I have no idea why I'm writing this. I really don't know. I guess it just came over me like the flu. Most likely I will not finish it anyway.
After heaving read a lot of Mass Effect SI stories, and I mean A LOT, and recently getting hooked on Baldur's Gate II again, after more than six years or so, I have decided to write a Baldur's Gate II SI story... not so surprising, isn't it?
Anyway, to shake things up a bit I will change a bit here, a few things there. Partly because of the fact that I think ADnD sucks, partly because the stable game world is suddenly a living, breathing real world, and partly because I can. Some changes will come from mods I enjoy, some will be my own. Well, anyway, here we go.
WARNING: Partly the story will be humourus, partly grim, partly something in between. And yes, there will be violence, foul language and mentions of rape and torture. You have been warned.
Prologue
I'm in Athkatla. In Amn. On the Sword Coast. In Faerun. That means I'm in a fucking gameworld called the Forgotten Realms designed for the game Dungeons and Dragons. Damnit, I haven't even played it in about two years or so. Not that I could ever forgett the rules, I have played the game through most of my youth and the beginning of my adult life. Though mostly not in the Forgotten Realms but in a world of my own design, called Arkadia. Darker than Faerun, more brutal and less magical.
Whatever, now I'm in Amn. In Athkatla to be precise, the city of coin, where the Shadowmasters have as much power as the official government. Not that I could tell from where I was, because I was sitting in a cell together with a group of other men, all heavily muscled and their eyes downcast.
Because we were gladiators. Gladiators in the backrooms of the Copper Coronet.
My first memory of this world was being thrown into the cell. My head had hurt and my body was sore, but I felt a growl come up in my throat and bit it back with barely contained anger. "Stinking, cowardly shitheads...", I had grumbled and got up from the ground, looking around.
"I would say well met orc, but sadly, we are not well", a voice had said to me and I found myself looking into the face of a well build, heavily muscled man somehow reminding me of a slighly older Manu Bennett. Yep, muscled and good voice, I could easily accepting the actor from new zealand playing a gladiator. As he had done already.
But back to the topic. My mind worked in overdrive and tried to place the fact that he had called me an orc. Oh yes, I remembered, I had chosen to become a half-orc instead of a simple, boring human or a dwarf or elf. Why again had I done that? Besides from the stats they offer only a big list of problems.
Yes, I had created this character. Meaning me. I had died, not important right now, and then I had created a new DnD character to use. Using 3.5 rules by the way, so it is somehow a bit ironic that I woke up in the game Baldur's Gate 2, because that game still uses ADnD rules.
"Where am I?", I had asked with a heavy growl and a thick accent in my voice.
"In the slums of Athkatla, in the fighting pits of the Copper Coronet." He helped me to my feet and to his surprise, at least he seemed surprised, I let him. "My name is Hendak. What is your's, brother?"
I was tempet to answer that I was not his brother, but I had the vague impression that we were together in this shit, so why not calling each other's brothers? So I bit back that comment and just answered with first response that came to my mind. It actually really was my name, I had chosen it beforehand. "Azog."
Damnit, I had named myself after the White Ork from the Hobbit, the movies, and now I was standing before the guy playing Azog. Talk about irony.