INTRODUCTION

Hello one and all, and welcome to my written journey through the story of Baldur's Gate.

It's been a good number of years since I've last played the games, or even read the stories on here, but lately I've been drawn back, and after rereading some old favourites (Arabellaesque's story of Maiyn, and Slide's tale of Harrian) I got struck with the bug.

So, this is, hopefully, going to be a story in three parts, charting the journey of Tal from first leaving Candlekeep, to the end of Throne of Bhaal and a little bit beyond. Hopefully I can make this interesting and different enough for you, dear readers, to enjoy and review. And hopefully I get some dear readers, otherwise I'm just yammering into the void here, and that won't be good for my fragile ego!

But, anyways, here we go.

The disclaimer: I own nothing here except for Tal and maybe a couple of original characters.

LEAVETAKING

Tal watched the three figures emerge from the mist, each one armed with a two-handed sword and clad in rain-slicked chainmail. They spread out as they approached, and Tal shifted his weight onto his left foot, tensed and ready to spring, a long, slender sword held loosely in his left hand. He had to be fast, he knew that, they had the advantage in numbers and strength. But despite that, and despite looking like a stiff breeze might knock him over, Tal knew he had both the speed and skill to come away from this fight victorious. It was just a simple matter of making the right move.

'Easy lads,' the one in the centre warned, his voice muffled underneath a plain steel helm. 'Don't let him-'

He never got the chance to finish his warning. Pushing off from his left foot, Tal angled to his left, darting forward with blinding speed, his sword a blur as he brought it into play. The one to his left cursed and attempted a vicious slash with his sword, but he had no chance against Tal's speed. Slipping inside the armoured man's reach, Tal cut up with his sword, taking his opponent across the neck. And as Tal slipped on by, the other crashed heavily to the rain-soaked cobbles, his fight over.

'Damn,' the man in the middle snarled, twisting at the hips to meet the threat on his left.

He also never stood a chance. A strike to the wrist sent his blade spinning away, and as he tried to retreat, Tal brought his sword back and up, chopping into his neck, sending him to meet the same fate as his mate. As soon as that one was down, Tal hurdled him, racing cat-quick to meet the last man. But that one hadn't been idle, and before his companion had even hit the ground, he was charging in to attack. Tal met him, deflected away a brutal slash and danced inside his guard, his sword hammering into the taller man. And as he, like his two mates before him, hit the ground in a heavy metallic clatter, a loud chorus of jeering laughter rent the air.

'And that's old Hull put on his arse once again,' one of the louder voices roared. 'That's five gold ye owe me, Dreppin, ye better be good for it.'

'I'm always good for it, Reevor,' a younger, quieter voice answered. 'Don't get your beard in a twist.'

Tal let the wooden sparring sword fall to the ground, brushed a lock of rain-soaked black hair from his eyes, and looked up with an easy grin to acknowledge his audience. Up on Candlekeep's great curtain wall, a dozen or so people had gathered to watch the show, and except for a gangly blonde haired young man and grey-bearded old dwarf, they were all members of the guard, hooting and jeering at the sight of three of their mates put on their backsides by a slender waif barely out of boyhood. Tal waved up at them and sketched a little bow, his grin stretching wider at the loud applause he received.

'Thank you, thank you, I'm always delighted to entertain such an appreciative audience.' His voice was light, musical, and was just perfect enough to lure young ladies into his bed. Or so Beth down in the village had said after the first time they'd shared a kiss.

'Lad, how's about you quit stroking your ego and help an old man to his feet?' The last man to go down tugged his helm off and tossed it to the side, revealing a lined, weatherbeaten face, framed by long greying hair.

'Ha, you're not old, Hull.' Tal extended a hand to the other man. 'You're just not as young as you used to be.'

'Too old to be sparring with you I think,' Hull grumbled, accepting the offered hand, and letting himself be pulled to his feet with a groan. 'The same can be said for those two idiots as well.'

Tal laughed and clapped the taller man on the shoulder, before walking away to pick up the black tunic he'd dropped next to the barracks earlier. It hung to his knees when he put it on, and thanks to the persistent rain it clung uncomfortably to his body. But he wasn't going to go without it, it was a part of his image, and Tal took great care with his image. He grinned again as he listened to the groans and curses of the other two guards, and he half turned to say something witty … words that died on his lips as he felt a presence watching him. A presence that awoke a cold, coiling worm of fear in his gut, for he could feel a wave of hatred emanating from that other who was watching him.

He glanced around, peering through the rain and up towards the inn, where he spied a tall figure, made hazy by the mist, watching him. At first Tal thought it was one of the monks, being robed and hooded as it was, but he knew every monk who dwelt within the keep, and not a one of them had ever made him feel afraid before, not even Ulraunt, and he had a foul temper when roused. So, no, that mist shrouded figure couldn't be a monk, and in fact, judging from the way it held itself and the breadth of its shoulders, Tal suspected that whoever it was, was a warrior. Which begged the question, why would a strange warrior hate him so?

'Maybe I should just go and ask,' Tal mused, knowing that such a thing could potentially be dangerous, yet possessing enough curiosity to risk danger regardless.

He'd barely taken a step in the stranger's direction, when the front door to the inn opened and three armoured men stepped out into the rain. The first out were two young men, squires Tal guessed. One had a shock of curly bright red hair, and a broad, pleasant face. He flashed a wide grin when he caught Tal's eye, and the young man liked him instantly. The other was dark haired, sported a well-groomed beard, and wore a look of such sourness that he could probably curdle milk just by standing next to it. Just looking at him made Tal's teeth itch. But they were unimportant because it was the man behind them who captured his interest. Iron-grey hair, matched by a short iron-grey beard, and wearing a suit of golden plate that gleamed even in the grim, grey morning. Tal recognised him immediately, he couldn't fail not to, he'd quite literally grown up on stories of the legendary paladin Sir Keldorn Firecam, and to see the man in the flesh was a wonder the young man might never forget.

Two sets of clanking footsteps snapped him out of his reverie, and a quick glance to either side showed him he was now flanked by Hull on his left and Fuller to his right. Neither man looked best pleased to see the paladin and his squires.

'How long have they been here?' Tal couldn't believe that someone like Keldorn Firecam had been in his home, and he hadn't known.

'Long enough.' Hull hawked up and spit on the cobbles, but only once he was sure the three weren't watching. 'Damn Amnish knights.'

'He's not just a knight, Hull,' Tal said, looking up at his friend in some surprise. 'That's Keldorn Firecam, he's a legend.'

'Lad, he might be a legend, but he's still from Amn, and those bastards are all up for starting a war.' Fuller was older than Hull, and the blotchy red cheeks and bloodshot eyes showed off his great love for wine. 'The council down there prob'ly sent him up to The Gate to plead innocence on this damned iron mess.'

'You really think they're to blame for that?'

'Aye, they're slippery enough for it, and no doubting that. Ain't that right, Hull?'

'Well, I wouldn't bet my sword it was them,' Hull answered slowly, as if giving it great thought. 'But if they are responsible, I wouldn't be showing any surprise, and that's the truth.'

Tal didn't know all that much about the current crisis enveloping the sword coast, only the rumours he'd heard from the guards and the servants of the visiting nobility, and none of them were reliable sources. But one thing did seem to be true, and that was that any iron forged from the mines at Nashkel was crumbling, rusting and useless within days. Popular rumour held that the southern nation of Amn was responsible for the trouble, as some sort of excuse to wage war on the city of Baldur's Gate. Tal though didn't believe that, it seemed too neat and convenient. He was just about to try and convince the other two of that, when another voice joined them.

'Talessin?' The speaker, an older man with long white hair and a matching beard, wandered slowly over to them, his deep red robes trailing on the wet cobbles. 'Your father has tasked me to find you, he is waiting for you in the library.'

'My father? Did he say why, Tethtoril?' Tal didn't know why his father would be looking for him at this hour, not when this was his day free from chores and study.

'He did not give me a reason, child.' The First Reader smiled benevolently, but Tal suspected otherwise, because nothing happened in the library fortress that the old man wasn't aware of. 'But you know Gorion, he does not like to be kept waiting.'

'Better make steps, lad,' Fuller put in. 'Don't want to get yourself in trouble now.'

'I guess you're right,' Tal murmured, all thoughts of strangers', both legendary and sinister, driven from his thoughts by the unexpected summons.

After a cursory goodbye to the three older men, Tal set off towards the library proper, the huge castle like structure that sat at the centre of Candlekeep, not quite running, but definitely moving fast enough to qualify as hurrying. He took the quickest route, cutting straight across the Court of Air, and past the chanters gathered there, reciting as they always did the prophecies of Alaundo. He shivered as he slipped by them, hearing Alaundo's prophecies had never made for pleasant listening, but today they filled him with a deep, unnatural chill. The day, already grey and gloomy, seemed to darken even more, and the strangest sense of foreboding surrounded him, and he knew, in a part of him he'd never felt, that his world was about to change.

Then he was past them, and that dark foreboding receded, and the day returned to just being merely miserable.

'Damn,' he muttered, clasping his hands together to stop a sudden tremble. 'What was that about?'

'Heya.' The greeting came from a young, pretty, auburn haired woman perched like a bird on the back of a bench, watching the day go by. 'Talking to yourself isn't particularly sane, you know?'

'Well, it's the only intelligent conversation I get whenever you're around, Immy.' He smiled brightly at her, feeling that foreboding slip away even further, because nothing dark was allowed to exist in Imoen's company. 'So, Winthrop let you have the morning off, did he?'

'Erm, well … not exactly.' She shrugged and stuck her tongue out at him.

Tal rolled his eyes and groaned theatrically. Imoen was his sister in every way possible except blood, and the pair of them had been close ever since Gorion had brought them both to the keep, fifteen years previously, but he despaired of her at times.

'That's just what I thought, you sneaked away again, didn't you?' At times Tal knew her better than she knew herself. 'He'll have you deep cleaning the entire inn with nothing but rags and soapy water, you know that.' She snorted a laugh. 'Listen, Immy, I'd love to stay and keep you company, but Gorion wants me, and I can't hide away from him.'

'I know,' she said softly, and Tal thought he could detect a hint of sadness in her eyes. 'You better get on, don't wanna keep Mr G waiting.' She smiled, but it was a smile lacking any of her usual good humour. 'I love you, big brother.'

Before he could respond, she hopped off the bench and scampered off, leaving him to stare after her in confusion. He shrugged and shook his head, wondering what had happened to bring that mood down on her, because it felt wrong to see his little sister sad, it was unnatural, like the world had been turned inside out. But whatever was wrong he'd have to find out later, because his father was waiting, and like Tethtoril had mentioned, he didn't like to be kept waiting.

Tal found his father in the main reading room, sat at a table in front of a marble statue of Alaundo, deep in discussion with Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes. The two looked up as he approached, and Gorion favoured him with a small smile. But to Tal that smile seemed forced, as if his father felt it was something he had to do, as opposed to something he wanted to do.

'Ah, Tal, Tethtoril found you I see.' Gorion pushed a hand through hair that had only recently started to turn grey, his onyx signet ring gleaming under the reading rooms magical overhead lights.

'He did, Father.' Tal stood at attention in front of the two older men, his hands clasped behind his back. 'What is it you wanted me for?'

'I'm afraid this is no social summons,' Gorion said, sitting up straight and favouring the young man with a keen, yet sad gaze. 'I have to leave Candlekeep, today, and you will be coming with me.'

'Leaving? But why?' Tal was honestly confused.

He couldn't deny that the thought of leaving the keep brought him a thrill of excitement, after all he'd wanted to explore the world for many years. But he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. It felt strange.

'I have received news that concerns me, and I know that you have long wished to escape the confines of these walls.' At that Ulraunt grumbled deep in his throat and threw Gorion a glare. 'Ready a pack, and your sword, we leave within the hour.'

'Yes Father.' Tal took a step back, then hesitated. 'Is Imoen coming with us? Should I find her and make sure she'd ready?'

'No,' Gorion said, simply but firmly. 'Imoen will not be accompanying us.' And that gave Tal an answer for Imoen's earlier mood. Immy knew he was leaving, and she was upset by it. 'Later, if all goes well, I'll send for her. Now hurry yourself, we don't have much time.'

'Yes Father,' Tal said again, and gave him a quick bow before hurrying away.

'Are you sure this is the wisest course of action, old friend?' Ulraunt's voice was low as he watched the young man stride away.

'It is no longer safe for him within these walls.' Gorion pushed himself to his feet with a sigh. 'You yourself have already agreed with that assessment.'

'It is hardly any safer out there.' Ulraunt rose to stand with him. 'Considerably less so in fact.'

'A moving target is harder to locate.' He sighed again. 'Besides, it is also for the safety of everyone here that I take him.' He smiled briefly at his old friend. 'You've grown fond of him, haven't you?'

'Tal is one of our own, no matter the blood that flows through his veins.' The Keeper scowled as a monk wandered too close. 'And yes, I have grown fond of the boy, against my own better judgement as well.' Gorion laughed, a full, rich sound, and clapped the other man on the shoulder. 'What of the girl, Imoen? Is it safe to leave her here?'

'I believe it's for the best,' he said softly. 'I am still not certain that she shares Tal's heritage, and because of that it would not be fair to drag her into potential danger.' He adjusted his robes and moved away from the table. 'You will keep an eye on her, won't you?'

'Of course, my friend, two eyes if possible.' A rueful smile twisted his lips. 'Not that that will do much good with her, she has an uncanny ability to not be seen when she wishes, as Winthrop would testify.' He too moved away from the table, and clasped hands with Gorion. 'Good luck Gorion, I hope the gods allow us to meet again.'

'Me too, old friend,' Gorion murmured as the other man walked away. 'Me too.'

A/N

I decided not to include the two Candlekeep assassins here, the simple reason being, they're ok in the game to gain experience, but in an actual story them being there in the first place just doesn't work for me.