting our captor yet?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I was relieved when she shook her head.
"This place is creepy enough as it is," she noted, then flashed a half-smile at the stranger standing off to one side. Montaron was glaring at him; Garrick was standing in a corner, his arms wrapped around himself.
"I found Yoshimo when I got out," Imoen explained. "He was in one of the cells next to mine; a golem had unlocked mine, an' then just went... dead, all of a sudden. Then we heard the fightin'. I let him free and we've been trying to find a way out since."
"We'd be better off not hanging around," I noted, only offering a quick and polite nod to the swarthy stranger. "Come on – we can't be far away, now."
--
And so, together, we fought our way further through the strange prison, and eventually saw daylight. We ran towards it, and I heard Imoen laughing, and felt relief washing over me at the same time.
I remember feeling the fresh air cascading past my face, letting it pour into my lungs, replacing the dusty and dank air I'd been forced to endure while I was held captive. And then a momentary stab – I was leaving the bodies of two of my friends in the maze of tunnels, resigning them to an end without a proper burial.
But nothing could have persuaded me to go back into that place.
Nothing.
Not until we emerged properly into the open air once again, and I saw nothing but rubble, debris, dirt and the mage who'd imprisoned us. He was slaughtering hooded figures left, right and centre, and when he'd run out of fodder, he turned his attentions to us, and the obligatory exchange of half-hearted threats were made.
Except I played no part in it, at all – Irenicus spoke directly to Imoen, and she answered him back defiantly, eventually sending some of her own magic towards him. It didn't even seem to reach through his protections, though his own counter-spell caused her to cry out in pain.
And then more figures appeared, but these ones wore different hoods. They chastised us for not having the proper spell-casting license, and before I knew it, they'd arrested Irenicus, and taken Imoen in too, at his request. For the first time, I felt truly confused.
Now, don't get me wrong – there's plenty of times when I wish the focus of people had been on someone else, and not me, the Child of Bhaal. But I'd been completely overlooked at this point, and I guess my sense of self-importance was slightly disjointed by it all.
Added to the fact that Imoen had been arrested and whisked off, and I wasn't entirely sure she was safe. Or that she'd even be released. I wasn't entirely sure what to do, at all.
--
Montaron was rummaging through the pockets of the dead, strewn around the area, so I turned to Garrick rather hopefully, expecting him to show how erstwhile a companion he was, and provide counsel and guidance to me in this unusual circumstance.
"I can't do this any more!" he wailed, before I could even open my own mouth. "It's all just too much!"
I could do nothing but watch as he scrambled away on his hands and knees, descending from the ledge we'd found ourselves on, and then running away between the crowds of people who'd all stopped in their tracks, and were looking right back up at… me.
I swallowed hard and took the opportunity to cast my eye around and determine just where, exactly, we were. To my relief, we appeared to be in a city of some sort – I could see signs for shops, and a large colourful tent had been pitched up not too far in the distance. We appeared to be in some kind of amphitheatre, or some such – the tall walls had huge arched windows cut into them, and I could only just make out the sprawl of buildings extending far beyond this particular area. Someone to my left cleared their throat, and I turned to see the Eastern stranger watching me carefully.
"If I may be so bold, my friend," he said neutrally, "we appear to be in Amn."
"Amn?" I asked. That was much further south than I'd hoped.
"I'd even guess at this being Athkatla, the city of Coin," he continued, a faint hint of a smile crossing his lips now. I swore colourfully. If there was one thing we didn't have, it was coin. Unless…
I turned back to Montaron, who'd finally finished with his rummaging, and was sorting through some bits and pieces he'd decided to keep for the good of the group. "Was there any money in there?" I asked.
He offered me a half-smirk, half-smile and nodded. I relaxed slightly, and turned back to this Yoshimo fellow. "You know your way around this city?"
He nodded.
"Then you can show us to the nearest inn," I said, "and then the way to whatever serves as the government for here."
--
I'd expected to waltz into the Government Building, demand Imoen's freedom, and still have time to browse the markets that lined the streets between the Promenade and the large bridge. Unfortunately, Amnian laws weren't co-operative, and no one seemed to know who I was, which was both a blessing and a curse. I did ponder upon the merits of revealing my rather dubious heritage to the civil servants, but opted against it in the long run. From the looks they were giving Yoshimo, they didn't appear to be overly fond of anyone a bit different to themselves.
They managed to eventually point me in the direction of the Cowled Wizards, and after finally finding their own wing in the massive building we were turned away without as much as a courteous word towards us. Imoen had been arrested for using magic, and would be detained indefinitely as a 'deviant'. They wouldn't tell us where she was being held, or if there was anything we could do to secure her release.
I was very frustrated by the time we left, and though I'd not been overly eager to become involved before, the effect of having slight after slight levied against me was beginning to help me make up my mind.
--
"We're going to find her and rescue her," I said adamantly. Montaron threw me an incredulous look.
"Whyfor?"
"Because… She's my friend?" I ventured. My halfling companion snorted derisively.
"Ye'd be better off leavin' 'em te it, and getting' on wi' yer own life," he muttered darkly, throwing a suspicious glance behind us. Yoshimo was still sharing our company, and my short friend was not known for his tolerance of fellow thieves – especially those, like Yoshimo, that hunted for bounties as a living.
"Perhaps," I shrugged, "but they seem to have completely overlooked the fact that it is I, Ellie of Candlekeep, who is the important one here. I mean, Imoen's clever and all, I suppose, but… surely a Bhaalspawn'd be more important?" I was almost pleading with him to agree with me, and Montaron just shook his head in disgust, stalking away and into the inn that we were staying at. I loitered outside, feeling quite lost.
"If you truly intend to follow this mage and your old friend, I would like to offer my skills to your quest."
--
So that was how Yoshimo joined with us. I mean, there was only Montaron and I left, and if I was planning to go after this mage for the want of something better to do, then I knew I'd need a band to accompany me.
It was hard, though. I wanted Branwen and Garrick back. Even Xzar. And Skie. Most of all, Skie.
But there was no going back, only going forward – and the mage had tortured me, after all. It was about then that I started remembering his words; how he'd unlock the power in me, stuff like that. Yet, he'd taken Imoen with him, and I didn't know why. Perhaps he knew I'd follow him, and he needed someone to 'experiment' on in my absence? Perhaps he assumed I'd be righteous enough to go after him because he'd managed to capture Imoen. But how could he have known about her?
There were so many questions. I needed the answers; so, for whatever reason, I was going to follow him. And this meant I needed to have people around me to do the actual adventuring on my behalf.
That was when I decided to scour the streets of Athkatla.