Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

My name is Kaltyra of the Dryne Wanderers. There was I born and there shall I die, in spirit if not in body.

How many nights have I spent curled between Kile and her cub? I would spend more, but I fear bringing her harm by attracting the humans or worse, the dwarves or elves. How jealous I feel at the simple life of a bear. You fight, you live, you mate, you prosper or die. Of course, she is as likely to find the tip of a spear in her heart as I, if I were honest with myself.

In some ways, though, she has it easier. She has a place for herself. Few animals dare fight her and her cub grows stronger and closer to leaving every day. There is an order to it. I am adrift and find rare comfort dashed as quickly as I find it.

Take, for instance, the Temple of Ilmater. Heh, human god of ‘mercy’. Well, not my god, that is certain. They were stupid enough to give me food and shelter and I have found that this stupidity has no end. Every day I am near the city I enter this place and take food, and every time they give without question. At least, without much question. I steal extra breads and other packable foods, but have been caught by the Saint and told to just take it if I would but ask.

I do, and share it with delight when people think I am generous in giving away what I have taken. I do not share often, and only in the proper way, after a hunt with fellow hunters or during a fire tale, to the teller. It has been relaxing in that place with Grah’Thok there and Zacham attending for prayer. The Saint gives me little trouble either. In fact I have been asked to train their pup, so I find myself growing familiar.

This was a mistake.

It was the eve of the Saint’s wedding and I had chanced in for food and some training with Lucky. There was an elf there, two that I had met there before. Siomir, the elven councilor who had known me for what I was and let me alone, and Rith who was quiet last we met. No more today. She bristled when I took food and sat beside the Saint.

“Careful, I might eat your blessed Saint.” I quipped cheerfully, hoping to diffuse suspicion.

The elven woman was having none of it and snarled for me to get away from Meri, that I was an infiltrator of my kind. The Saint tsked her, but she would not be dismissed.

“Don’t worry, I can make the torture slow and quiet. It won’t disturb the children.” She growled softly, eyes murderous daggers on me.

Shame. Shame to me for thinking I was safe here. Shame to me for getting comfortable in a human dwelling. Stupid stupid stupid. Despite my growing appetite, I found I could not eat after that. I know her for keen-eyes, I’m not sure I can hide from her. My nerves were on end.

“It was a joke, Rith.” Meri purred in gentle reproach “After all, even animals know better than to mess where they eat.”

I.. should have seen that coming, really. I rose to my feet, seeing the conversation was only going to spiral down from here. “I will go now. May you have many strong sons.”

I left but not before Rith gave a parting shot. “You’re wrong Meri, pigs crap and eat in their own filth.”

It was a mistake to get so comfortable anywhere in this infested place. Zacham is gone, Grah’Thok is gone. Lucavern has left the city for Candlekeep. Why should these creatures be what is clearly a rare and strange exception? I left the city....

And found myself face to face with Elvalia, my hunter.

Doesn’t anyone stay dead around here?!?!

She looked up, but I turned and bolted back into the city, darting into and then blending with the crowd. Talk about out of the cookpot and into the fire! BAH! Why do I let myself sink into worry over simple names when there is so much worse out there?? My heart pounded as I tried desperately to lose her. It was hours before I was certain she had not followed me.

Yes, I think Kile has it better than me, but she maybe has more sense than to walk into a city of humans.

............

I lie here, fitful. In my dreams I am a wind racing across the lands. I am a rock, solid under a warrior’s foot, drinking the sacrifice of spilled blood. I am the grass and moss that takes the corpse and breeds new life. I am the water that flows through everything and reaches everywhere. I am fire that burns and consumes. I am the ant that works diligently all day. I am the bat that flies unseeing yet all-seeing. I am the fish. I am the frog. The bird, the wolf, the bear.

I snuff as I stir from my sleep, warm under heavy furs. I groan softly and roll to all fours and pad to the stream outside. I lap the water and look lazily about. Then I happen to look down and see.. a bear staring back at me in the water’s reflection. At first I thought I was still dreaming, and thrill! I turn back to the cave and wrestle Kile awake. Kile lets out a bemused grunt and bats me off her. She is larger than I, but I don’t care. The cub yowls for attention and we romp and play, warm in the dying sun.

It did not last, as suddenly I was me again and the cub’s grip on my ear was suddenly a grip on my hood.

“Ack ack! Off!” I cried not very dignified at all. I shoved him off and got to my feet, dusting myself off.

“That,” I marveled at Kile, “was very different.”

Skinchanging. This is a new one to me. Stonetooth never mentioned that.

//Disclaimer: I may be getting names wrong so I apologize in advance!//

A human and an elf, Ander and Delphinn respectively. Kaltyra had first met Delphinn in the woods as he laughed and slew the lizardmen within. His face bore the tattoo of a mask and an almost permanent sly grin. Kaltyra was wary of him. He was stronger than her and had a streak of mischief a mile wide. But in the many hunts together the elf never even seemed curious of her past, her identity or her nature. By some unspoken understanding they only spoke of the hunt and never pressed into what their lives held personally. So, in a way, they got along.

Delphinn had begun hunting with a new human who wielded a crossbow and always gave Grah’Thok a long and lingering look. Kaltyra had quirked a brow at this and looked to Delphinn. He had shrugged and said simply “He has a past with orcs.”

Ander had not bothered Kaltyra much more than Delphinn, so they traveled in peace. Kaltyra thrilled in the hunt and hardly even complained when the hunters took her to the Sharp Tooth woods. What did she owe this tribe who spat at her feet and more, besides? Nothing, nothing but perhaps a bit of a reminder as to why orcs should stick together, rather than shunning their own. They crested a hill and who would you expect?...

Elvalia.

“The Fist want the chieftan’s head and I mean to deliver.” Elvalia explained to her party members who glistened with magic. She opened her mouth to say more but Delphinn gave a lazy wave.

Kal stepped forward, her instinct being to grab Delphinn and run, but she hesitated, it was too late.

“Well hello there.” Delphinn smiled brightly, eager at the prospect of more hunting partners.

Elvalia looked first at Delphinn, but Kal knew what was coming. She hissed “I have to go now, pardon.” and bolted away. The human and the elf lifted a brow to each other in confusion.

“I’ll find her.” said Ander and he headed out while Delphinn turned back to Elvalia.

..........

Kaltyra ducked into a bush, and came out again as a wolf – dark furred and mottled with the self same amber colored eyes as her true form. She crouched in hiding, knowing if Elvalia found her, at least she would only find a wolf, and not her quarry. It was a gamble, but Kaltyra did not wish to be taken by her. That elf wanted blood.

Ander came around looking puzzled, calling for her. Kal waited, looking out for a charging Elvalia, but when she saw none she stepped back to her true form and approached. “Yes?”

“Holy geez!” Ander spun around. “How did you – oh.. You’re a druid?”

Kaltyra dipped her head. “I am sorry to have left so fast, but that woman wishes me dead, I fear.”

Ander’s smile faded. “We can’t have that. I left Delphinn there alone.” He turned and headed back up the hill. “Well? Come on?”

Kaltyra hesitated, then fell back into her wolven form and trotted beside him, just another ranger’s animal companion.

.........

Kaltyra had to keep from snickering as one of the party members began cooing over ‘the puppy’ and wanting to pet her. She sat on her haunches, acting the part of the well-trained animal and panted while she watched the proceedings. They were not going well.

“She and I have unfinished business.” Elvalia was explaining.

“I see, and this is because...?” Delphinn asked.

“She’s a treacherous orc, that’s why.”

“WHAT?!” Ander interrupted the talk in sudden outrage. He spat to the ground near Kal’s paws. Kaltyra flattened her ears and made herself small.

“She’s an orc, so I plan to kill her.” Explained Elvalia “Didn’t you know?” She looked past them then sighed. “Ah well, she’s long gone by now and we still have a job to do. Let’s get that head.”

They hustled off leaving Delphinn, Ander and the wolf alone. Delphinn grinned. “Congratulations Ander, it seems your power is increasing.” He nodded towards Kaltyra with appreciation. “And so well trained too.”

“Is that true?!” Ander snarled at the wolf. Kaltyra dipped her head and tucked her tail.

“Eh... Why are you yelling at your dog?”

“It’s not mine, it’s Kaltyra!” Ander gesticulated angrily where Kaltyra huddled in wary concern. Wonderful. Now she had two hunters?? She backed up slowly, eyeing both people.

“Oh, well then it seems -your- power has increased.” Delphinn dipped his head to the wolf.

“She’s a damned orc! We’ve been traveling with an orc!”

“Now now, I know you have history...”

“A liar and a infiltrator to boot!”

Delphinn looked to Kal thoughtfully. He touched his ear and flicked a bit of his hair, a sign meaning ‘We should leave here, there are too many ears.’

Kaltyra snuffed in agreement and trotted away down into gnoll country. Along the way, her skinchange faded and she walked as herself once more. Ander turned on her, demanding an answer. Delphinn tried to get in the middle, but not entirely, seeming also wary of her now. Kaltyra was tensing more and more when a group of bark-clad druids rounded the bend, grinned darkly, and began to cast.

Already in panic mode, instinct hit faster for Kal than the others. She bolted. Magic slammed where she had been standing. She looked over her shoulder to see vines grabbing the other two as creatures of earth and air surrounded them and beat them into a bloody heap.

..............

“Yes! Help! There.” I had skid to a stop on seeing another elf near where the attack had been. Heh, the dark part of me did not really care if he died or lived. He was just an elf after all. Like so many fools around here he leapt into action and raced towards the dark druids. Conveniently, they had taken out a problem for me. Ander would not be asking any more questions.

Still... Delphinn had hauled my body to be healed once. For him I would go back. I snuck back, letting the newcomer take all the attention while I grabbed what was left of Delphinn. As I moved away I saw Ander’s body lying there. Bah, Delphinn called this one friend. If I left him there to rot, I could kiss all the work I’d done in cultivating Delphinn as an ally goodbye.

Curses. Fine. Fine! So I grabbed the other body. Hefted their bloody remains onto a shoulder each and trotted away as the druids and their fellows swarmed on the stupid do-gooder. Elves, just about as stupid as humans.

For an orc I am weak, but carrying two bodies? Hah, that is nothing for me. How else would I be a good hunter if I could not drag back the giant mycanoids or hulks slain for food? I brought them to the gates, presenting a worrisome look. Blood and ichor dripped down my white bone armor and grey cloak, staining it a dark red brown in gruesome patches. I liked the change, but there was a large group of people there, all staring at an abnormally large creature holding corpses.

It is like getting caught with your hand in the stew pot and trying to swear you were only adding ingredients, not stealing at all. I saw Ivaris. He had no love for me, but no hatred either. “Please. Help them.” I set the two down gently, trying to give off nothing but charitable well-meaning. Haven’t I seen enough of that strange disease around here to know how to mimic it?

They cried “What now?” and “How did this happen?”. Knowing I am a terrible liar, I told the truth. With a flurry of magics Ander and Delphinn were brought back. I watched their wounds heal, heard their hearts pump true, felt their first renewed gasp of life. The rest of the group threw protections around them and rallied out of camp towards where the druids had last been seen.

I felt a little bad about sending an army against those who had unwittingly helped me, but what could be done? So it was that I stayed behind and helped Delphinn up. Ander got no such aid. I had half hoped he would not be saved at all. Doesn’t anyone stay dead around here?

Still, he was up, walking woozily, sitting on some hay as his balance gave up. He wore a dark displeased expression on his face, as if he were as unhappy about being saved by one as me as I was about having to do it. “I guess I owe you, then.” He said after a time.

“Then, no more questions.” I said. He grimaced like he had been slapped, but I did not care. Finally he nodded assent and we left to return to our hunts. Not, however, to the Sharp Tooth woods.

--- And now for something completely different ---

I have loved you with an everlasting love,
I have called you and you are Mine.

~Jeremiah 31:3

Before you were born I was there. When you screamed with life I came to you. With your first breath you took me in and made me yours. I accepted you into my fold and we became as one. Never do you laugh, cry, or rage without me. Never were you alone. Your sorrow is mine. Your joy is mine.

You who are the caves, the streams, the wind and waves of your home. You who speak for the stones and shadows. So too am I and so too do I act with you. When you left, I came with you. Your pride of your home, it is a pride in me, in us. You have stolen a piece of your land with you but I can only love you. I would follow you anywhere.

I will be there when you die and cradle your body with mine until it rests back with the earth, into the land that we are making ours. Yes, Kaltyra, we will take what we are and what we have and make it ours. Like a wandering seed we shall grow and make new from old. For you are I; and I am you. I am yours and you? You are mine.

.............

Kaltyra finds herself in the Dryne camps during a great festival.

BOM OM BOOM call the drums. CLAP SLAP STOMP echo the dancers.

“KORAH!”

She dips closer, following the stream of gathering orcs. As each nears the dance they join it. Hands fly up, then down. Hips shake and feet hammer the ground. Like a heartbeat, the tribe joins in unison, becoming one. Even she, a runt, joins in. She knows the steps, she knows the twists and the woops of the dance. They turn and spin, undulating like a kaleidoscope of life – strange patterns in the sea of orcs ripple in and out of focus.

“RAKTRA!”

BOM BOMBOM OM BOOM CLAP CLAPCLAP SLAP STOMP

She loses herself to the press to the wave of motion and hunger. They entice, they tempt, they demand with great feats of voice and grace, supplicating, being one with the heart of their homeland.

BOOM BOM BOOMBOOM STOMP CLAP STOMPSTOMP

“PARTOK!”

Kaltyra is in front now, a force driving her there against the sharp bright light of a roaring bonfire. They snap and twist dancing with her and long, tall shadows race up the walls, mimicking her moves. The Shadow spins, she spins. She leaps, it leaps. The line of leader and follower blur as all submit to the Dance.

BOM CRACKACRACKA BOOM CLAP RAPARAPA STOMP

“KREEBOC!”

The shadow and she meet eyes. Its the blood-red of the land, hers the gold-yellow of its soul. It holds out a spectral hand, and she takes it, pulling the Shadow free of the wall. They dance together, neither controlling, neither in charge. Both slave to the land’s drum beats. Both answering the same life-pulse until finally...

BOOOOOMMMMM

The wave of dancers drop to the ground. The fire dies as if snuffed like a candle. Kaltyra stands, panting, grinning, still staring at her Shadow. It bows to her and begins to speak in a low rumble of earth and wind.

“Before you were born I was there. When you screamed with life I came to you. With your first breath you took me in and made me yours. I accepted you into my fold and we became as one....”

There is more but it fades, and slowly Kaltyra finds herself awakening, finding herself in a dark starless shroud. She rises and breaths in deep. Then she looks to the side and smiles knowingly at the pair of blood-red eyes she sees watching her back.

Our author's meaning, I presume, is
A creature bipes et implumis;
Wherein the moralist design'd
A compliment on human kind:
For here he owns, that now and then
Beasts may degenerate into men.

~ The Beasts’ Confession by Jonathan Swift


Elvalia sat on the hilltop counting out her inventory. She was running low on salves and bandages, it seemed, and her blade could use sharpening. There was a rustle and her ears perked, eyes scanning the brush below her. A wolf appeared.

Elvalia smiled to herself and relaxed. Wolves hardly posed a danger to her, not any more. This one was less aggressive than most of the packs that populated the hills. It was more shy, like normal wolves. It probably smelled the meat in her food pouch, Elvalia thought to herself. Sure enough it edged closer so she pulled out a bit of rabbit meat and waved it tantalizingly, tempting the beast forward.

“Do you want to be friends?” She asked soothingly, dropping the meat a scant foot from her side. The wolf attacked the meat hungrily, making her laugh. “Well you are hungry, aren’t you?” It wagged a tail eager and looked up for more.

“Do you have a home little one?” She asked, pouring some milk into a cup and offering it while she broke the rest of her meal in half to share. The wolf of course did not answer, but instead took what she offered, all the while wagging it’s tail happily.

It warmed her heart, a companion on this lonely dark night. Elvalia sighed contently and reached out tentatively to pet the creature. It didn’t flinch or bite, so she began to rub it’s head. “You could come home with me. Would you like that? Poor thing.” She looked up at the sky as thunder rippled through the clouds. “Ack! Lets get shelter!”

Rushing off with supplies tucked haphazardly in her arms, the elf found refuge under a heavy fir and sat down. They were in deeper woods now, where branches locked out sun and rain, at least in good measure. The wolf whined softly and trotted closer. She smiled and rubbed it’s head, smelling of the musk of wet dogs everywhere. “I wonder if you belong to someone, given how tame you are.”

...........

Was it folly? Fate? I had been enjoying a romp through wolf country, fighting packs and howling defiance to the moon. Glorious, glorious night. Certainly I had not expected to find that huntress out here. At first I didn’t know what to do. Instinct said run but... I wasn’t a orc right now, was I? If ever there were a chance to learn what to do with her, this guise would be the way to do it.

She had been watching me when I rested by my companions at the Sharp Tooth woods. I could see in her eyes the temptation, the draw to pet me as the other female had. So... why not? I am almost always hungry, even though I sate myself whenever I can and the food is plentiful here. So I supped with her, wagging my tail in the universal signal that I was a friend.

Stupid elf... Heh.

She babbled on and on, but I wasn’t picking up anything useful. I would have to leave soon. I am still young in this power and my skinshift does not last long. I would have to come back another time. I set my paws on her chest and shoulder as I leaned forward to lick her goodbye but-

Look, I am still new to this, ok? Maybe I was too excited or nervous, or I just didn’t pay attention to how long I’d been a wolf. Regardless I turned back right on top of her. It was a disaster! I about died of shock and fear! I fell on top of her and she fell back, pinned to the ground. Thinking fast, knowing sometimes you must grab the tiger’s tail, I pulled the dagger I keep at my chest and pushed it on the elf’s throat.

“Ah ah ah.” I warned in a low growl. My voice shook but she took the threat well enough. She stopped struggling and stared up in shock, still trying to register how I had replaced her loyal companion. Wonderful... Now what??

I can’t kill her. She’ll come back and tell everyone and I’ll end up like Sven, head hunted and dead for good. I can’t just let her go, she’ll kill me without any fear of the Fist or repercussion. Damn it to the Deepness, why, why did I have to change then??

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Her words broke me out of my thoughts.

“I do not wish to kill you.”

A snort “You can drop the act, orc. I know you for an infiltrator” A pause then she added in shocked dismay “I let you eat my food!”

I laughed, exalting in having my hunter pinned and at my mercy, relishing her dismay and self-anger. “It was quite good.”

“So this is it then, you take that guise and slaughter me. I knew it.”

That made me frown. I really didn’t know what to do. So I said something that to this day when I think of it makes me cringe. “Actually truth told, I did not mean to turn back. It was an accident.”

Guh, way to sound menacing, Kaltyra.

She scoffed. “At least for once, now that you have me, admit the truth, orc.”

“I have a name, elf.” I growled back. “And the truth is I do not wish to kill you” Well.. Mostly true. If it would have solved my problems, she’d have been dead minutes ago. “Bodies leave trails, messy trails, and make problems for me. You are no use to me dead.”

“If you think this is going to make me ‘see that you’re really good’...”

I scoffed this time. “I have never claimed that. I just want to survive.”

“Then why in the city? No, you’re up to something.”

“I was dumped there.” I found myself admitting. “And I have allies there. The Sharp Tooth tribe will have nothing to do with me.”

She hesitated then, but seemed steadfast in her resolve to hate every ounce of my marrow. “So what now? I will still hunt you. I will still see you slain.”

“I..” I paused then brilliance struck me and I finished in a low dangerous growl. “I mean to make myself an unattractive target for you.”

She waited so I continued “I do not care how many orcs you kill, but you will find coming for me to be to your detriment. You saw what your friend did to you to protect me.”

“He is not my friend” She snapped angrily.

“Past friend, then. Well imagine what will happen if my friends find out you have come for me.”

She paled, I could see it was sinking in. I would not hesitate to use the tools at my hand, shamelessly.

“So go, hunt your orcs, but if you dare try me, you will find a small army hunting you in return. Elves, humans, yes. Then you will be the hunted and by your own kind.” I waited then nodded. “I do not want trouble. I will kill you if it would mean survival, but I would rather not. I will let you make of what I am about to do as you wish.”

I took her sword and threw it down the hill. Then I grabbed her hat and yanked it hard over her eyes, leapt off her and dove into the woods at full speed.

Elvalia did not follow.

On humans, elves, halfings, dwarves and other humanoids.

If someone were to ask Kaltyra her opinion of the races who surround her, she would probably tell some polite half-truth. She might point out that elves are lithe or halflings dexterous without also mentiong they are sneaky, malicious, bigoted things that desperately need culling. Often, for Kal, she called anything that walked upright and claimed to be 'civilized' as a human. It was a gross mis-naming and probably has confused many a person listening to her rant (when let us say, an elf has caused her trouble and she rants about 'humans').

The truth is, Kaltyra can't be bothered to dignify the races with proper names, or even proper disgraced names like 'pink skin', 'knife ear', 'stump' or 'tainted'. They are all enemies and when your life is almost entirely made of human enemies, it is natural to lump all that walk and swing an ax at you as human.

A human is half-blind mentally, a slobbering idiot in wisdom, a liar, cowardly, self-centered, traitor to bonds, promise-breaker, poison-minded and more to boot. Human was a curse word. When Kaltyra spits the word it has all the venom and acid of an elder Black Dragon. Human. Cockroach's have more repor.

Kaltyra was getting tired of dealing with them, but she still felt trapped. The world outside was too dangerous to stay there long and she couldn't travel too far without falling to bandits or giants. She was stuck staying near Balder's Gate and she resented it's populace all the more for it.

There was only one other enemy she hated and feared more than humans - the Drow. Drow, who could steal your mind and make your body serve as an empty husk. Serve as a slave while you watched helplessly from inside your own mind. There were horror stories. Occasionally a tribe would run across a survivor or.. 'an example.' Almost every single one was a broken thing, dead on the inside. The people of her tribe always had mercy on these orcs and finally ended their suffering. For weeks afterwards, the tales of warning and the heightened patrols would tense the whole tribe to the point of near breaking.

That was one thing she didn't have to worry about here, she thought;slave hunting parties. But no. Alarm bells were ringing as Kaltyra made her way from Balder's Gate. She got as far as the end of the bridge to find the road blocked by a swarm of Fist guards. She skid to a stop as Gerard stepped up behind her.

"What is going on?" She asked, praying to the rocks at her feet to not let the Fist take her.

"I don't know." Admited Gerard, the Fist a mess of efficient chaos. "But I have duties." He turned and barred the bridge gate shut.

Kaltyra was trapped. Her body blossumed with panic, eyes darting between the wall of guards and the tall wooden wall behind her.

"Any word on what's going on?" Asked Kaltyra's hated tiefling, Zix. He was the very same who enjoyed spilling her identity to others, though he had mellowed since Zacham's throttling.

"I don't know." Gerard repeated patiently to the glowing defense-laiden creature. "But stay back. I must guard the door."

Kaltyra pressed her back against a wagon. She tried to focus on the flower she kept in her hair, the one with the calming scent. It did her little good. Maybe if she had a good solid wall behind her instead of this flimsy cart she could steady herself. She couldn't draw weapons, the Fist might take that as a threat and attack her. "Please.. may I come closer?" She asked of Gerard.

She never got to find out the answer because there was a sharp sudden stab in her back, clipping her spine and Kaltyra fell with a cry of pain. There, standing where Kal's back was least guarded, was a Drow. They glimmered with magics and wore a satisfied smile on their face before they grabbed at the air and pulled the night over them like a protective shroud.

And vanished.

Zix and Gerard looked around, startled. The Fist let out a cry of surprise, looking around for the lost fiend. Kaltyra lay on the ground, life bleeding from her back, eyes rolling back. Finally, with a quiet curse, Gerard dropped his guard and risked applying a salve to stop Kaltyra's bleeding. He rose quickly to his feet and backed up so the wall protected him again.

Vision swam back to her, but our protagnoist couldn't do much more than move her lips. She tried to rise, to twist or even lift a hand, but she found herself paralyzed. She turned her head, desperate for help and found a wary Gerard and a smirking Zix.

Panic rose on her again. Mentally she struggled like a wildcat, but nothing would give! Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She was bait!!! Let the drow grab or kill the orc. An acceptable loss, an enjoyable one, even. Childhood nightmares rose unbidden; the souless eyes, the broken bodies. No.. no... NO! She pleaded in orc, head twisting, her words growing less and less intelligable. Kaltyra lost herself to the terror.

What happened later took some time for Kaltyra to piece back together. Left to her fate as helpless, prone, easily targeted bait, she had fallen into primal fear- all instinct. She lay there unaided as many came up to help defend the gateway to Balder's Gate. Some gawked, some laughed, but no one helped the maniacal orc. It wasn't until the Fool arrived that some mercy was found. It was too little too late.

When Alison relieved Kaltyra of her paralysis the orc leapt up, backing away from the bridge residents and hissing defensively. She grabbed for her sword, looking for some escape. Alison had said something, but Kaltyra cannot to this day recall what it was, only that she made placating gestures while Kaltyra dribbled frothing spittle down her face scarf and waited for the perfect moment to cut the woman's head off.

Luckily, maybe, the drow took this moment, as Kaltyra backed further away from the crowd, to strike. Kaltyra fell to the ground, trampled by the ensuing battle.

I cannot state enough the ripping agony of knowing you have died and come back, but it is ten times worse knowing you have another life that needs protecting and that each time such a thing happens, there should be no way that life is still around. Every time a priest or paladin lifts song to a god and begs her life returned, Kaltyra suffers sharp grief and fear. She has failed, her entire lot in life a lost cause, her entire goal ruined by foolishness. She never would admit this and suffers it in silent misery every time someone brings her back. Just as she suffered some time later after that fateful battle as a priest brought her to life once more.

That grief mixed with the fear and made a rage, a rage that boiled and threatened to take her. It was all for nothing. It was these damned humans' fault - leaving her like that, rather than giving her the mercy of a quick death. Monsters, each one! She could feel the edges of her red curtain and rushed the gate, slamming her shoulders into the smaller door and barreling through splintered hinges. Another second around those people and she'd be dead for sure whenever she was finished with her rage.

...........

I have debated thanking the Fool, but I cannot find the way to say it. It is not her fault that I was so long lost that I could not think to hide. I cannot be certain, but I think she elbowed a priest into bringing me back as well. So much as I wish the humans would all die of plague and leave me in peace, I think I would thank her.

I feel I have helped her enough, running before I tried to kill her, but I do not think humans understand what it takes to harness these things. You do not stop them, like a leashed animal, but ride them like a boat rides the waves. If a wave is dangerous, a boat may have to point specially towards it to survive from drowning. So too are my rages. As such, I doubt she would appreciate the effort it takes to keep from killing her. Nor, do I think, would it help my case as a temporary resident of this place.

Orcs that admit they always have inclinations to kill people do not last long. What am I saying? Orcs do not last long.

It does not matter, my words. She is content, surrounded by so many people I can never get her alone to speak. She is happy, what more can I offer to that? I will give her peace and space. That shall be my thanks.

Lucavern has now become a guardian for Candlekeep. Secretly I hate this. I cannot visit him anymore, as Candlekeep forbids masked entrants and kills orcs on sight. I find this amusing given their leader is a tiefling, and insulting given my people are lumped in with Drow of all things. But, mostly, I cannot find the energy to be happy for Lucavern. Candlekeep, to me, is worse than Balder's Gate. There is no refuge here.

There was one day, before I made my resolution to leave Alison to her peace, that I saw she was walking alone to Candlekeep. I thought I might finally have a chance to speak to her alone, but that was not to be. First, a tiefling (I would learn of his nature later) wanted to come during the walk. Then, as we neared the Keep, a group of Elves crossed our paths.

Now, I usually keep downwind of elves and dwarves. Some are trained to pick my race out by smell alone. However, I didn't have the time to move around without looking obvious, so I took a risk and stayed by Alison. One, a drooling elf I will always call Drool, sniffed the air and turned on me. "I would kill you now, orc, but I have more important things to deal with just now." He growled with hated.

Alison tsked and Drool responded by fingering his blades. "I will only tell you once, orc. Do Not go into Candlekeep."

He turned to catch up with the others, all hovering around a female. They headed up the road to Candlekeep. I stopped in my tracks as Alison and the tiefling turned to follow the elves. Alison turned and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on." She said with aggitation, the same exasperation I'd heard when she'd dealt with the orc-hunter at the sanctuary.

She snuck me in. I was terrified the entire time. This was going far, far from my plan of simply telling Alison I appreciated her ill-timed rescue. She was fighting with the elf she is mating, and they argued while I cowered behind a wagon, trying to stop my shaking. I was just in a fortress filled with people who wanted to kill me and ask questions later, that is all!!!

When the Fool finally came back to talk to me, I was heartbeats from making a run out of the place. She finally gave up and let me flee. That was when I decided it was not worth it to try and speak to her alone. I kissed the ground, grabbed Kile and held her tight and swore to stay far, far from Candlekeep.

The places I can go that are safe seem to shrink by the day.

How many elves in that council of theirs know what I am? Are they not renowned for hunting the woods and tracking the smallest trail? I am good, but I doubt my power against an entire clan of those things. Rith alone could likely catch me blind-folded. I am trapped again and even Balder's Gate is no sanctuary.

Even the sanctuary is no sanctuary. I feel that more of the elves are watching me now. How far has the word spread? Is there any place safe? Did Elvalia have something to do with this? I must get stronger, but there is no place safe. Even in Kile's cave I sleep in the Shadow of my homelands - and even then, the sleep is fitfull.

Trapped. Grah'Thok gone. Zacham gone. Lucavern gone for all purposes. Trapped and alone once more.

I miss my tribe.

My name is Kaltyra, of the Dryne Wanderer tribe. There I was born and there will I die, in spirit if not in body.

Cale is up to something, I just know it. No one can be that cheerful all the time. He never speaks his mind, always sacrifices and does what I wish. All the while smiling like a lost puppy. “Whatever you wish, Kaltyra” or “Any time with you is all I need, where ever we are.”

I don’t know this human from a hole in the ground (an improvement in many humans’ cases), so why does he attach to me like a leech??

Lies would tell you I turned him away and told him to leave me be, but I am foolish and desperate for allies. A proper orc would not lower themselves, but I do what I must. There are so few I can turn to, I am so trapped, that his kind words and easy attitude are like honey. That should have warned me right then and there, but no.

His name is Cale, and we met when I had found two male orcs freshly from their tribes. He interrupted our talk by offering his hand and a bright smile. “I’m Cale, nice to meet you.”

Well, I shied back and escorted my orc-compatriots away from him. Surely he was with the Fist and about to lay some sort of blame on us. It was best if we left in a hurry. But... he followed us. The brother orcs would be no use in talking to this human, but maybe I could divert him. I sent the males ahead and turned to face our stalker.

“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep the venom out of my voice.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Why?”

The man looked hurt and responded hesitantly “You looked like interesting people.”

I pointed a finger back down the way he had traveled. “Go. I have no time or patience for you or anyone.” I was still raw with the torture the humans had left me to after the Drow’s attack. It could be so easy to forget that humans were monsters, but right then it was not. But, rather than argue with me, or continue following, he frowned and headed back.

I couldn’t decide what that meant.

What is worse, the males left me soon after and I was alone again. Stupid humans. Stupid males. Having lived with virtually no privacy my entire life - with a swarm of orcs in your face at all times - being alone was maybe the hardest part of leaving the tribe. I will do right by my child, if I can. That is the only goal I can hold on to.

I spent the next few days with Kile, only coming in to train the Ilmater Temple’s pup and resupply. Even the threat of Drow and elves couldn’t bring me to seek comfort with the city people of Balder’s Gate. When I next saw Cale he was rushing into Nasher with a giant on his tail, causing a uproar as arrows and spears prodded the thing away.

Shamefully I was so low and desperate his bright smile was all it took to make me want to be around him. He and I hunted. Glorious! It was a relief to hunt with one so powerful. We felled many a beast I could not fell alone. His magics dashing between foes like skipping stones, my shield catching blows meant for him. By the end of a long, exhausting hunt we had spoken a great deal and I felt a world better than I had in days.

I later found out his brimstone scent, familiar from my time around Zacham, meant he was a warlock. The gnome Nerbert, ‘Snack Pack’ I think of him, was nevertheless useful in recognizing Cale’s powers for what they were.

.........

What to say about Snack Pack? When we met he called me ‘Jinella’, Grah’Thok he called ‘Albert’, and Lucavern he called ‘Pinky’. I laughed and took an immediate liking to the eager-faced gnome. Nerbert Lynchpin fresh off a boat, I think, hired us to escort him to Beregost. For all his annoying prattle and incomprehensible dribble about chemicals and magic he seems alright.

I can’t help but think of him as ‘Snack Pack’ because on our trip on the way back he wandered ahead of Grah’Thok who had taken the lead. A goblin had made short work of him and we had to haul his body all the way back to Balder’s Gate. Later I learned he had similar luck with his escort to the bugbear mines. The foolish gnome attracts death like a moth to flame.

He has some strange fascination with Grah’Thok and I and sometimes acts as if trying to encourage us to mate. He keeps notes on everything he sees and hears, I have heard he has stacks of notebooks in his possession. That might be useful someday. My handwriting is atrocious at best. I can’t grasp the fluid motion of writing and every letter is an exercise in frustration – thick blocky writing of the hesitant hand.

I learned recently he has joined the Weavemasters. I suppose they like how he sells magic items and researches incessantly. I think they do not realize how hard it will be to keep the poor gnome alive for very long. I think he is too lost in research to really notice or care what I am, but I would expect that to change the moment he needs an orc-heart for some experiment.

Maybe he’ll explode first, that’s what I hear gnomes excel at.

Snack Pack and Cale had a fight it seems. Cale had seen a dragon welp coming his way, had panicked, and shot the thing dead. Nerbert had yelled at him, thinking Cale had killed a Copper. Cale was devastated, so I beat him up until he stopped sulking. Then I bribed Nerbert with the wands he loves so much, with the promise he would apologize to Cale. This was easy, as Nerbert had later learned the welp was a Red.

Really, as if Warlocks selling their souls to demons makes them evil... stupid, maybe, but not necessarily evil. (I know you don’t need me to repeat what I think of humanity’s collective intelligence, but let me at least say that this whole selling your soul for power thing fits right in with what I’ve seen of human ‘wisdom’.)

I don’t buy into the morality of a people that condemn me for breathing, why should I condemn Cale for evil by their rules? Cale is grateful for my thoughts on this.

Ever since then when Cale sees me, he sticks with me as if sewn to my clothing. Even when my tasks are boring and unexciting or dangerous and life threatening he is there, following. I try to send him to the fire, to make him find more human allies, but he will not. He thinks I will save him if something goes bad. As if I could or would do something like that? I can only think he has some ulterior motive for stalking me so. What if he is a spy for the elves?

Cale is up to something, it is only a matter of time.

The woman circled her, staring with an unabashed grin. "Why do you wear a veil?"

Kaltyra kept her head ducked, trying to keep out of the woman's attentions. "Maybe I do not wish to outshine beauty such as yours." She replied demurely.

"Heh, I'm not worried about that, lass. Why not give me a peek?"

"I would rather not."

"That's a shame. I'd be willing to pay good money to see under all that clothing."

Kaltyra stiffled a snort of laughter.

"Normally I'd just pay the dock girls, but I you're interesting. It wouldn't have to be public like."

"Why would you even want such a thing?"

"Well, for pleasure of course. Y'know what dock lasses do, right?"

"No, I do not."

"Eh, tell you what. I'll take you down and buy you a free hour."

"A free hour of what?"

"With the dock lasses."

"And this will require me to take off my hood?"

"Hah! Not just your hood, darlin."

Kaltyra furrowed her brow in confusion. "I will pass then, thank you."

"Your loss. Think about it. If you decide you need the coin, you can find me."

............

"What do dock lasses do?" Kaltyra finally blurted out as she and Cale walked the long road back to Beregost.

The man stumbled in his walk, clumsily catching himself. "I'm.. sorry?"

"Dock lasses. Some female wanted me to do what they do."

Cale's face was turning a funny dark shade of pink. "Er.. ah... hm... I.. suppose orcs don't have ladies of the night."

Kaltyra stopped and turned to Cale in more confusion. "Assassins?"

The human took a deep breath and stumbled through an explaination. Kaltyra blinked, stared, blinked, then stared again. "You... -pay- for that?"

Then she stopped, a sudden horror washing over her. "She wanted to MATE with me?!?!" Kaltyra spit a series of thick curses shuddering. "Ngg! No! repulsive! She's -human-!"

"H..hey.." Cale frowned, looking hurt. "Not all humans are bad."

"Yes they are! Nngg with your pink danglie.. thing.. ugh it is like a little worm!"

"My pink.. what?" Cale's face getting a shade darker red if at all possible.

Kaltyra pointed in frustration "Ugh! Ngh.. Bleh.. I do not even know the word!"

The man shrank dejectedly then rallied with a hopeful. "Well, don't male orcs have... those?"

"Little pink worms?" Kaltyra snorted. "Orc males are mighty and strong."

Her companion shrank more, letting out a sigh.

"Cale, I already told you I have no interest in mating with you." Kaltyra said, finally shaking the mental image of one disgusting thought just in time for another disturbing one to take it's place.

"I know..." He sighed.

The pair walked in silence only punctuated with sighs from Cale and occasional shudders and cursed mumblings from Kaltyra. They did their business in Beregost without a further word to each other.

Finally on the way back north Kaltyra broke the silence. "I think I will have to kill that female next I see her."


................


She was in Nashkel, resting from the long journey against the towering fort's wall. It had been a long day, running errands across the better part of the lands she knew. A short nap was definately in order. Kaltyra leaned her head back and shut her eyes, minding wandering...

Amber eyes snapped open in shock as her hood was suddenly yanked back. She yelped in surprise, the tucked scarf falling as well. There, grinning in a crouch in front of Kal was the female who had proposed to her. They locked eyes, then the female blinked, really taking in what it was she was staring at.

"Oh... Oh! Lets cover you up quick, lass." She reached to grab the hood again but Kaltyra's balled fist slammed into the female's solar plexus. The female grunted, apparently unphased, then yanked the hood back up."

"You... you miserable.. you.." She scrambled to her feet, feeling the old familiar edges of red.

"Now now lass, I didn't know.."

Kaltyra swung again and the woman laughed, ducking out of the way. "You ought to stop that. The guards'll come asking questions."

"You will tell them anyhow." Kaltyra snarled, lunging at the woman and finding only air.

"Me?? Rat someone to the guards?" She laughed high, hard and long. "Come on."

Then the woman fell on Kaltyra, grabbing her arm and twisting it so that Kaltyra's body went numb. Before she knew what was happening the damned woman had lifted her to a shoulder and dragged her out of the fort.

Twist and bite as she may, Kaltyra could not writhe free of the woman's iron grip. She snarled and spat, face scarf long forgotten. The woman dumped her to the ground but Kaltyra lost no time, grabbing her sword and rushing the woman.

"Hah! You fight like weakling." She ducked with ease. "Come on, show me some of your anger, let it all out. That is, if you're a proper orc."

Kaltyra backed away. She couldn't land a single hit, how could she fight? It was time to run. She looked for escape.

"Ah ah... if you run I may just have to tell those guards about you."

No... no. Not another one, not another bastard of a human that would make her time here so much more hard. No more hunters, no more attacks! By the earthen teeth she was sick of it! With an unearthly scream Kaltyra charged, and lost herself finally to the curtain of red.


...........

I do not remember much of what happened after that. I know the fight did not go well as I awoke in chains, sore all over. It was not as bad as some beatings I have endured. I would heal. I must have moved too much because my captor knew I was awake. "Already up?" She asked, chewing some jerky by a crackling fire.

I pulled myself up enough to sit and eyed the human dully. Sometimes the rage is just not helpful. I try so hard to keep it back. To run and hide rather than fight. I even keep the calming flowers in my hair to help... but even so.. This is why it was not so useful. I am not strong, and now I was captive. Like all the rages before, it was a disappointment to waken with the clear crisp awareness of a calmed mind. What a mess.

"The name's Randollana." The woman said, yanking out a wine cork by her teeth and spitting it into the fire. "You feeling better now?"

"Does it matter?" I asked, unsure of her plans for me. I fell to my old ways. Be quiet, be small, be unimposing.. and watch for escape.

"Eh, not really. You know you're not bad. You still need a lot of work though."

I was not surprised to find my hood fallen back and face scarf long missing. Rage is a very good way to lose things. I touched my face, the heavy bruise at my temple and let her go on to my silence.

"The problem is your mask. You're hiding. That means you're afraid and that means you're weak in your head, so you're weak in your fighting. ... Hey are you going to ask me for some food and wine or what?"

I looked up at her and sighed. "If that is what you wish. ... Will you please share your food and drink."

She laughed again. "No."

Irritating humans.

She threw the bottle to me and then a bit of meat. I licked the bottle and tasted something off. I didn't recognize it, so I tucked my thumb in the neck and pretended to drink. "Enjoying the poison?" Randollana asked with a grin. I set the wine down and left it untouched. "Why am I unsurprised?"

Perhaps poisoning is a way to kill someone and keep them dead. That would explain why she left me alive. It's good I've been collecting poisons...

"Hey, if you're not going to drink that..." She grabbed the bottle and sat down beside me, drinking it all down. "Ah, Wyvern's blood just spices things up nice!"

"What do you want of me?"

"You've got a choice, lass. Either you stay wallowing in your own weakness, or you let me teach you have to harness your rage, make it work for you." She got a far away look, balling her fist. "You think about all the people who've done you wrong, all the suffering they caused... and then.." She let out a roar and slammed her fist on my chains.

They did not break.

"I am.. astounded." I replied with mockery. "Please, do not taunt the poor chains again. Their feelings may get hurt."

"Eh..." She looked embarassed. "Lets just say I don't buy crap."

I shrugged. "If I said no and wanted to leave?"

"Well, I'd kill you." Then she laughed.

I sighed. "Well, where is your key?"

"I... swallowed it."

" . . . "

"What? It'll come out eventually."

"Ngg, filthy human." I skinshifted and wriggled free from my bonds, then looked to Randollana.

"Oh lass," she said with disappointment "Not you too. Not a pansey tree-hugger like them pointy ears."

"It takes me skinshifting to prove I am not a warrior?" I ask incredulously as I come back to my shape.

"Oh no, lass. You're a warrior. You got a sword and you fight. That's all it takes. The rest, that's just practice."

Kaltyra let out another snarl of frustration. "It does not work this way!"

A tall elf stood regally beside a tall oak, his arms folded over old leathers. "Temper, Kaltyra."

She was standing in a clearing surrounded by a ring of rocks, holding a ceremonial knife in one hand and wearing not much of anything else. The Grand Druid Tarsakh did not like her wearing 'the garb of a bandit' as he had disdainfully put it. She felt naked, even though she was not, lacking the comforting metal and padding that usually defended herself from the outside world.

Focus was the problem. She was distracted by the newness of missing armor, distracted by her forbiddance into the city, distracted by her frustration at having to ask an elf for help, even distracted by those who now knew she was open game in their turf.

The last thing she wanted to do was a long involving ritual. Our protagonist glared at the first sigiled stone, barely 6 inches tall, as if demanding it cooperate.

"Try again." Tarsakh said patiently.

..............

I have grown complacent in my life, I think. The days blurred together, one day of hunting to another. As much as I detest Randallona, she proved right in many things. The Saint could not offer me a way to be safe, so I would take Randollana's advice and become so strong none will dare harm me or my child. I think I will kill Randallona when I am strong enough just so we are even for her insults. She laughs when I say this and declares she looks forward to this day.

I do what I can to create allies in a realm teaming with enemies. There is the idealist Triel who seems to crusade for some strange fancy of racial peace. I suspect she will soon do something stupid to get herself declared a criminal and hunted down. Why that tiefling cannot keep her head down I do not know. There is the halfling Cirkus, who mostly seems to be Randallona's shadow. The Saint spoke to me of her life and I must say I am now impressed with her. I thought her just a weak cheerful person, but ... no, I do not any longer.

She was the first to discover my condition and her approach was to offer me medicines to help the child, if it still lives. I pay for the medicines, not wishing to owe her anything. However, after a elven council member turned on me promising me death next he ran across me, I turned to her for more help. She offered me sanctuary, but could not help me more than this.

Dead if found in the city, dead if found in the woods. I am a popular orc.

It was at the cusp of both lands that I met the Grand Druid Tarsakh. He walked in as a tree, then sat down as an elf, being well-greeted by all at the fire. I was in the midst of being provoked by a snot-nosed human whose name I cannot recall. I call her Prissy Puss, for she is all yowl and no bite. We exchanged barbs, but I knew she could take things much further than I. The only reason I stayed was because Nerbert, and many of his Weavemaster friends, were watching the exchange. I suspect they would not have permitted her to do much.

Tarsakh turned and bowed to a pocket of empty air near some brush. "Good evening Counciler Wythryn" My heart sank with dread. The invisible Drool? Where was he?? Prissy Puss was forgotten and ignored, pointless prattle to the fact I was in sight of a hunter and worse, one I could not see!

I was lucky, though, for Tarsakh's words drew the slobbering elf out of hiding. He glared at me with his one putrid eye, tapping his fingers menacingly on his bow. The two exchanged conversation and that was when, despite myself, I realized what Tarsakh was. I took a chance, knowing this would draw Drool's full wrath upon me, and spoke with Tarsakh. Sure enough Wythryn's lips curled into a snarl. "You do not belong here, orc." He warned in a thick inelegant orcan tongue. "Perhaps.. you should leave." His grip shifted on the bow and I drew in a quick startled breath.

Tarsakh smiled to me. "I will meet you at the shrine of the Oak Father."

I left.

Tarsakh is both bemused and displeased with me. I suppose the feeling is mutual. He gave me some elven-style leathers to wear, decrying my use of metal. I was so grateful that he offered to teach me I am ashamed to admit I accepted the leathers and did not put up a fight.

Later, though, I could hear the ringing laugh of Prissy Puss "What a well tamed pet." She purred in her arrogance. No, I will not stoop to betraying myself or my heritage. I cannot. I shall not. I will not become one of the brainwashed orcs I have seen - orc only in skin and not in heart. I would rather die first.

The leathers were almost burned, but Kile held me back. Thus, I was able to return the leathers diplomatically. Metal is the iron-bones of Grumbar. It should not be shunned or feared. And life is not all green. I felt like a blasted giant turtle walking around in that stupid elf-cloak.

Bone, stone, shell and metal - give me the crafts of my homeland any day.

................

"Stop." Tarsakh sighed and crossed the ring of stones. He looked Kaltyra up and down, then drew out a leather strap. The orc panicked inside, thinking maybe he meant to strangle her, or worse, but she gritted her teeth and stood her ground. For his part, he simply tied the strap over her eyes.

"Perhaps your heritage is distracting you. Stop thinking of this as a battle. It is not a war between the green of plants and the blue of sky versus the grey of stone and the brown of earth. It is not a battle against sunlight or the black of night. The Earthlord is as much a part of nature as the Oakfather. Meditate on this."

Kaltyra sighed and sat on the ground, digging her toes into the grass, her fingers into the dirt. She could hear her teacher move aside and feel the heat of sunlight.

Breath in. Exhale.

Wind played with her hair, an insect crawled over her hand.

Breath in. Exhale.

She emptied her mind, trying to stop fighting the entire world. It was difficult. It was most of what she knew.

Breath in. Exhale.

And the sun did make it so head-achingly bright, it was really unnecessary. But... it also warmed her face, giving a luxurious contrast to the cool autumn breeze.

Breath in. Exhale.

Kaltyra thought of her life. How here, in this place, for this moment, she was safe. No one would hurt her here. She could relax. ... So she did.

She breathed in the sunlight and drank the sensation of soil crumbling under her fingers and toes. For the first time in a long time, Kaltyra smiled in peace. Perhaps there was something to all this. Ephemeral as the surface world was, ephemeral as her life, it had a place with Grumbar, just as she did.

She inhaled once more and stood, gathering the knife at her side. "I think I am ready."

Again she blooded the knife. Again she drew the sigils in the air, beseeching the world to open it's secrets one love-letter at a time. But unlike before, this time the circle answered...

... and then she heard the drumbeats.

My name is Kaltyra, of the Dryne Wanderer tribe. There I was born and there will I die, in spirit if not in body.

When I first skinshifted, I rejoiced in the freedom, but with the secrets Tarsakh has revealed to me I thrill in the power! Those of you who are not orc just do not grasp what this means to me. I can behead a wyvern – before I would have to run or hide. Finally, finally I have strength! When I tower as a dire bear or, better, a treant I feel like I can survive. Like I might just have the chance to travel out and away from this place.

Today I wish I could find that blasted mapmaker and find the way to the underdark and to the new tribes there that surely await. Victory!

But, even as strong as I am, I am no match for the frost giants at the mountain pass or the dark dwarves beyond them. If I cannot survive them, how can I make my way into an underdark undoubtedly teaming with drow? No, it is depressing to think of but I’m not there yet. I am far, far better than I was though and this gives me a new strength and hope.

I am so proud of my new strength I traveled near the Trade Way, helping the injured or dead as the Saint asked of my payment for her sanctuary. Tarsakh has forbid entering the city, so I do not know what help it will be, but at least if I must run, I have someplace to run to.

Giddy with power I even stood up to an entire clan of dwarves with axes! They kept screaming ‘Oi a bleedin’ talkin’ tree’ and such. It was hilarious once they stopped trying to chop me down. They even asked me to help with a beetle infestation. They want to make a musk to fool the beetles into thinking they are beetles. A strange thing, but how hard can it be to harvest the musk glands from beetles? One dwarf asked if I would train a clan mate in the ways of a druid. How funny is that??? Stupid dwarves. Hah!

It is a dangerous game, I know, I just cannot help myself. After a lifetime of weakness, am finally making something of myself. Perhaps it is under the hottest fires that the strongest metals are forged. I feel for the first time, a flicker of confidence in these dangerous lands.

..........

Join me for a moment in going back in time. Not nearly so far back as before, but back none the less. To a time before Kaltyra has met Tarsakh, before she has been offered sanctuary. She is walking up a tall narrow path to a keep, lone against the coastline and protected on all sides by the sea. Candlekeep. See, there, two people flanking either side of the gate. One, in robes calls himself the Guide. One, in armor, calls herself the Gatewarden.

Kaltyra fingers an empty vial, the last of the medicines. Her lips are pressed in a hard determined line, though the scarf here prevents us from seeing it. She stops a long distance below the two guardians and looks up to the keep’s top, to the archers and look outs. With a growing dread she looks down again.

“Hello...”

“Welcome to Candlekeep, you will have to remove your mask before entering.” says the helmed Gatewarden, the words long engrained like an automaton.

“Ah.. yes, perhaps I will not go in. I was just seeking the Saint, has she passed this way, by chance?”

“You mean the living Saint, Meri? She’s inside the keep.” replies the Guide.

“Ah that explains why I could not find her.”

“You are welcome to go visit. She’s probably at the inn or the infirmary.”

“That... eh perhaps I could simply send a message to her. I would not presume to ask you to do such, but maybe there is a young boy who would be willing to run a message for a few coin?”

The Guide furrows his brow and the Gatewarden looks Kaltyra up and down more thoughtfully. She shifts uncomfortably under their peaked interest.

“What is so important that you won’t just take off your mask and come in?” Asks the Gatewarden, an edge of wariness in her voice.

“Ah...” Our protagonist looks back at her narrow escape route. “I do not think it a good idea...”

“Why not? We’re very open.”

“Not.. entirely, with respect. There are.. eh.. Those you would perhaps harm on sight?”

“You are a drow? Nonsense you’re entirely too... Well it’s just nonsense.”

Eyes flick up at the archers. “There are others than drow on the list I read.”

“Yes, we’ve been attacked by many things.” The Gatewarden chimes in.

“But goodness sakes we’re run by a tiefling. We’ve even let in a gray orc!” The Guide almost laughs at this, the novelty of it strange to him.

“You have?”

“Well yes. They petitioned the Keepers to read about Gruumsh in the library.”

“I.. see...” Kaltyra considered this, then checked her escape route and the archers once more. She took a deep breath then exhaled. “I am orc.”

“Oh thank the gods.” The Gatewarden sighed.

The Guide nodded in eager agreement. “We thought you were going to be another elf.”

“Don’t get me started on elves!” Lamented the Gatewarden.

Laughter echoed down to the sea.

...................


For every bright period there is a dark one. As if Gruumsh himself had sensed that an atrocity had been committed the world soon turned back to it’s usual ways. Though Kaltyra promised Tarsakh not to enter the city, she did go as far as the merchant camp just outside of it. She wanted to share her excitement with her friends, with Zacham and Nerbert, maybe even the Saint or Triel if they wandered by.

Nerbert was sitting among a cadre of gnomes. “Oh dear, the gnomes are breeding” Kaltyra joked as Nerbert looked up from a notebook and waved jovially. “Jinella! Nice to see you again. Have you met Alice?”

Kaltyra sat beside the pair, one a female gnome with a frown of concentration as she worked a pencil into a book in the slow uncertain motions Kaltyra knew oh so painfully well. They spoke for a time, then the gnome left, off to do gnome things, she was sure. It was far too crowded and too busy for her to show off like she would like, but she was pleased to be in a throng of chaos again.

It stank of humans, elves, and worse, dwarves, but it was chaos.

Rudely, an elf appeared down the way, heading straight for the camp with an eye, only one, for Kaltyra. A bit of spittle leaked down his face and he tapped his bow with menace.

“Hello, orc.” He snapped in common, a dangerous venom in his voice.

Kaltyra froze, not knowing what to do.

“You don’t belong here, orc.”

“I have a name, elf.” Kaltyra grasped to what straws she could. Did Tarsakh not say his name carried some weight?

“Leave her be sir, she has every right to be here as you.” Triel piped up, ever the righteous moral one.

“She is not a half blood, she is a full blooded orc.” He announced again to the entire camp. Kaltyra grimaced.

“I am under the ward of the Grand Druid.”

“Then go back to the forests where you belong. Unless you want me to speak to the Fist over there. You know what they’ll do when they find out what you are, yes?”

Kaltyra had no idea what they would do. She had never figured it out, but Wythryn’s words were dangerous enough to let her imagination work overtime. She imagined all the things her tribe would do if they found a human or an elf in their midst... What they –had- done when they found them. If they were feeling nice the creature was made a slave. .... If they were not....

“She doesn’t have to go.” Triel protested while the exposed orc deflated the last of her confidence. “Stop acting out in hate.”

“This is restraint, girl. I haven’t put an arrow through her head.... yet.”

That did it. Kaltyra got to her feet and shakily hurried away. Wythryn watched the orc rush off into the woods.

There was a game Doron Amar elves played from time to time. It involved the very best of them rushing ahead into the woods to hide. Then the other elves would form hunting parties to track down and subdue the target.

Kaltyra had seen such games. Wythryn would wait... but the hunt would begin soon. When the time came, would her teacher help her? He was not even that often around. How easy would it be for her to disappear and never be found? Kaltyra hid in misery, knowing anything she did would be tracked, nothing she could do could evade a race of expert wood elves. It was only a matter of time before the forest became their hunting grounds and she their prey.

She had met him many times before, a wary, keen-eyed man with white beard. He wore a sash with lines and dots below a Fist insignia tied to his arm. He was called Geriard.

Geriard had been the one who had stopped her from bleeding when the Drow had attacked her. He had also left her there to stew in her paralysis in a blind panic. He was at once tolerant and dangerous. All the Fist were dangerous, but most acted like she expected human warriors to act: brutish, authoritative, angry and rash. He held himself back with a strange detached logic as if fully removed from the power his position gave him.

Kaltyra was training. It was not the effort of a hard hunt or deadly kill. It was the effort of exhaustion. Ever since her mishap where her skinshift had reversed at the worst possible moment, our protagonist had never allowed herself to stay shifted for too long, fearing the same incident. This meant, as her powers grew, she had no idea the extent of her strength in shifting. Tarsakh had suggested she spend an entire day shifted, pushing herself to the very end of her limit so she would know where she stood.

By far Kaltyra's favorite shape was the wolf. Lean and fast, she could bound with a grace she lacked in her far mightier bear shape. But a wolf could not talk and she had run into too many incidents with adventurers attacking the monster in the woods. So, for this, Kaltyra choose to shift into a treant.

Without Tarsakh's guidance, the grey orc would have never considered becoming a green surface thing like this, a plant no less. No teeth, no claws. The epitome of the soft, fluty elves that Randallonna constantly teased her as becoming. She openly resisted the idea of becoming something that fed from sunlight, that thought in the slow logical progression of something prey-animals ate.

It did, however, come with an advantage. It could speak. Not well, not easily, not swiftly - but it -could- speak.

The world felt different in her treant form. The ground had a taste, the sun a flavor. Kaltyra really wasn't paying attention as she wandered. She was caught up in exploring this shape to it's entirety. So it was as she wandered, that she found herself drifting, as if by habit, towards Balder's Gate.

On the road knelt the dark skinned man with the white beard. He was rising, murmuring a prayer over a slain human, who now had a coin resting on his forehead.

"Welcome to the wilds, Fist." Her voice came deep, deeper even than normal. It groaned like strained or rubbing wood and punctuated with the snap of splinters or breaking branches.

He turned, lifting a brow, accessing the situation even as he nodded in greeting. Finally he said "It's unusual to see one of your kind so close to a city. Would this make you a druid?"

"I am, a seeker of the Circle." Kaltyra's mind raced. Perhaps in this form she might have a chance to get some answers she never dared ask for as herself. "And what of you? I do not know the meaning of those symbols." Twig branch hands gestured to his arm band.

"I thought so. Normal treants wouldn't recognize a Fist, let alone go out of their way to greet them. This? I'm an investigator." Geriard looked down at his weapon, suddenly aware of the fact it was flickering with a violent magical flame. Hastily he tucked it into its sheath.

"Then you are not a soldier?"

"I do what I'm told, but I don't usually fulfill the day to day Fist functions. Is something wrong or did you just stop to say hello?"

"Actually, I was wondering about your laws. Might you answer some questions about it?" Kaltyra did not have a heart in this form, but she could feel her body quiver with repressed fear and hope.

"Ask away." He looked around, checking his surroundings before nodding with satisfaction.

"What are the laws regarding orcs in your city?"

...........

Some time later Kaltyra stood by the shrine to the OakFather. She did not worship this god, but it was a place near the city, where others knew to contact her with messages. She stood there impassively as only a tree can, and pondered her life.

"If such a mythical creature as a good orc existed, they would go someplace far away and not cause confusion. I'd pity such a creature, but it would be better they die alone than cause good men to hesitate and die the next time they run into a clever band of enemy orcs."

It had been the sum of their conversation. The most logical and therefore least dangerous of the Fist had consigned her to death. Well, our protagonist did not count herself a hero, or a 'good' orc. There was no depression in knowing what she had suspected was true. She had managed to live a whole month here, sometimes just by the skin of her teeth, but surviving nonetheless.

This was not something that could continue, not indefinitely. Had she not braved Candlekeep? Had she not taken a risk and appealed to the other elven councilors to call off Wythryn's hunt? Had she not sought the druidic Circle for protection? She had, and she was safer for it.

The reality was far less surreal. Wythryn would probably do anything to antagonize, maybe even trick her into doing something that would reverse the Council's ban on her hunt. Even the Circle had trouble wrapping their minds around a druid of tunnels and rocks, let alone an orc. Tarsakh, the one who had taken her in to begin with, was constantly barking at her as if she were some untrained pup wetting the floor. "Don't expect people to accept you." "Don't go into the city." "Control your anger." "You have much to overcome as an orc." It got irritating in a hurry. Then there were the Fist who claimed control of the same wilds and often harassed her into leaving whatever area they were patrolling.

Too many things were still stacked against her here. As soon as she was strong enough, it would be time to leave. Kaltyra hoped it would be before winter blocked her chances or before she gave birth. Time was running out, and options were running out as well.

My name is Kaltyra, of the Dryne Wanderer tribe. There I was born and there will I die, in spirit if not in body.

I really have only myself to blame. What was I thinking, answering that damnable human's letter? But he had left it in the wilds not too long after our previous talk.

"Orc, Kaltyra. I know you are out here somewhere. I have met a few more of you and yours who allowed themselves to simply be escorted from the city. Involve no one else, but send word if possible. We need to speak. I have an idea. The irony of writing a note when you might not be able to read or write is not lost on me."

Even the letter drips with condescention. Didn't I already know this man's feelings? But I was had. I thought I must not have been quite as clever as I thought asking those questions in my other form. Plus, I would eventually feel the need to sneak back into the city and he might alert the rest of his ilk of me if I didn't answer.

Bastard.

I would love to lie and say I didn't hope that he'd had a change of mind. Maybe he'd learned or thought of some loophole. What do I find? He wants to recruit me in some sort of righteous crusade. That arrogant self-serving piece of trash! It was all I could do to keep myself calm as he casually dragged my blood through the dirt, treating it like some diseased plague-born thing. Something to hide, to always be hated.

And on top of the fact he wishes to forbid me from every even TALKING to people, even glimpsing the merchant camps. He wants me to LEAVE the Circle! Says I'm causing them shame and I will get them seen as criminals or some such because I'm in their ranks.

I am a fool!!

The payment for all this, for taking in others, creating a band that will be persecuted, hated, and hunted? The satisfaction of doing good deeds for ungrateful bastards like him.

No thank you.

I have a child to think about! I need a place for winter! I need a tribe to help raise my child - what am I going to do when I need to hunt?? I will be so exposed with this child. If I even -carry- to term! I do not need this nonsense... this idealistic human dribble. What am I to him, some pet to tame and do tricks at command?!? Does he offer me anything? Nothing.

Damn it, how do I get to the underdark?

I am ashamed to say I went looking for blood then. I desperately needed to declare I was noone's pet martyr. No sacrificial lamb for their morals and warm fuzzy feelings. I went looking for trouble. Now! I know you may be thinking, did she break her oath? No! I simply tore into the bandit camp as a rampaging bear and soon enough the bandits came out to attack the intruding animal.

Necks snapped, heads were ripped clean. Limbs fell to the spray of crimson along my maw. I roared for more, giving in to every frustration and anger. When nothing moved, when there were just bodies at my feet, my eyes began to clear of the red haze, but I could still feel the sickly taint of the human's offer of a gelded collar. It rippled along my skin causing goose-shivers. My lips curled back into a snarl and I bent down, biting into the human's chest and ripping back the ribs. You want my response, human? I ate of your people. I ate their hearts, I consumed their souls. I feasted on their flesh and reveled in the blood.

I will not be your pet.

“Eh...”

Kaltyra’s bear ears perked. She lifted a blood soaked maw, swallowing some meat as she looked for the source of the familiar sound. He.. She... It.. was there, decked in their usual crimson armor wearing the same haphazard mop of dark hair. She tensed as Kaltyra focused on her and drew her weapon warily.

“Now, don’t be doing something you’ll regret...”

...........

“I believe I owe you a drink.” Kaltyra chuckled, patting Randallonna’s back affectionately.

“Eh... How about the Stars and Blades? I haven’t been there in forever.” The female grinned broadly. “I see you’re wearing that face cover again. Still not taking my point.”

The orc shrugged “If we stay in the wilds away from the road I will take it off, but for a city tavern?... You should know there are reasons I stay hidden.”

The woman looked down at Kal’s stomach reflexively. She had once thought to play a prank on the orc when taking her body to be restored from a fall to poison. She had bought a dress, blood red, somehow finding one in a size that would fit Kal. However, when she had begun stripping the orc, a thought Kal was glad she didn’t dwell on much, she had stopped short of the prank, realizing the bulge in her girth was not simple fat at all.

Kaltyra was not pleased that the Beast knew of her issue. Especially when Randallonna wondered aloud about whether or not the offspring would still be alive, given all Kaltyra had gone through. Still, it was done. Somewhere along the way between the fights and posturing, the two had become easy with each other, resigned, perhaps in the comfort of awkward company.

The human shrugged. “You’re never going to get respect. You might as well get used to it. Just beat them up when they try and get rough with you. That’s the only way.”

..........

Kaltyra charged, roaring her frustration. In seconds the battle was over and Kaltyra, no longer in bear form, lay bleeding on the ground.

“Lass?!” The human dropped to her knees, pulling out a potion and yanking off the orc’s face gear. Tilting the head up she began to pour cold liquid down Kal’s throat. She sputtered, coughed, then began to focus.

It would be fair to say Randallonna was not on Kal’s list of favorite things to see when she woke up.

She groaned and rolled over, growling something in dejected orc. <You couldn’t just let me die?> With a sigh, and Rand’s help, she sat up.

“Eh.. What was that all about lass? I mean, it’s good to see you using your anger but not at me.”

Kaltyra frowned and pulled out the wooden disk Geriard had given her, and unhappily, she began to explain.

“Why did you have to be right?” She asked in conclusion, miserable.

“It’s just how things are, lass. Do you know where I spent the night? The best tavern in Balder’s Gate, the Fist’s jail cells.”

Kaltyra smirked wryly. “That man who shoved you?”

“Oh aye. He got what was coming.”

Kaltyra shook her head, pulling herself to her feet. It was not the first time she’d experienced so much pain. It would not be her last. She had not survived so long without learning how to ignore the sensation and force the body to obey regardless. Besides, the potion had helped considerably. Randallonna rose as well and opened her mouth as if to say something when Kaltyra smelled more humans approaching. Kaltyra blinked, then shifted and ran away.

My name is Kaltyra, of the Dryne Wanderer tribe. There I was born and there will I die, in spirit if not in body.

Ilktlktk, I feel dirty. What am I doing? I did not know his rank, though I knew his power – he who could change into dragons and summoned one as his companion. The human. The druid.

I had sought out Tarsakh, growing tired, furious at Geriard’s insistent shoves. I knew the next we met I might not keep myself calm enough. I had to try to stop this while I could. Geriard had spoken to this human, the one called Uriel. He told him I was to be removed from the tradeway. Spoke as if I were an errant beast to be brought to heel. AGAIN.

To Uriel’s credit he did not comply, but he did not behead the man for his insolence either – the proper response of any tribe leader. Tarsakh agreed that if the Fist made me to be a criminal for my sacred blood, my honored heritage, that the Circle’s Council might decide to abandon me for fear of war with the city-dwellers.

Stupid lying druids. They promised only weeks before to protect me and guard me, even as an initiate, and now this? If they didn’t want me they should not have asked me to join!

Uriel returned to me today, the day after that talk. He said the Council had spoken and agreed to protect me, regardless of the Fist’s choice, but that my association with other orcs might make that agreement null... They want me to abandon my people.

I will not do that. I said as much. Don’t get me wrong. I kill stupid tribes that want to hurt me as much as any human or elf. But I do not hate my people, my race. Just tribes. I know in my heart that we are the wiser, stronger race. The one with the mightiest gods, the sturdiest constitution. The humans grow soft and squishy with their excess, their “charity” to the weak that then grow to breed weak offspring. We are the battle-hardened, the life-scoured. Forged by hardship, sharpened by war. Orc is the superior race.

I just hate the Sharpteeth. The Dryne had better warriors among their runts!

I accepted Uriel’s tests to enter the Circle. He said he had to be harder on me than any other initiate – to prove I was worthy despite my blood. That was fine to me. Let me show you the lava in my veins, the rock in my flesh. Let me show you why the orc people will destroy you as time passes. I will not just pass your test, I will annihilate it.

Most of this I said with my eyes, for I had the mind, the wisdom to keep such thoughts to myself. The tests were indeed dripped to pieces. I ‘passed’ with ease.

Even so, I know that I will not last long in the Circle. More than one is all but openly aggressive, but refuses to fight to determine the alpha among us. Plus, I will not give up on my heritage. I will not become a human in an orc body. I will continue to seek out those of my blood. I will stay true to my birthplace. As I told my ‘brother’ who sneered at me...

“I am the land beneath your feet. The molten blood of the deep, the iron bones forged of purest ore. Whether you accept me in your group, I AM a druid. I do not need you to know who and what I am.”

Two hundred pounds of female orc crash into the rotted log. KARRACKK! Splinters spray in all directions. She lays there, desperately gasping for air. Pupils dilated, skin pale, head swimming. She blinks, trying to regain her senses but her mind is still reeling from the power. Her body sings with adrenaline, but even it is not cooperating.

A shadow falls over her, the crunch of two solid boots stomp to a halt beside her. Kaltyra cannot help but see the massive hand that reaches out and grabs her hair at the roots. Her teeth clamp into a snarl once more as the pain renews. He lifts her to his height and roars. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!”

...............

It began; but it is hard to say when, where or how. Maybe it began the day they met, when he took it upon himself to protect her and grinned that dumb grin when she’d given him a kiss of appreciation. Maybe it began the day he cornered her by the coast and finally made her say why she was not ready for a male in her life. When he had found a peace in knowing her secrets. Maybe it began the day he gave her flowers and she had eaten them. How was she to have known?

Kaltyra found the courtships of humanity – the elves, humans and, yes, even the dwarves and gnomes, to be stupid. But what did the half-blood know? The ways of the human. They were at odds, Kaltyra constantly frustrated by the taint in his looks and thoughts but attracted to the power underneath and his protector nature.

She tried to let him court her as he would a human, but it was an exercise in futility. She did not like it one bit. And, in a culture that expected the male to please the female to gain merit, Grah’Thok was becoming increasingly frustrated that his understood tactics weren’t bringing him the desired results. Kaltyra didn’t swoon over gifts or sigh contently when he tried to confide in her as they watched the moon rise.

If anything she got angrier and more distant.

Then strange things would happen. They would get into fights and Kaltyra would leave. The next time they would meet, Kaltyra would try to tackle Grah’Thok to the ground. Grah’Thok didn’t understand this and, when he caught her, as he always did, he would set her gently back down to the ground. She, in turn would roll her eyes, sigh, and grow cold again.

Neither were having luck with each other, but Kaltyra pressed on, encouraging Grah’Thok to become a chief and start a tribe. The numbers of their kind in the area were growing, just as Geriard had said. Soon the number of ‘members’ grew. They had no camp, no place to meet, no safe location to raise children, but it was a start. It was something to do while Kaltyra sought ways into the underdark.

So it came to be, as every member save Kaltyra was male, that one of the orcs turned to her as they hunted and asked. “Are you and the chief a couple then?” She had scoffed and said no. However... maybe such a thing would finally make Grah’Thok pay attention. -Other- males were interested. Full-blood, proper males. What did she need with a half-blood?

After she mentioned it Grah snarled and became a one-orc killing force, leaping at the things they hunted with a wild abandon. It did nothing to quell the anger in him. In some ways Kaltyra liked this, but it was frustrating to see him willing to be an orc to anyone but her. To her, he acted human.

Maybe it really –was- time to look at another proper male. The logical part of her screamed not to push it, as any male she accepted might kill her child, but the frustrations Grah invoked were beginning to get the better of her judgement.

“Oh yes?? NOW you get aggressive?!” She pointed her sword at Grah. “Now you care ??”

“When another male wants to take what is mine, I get angry!”

“I am no one’s!”

“FINE! Go be no one’s!”

“FINE!”

They stalked away from each other. Kaltyra fumed and paced in the wilds outside of Beregost. Why had they fought so close to a human town? Why had they fought with that other male orc right there in front of them? It made what she wanted to do difficult and her blood raged against her will.

To her luck, Grah’Thok’s smell wafted close. She readied her self. This was it. Either he would accept or he wouldn’t, but she was done with the minor scuffles that led to nowhere. She screamed, she charged, she bit and clawed.

“This is the problem with you. Your human blood it will always taint you. You will never be a proper ORC!” She barked at him as he warded her off in confusion.

He threw her back but she skid on her feet, Grumbar’s gift lifting her stance and sending her rocketing into Grah’Thok’s chest. He fell backward, tumbling down the hill. Still nothing. Still no resistance! FINE! Kaltyra would kill him and be done with it. There was no point in drawing out a misery. There were good males, proper males.

She lept into the air to grapple and pin the fallen halfblood – when a hand caught her mid-air by the throat. A low rumbling snarl of a breath rolled up Grah’Thoks bloody throat. He squeezed a little harder as Kaltyra clawed and pulled at his fingers, trying to make him let go. She kicked as he stood, but he swiped her feet aside and shook her.

“What do you want?” He asked in northern orcish. “For me to kill you??”

She struggled, then spat at his face. He let out a howl of anger and threw her aside, crashing her into a tree. He waited, crouched, muscles rippling, blood free flowing from several wounds, but she did not rise. So he came to stand before her, came to grab her hair just as consciousness flickered into her defiant eyes.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!”

One final gulp of air managed the defiant growl. “I want. An ORC.”

Emotions were the key. The two orcs rode them like paper on a fire-heated wind. Eventually consumed, but for a time free of everything. They were gone, gone to the world. Lost in their passions so liquid hot as to melt together, one to another. There was no love only raw, real emotions and all was laid bare to bleed and bruise under the stars.

So began the week of their wedding.

I am still uneasy in my oaths with the druids - bound to a people I do not understand and fear I will never understand. When I met with Tarsahk, all I sought was knowledge but he suggested this circle, saying we would be a good match. I do not see it.

They are too surface-driven. It is about trees, light and wind. While I try to learn, and have learned much more respect for these things than I thought I ever would, I still feel these are outside my element. Silvanus seems to be their patron deity. More trees. I am getting tired of trees.

Never under estimate the power of just listening, I say. It always served me well being alert; being quiet and small. It serves now. I already knew of the dead druid, but not of the secrets he held. This vengeance, this false sense of justice, it is even more stupid NOW than it was before I knew this.

But, for sake of keeping my word and not speaking of the secrets, here is my argument: The idiot STAYED IN HIS CELL WHEN HE COULD HAVE ESCAPED. There. Now that I have yelled it maybe you can get it through your thick brick-heads. He could have left and if he was the sort who felt he ‘must pay for his sins’ he could have paid a were geld of gold, food or service. No, he decides to die, just be taken out like a cow for slaughter.

We are angry at the Shadow Druids? For what, their temptation, their offer of power? He choose his path. It his HIS FAULT. So why be angry at the Shadow Druids?

We are angry at the Fist? The idiot stayed in his cell. He could have left. It was HIS FAULT.

If the druids of this stupid circle are so angry they should resurrect the executed druid JUST SO THEY CAN MURDER HIM.

That is the only fault here: Him.

Why do rivers of blood not sate your thirst? Why do the mounds of ‘enemy’ corpses give no balm to your anger? You refuse to admit what your heart knows.

He was selfish for choosing power, for letting his wisdom fail him for want. He was selfish for dying when he could have lived with the shame and served to repair his damage. He is a bastard and deserves what happened because HE WANTED IT. But you want to make him a martyr, a hero who died for some cause. There is no cause. He died for his path choices. He is no hero.


Ilktlktk... You people are stupid.