This new chapter is going to push things in a new direction. While the beginning said that this will follow the general feel of ME, I do plan to throw some of my more personal favorites of genres into the mix. If you do not prefer fantasy to intermingle with sci-fi, then this is not for you.
Chapter 1; The Toril Incursion
1435 DR
Baldur's Gate, the Western Heartlands
The Forgotten Realms of Toril
Despite her young age, the warrior who traversed the rooftops of Baldur's Gate was already an almost well-known household name among those that lived in the Western Heartlands. It was late evening, the moon high in the sky with very little cloud cover to block out the pale light that it gave off. Night was and would always likely be considered a time of assassins, but it was also considered the time of the Drow, dark elves that lived deep underneath the Realms' surface in massive subterranean cities, deep within the labyrinth like cave system called the Underdark.
Despite her heritage, the warrior who was currently on a job for a group called the Harpers, an organization that made it their business to protect the Realms from any and all threats that made it impossible or near enough for the Realms to protect themselves, was nothing like her dark elven kin. She was a mix of both dark and light elven kind, her mother being that of the moon elves to be precise, while her father was of the dark, specifically the Drow. If that wasn't enough, her father was famous; almost if not actually legendary among the people of the Realms for all of his good deeds and heroic adventures he had undertaken during his time as an adventurer, much like his daughter was now except she had been raised strictly on the surface.
The past aside, this particular warrior had business to attend to as she easily jumped a street-wide gap and rolled to her feet on the other side, never losing her pace as she traversed the stone rooftops of one of the biggest cities, besides Luskan perhaps, which was situated on the often treacherous Sword Coast, treacherous because of pirate raiders that came from the islands that dotted the Sea of Swords to the west of the Coast, among the monsters that made Toril their home.
This was just another day for her, another chance to prove she was not dictated by the color of her skin or what it represented for that matter. Dark elves, half or otherwise, were feared for very good reason, despite past stories of isolated villages of the darker cousins to the light elves living peacefully with the general population of Faerun. They had rightfully earned a very dark reputation of being chaos incarnate, evil, and xenophobic to the point that anything not dark elf, Drow, was considered an enemy of some level or another.
The woman herself was easily seen as a warrior of no small skill as she nimbly and agilely descended the side of a manor that stood on the edge of the upper-class part of the city, using her quick speed and dexterity to easily climb down the wall of the estate and land lightly, silent as a breeze, onto the cobblestone pathways that ran through the area like a spider's web. She had been told to meet her contact by the formerly-owned Bloodmire Manor, a dark and gothic-like estate that had had its own history of the macabre and bloody stories one would expect of a vampire, not of a human 'scientist' that had wanted to transcend life and death with horrid results. Now in ruins and long since abandoned due to its gruesome history, the dark elf/light elf hybrid let her deep, chestnut-brown eyes sweep over the darkened streets since, despite being in the upper class area of Baldur's Gate, the area around Bloodmire was unkempt, and thus, the magical lights else were dead, their enchantments having worn out long ago.
Her eyes flashed as she blinked, switching from her normal vision to infrared, and found who she was looking for before he saw her. It paid to be able to sneak around since she had fallen into one too many traps in the past, and therefore, she was quite cautious because of it. Letting her eyes change back a moment later after getting a good look to see that the red, orange, and pink heat signature of the single human was truly alone did the Harper assigned warrior step out of the shadows and make her presence known. "I am Giselle Do'Urden. I've come in regards to information you are told to possess regarding a recent kidnapping of the Grand Duke's daughter by the reformed Hands of Glory."
The human turned and gasped at being surprised so easily by the warrior before him, but it wasn't just his obvious surprise of being so easily crept up upon, it was the beautiful, yet obviously deadly woman that stood before him that also surprised him. Slender as a willow wand, dressed entirely in black from head to foot, it was clear that despite her dark appearance, that if she had a mind to she could have easily won the hearts and minds of any man or woman she wished.
Long, lustrous silver gray hair that fell down to the middle of her back when it was free to do so, currently bound in a long tight ponytail, perfectly smooth and an unmarked black ebony heart shaped face set with topaz-colored brown eyes, and while it wasn't obvious in the dark and because of her armor that covered her slender, hourglass figure, Giselle was a battle-hardened warrior of countless fights, her body covered in scars from the neck down. Each was a story, each was a testament to her skill in combat, but just simply observing the confident way she held herself was even more proof of her experience so far.
Some would argue that at the age of 50, Giselle shouldn't have nearly as many marks on her onyx skin if she was as well trained and well known as was rightfully rumored of her, but then if you took into consideration who her father was, then it wasn't so hard to believe that she might have gotten in over her head a few too many times and somehow survived to tell the tale. Enemies had a tendency to remember you if your family were anything to go by, and in the 30 years of adventuring she had met a few of her father's old foes, the few that yet lived anyway. Of course, she had made a few of her own since, but that was for later consideration.
The man himself was nowhere near as impressive as he nodded his head towards her, speaking a moment later after recovering his wits, his voice gruff and rugged in comparison to Giselle's soft yet confident tones that had graced his ears. "Yeah, warehouse district on the other side of the city, same as last run through, if the old stories be true, Miss Do'Urden. The ransom demands are to be met by this time tomorrow, or the girl dies. I risked my neck, and I hope you have something to compensate my time." It was no secret that the grizzly like man before her was a mercenary first and foremost, and his rugged attire only proved that point further since he wore rough looking studded leather armor, covered in the dirt from the road here most likely.
Besides a faded brown cloak and a matching leather belt, Giselle could see a simple straight sword on his left hip which had seen many fights from the dents and scratches she could see on the blade, its sheath just as beat up as the blade itself. Poorly maintained weapon that it was, she could see it still had a sharp edge to it amazingly enough.
"How about I let you live? Life is at stake, and all you care about is getting paid? Tsk, it's little wonder you were told to be quite the mercenary, Trask," Giselle replied, not amused as she crossed her arms over her chest, her black mithril chainmail hardly making a noise as the links in her armor moved against each other because of the change of position. Trask rolled his own pale blue eyes and threw his hand up in the air, and Giselle could see she had not made him a happy customer. Good, she didn't like mercenaries much anyway, most of the time anyway. There were exceptions to every rule but Trask didn't fit that very small exception she had made from past experiences.
"Maybe I'll let slip that you're coming…" What happened next was far too fast for the human to follow as the half Drow closed the distance between them in an eye blink and suddenly, there was a long diamond edged scimitar blade pressed against his throat, point first. He swallowed nervously and didn't dare breathe too deeply lest he run himself through and subsequently died from drowning in his own blood. The rumors of her prowess hadn't been exaggerated after all it seemed, and now he was seeing that for himself as he was unable to meet the sudden fire that had overtaken the woman's jewel-like eyes.
"Now that I have your attention listen up, Trask. I don't pay too kindly to snitches, nor will I be threatened by anyone, especially from the likes of you. If I find that you tipped off the Hands of Glory or any of their allies, be assured I will hunt you down to the Abyss and back if I have to. Now run along, or you'll find out first hand why the Drow are feared and hated in the same breath." Trask took that chance to run as fast as his legs could carry him the moment Giselle's sword pulled away from his neck and kept going until he couldn't run any longer, but he needn't have worried since Giselle had no intention of following the mercenary, tonight. She would make him hurt if he did let slip that she was on the hunt, but she'd hand him over to the city guards of whatever town she happened to be closest too at the time. Killing without a reason was not her way. She had a bit of a trip ahead of her, but Giselle was sure she could get inside the hidden base of operations for the guild of powerful assassins and thieves and out before the sun came up. Too bad she'd be interrupted along the way, but again that was for later consideration as she made her way to her new destination. She had much to think about along the way, mainly what the stories had said about the Hands of Glory last time they had been in operation.
Her father and a group of adventurers had hit the guild hall these reformed assassins called home hard, leaving few if any survivors. The previous floor plan had been mapped out during the initial raid, but with the past reconstruction of the city from a recent calamity that had swept across the Realms in the past 40 years, it was unlikely to help her now but she had taken the map all the same from her father's journal upon her last visit home, having heard rumors of the assassins long before she had arrived there a week ago.
It was always best to be prepared, especially in her line of work since the dangers of being an adventurer only got worse with the times as they were these days. Chaos still reigned in many places that had once been bastions of hope against the coming tide of anarchy with the Time of Troubles having come and gone, as well as the Spellplague that had followed close behind. Now, Toril, her world, beautiful still in most places, was slowly falling to what the deaths of certain gods in her world's pantheon had unleashed. People like her that were willing to risk life, limb, and more were fewer now, but while she drew breath, there was little chance she'd sit by and let things get worse if she could do anything about it.
The end of the first actual chapter and the introduction of my oldest RP character in my considerable list of DnD inspired characters. So, how does Sheppard get involved with this world where magic rules the day? Find out next time.
The Time of Troubles: The Time of Troubles, also known as the Arrival, the Godswar and the Avatar Crisis, was a cataclysmic time period in the chronology of Faerûn. Taking place during 1358 DR, the Year of Shadows; the Time of Troubles was a period during which the deities of Faerûn were forced to walk the earth in their mortal avatar forms. Several major deities died during the Time of Troubles (see Deaths, Ascensions, and Resurrections) and a handful of mortals rose to divinity.
Harpers: The Harpers are a semi-secret organization dedicated to promoting good, preserving history (including art and music of old) and maintaining a balance between civilization and nature by keeping kingdoms small and the destruction of plant life to a minimum. They consider the elven empire of Myth Drannor shortly before its fall to be the pinnacle of civilized history and strive to recreate the world in that image.
Those Who Harp are led by a council of seven High Harpers, who are responsible for most of the group's long-term plans and goals. High Harpers are elected through the means of secret ballots among the other High Harpers, with the criteria being long time service and extreme discretion in the implementation of their plans.
The Harpers have disbanded three times in history, the most recent group is based only in areas in Luruar.
Drow; Drow are a dark-skinned sub-race of elves that predominantly live in the Underdark. They are generally evil, exceptions including Drizzt Do'Urden, Zaknafein Do'Urden, Jalynfein, Tos'un Armgo, Liriel Baenre,Jarlaxle, and Qilué Veladorn and other followers of Eilistraee. They are shorter than many other sub-races of elves and, in common with most Underdark-dwelling creatures, have a tremendous resistance to magic. They also have a much higher birthrate than most other elves, but strife tends to keep their numbers down.
Baldur's Gate; Baldur's Gate is a metropolis and city-state on the Sword Coast and Western Heartlands blend, on the north bank of the river Chionthar about twenty miles east from its mouth on the Sea of Swords. It is to the south of the great city-state of Waterdeep and to the north of the country of Amn, and is located along the well-traveled Coast Way road. A person from Baldur's Gate is known as a Baldurian.
This wealthy port metropolis, which according to many accounts its population has superseded that of Waterdeep, is an important merchant city on the Sword Coast. Its strong watch and the presence of the powerful Flaming Fists mercenary company keep the city generally peaceful and safe.
Spellplague; The Spellplague is a malady that struck Realmspace on 29th Tarsakh, 1385 DR and was caused by Mystra's assassination at the hands of Cyric and Shar. With the goddess's death, the Weave, the universal structure of arcane forces, convulsed. It continued for a decade, leading to the Wailing Years, during which time arcane magic ceased to function and the planet of Toril was transformed. The break-down of the Weave could be felt by all wizards across Faerûn.
Abyss; The Abyss was the birth place of the demons, a chaotic evil universe unto itself with uncountable layers of infinite variety connected haphazardly. The Abyss's place in the cosmology of the Forgotten Realms shifted over time but the nature of the plane remained fairly constant: a violent, malevolent place where the strong survived on the backs of the weak, the weak conspired to overthrow the strong, alliances only lasted while convenient, and the landscape itself tortured the mind and body of all who dared to pass.
Mithril; Mithral, also sometimes mithril, is a precious metal produced from ores found in mountain ranges in certain areas of Faerûn and in the Underdark. Mithral is produced with a process similar to that of steel smelting. Items made out of mithral weigh half as much as similar items made of steel. Pieces of armor made mostly out of mithral are very light, therefore they allow the wearer to make better use of their natural agility and are less restrictive on the spellcasting.