A different path

by Varigos D. Vastitas

The Bhaalspawn were blessed with a sliver of their father's essence, a spark of the divine that gave them enormous power. This time, rather than a power meant for murder, what if a Bhaalspawn was given a power meant for learning?

I would never have created this stupid book if it wasn't for the request of my wife Aerie, The most talented flier without wings.

I suppose I should start with an introduction, my name is Orion Everclear, The 'Spell-seeker.'

People have heard of my tales across the sword coast, battles fought and wonders beheld. I can't walk into a town anywhere without someone mentioning one of my dozens of titles. Son of Gorion the Harper mage. Hero of Baldur's gate. Savior of Baregost. Bane of the red Wizards of Thay. Conquerer of the traitor Irenicus and the Demon lord Demogorgon. Savior of the Amnish Elves of Suldenessalar. Slayer of the Burning Red, The Black plague , and Kanglax the Lich.

Bhaalspawn.

I suppose an explanation is due, before an in depth tale begins. My kin and I, the Bhaalspawn, were all the children of the fallen deity, Bhaal the Lord of Murder. During the cataclysm known as the Time Of Troubles, my bastard father traveled the plains impregnating dozens of his followers of every species, leaving a spark of his divine powers behind. His hope was that as we grew older that spark of the divine would grow and gain strength, not only making us stronger than others, but that when we died that spark would reunite with the others in his own pocket plane, the Throne of Murder.

His plan worked, somewhat. Most Bhaalspawn abused their spark of the divine and used it to cut a path of destruction, terror, and suffering wherever they went. The first of my kin I met used his to wage a war. The next used his divine right as a means to escape whenever frightened or in peril. I did not meet the remainder of my kin till the Bhaalspawn Wars, when most of Teril realized the threat of my Kin and tried to kill us all, only for the five strongest, besides myself, to form armies of their own to spill the blood of thousands.

Before all this happened, I lived in a quiet castle called Candlekeep. It's halls were filled with books, scrolls, and artifacts all covering the knowledge of the world and the planes beyond. My father Gorion hid me there, knowing what I was, he believed that distancing myself from the violence and vileness of the world would be enough to dilute Bhaal's taint from taking me over. When I was still but a lad, barely past my seventh summer, I had the dream of becoming a mage like Gorion. Rather than take the intelligent approach and ask him to teach me, I tried to learn in secret and surprise him. I spent tendays at a time watching the mages, priests, and scholars of Candlekeep cast their spells and then tried my best to replicate them. On my Eighth birthday, Gorion offered to teach me.

The look of shock on his face when I cast a sleep spell on my friend Imoen was brilliant, and a fond memory I look back on whenever I have the time. Shortly afterward he was amazed when Imoen fell, still grogy from the sleep spell, and I healed her with an incantation I learned from the local priest of Oghma. According to him I was talented in both the arcane and divine, he was so proud of me that day.

Several more years went by as I studied under my father's tutelage and the volunteered expertise of those who wanted to see me perform. I learned spells from both the arcane and divine as easy as a fish takes to water, twas not till later on that a great mage told me of Gorion's theory that my Bhaalspawn taint fed upon my desires to give it form, in this case, my desire to perform masterwork spells as easily as the Elven archmages themselves. Regardless, I studied day and night, often neglecting my heath to keep reading or practicing.

As the years went by I became weaker and more frail, but was capable of magic on the scale of my father's great works. With the arcane I could travel all over the castle with a flick of my wrist, or with the arts of a priest I could knit torn flesh and mend bone with a touch. I would spend my days at the temple of Oghma practicing healing and earning my living, and at night I would practice spell craft by the fireplace. More often than not the castle guards would demand my practice to stop, like on occasions when I had summoned dozens of dogs, skeletons, or other creatures to my side where they would shatter the peaceful silence with their chorus of noises.

I have mentioned my physical weakness many times, and for good reason. No matter how powerful I became with magic, it definitely came at a cost. I was the weakest of any my age, with even dear Imoen being able to lift more than I. I would get sick often, disguising the fact with divine cures before I could be bedridden by My worrying father. Any act requiring dexterity would quickly end in my despair. At one point I had tried to play catch with some of the children that occasionally ran amuck. That indecent ended with me nursing many bruises to both my body an ego. The children were tossing a rock back and forth to each other, keeping score to see whom was better. To my lasting torment, I could not catch one measly easy toss from a child. To this day whenever Imoen wants to see me squirm with shame she brings it up, or if she is feeling particularly catty, she will juggle all the while giving me a pointed yet coy smile.

To make it an easier comparison, I could bend the world to my whim, but if I received so much as a paper cut I was in danger of bleeding to death. Not literally, but you should catch my meaning. Many times in the future I had wished for a much more useful Bhaal given power than quick learning, one of my brothers had the ability to slay a man with a touch! All he had to do was get angry and touch someone and they would die in an instant. Compare that to the ability to learn a spell just by watching, not a true instant mastery but by just seeing it and I could use it. I could watch a mage conjure a thousand arrows of flame, then when I made the attempt I would make an ember covered stick. Meanwhile my brothers and sisters were crushing nations with their god given powers.

Sometimes I have the unnerving feeling that I was made at the whim of a disturbed Planetar.

Hopefully I have told you enough that you wont be completely lost in the rest of my story. I suppose I should start where my journey began. The Day began as usual, with me awakening in my study in the castle, rolling lazily out of my small cot after a late night of reading by candlelight until I was sure I would need a healer to mend my eyes.

I had eaten the last of the food I had in my cupboard, I had a fondness for snacking during late nights, twas the thought of salted beef that drew my attention to the fact that I was both lacking food and starving. My stomach rumbled like a devil, demanding bacon, eggs, and bread.

With a determined lack of enthusiasm I straightened my clothes, determined that I would not let Imoen harass me for wearing the same robes overnight for the third night in a row. I walked down the, what felt like, endless rows of stairs and out the grand wood doors into the courtyard. The fresh air helped to drag me to consciousness, the glaring shine of the sun painfully stabbing at my eyes to do the same.

On the edge of my vision I noticed Imoen running from Winthrop's Inn with a large blue and white jewel. I groaned, it was far too early to deal with her sticky fingers. As she passed by with a look of concern on her face, I entered the tavern just in time to hear Winthrop's good natured call "...My hotels as clean as an Elven arse!"

I walked up to the bar, only halfheartedly listening to the jolly Inn owner's joke, I'd heard him say the same seven jokes so many times I had memorized them all. "That's funny Winthrop, I swear you get funnier everyday." I lied at the end, it didn't hurt to let the man tell his jokes and laugh at them if it got me a discount. The man smiled, pleased at my gratitude.

"So what can I get for you master Everclear?" he asked me, still smiling.

"If it wouldn't be a bother could I get some of your wife's fine cooking? A plate of bacon, eggs, ham, and some fresh bread if you have it?" I requested, handing the man three gold coins. No matter what I ordered I always paid Winthrop an extra coin, occasionally the man would let me have a free meal or stay overnight in one of his rooms without charge. He called it my tab.

"I hope you enjoy it my boy." The man left and within a minute a steaming platter of breakfast grub was laid on a table for me, and I dug in like a man who spent years imprisoned. The bacon was just right, chewy with crispy edges. The ham was tender, smoked and lightly fried. And the eggs were a specialty of Winthrop's wife, slices of bread soaked in egg before being fried with butter. A few minutes of eating my fill and I was wide awake. I washed the remains down with a pitcher of mixed juice.

My meal completed I was torn. I had volunteered to do some clean up work for the houses, a few minor arcane restoration spells, however I wasn't expected to do so until past mid day. I groaned, my full belly telling me to relax, while my mind insisted I get to my responsibilities then rest. I juggled the options in my head for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the Inn's mid-morning fire. Eventually responsibilities won and I lifted myself out of my seat and went about my way.

The people of Candlekeep greeted me as I walked to the priest quarters to check the list of duties for the day. I was sure it was only to bless the Bunkhouse, allowing visitors a better rest, but it wouldn't hurt to double check. The Quarters were a one room home, with the only decorations being a bed, a large table with two chairs, and a few chests to store the current Priest of Oghma's things. I never remembered their names for the simple fact that they were often replaced as they journeyed for knowledge at the behest of their god.

I didn't even know what the current priest of Oghma looked like, but I was sure the man in the priest's quarter's was not him. As I entered the man was slouched over a chest of possessions, shuffling the materials inside around as if searching for something. His clothes were black and brown cloth hidden under a vest of studded leather. Attached to his hips were several knives, as far as I knew the Priests only ever carried a quarterstaff. I myself only carried a small knife, I never needed more than a simple dagger and that was to kill the inevitable mouse that found its way into the storehouse.

The man continued his digging, either not noticing me entering or not caring. Based on what he would do upon noticing me, I suppose it would be the former. "Excuse me, " I interrupted, "Who are you and why are you in the Priest's quarters?"

The man flinched, turning to me panicked, until he looked at my face, then he relaxed, "Oy. Your Gorion's Ward then?" He asked, calmly, patiently, professionally.

"I am his son, yes." I answered, confused, "Do I know you?"

"Step-son, you gotta keep these things right. As for my name? It's Shank, and that's the last name your ever gonna hear!" He proclaimed, drawing one of his knives and thrusting it at me in the same movement. The knife clipped me in the chest, just barely piercing my skin as I hurriedly moved away from my attacker. Seeing his first strike was a failure he swung wildly, again cutting into my chest. The pain was a shock. I had never been in a fight in my life, and the sensation of the slicing edge was terrifying.

It was sheer dumb luck that saved this story from cutting short right here. I stumbled backwards again trying to evade his next thrust when I hit one of the few chairs in the room and fell to the floor. Shank stopped his attack to laugh and that was all I needed, I didn't bother trying to stand or throw the chair at him, or even to run away, I called upon my magic and focused on the works of the melting master mage Melf. A conjured arrow coated in acid sprang forth from my palm and I flung it at my attacker guiding it with my power.

The projectile struck in the throat, just below his chin. Shank's smile and laughter at my murder was swept away by the realization that he would be the one to die instead. The enchanted acid made quick work of him, melting flesh and blood and bone to mush. With a plopping thud my attempted murderer's head fell off and continued to melt beside his headless corpse.

I had never been a fan of violence. I avoid conflict stray from pain whenever possible. Thus it should come as no surprise that my mind was overcome with panic at this moment. My chest burned from the two wounds, neither were life threatening even as my robes stained with blood, but in my panic I wondered if I was dying. I tried several times to cast healing spells on myself, each time my trebling arms or stuttering lips disrupted the necessary incantations to weave the frail magics. My panic increased with each failed attempt to heal myself, the failures only adding to my assumption that I was not long for this world.

I never noticed the newest priest of Oghma enter in a panic, I suppose I did and just didn't acknowledge him, but I felt weaker than I ever had before, My mind remained locked by panic and desperation. The priest rushed to my side and diagnosed me, casting a set of healing spells before clearing my mind with a spell to restore courage. My breathing calmed and my shaken nerves relaxed. My chest only ached now, but the lack of blood left me lightheaded. "He came at me with a knife.." I croaked, "Why did this happen?"

The priest pulled me to my feet, "Quickly child," He commanded, "we must find Gorion." I vaguely remember being pulled along to the castle and my father's quarters. As he pulled me along with him, my helper muttered to himself. I couldn't understand what he was saying, my ears were near useless between blood loss and the shattering of my sheltered life.

My father's outraged voice broke me out of my stupor. "Tethoril, you promised me this would not happen! Were your exact words not, 'no rogue will get past Fuller and Hull'!" My father bellowed, my eyes focused in on his red raging face. It would be obvious to anyone that he was furious, and for good reason.

"Father?" I murmured, still feeling weak and dirty in my blood covered robes.

"Oh my child," he said, hugging me softly, ignoring the red stains I wore so grimly, "I am so sorry this has happened."

I grabbed onto his clothes as he held me, and I cried, "Why did he try to kill me father?" my eyes begged for my father to answer. My father's face drew tight, like sucking on a particularly bitter fruit.

"My child, I will tell you one day, but not here and not now. Too many eyes and ears may be upon us for me to reveal such a revelation." He told me, his eyes displaying his distress for all the world to see. "I want you to return to your quarters, gather everything you need and wish to take you on a journey, we will leave Candlekeep before nightfall."

"Why Father?" I questioned, "Do you think this will happen again?"

"I fear it may, my child. I will not take that risk, we will be safer on the road, If someone wishes your death then I will make them suffer every step of the way."

We departed at sunset. Not a day goes by that I wish the events of that night had never occurred.