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

Recently in a well lit tavern.

Alathra Kulenov slouches down on a stool in an warm and crowded tavern room looking exhausted. The man behind the counter stares at her unflinchingly. She ignores the eyes fixed on her, only thinking of pounding a strong drink before she slips in to her bottom bunk.

“Haven’t seen you around in a long time” He says expectantly.

She ignore the comment.

“I know who you are, have a good memory.” He taps the side of his head.

“Sure ya do.”

He pulls a black bottle from behind the counter and places it on the bar haphazardly. It tips over, but his hand moves quickly and sets it upright once more. The mans eyes become slits as he focuses in on her features. He mumbles something to himself.

“Alathra right, told you, good memory,” the man’s eyes begin to open as his mouth widens to a grin, “the shipwright's daugher.” His grin becomes laughter.

“Some time back worked with with the Flaming Fist.”

She nods slightly.

“Heard you run off, left the city behind. More surprised you are not married to some noble knight.” The man gives a toothy grin, then bursts in to laughter again.

Alathra half smiles, feeling the sting of the truth behind his words. She doesn’t elaborate or explain, “Made a mistake is all.”

The man pours a reddish liquid into a small crystal glass and places it before her. “Out with it then, like to hear the whole story.”

She rubs her eyes deeply in a desperate effort to clear her head. She sips the liquid down her throat before the cup sets on the counter. Relishing the taste, “pour me another and I tell you my tale.”

“A ship, I don’t believe it.” The man behind the bar motions his arms above his head mimicking astonishment.

“ ’Tis the truth.” The 3 crystal glasses were now lined up in front of her perfectly.

“Your styled hair and fancy dresses prancing around on the deck of a ship huh?”

“Took some getting used to, truth be told I grew up around ships, I just haven’t traveled on many. My father was a shipwright who spent most of his time at the docks. My mother would send me to find him every night.”

Alathra runs her fingers over her ear, matting down a piece of stray hair. She had been telling her story for the better part of an hour, but had not gotten very far.

“He took me aboard his ship,”

“Who did?”

“My darling husband.”

“Oh right.”

“ I think he was the first mate, I barely saw him while we were at sea.”

“Where did you set out from?”

“The Dock District of course. I was some type of merchant vessel”

The man looked confused as his eyes bounced from side to side. “Wait, I thought...”

She interrupted him by placing a bag of gold on to the counter. “If you want to hear the tale, please listen. I bet if I gave you this gold, you’de be quiet.”

He stood motionless for a moment.

“I am going to need another drink, on the house this time.”

The man simply nodded, his mouth still hanging open.

Alathra’s head was spinning, she briefly closed and opened her eyes.

“So what became of your husband then?” the man leaning on the counter quipped.

It was late, what was once a roaring fire in the corner of the room, was now just glowing coals, everything seemed darker.

A frown pierced her cheeks, “unfortunately, the sea killed him.”

He did not know how to react to her answer, “So then..”

Her speech was thick and slurred, “If you must know….broken rigging hit him in his back, then he fell into the sea.”

Her arms mimicked a reaching motion. sobs then burst filling the room with tears. Several other fine gentleman had sauntered in to their conversation, and were know listening intently.

A drunken voice in the back of the group bellowed, “did I hear she’s single now?”

All the faces in the room burst forth with laughter, save one, who’s eyes wettened.

Alathra awakens again, this time she climbs out of her King size bed, and picks up her pack without a sound. Weary from a restless night blessed with sweet dreams, she quietly steps down the stairs of the silent inn. Normally noise echoes throughout the innl as someone is always chattering, as the wooden planks creaking from foot traffic, or the sound of instruments being played. Tonight however there is no such noise. She slips on her high heeledboots at the bottom of the stairs, then lightly steps out the door.

A chill is in the air and she welcomes it, despite wearing a cloak, she is not warm, as her clothing is made for astetics, not warmth, the wind stabs through it. She welcomes the chill, letting it trickle down her extremities. The roads and alley are all well lit at night and she walks along the walls to the fountain. There she finds a quiet spot, away from the minstrels, and sits, her feet dangle over the edge. She closes her eyes and listens to the watery noises of the fountain.