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

The road to Triel was long and familiar, stretching through rolling farmland and past quiet homesteads where smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Declan Nash had once thought of this place as home, but as he rode through the town’s outskirts, a strange feeling settled in his chest—one of distance, of separation.

He had spent months in Waterdeep tending to his family’s affairs, and though he had expected some changes upon his return, he hadn’t anticipated just how much the town would feel… different.

The old gathering halls where he had once shared stories and laughter with his comrades were filled with new faces. The friends he had bled beside in battle and celebrated with in peace were preoccupied—running businesses, training new recruits, or preparing for the next inevitable crisis that loomed over the Sword Coast.

Triel had never been a quiet place, not with Baldur’s Gate so near and the constant threat of bandits, monsters, or worse. But now, the air felt heavier, as if the weight of responsibility had settled over everyone he had once known.

He sought out old friends, but each visit ended the same way. A hurried conversation, a promise to catch up later, and a return to duty.

Later never came.

Standing in the doorway of the barracks, Declan watched as young men and women sparred in the yard, training for the conflicts that always seemed to come. He felt no urge to join them. Once, he would have picked up a blade and drilled them himself, barking orders, correcting their stances.

Now, he simply stood there, unnoticed, like a ghost in the place he had once called home.

If there was one constant in the world, it was the Sword Coast teetering on the brink of destruction.

Rumors swirled through Triel like an autumn wind, each tale darker than the last. Some spoke of a cult stirring in the north, others whispered of creatures slipping from the shadows near the Winding Water, and still more told of fell entities vying for control of Baldur’s Gate.

Not just one enemy. Many.

Declan had fought in these battles before. He had sharpened his sword against enemies who wished to bring ruin to the Coast, had stood shoulder to shoulder with warriors and mages, each of them striving to keep the darkness at bay.

And yet, despite all the victories, despite all the blood spilled in defense of the land, there was always another war waiting just over the horizon.

He could fight again. He could throw himself into another battle, take up arms against another looming evil. But the fire that had once burned so fiercely in him had cooled.

He had done his part.

The decision came to him quietly, without fanfare or hesitation.

Declan stood in his small chamber, packing his belongings with the efficiency of a soldier preparing for a long march. His armor, his sword, his cloak—all carefully arranged. His life, reduced to what he could carry on his back.

There was no need for goodbyes. Those who mattered were too busy, and those who weren’t would understand.

By the time the sun crested the horizon the next morning, Declan was already on the road. The weight of Triel, of his past, lifted from his shoulders with every step his horse took away from the town.

Waterdeep called to him, not because it was home, but because it was where he belonged now.

The road stretched ahead, uncertain and open.

And for the first time in a long while, Declan let it carry him forward.