Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 1

The fork in the road

Kivan awoke.

The morning was cool, the last chill of Tarsakh leaking into Mirtul, a cool touch upon his limbs. As the leaves grow and flowers bloom, the air will get warmer in the coming weeks. He almost looked forward to it.

Sitting up, he rustled through his satchel in search of dried food. He had preserved enough from the last hunt to last him another two days, but he would need to hunt again soon. In the past he had found some measure of solace from the act of hunting for food. Now, it barely registered as a chore, something which needed to be done to stay alive.

He thought as he chewed his meagre breakfast. The band he was tracking was cleverer than the last one. The members never separated from the core group, making it more difficult to pick them off one by one. The fact that they were moving coherently as one indicates that this group has an objective – they were after something.

What could it be? A valuable caravan?

He frowned. He had already seen what happened to caravan unlucky enough to be in the path of these brigands. Depending on how the day fared, he may have to trail them more closely to find out for sure. Risky, but he was not going to make any headway otherwise.

With that decided, he traced dark ink from his waist pouch onto his forehead and chin in a familiar pattern, a brief prayer to Shevarash on his lips. He rolled up his bedroll and prepared to return to the hunt.

The tell-tale marks of human passing were as clear as day to him despite their efforts to cover their tracks. Few in their right mind would wander the no-man's land between the Lion's Causeway and Beregost. There was no doubt that he was pursuing the right tracks. What remained unclear was what he meant to do when he caught up to them.

The past groups he had picked off were careless and he tended to target stragglers or scouts. While the strategy has worked well the past few months, as the brigands' numbers dwindled, they may have cottoned on to the fact that there was someone in the woods hunting them. Either that, or their ranks have swelled substantially with recruits in recent months.

So here he was, one elf trailing a band of eight brigands.

Things are escalating.

He needed a plan. More importantly, he needed allies. He mulled over the second thought as he trekked. As the days go by, the thought of finding anyone crazy enough to join him on his suicidal task became increasingly absurd. And yet, his mission is almost assured of failure if he were to continue his reckless one-man crusade. A difficult puzzle that he had not the answer to yet.

As the sun reached its zenith, the trees began to thin out slightly as his path led him closer to the Lion's Way. He unslung his bow to walk with the weapon in hand, his other hand hovering close to the quiver of arrows at his belt. The wolves and gibberlings in the area were becoming more daring of late. Brigands in the woods meant that the natural prey of these beasts have been chased away or hunted down. Best to be on his guard.

And yet it was not the growling of wolves or shrieking of gibberlings that made him pause. Instead, he heard voices. Two voices. Faint and indistinct, but close by.

He hesitated. Had he gotten too close to the brigand group? Based on the tracks, he was at least several miles behind them, thus should not be within hearing range, even with his elven ears. He tilted his head and listened intently – the voices were from the east, the tracks head north. It could not be his quarry; the tracks did not add up. It was possible that there is another group of travellers plying the same route. But any traveller worth their salt would not be making such noise in the wilderness.

As he contemplated the situation, the voices began wafting closer to his position, effectively taking the decision out of his hands. Looking around, he noted that the foliage was still dense in that area, more than adequate for him to conceal himself despite the bright afternoon sun. So, he blended into the natural shadows of the trees around him and waited.

"How do you know we're going the right way, though?"

"I don't. I'm going north because the map says we should be going north."

Two women walked into sight. Dressed in travelling garb and armed, both were of the same height with one more slender than the other. Likely an elf and a human. City folk, judging from the attire and how they spoke and carried themselves.

"Kinda wish we paid more attention to geography lessons, huh."

A sigh. "Well, never thought I'd actually need map-reading skills, Im."

As they stepped closer, Kivan realised that they were both noticeably young. Girls, not women. The elf was pale-skinned and slim even by elven standards. She seemed fatigued and roughed up, a crimson patch staining her left shoulder, where her leather vest ended. With a bow on her back, her human companion appeared more energetic, bright eyes darting here and there as though trying to capture every scene around her.

While their steps were light, they were not careful enough to avoid disturbing twigs and stones which clearly heralded their passing to any predator, man or beast, in the vicinity. And they were currently heading on the same path that the brigands were on. If these two were captured by those men, death would be a blessing before it came.

A flash of memory appeared in his mind, of dead blue eyes staring up into the sky and bloody, slender fingers curled up against the ground. His hand tightened on his bow and he knew by sheer instinct that he could not let these girls walk into that fate.

"Hail," he said, stepping slowly out from the shadows.

The girls almost leaped back in surprise, alarmed at the sudden appearance of a hooded man seemingly out of thin air.

"It is not often that I come across strangers in this part of the world. What takes you out this far from civilisation?" he asked, keeping his hands open and within sight.

The girls shared a long, nervous look with one another before the elf inched forward.

"Good afternoon, sir," she stammered. She swallowed to steady herself, her hand resting lightly on her sword hilt. Her eyes were wide and wary, trying to gauge his threat level. "We…well, we are on the path to the Friendly Arm Inn. If I may ask, what brings you out here?"

Kivan raised an eyebrow at her mannerism, which was clearly out of place in the wilds. He noted that her friend was furtively scanning around the area, either for an escape route or more random strangers to leap out from the trees, he could not tell for sure. Suddenly remembering his own manners, he lowered his hood to let them see his face. He did not miss the raised eyebrows of the elf as she took in his pointed ears and elven features with great interest.

"Hunting," he answered simply. "And this is not the path to the Friendly Arm."

"It's not?" asked the human in dismay. She promptly clapped her hand to her mouth as the elf shot her an aggravated look.

The elf turned to him again. Seeing a fellow elf seemed to have allayed some of her fear. She took a deep breath and decided to go with honesty this time around. "Please, sir. You seem to know this area. We have been going in circles for a bit, and we'd appreciate if you could point us in the right direction. We need to meet some friends there."

He took another look at the girls. Barring the bloody stain on the elf, their clothes were clean, their boots barely soiled. The equipment they carried look new and their grip on their weapons seemed unsure. He wondered if they may have been separated from another group…a group that was meant to protect or care for them. That would make more sense than two girls wandering around the wilderness without the necessary skills to navigate.

"You walk in bandit country," he told them. "I can point you the way, but the fastest route brings you close to the bandits I've been tracking."

"Oh," the elf hesitated. "How can we avoid them?"

"Avoid their tracks."

Her eyes flicked to the ground as if expecting to see marks of some sort. She swallowed again when she likely realised that she did not even know what she should be looking for. Her companion fidgeted behind her, likely arriving at the same conclusion.

"Well, we're not really the 'tracking' sort," admitted the human sheepishly.

"Downside of never being out in the wild." The elf's smile was nervous. "If you could show us the way?"

Kivan exhaled slowly, brows furrowing. "You need to get to the Friendly Arm?"

"Yes. We really need to meet our friends. We will be out of your hair after, we promise." A tinge of desperation coloured the elf's voice.

He glanced northward. The Friendly Arm was but five hours away on flat terrain. It would take almost no effort on his part to get there and back within half a day. But the trail would have grown cold by then and he will lose his quarry.

And yet, what sort of ranger would he be if he refused to help these girls get to safety? He was not so far gone that he would contemplate abandoning innocents to a grim fate. Perhaps this was the Gods' way of answering his puzzle earlier in the day. Perhaps he could try his hand at the Friendly Arm Inn to find allies for his hunt. It was a tack he hadn't tried in the year he'd spent weeding out the bandit menace.

"I can lead you there," he offered, surprising himself.

"Really?" The human's eyes lit up at that, her smile warm and grateful.

The elf, however, was not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you. We appreciate it." The elf gestured to herself and then her companion. "I am Elene and my friend here is Imoen. I promise we will find a way to repay you."

"Kivan," he replied gruffly. "Word of advice, do not offer such words to just anyone you meet." He turned, moving towards the underbrush he knows will lead to the main arterial road leading to the Inn. "Come if you wish to reach there by sunset."

He did not glance over his shoulder to see if they would follow. The scurrying sound of feet after a pause was enough to tell him what he needed to know.

After half a mile, he had to regulate his pace to accommodate to theirs. It was clear that they were unused to long treks. Briefly, Elene and Imoen told him that they were from Candlekeep. Elene's father was killed in an ambush before they could make much headway in their journey – from her description, it did not sound anything like the bandits he was pursuing. At least, his suspicions about them being wholly unprepared for a dangerous journey were confirmed.

"What were the brigands after?" Kivan asked, wondering if this was a new group of bandits in the area.

Elene tugged at her sleeve. "He…the man said he was looking for me."

"Why?" he asked, giving her a curious once over, noticing that she had doe-like green eyes. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but hardly worth the effort of hunting for in the middle of the wilderness at night.

"I don't know, I'm just a nobody. My father…" she shook her head, "he never said anything."

He considered that for a few moments. While he was somewhat unfamiliar with this region, he did know that Candlekeep was a human library fortress. An unusual place for an elf to claim as origin. "You've never ventured out of Candlekeep before?"

"Well, no. There was never any reason to."

She glanced down as she said that and offered no more. There was an unspoken 'until today' at the end of that sentence, he could tell. His gaze flicked to the other girl, Imoen. She was looking over at her friend in concern. He refocused on their path forward, deciding to take a less direct route to the Friendly Arm in case these girls had enemies in pursuit.

"Kivan," Elene said after a long lull. "You mentioned you were tracking bandits?"

"I did."

She seemed to struggle with something for a moment, but curiosity won out. "Why are you tracking them?"

"Their leader took the life of someone very dear to me."

"Oh. I'm…sorry to hear that."

He did not respond. Condolences meant nothing to him. Only vengeance has meaning.

"Um, Kivan?" It was Imoen this time. "How long does it take to get to the Friendly Arm from here?"

"Five hours."

He picked up his pace. Although he had not spotted traces of any brigands on their current path, all this talking was bound to attract some attention soon. The girls had no choice but to walk faster to keep up.

They eventually reached the Coast Way without molestation. The sun had moved further west but Kivan estimated that they could still reach by sunset. The girls smiled at the sight of a paved thoroughfare which would be kinder on the feet, but he felt uncomfortable walking in the open. At his gesture, they instead shadowed the treeline which traced the outline of the main thoroughfare. It was harder to get ambushed this way, he told them.

Being close to the treeline then put them closer to things living in the deep wood. Soon enough, he had shot and killed several gibberlings, dispatching them before the creatures could close on the travellers. As he inspected some of the carcasses, he noted that they all looked starved. Imoen also shot one of the beasts but due to her inexperience, her shots tended to wound instead of killing outright.

As they drew close to the monolith marking the crossroad linked the Lion's Way to the Coast Way, Kivan spotted a man leaning on the structure, seemingly smoking a pipe. The man was dressed in red traveling garb, topped off with a rather large hat. Kivan was instantly wary when the man looked up and started walking towards them.

As he stepped closer, they could see that he was an old man, with snow white hair and beard. Despite the seeming aura of harmlessness he exuded, there was cunning in his eyes and his smile was enigmatic. He looked directly at Elene as he spoke.

"Ho there, wanderer. Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man," the man greeted warmly. "It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road and I've been without decent conversation since. Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, might I enquire which pertains to thee?"

Elene blinked at the question. The surprise and strain she was feeling did not put her up to responding in a particularly polite manner. She shot the old man a sceptical look. "Not to imply anything, sir, but how do you measure up to your own standards? Accosting strangers about their mental state doesn't seem all that well adjusted to me."

Kivan spared her a sidelong glance while Imoen twitched uncomfortably.

The old man, however, chuckled at her reply. "Point well taken…and thou hadst answered my query most adequately. I shall think of thee as determined instead. I shall trouble thee no more as thou art more than capable of the task at hand. North is the Friendly Arm Inn, where I am certain thou shalt find trustworthy friends awaiting. I have said too much and taken too much time from thee." He tipped his hat. "Fare thee well."

And off he went, with the three travellers watching his retreating back.

"How did he know we were going to the Friendly Arm Inn?" Imoen asked in the silence that followed.

"I don't know. But I think we should hurry." Elene looked to Kivan. "Can we go?"

Strange as the situation seemed to him, he was not going to argue. They continued northward in silence.

Author's Note:

I've always been fascinated by the story of Gorion's ward since playing Baldur's Gate decades ago. During lockdown, I finally put pen to paper for my first attempt at character study, where the story will explore multiple POVs at it progresses. Hope to hear your feedback because the best we can do is to aim for progress. :)