This is... somewhat of a re-imagining of BG1, I suppose. It began as an exercise in 'what if', and turned itself into this. I may or may not actually have the willpower to update this semi-regularly. I suppose time will tell.
Year of the Banner
2 Mirtul, 1368
Muriel
The first day, as far as I can remember, went something like this.
When I woke up, I was alone in someone else's bed, which made no sense. Trying to disregard the dull, aching pain in my cheek, I looked around. The sheets were rough and unfamiliar, and the room was plain, undecorated. A wooden table stood in a corner, by a chair that looked unstable at best, a three-legged stool which was far too short for one to sit in and comfortably reach the surface of the table, and a much more reasonable four-legged stool. Aside from a small closet which looked as if it was meant to store clothes in, the room was devoid of all useful furniture. Servants' quarters, perhaps. The door was ajar, and the hallway behind it was lit.
I didn't remember where I was or what had happened to me. I lay back, staring at the cracked ceiling, and eventually it came to me that I knew my name. Muriel.
The door began to move, and I shut my eyes, trying to resume breathing slowly and steadily as if I were asleep, praying I would overhear something that would help me get my bearings. My cheek ached painfully, and I forced myself to ignore it.
"He's in one of his rages again, and I couldn't calm him down myself. Tamoko's gone to him." The voice was an old man's, but unfamiliar. I didn't think I'd ever heard him before. Footsteps. One, no, two people entered the room. I heard a click. That would be the door closing, I thought.
The man's companion was quick to put a name to him. "Master Perorate, why did he do this?" Master. He sounded like an apprentice of some sort, and fairly young.
"On a whim, why else?" Perorate laughed, bitterly. "Ask him, when it's safe. Maybe you'll even get an answer. He speaks to you often, does he not?"
I felt someone leaning over me, breathing practically in my face, and I did all that I could to pretend to be fast asleep. It was something I'd done before, trying to get out of trouble... that memory was hazy, but I was certain of it.
"That's a nasty burn she's got. Tamoko did that?" This was the younger man's voice, casually changing the subject.
"That she did. Clean across the cheek. It looked much worse before Aasim treated it."
Fingertips brushed my face, and I couldn't help myself. My eyes shot open and I blinked several times, adjusting to the light once more. Damning my reflexes, I made eye contact with the apprentice. His eyes were blue, and his face was stern, but young, as I had suspected. Perhaps he was in his twentieth year, like me, perhaps a little older. I had little time to stare at him, for he gave me a look I couldn't entirely interpret and held his palm over my eyes. "What are we going to do with her when she wakes up?" he asked.
"I wish I knew, Semaj. Perhaps she'll prove useful. As things stand, she's merely a nuisance. If left unattended, she'll become a danger." A brief pause. "This wasn't part of the plan. He insisted he was to kill her himself, personally. And now..."
A longer pause. I listened to the soft sounds of their breathing, deeply unsettled. A faint image came to me: a rainstorm, flashing golden eyes... I strained to recall, but it was gone as soon as it had come. Finally, Perorate spoke again. "Maybe, I should kill her now. For his sake." My breath caught in my throat.
"But she's just a child!" Semaj protested. It was obvious he was defending me, and I had no idea why. What could I possibly have done to attract the attention of these strangers?
"Just? Gorion's ward is hardly 'just' a child."
Gorion. And I remembered everything, just like that.
It couldn't have been that long ago. We were leaving Candlekeep, my home - just my foster-father and I, traveling at night to avoid undue attention...