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

She watched as the black robed mage stepped towards the ghostly figure. Anger boiled inside her at the sight of the one calling himself 'Trickster', but on the outside nothing but a frozen mask covered her true feelings. This figure, that had hurt and took so many of her new found family. The one that took away Kael, who she and Elethineth had brought back with so much effort when she thought he was lost forever.

But did she? Even now, as she observed him, she felt the change in him. The darkness... She knew he would never be the one he was before his passing, and this Trickster was the cause of all of it.

She could feel her gift pulsating through her body, ready to lash out. She knew better however. This was no mere mage. Few mages on the plane could even approach her power level, but this one did outmatch her... by far. It was no mere mortal who stood before her, of that she was certain.

"I think not. If you tell us how to stop you, you can either tell us the truth and envision us not taking the hint believing it a lie, or tell us a lie and hope we follow your advice in the illusion it's a path to victory. Either way, you cannot be certain we will fail. Your logic is flawed".

She heard Kael speak but the words did not reach her, another voice whispered in her mind. A voice sounding as innocent and sweet as she never heard before, luring her, tempting...

...Tockgôaz... You can end this... You can feel it. Just accept my help...

She shook her head as if to shake the voice away. She focused back on the scene before her. Grimm, the more than ugly dwarf she just met a few moments before the appearance, Aiden and her friends from Dharasha. All ready to attack if the signal were given.

Tockgôaz... embrace it, let go...you know you want to...

Ithilwen blinked once, thinking a reply to the voice in her head. Go away, I do not need your help. who or whatever you are... GO!

"You...you interest me. Just like Cecilia... and Aiden (yes, I see you, trying to hide over there...come back here, at once)...You will see me again soon. I am not done with you".

She heard the words the Trickster spoke to Kael, her rage increasing inside her. Fueled by the voice tempting her, fueled by another threat made to one of her friends. Frustration building up as she truly wished to tap into that immense energy source, waiting just around the corner.

Her fists clenched around the daggers she was holding, her nails digging in her flesh as she tried not to give in.

Embrace it! Destroy the creature threatening your friend... it is your destiny to take it, Tockgôaz!

A hint of her inner struggle showed on her face. No, I can do without... I have no need for you... I'll deal with this Trickster by myself! Anger and frustration of the conflict inside her filling her voice, she cried out:

"No! Not again! After all we have done to get him back, you will not take him again! I will not allow this!".

But the Trickster was gone, no reaction or sign he even acknowledged her challenge

-Penned swiftly by the elf Mith, sitting in the comfort of the Friendly Arm Inn, after his first dungeon dive into the minotaur ruins.

-Penned by the Silver Elf, Mith, sitting alone at the top of the waterfall within the boundary of Dharasha.

-Penned by the Silver Elf, Mith, after the most curious day he had near the Friendly Arm Inn

He stepped on the Frost Drake's carcass, casually cracking the remains into dust under his black leather boots. The local denizens were an annoyance, and a waste of his precious time. He had preparations to make. The journey Ithilwen and himself were about to undertake could hardly be survived without the appropriate precautions. Some uneducated fools would certainly disagree, but he knew better. An Archmage plans properly. An Archmage does not make mistakes. The dangers of Shadowfell were well known to him...as almost everything else. Everything meaningful, anyway...

As his servants were collecting the dragon eggs, the drake's very blood, scales and teeth and some of the dead tree's petrified splinters, a dimension door opened right on top of him, and a group of five Frost Giant warriors led by a Mystic engaged him in a frenzied assault. He turned to face them while his defensive clones shattered all around him under the aggressors' flurry of blows as ice magic and necromantic spells battered his wards. One of the warriors managed to hit him fair and square in the chest with its enormous battleaxe, sending the wizard flying across the room.

He hit the wall with a thud, ice falling on him and almost covering his body completely. His servants, just about ready to enter the fight, slowly turned once more to their menial tasks. The Giants, ready to face them, did not understand, until they heard the sinister, mirthless laughter coming from the far side of the room.
Like a marionette, the black mantled mage rose from the ice, eyes ablaze with the power within him.
"My turn..." he said as his bloodless lips curved into a wicked smile. He was still smiling when the giants charged him once more, and the Mystic's spells washed away on his defenses. He was smiling as he traced the glyphs of power and whispered words in the arcane language of magic: "Death Coil".

He kept smiling as the giants screamed and died.

Over the past two months the gruff, brute of an elf, Mai, has been ravishing the woods. Hunting down any stragglers and survivors of the war that wrecked not too long ago. She would often return wounded, sometimes to an inch from her life. Yet always returning with a satisfied blood stained toothy grin. She would welcome any of the village to tend to her wounds yet would remain distant otherwise, often secluding herself to a small clearing, a large boulder in its center piece. She rested at the village till she grew the strength to lift the boulder again over her shoulder, at that point she returned to the wood.

She returns today after eight days gone without a blood stained grin. Her demeanor is eerily calm, her armor fairly unscathed. She cradles in her hands a fairly uncommon sight to the great pine forest of the misty forest, an acorn. Retiring to her familiar patch of dirt she digs a small hole in front of the boulder. Around the dirt mound she writes with a finger. She spends the day sitting before the mound in meditation. As dusk begins to set she hefts her shield and makes her way from the village once more. Her usual bloodshot, hungry eyes are peaceful, almost content as she pushes through the foliage around the village.

Should any attempt to read what was written about the mound, with a great amount of deciphering and deduction the following phrase could be made out.

"Though my soul will set crimson, it will raise a great oak.
I have become too fond of death's taste to be fearful of its choke."

PiaMango wrote:Over the past two months the gruff, brute of an elf, Mai, has been ravishing the woods. Hunting down any stragglers and survivors of the war that wrecked not too long ago. She would often return wounded, sometimes to an inch from her life. Yet always returning with a satisfied blood stained toothy grin. She would welcome any of the village to tend to her wounds yet would remain distant otherwise, often secluding herself to a small clearing, a large boulder in its center piece. She rested at the village till she grew the strength to lift the boulder again over her shoulder, at that point she returned to the wood.

She returns today after eight days gone without a blood stained grin. Her demeanor is eerily calm, her armor fairly unscathed. She cradles in her hands a fairly uncommon sight to the great pine forest of the misty forest, an acorn. Retiring to her familiar patch of dirt she digs a small hole in front of the boulder. Around the dirt mound she writes with a finger. She spends the day sitting before the mound in meditation. As dusk begins to set she hefts her shield and makes her way from the village once more. Her usual bloodshot, hungry eyes are peaceful, almost content as she pushes through the foliage around the village.

Should any attempt to read what was written about the mound, with a great amount of deciphering and deduction the following phrase could be made out.

"Though my soul will set crimson, it will raise a great oak.
I have become too fond of death's taste to be fearful of its choke."

Any subsequent visitor would be able to discern a second rhyme engraved in a stone close by, apparently in response to Mai's:

"Death is like a feather,
one's last breath is the key
to Arvandor or Nether,
in the end finally free.

Dont fear Death's taste,
nor grow too fond of your oak
for everything must die,
in its dark embrace choked.

Your suffering is over,
eternal rest draws nigh
Death is the sweetest lover,
its kiss your last goodbye."

The elves Kaienrai and Elanaele could be seen leaving the interior of the Friendly Arm Inn. When asking a patron, he says the two elves were speaking on the roof for quite some time before they came back down. It is said the elves walked outside headed north with packs worth of rations for a far trip north, even passed Baldur's Gate. The only discernible elvish the patron could make out was Kaienrai needing to find and wear a hood.

"Well what if they are still looking for you?"

That question haunted him over the last few days. His conversation with Sister Elanaele opened a new perspective for him about his situation. It was not just about him anymore. He was of Dharasha now. What affected him could potentially affect the entire forest if they were coming to look for him. That would kill him more than anything.

"I need to hide for now. And I know just the place."

It was rather late into the night when he walked towards the wall, and nodded towards his servant, who promptly removed the comfortable couch from its current location with supernatural strength.

Murmuring a few words in the arcane language of magic, he unraveled the complex illusion he had tied on that particular floor section, revealing a well disguised trap-door. The servant lifted it, and he began descending, a gliding cloud of black robes following his bat familiar, Nightwing, who flew in ahead of him.

There was much to be done. Much to be prepared. Mendel, Marigold and Grimm had been alerted and accepted to help them. Now, it was time to prepare in his peculiar way... He examined the scaffolds in the small underground room, then the table located in the center of it. He picked up one of the jars, then extracted a scroll from one of his ample pockets, and he began...

It was almost dawn when he emerged, replacing the concealing weave and dismissed his helper for the day. He was almost ready for the Plane of Shadows...would the others be?

Kaenrai can be seen visiting the city of Baldur's Gates and the Friendly Arm Inn, periodically. He enters with an empty sack and leaves with supplies to last for days. His clothes are somewhat clean, though it is obvious soaps were not a factor in it's cleaning. He looks down as he walks, not making eye contact with anyone.

The summons woke him abruptly from his reverie.

"Kaienrai of House Gaeavae'ess,

You will appear before the counsel in three days hence. Even now, while you are in seclusion, you are being watched. Any suspicious activity will be noted and not tolerated. Your fate within the forest will be decided then. Do not keep us waiting."

Kaienrai let the sending spell linger for a moment in his thoughts. The use of his full house name made him wince, and he could not recognize the spell signature. Was it the Cor'Selu'Taar? Kael? The Cormiira? He cringed a bit at thought of recieving the ire of the High Priestess of Corellon.

Sighing, he sat in his grotto for a few moments more, contemplating his fate and what brought him to it. Well, whatever that fate may be, the Seldarine guide me, please.

He packed up his few meager belongings and what rations he had left and began to make his way north. The journey would take some time, especially using less traveled pathways. "At least, perhaps, I can get some soap" he chuckled. A mirthless chuckle lined with worry.

Eddies of mystical energy swirled about her ankles, a slow look around and the forests shone with life. Stepping through the last motes of teleportation felt like sifting through shallow waters. A faint, bittersweet calm and she looked to the pack beside her.

Words of Luthien's arcane replies echoed in her mind, shaking her head at old arguments seemingly trivial.
"We will find you rest," looking to her leather satchel.

Brutish man-shaped beasts stood in her path to bar the way, sickly green flesh rippled in muscle as they gripped crude blades. But she was alone, as bid. Their tusked sneers arrayed around one golden haired waif. And she smiled. There was no need to hold back now.



Brilliant lights of all the rainbow flooded through the trees as Orcish howls echo across a forest brought alight. Color drowned the world. Orcish legs froze still to the ground with a chill fog - thunder cracked as heat rocked the air and shook the earth. Foe after foe fell screaming, until one last warrior raised sword overhead - that fragile woman's face looked to him unmoved as the sword came down and...nothing happened. He blinked, there was a glance to his sword, which was not quite there. Nor was his arm. But he could still feel it...Then the world rocked beneath him. He could see the leafy canopy ahead of him. Then nothing, ever again.

A few steps more and the surreal forest was left behind her. It had not taken long to ensure no damage was truly done to flora or fauna, just as the tower ahead saw fertility restored after so many battles. Let the Orcs finally aid the People by feeding the soil.

"If only more arguments could be over so...Quickly," a glance up and aside to the clouds and word of where she was, what she was doing reached waiting mind in Doron Amar. These may be Tel'Quessir ahead, but no harm in caution. A shift in her pack strap brought all the weight to one shoulder, her arm wrapped about the bundle in haste. She looked to it once more, the remains of six Quessir fallen on unknown world at an unknown time. "You aren't heavy - you're my kin."

Now all that remained was to meet Comiira Luthien, or anyone else she sent.

((Special Thanks, DM Venger))

Kaienrai could be seen heading south. Those whom know him would recognize a lighter bounce in his step and a determined look on his face.

Sehlanna too went south, joining Ameris through Hobgoblin, drakes and other beasts. Her duty done, she joins him in a pilgrimage started long ago.

An eventful time later, she seeks out the Ranger she'd passed at Dharasha's gates for a talk. Skills remembered from her time in the Night Hunters serve her as she hunts down tracks. Failing that, she pursues what trail of defeated monsters he may leave in his wake. It had been too long since she met these comrades in arms last.

One glance up and away to the sky, a wave of her fingers and her brows knit. Pausing there for a few moments, her brows twitch and she stares aside to the forest floor below in forlorn sigh.