Baldur's Gate : A New Beginning
Chapter 1: Duran
The stone walls of Candlekeep towered dark against the early morning skyline. The wind was thin and crisp, a sign that winter was fast on its way. Pink dawn sunlight peeked over the mountains, giving the sky an angry red colour. Within the hallowed walls of the library fortress, a sweet melody trailed and danced in the air. In the old tavern, a beautiful young girl danced on stage, her long black hair flying out around her head as she executed the intricate steps. The rich emerald gown she wore brought out the haunting green of her almond-shaped eyes. The sun peeked through the dirty old windows in the tavern to reveal a full house, as it usually was when Duran played. The light slowly filtered into the rowdy taproom, illuminating the half-elf's olive skin as she moved gracefully across the floor. As the sunlight filled the room, the tavern owner blew out the candles, signalling for the musicians to stop. The night's entertainment was over. The music stopped and the crowd roared with praise, applauding the tiny woman where she stood, flushed and breathless, on the stage. Gold coins flew up to fall at Duran's feet. She took a deep bow and walked off stage, barely needing to duck under the low beam above her. Duran wasn't very tall, only around five foot two. Because of this, she had earned the nickname 'the little raven', from her playmates.
She hurried up to her private quarters, falling on her bed and stretching her weary muscles. Gazing up at the ceiling, she yawned, quite content to lie there forever. However, there were chores that needed to be done before she could sleep, so she rose reluctantly from the sheets. Grabbing some old clothes, she stripped down, replacing the beautiful gown in the brown polished wardrobe. Duran pulled on her older clothes, surveying her appearance in the mirror. Just a simple blue tunic and brown boots, and she was comfortable again. She ran down the stairs into the now well-lit tavern.
"Duran!" Duran turned around and saw the tavern owner Winthrop. He was a hardy old man with an odd sense of humour; well, Duran thought anyway.
"Hey Winthrop," she called, walking over to him. He grinned at her, shaking a worn leather pouch in his hands.
"You did good kiddo, here's yer pay." He passed Duran the pouch, watching in amusement as she counted the contents. Satisfied he hadn't short-changed her, Duran smiled mischievously, shouting her thanks to the old barkeep as she walked out into the morning sunlight. The sun was high in the pale blue sky as Duran walked around the quiet citadel, her feet crunching on the dirt tracks. The air was crisp with the taste of snow, and she blew on her fingers to warm them. Humming softly to herself, she went about her daily chores, grimacing as her hand closed about the shovel. With a sigh, she made her way out into the stables, and began shovelling, still humming the simple melody.
"Nice tune." Duran turned in surprise, smiling when she saw her audience. He was one of the villagers who worked around Candlekeep, but there was something different about him. He carried himself too confidently, his rugged appearance accentuated by the leather armour that graced his tall frame. She curtseyed cheekily to him, flashing an impish grin.
"Thanks." Duran turned back to her work, trying to shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right here. A warm hand on her shoulder made her jump.
"You are Gorion's child, correct?" the armoured man asked her. Duran's smile faded as she turned back face him.
"What's it to you?" she spat, aware that this wasn't perhaps the best place for a confrontation.
"It's EVERY thing to do with me." he snapped back, pushing her into the stable with a violent shove. As she slammed against the stalls, he drew a blade out of his pocket; it was a small average dagger, but she was willing to bet he knew how to use it. He grinned down at her, kicking the door shut behind him. Instantly the stable was plunged into thick musty darkness.
"You, my dear, have a pretty bounty on yer head," he continued, his voice cutting through the gloom. Duran could feel him moving towards her, stepping backwards as she tried to quell the fear rising in her throat. She glanced towards the firmly closed door, wishing for someone to come and help her.
"Let me out," she said, her voice steady despite her fright. The man laughed derisively.
"And you're gonna make me?" He lunged at her, the dagger glinting in the shafts of light that shone from the thatched rooftop. Duran leapt to one side, the blade narrowly missing her side. Spinning, memories of her life as a gypsy flooding her mind, she slammed her fist into his stomach, skittering away as he doubled over coughing. This, conveniently, brought his head within range, and she threw at kick at his flushed face. He hit the wooden floor with a resounding thump, still wheezing from the winding she had given him.
"I said let me out.didn't you hear me or are you just thick?" She turned around and half walked half ran towards the door. A hand grasped her boot, and she, too, hit the floor.
"You're not going anywhere!" He scrambled upright, wiping the blood from his nose and mouth. She bit down a surge of satisfaction as she noticed his nose was slightly on the crooked side. As he advanced towards her, Duran's mind whirled, seeking some solution to her immediate problem. Suddenly she heard an old familiar voice in her head, speaking clearly words that her tutors had tried to teach her during her time here.
At a loss for anything else to do, Duran held out her hand, muttering the phrases under her breath. Slowly the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and the man halted, suddenly uncomfortable with what was happening. As he watched, a pulsing red sphere of light formed around the tiny half-elf's hand.
"What're you doing?" he demanded, his tone uncertain.
"I asked you to let me leave.but you didn't and you're gonna pay!" With a flick of her wrist, three red arrows shot from her hand. In the blinding light they emitted, Duran heard the man grunt and his body slam backwards into a wall. As the light faded, her eyes fell upon his body, blackened and charred, crumpled in the corner of the stable. The smoke that filled the air reeked of carrion and death. Duran fell to the ground, retching violently in horror and shock. She was stunned. Racking sobs shook her small frame, as she comprehended what she had done.
".. oh, gods." She stared her hands, searching for any sign that it might not have been her. Crawling over to the side of the man, she stared at his lifeless eyes, barely seeing the scorch marks on his chest and the blood that stained his yellow tunic. Shaking her head in denial and fear, she scrambled to her feet, fumbling with the latch and throwing open the door. The sunlight was harsh, but infinitely preferable to the darkness behind her. Narrowing her eyes against the glare, she stumbled out of the stable. Ignoring the strange glances she received from people as she hurried past, Duran could feel her mind racing, still gazing in a mixture of horror and wonder at her hands.
"What was that?" she murmured to herself, slipping into the inner cloister. ".. what did I do.. was that magick?" The library towered above her, and she felt the deep calm of the scholars at work descend on her troubled thoughts. The scene in the stable kept playing over and over in her head. Finally she came to a halt before the great doors, absently trailing her fingers in the clear cool water of the fountains. She shook her head again, and hurried up the steps. There was only one person who could explain this to her. Gorion. The library was huge. It even smelt old. She giggled quietly to herself as the thought occurred that maybe it was the monks who made the library smell so bad. Coming down hard on the hysterical laughter that welled up inside her, Duran hurried through the bookshelves that towered over her, threatening to engulf her in age-old wisdom and nonsensical proverbs. Slipping quietly past the scholars at work, she knocked on her foster- father's door.
"Come in," a familiar voice called, old and well loved, and once again that serene calm fell over the distraught bard. Duran stepped in, waiting quietly as Gorion finished his paragraph. He looked up at her, and it was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. His normally pristine ward was covered in dirt and vomit, her hair knotted, and tears stained her beautiful little face. Her eyes were haunted, horrified by some happening.
"My child, what is wrong?" he asked, moving to her side and taking her in his arms as the tears fell again. Slowly the storm passed, and the little bard forced a smile for her foster- father. He drew her to her chamber, making her wash and change her clothes before leading her back to before the fire.
"What has happened, little raven?' With the occasional sob, Duran told him everything, secure in the knowledge that Gorion would make everything right again. When she told him of the magick, his face lit up.
"Amazing," he murmured. Confused, Duran gazed up at him, but he had moved to the desk, where he held a letter in his hand, hastily re-reading the contents.
"But this is terrible news to." Gorion's voice trailed off, his frown worrying to the girl nearby.
"What is it, father?" He glanced up at her, his face set in lines she knew all too well. When Gorion looked at you like that, you had better be prepared to do exactly as he said.
"Quick, child, go to the inn and arm yourself. Winthrop knows what you need. He shook his head, already opening drawers to rifle through his belongings.
"This is worse than I thought," he muttered. Glancing up at the girl staring dumbstruck at him, Gorion shooed Duran out of his apartments. On feet that suddenly seemed capable of flight, she ran to the tavern, narrowly avoiding Phlydia, who'd lost her book yet again, it seemed. Winthrop gave a surprised grunt as she nearly ran him down in her haste.
"Why are ya in a rush, Duran?" Breathless, she grasped his shoulder.
"I need armor and a weapon. Gorion said you'd know what to give me." Spurred on by her obvious hurry, the old barkeep ambled swiftly into the storeroom, trying several suits of leather on her until he found one that just about fitted. As she twisted about, getting used to the fit of the armor, he pressed an exquisitely wrought short bow into her hands. It was beautiful, strong and sleek, with golden writing carved into the curve of the bow.
"Winthrop, can you afford to give me this?" The barkeep shrugged.
"Not mine to sell," he told her. "Gorion gave that to me when you first came here. Told me to keep it til you came asking." The little half-elf threw her arms around his neck.
"Thank you. It's lovely!" Winthrop grinned, shooing her out of the inn to meet Gorion on the steps to the library. Candlekeep wasn't that busy at this time of the year, only a few tradesmen were there. Usually to winter in the library fortress before heading off come springtime. A familiar voice almost deafened her as a brightly clothed figure leapt out from behind a cart.
"Heya, it's me, Imoen!" Duran sighed, smiling at her rambunctious friend.
"Hello Imoen." The human girl looked her up and down enviously.
"How come you're all kitted out like that? Why aren't you doing your chores?"
"Gorion told me to arm myself,' Duran told her. 'I think we're leaving, Im.' A look of profound hurt crossed the young girl's face.
"I sure am sorry to hear that," she sighed. 'Can't I come?' Duran shook her head.
"I wouldn't even try to ask Gorion. He seems really upset about something. He won't tell me anything.'
"Hmmmm.that's odd," Imoen murmured, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Not for the first time, Duran had the impression that she knew more than she was letting on. "Well, I'll be seeing ya around. I'll miss ya, Duran."
"I know, Im. I'll miss you too." She gave her friend a quick hug, and hurried off, towards the great gates of the library.
Chapter 1: Duran
The stone walls of Candlekeep towered dark against the early morning skyline. The wind was thin and crisp, a sign that winter was fast on its way. Pink dawn sunlight peeked over the mountains, giving the sky an angry red colour. Within the hallowed walls of the library fortress, a sweet melody trailed and danced in the air. In the old tavern, a beautiful young girl danced on stage, her long black hair flying out around her head as she executed the intricate steps. The rich emerald gown she wore brought out the haunting green of her almond-shaped eyes. The sun peeked through the dirty old windows in the tavern to reveal a full house, as it usually was when Duran played. The light slowly filtered into the rowdy taproom, illuminating the half-elf's olive skin as she moved gracefully across the floor. As the sunlight filled the room, the tavern owner blew out the candles, signalling for the musicians to stop. The night's entertainment was over. The music stopped and the crowd roared with praise, applauding the tiny woman where she stood, flushed and breathless, on the stage. Gold coins flew up to fall at Duran's feet. She took a deep bow and walked off stage, barely needing to duck under the low beam above her. Duran wasn't very tall, only around five foot two. Because of this, she had earned the nickname 'the little raven', from her playmates.
She hurried up to her private quarters, falling on her bed and stretching her weary muscles. Gazing up at the ceiling, she yawned, quite content to lie there forever. However, there were chores that needed to be done before she could sleep, so she rose reluctantly from the sheets. Grabbing some old clothes, she stripped down, replacing the beautiful gown in the brown polished wardrobe. Duran pulled on her older clothes, surveying her appearance in the mirror. Just a simple blue tunic and brown boots, and she was comfortable again. She ran down the stairs into the now well-lit tavern.
"Duran!" Duran turned around and saw the tavern owner Winthrop. He was a hardy old man with an odd sense of humour; well, Duran thought anyway.
"Hey Winthrop," she called, walking over to him. He grinned at her, shaking a worn leather pouch in his hands.
"You did good kiddo, here's yer pay." He passed Duran the pouch, watching in amusement as she counted the contents. Satisfied he hadn't short-changed her, Duran smiled mischievously, shouting her thanks to the old barkeep as she walked out into the morning sunlight. The sun was high in the pale blue sky as Duran walked around the quiet citadel, her feet crunching on the dirt tracks. The air was crisp with the taste of snow, and she blew on her fingers to warm them. Humming softly to herself, she went about her daily chores, grimacing as her hand closed about the shovel. With a sigh, she made her way out into the stables, and began shovelling, still humming the simple melody.
"Nice tune." Duran turned in surprise, smiling when she saw her audience. He was one of the villagers who worked around Candlekeep, but there was something different about him. He carried himself too confidently, his rugged appearance accentuated by the leather armour that graced his tall frame. She curtseyed cheekily to him, flashing an impish grin.
"Thanks." Duran turned back to her work, trying to shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right here. A warm hand on her shoulder made her jump.
"You are Gorion's child, correct?" the armoured man asked her. Duran's smile faded as she turned back face him.
"What's it to you?" she spat, aware that this wasn't perhaps the best place for a confrontation.
"It's EVERY thing to do with me." he snapped back, pushing her into the stable with a violent shove. As she slammed against the stalls, he drew a blade out of his pocket; it was a small average dagger, but she was willing to bet he knew how to use it. He grinned down at her, kicking the door shut behind him. Instantly the stable was plunged into thick musty darkness.
"You, my dear, have a pretty bounty on yer head," he continued, his voice cutting through the gloom. Duran could feel him moving towards her, stepping backwards as she tried to quell the fear rising in her throat. She glanced towards the firmly closed door, wishing for someone to come and help her.
"Let me out," she said, her voice steady despite her fright. The man laughed derisively.
"And you're gonna make me?" He lunged at her, the dagger glinting in the shafts of light that shone from the thatched rooftop. Duran leapt to one side, the blade narrowly missing her side. Spinning, memories of her life as a gypsy flooding her mind, she slammed her fist into his stomach, skittering away as he doubled over coughing. This, conveniently, brought his head within range, and she threw at kick at his flushed face. He hit the wooden floor with a resounding thump, still wheezing from the winding she had given him.
"I said let me out.didn't you hear me or are you just thick?" She turned around and half walked half ran towards the door. A hand grasped her boot, and she, too, hit the floor.
"You're not going anywhere!" He scrambled upright, wiping the blood from his nose and mouth. She bit down a surge of satisfaction as she noticed his nose was slightly on the crooked side. As he advanced towards her, Duran's mind whirled, seeking some solution to her immediate problem. Suddenly she heard an old familiar voice in her head, speaking clearly words that her tutors had tried to teach her during her time here.
At a loss for anything else to do, Duran held out her hand, muttering the phrases under her breath. Slowly the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and the man halted, suddenly uncomfortable with what was happening. As he watched, a pulsing red sphere of light formed around the tiny half-elf's hand.
"What're you doing?" he demanded, his tone uncertain.
"I asked you to let me leave.but you didn't and you're gonna pay!" With a flick of her wrist, three red arrows shot from her hand. In the blinding light they emitted, Duran heard the man grunt and his body slam backwards into a wall. As the light faded, her eyes fell upon his body, blackened and charred, crumpled in the corner of the stable. The smoke that filled the air reeked of carrion and death. Duran fell to the ground, retching violently in horror and shock. She was stunned. Racking sobs shook her small frame, as she comprehended what she had done.
".. oh, gods." She stared her hands, searching for any sign that it might not have been her. Crawling over to the side of the man, she stared at his lifeless eyes, barely seeing the scorch marks on his chest and the blood that stained his yellow tunic. Shaking her head in denial and fear, she scrambled to her feet, fumbling with the latch and throwing open the door. The sunlight was harsh, but infinitely preferable to the darkness behind her. Narrowing her eyes against the glare, she stumbled out of the stable. Ignoring the strange glances she received from people as she hurried past, Duran could feel her mind racing, still gazing in a mixture of horror and wonder at her hands.
"What was that?" she murmured to herself, slipping into the inner cloister. ".. what did I do.. was that magick?" The library towered above her, and she felt the deep calm of the scholars at work descend on her troubled thoughts. The scene in the stable kept playing over and over in her head. Finally she came to a halt before the great doors, absently trailing her fingers in the clear cool water of the fountains. She shook her head again, and hurried up the steps. There was only one person who could explain this to her. Gorion. The library was huge. It even smelt old. She giggled quietly to herself as the thought occurred that maybe it was the monks who made the library smell so bad. Coming down hard on the hysterical laughter that welled up inside her, Duran hurried through the bookshelves that towered over her, threatening to engulf her in age-old wisdom and nonsensical proverbs. Slipping quietly past the scholars at work, she knocked on her foster- father's door.
"Come in," a familiar voice called, old and well loved, and once again that serene calm fell over the distraught bard. Duran stepped in, waiting quietly as Gorion finished his paragraph. He looked up at her, and it was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. His normally pristine ward was covered in dirt and vomit, her hair knotted, and tears stained her beautiful little face. Her eyes were haunted, horrified by some happening.
"My child, what is wrong?" he asked, moving to her side and taking her in his arms as the tears fell again. Slowly the storm passed, and the little bard forced a smile for her foster- father. He drew her to her chamber, making her wash and change her clothes before leading her back to before the fire.
"What has happened, little raven?' With the occasional sob, Duran told him everything, secure in the knowledge that Gorion would make everything right again. When she told him of the magick, his face lit up.
"Amazing," he murmured. Confused, Duran gazed up at him, but he had moved to the desk, where he held a letter in his hand, hastily re-reading the contents.
"But this is terrible news to." Gorion's voice trailed off, his frown worrying to the girl nearby.
"What is it, father?" He glanced up at her, his face set in lines she knew all too well. When Gorion looked at you like that, you had better be prepared to do exactly as he said.
"Quick, child, go to the inn and arm yourself. Winthrop knows what you need. He shook his head, already opening drawers to rifle through his belongings.
"This is worse than I thought," he muttered. Glancing up at the girl staring dumbstruck at him, Gorion shooed Duran out of his apartments. On feet that suddenly seemed capable of flight, she ran to the tavern, narrowly avoiding Phlydia, who'd lost her book yet again, it seemed. Winthrop gave a surprised grunt as she nearly ran him down in her haste.
"Why are ya in a rush, Duran?" Breathless, she grasped his shoulder.
"I need armor and a weapon. Gorion said you'd know what to give me." Spurred on by her obvious hurry, the old barkeep ambled swiftly into the storeroom, trying several suits of leather on her until he found one that just about fitted. As she twisted about, getting used to the fit of the armor, he pressed an exquisitely wrought short bow into her hands. It was beautiful, strong and sleek, with golden writing carved into the curve of the bow.
"Winthrop, can you afford to give me this?" The barkeep shrugged.
"Not mine to sell," he told her. "Gorion gave that to me when you first came here. Told me to keep it til you came asking." The little half-elf threw her arms around his neck.
"Thank you. It's lovely!" Winthrop grinned, shooing her out of the inn to meet Gorion on the steps to the library. Candlekeep wasn't that busy at this time of the year, only a few tradesmen were there. Usually to winter in the library fortress before heading off come springtime. A familiar voice almost deafened her as a brightly clothed figure leapt out from behind a cart.
"Heya, it's me, Imoen!" Duran sighed, smiling at her rambunctious friend.
"Hello Imoen." The human girl looked her up and down enviously.
"How come you're all kitted out like that? Why aren't you doing your chores?"
"Gorion told me to arm myself,' Duran told her. 'I think we're leaving, Im.' A look of profound hurt crossed the young girl's face.
"I sure am sorry to hear that," she sighed. 'Can't I come?' Duran shook her head.
"I wouldn't even try to ask Gorion. He seems really upset about something. He won't tell me anything.'
"Hmmmm.that's odd," Imoen murmured, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Not for the first time, Duran had the impression that she knew more than she was letting on. "Well, I'll be seeing ya around. I'll miss ya, Duran."
"I know, Im. I'll miss you too." She gave her friend a quick hug, and hurried off, towards the great gates of the library.