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

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Since time beyond memory, from one far-flung end of the Forgotten Realms to the other, whenever powerful people have sought even greater power, they have often employed specialists to further their agendas. Perhaps the deadliest, and most frequently underestimated of these, are the women known as Gaieeshah, or Gisaeng.

While perfectly capable of undetectably penetrating the most formidable of defenses, and delivering silent, or untraceable death in the manner of an Assassin, the Gisaeng are far more varied in their skill set. Trained from childhood, these women are also accomplished entertainers, witty conversationalists, and incomparable spies.

Far more subtle than a Shapechanger whose talent alters only visible form, Gisaeng are capable of transforming their very personas, and presenting to their targets anything they wish. A dear companion, a caring mentor, an awed innocent, a devious adviser, or a passionate lover. Whatever the heart desires a Gisaeng can provide.

Once in position they can influence with a whisper, enrapture with a smile, or crush with a gesture. From the noblest courts in the realms, to the seediest underbellies of great cities, these women move freely, and with perfect disguise. To employ a Gisaeng is to ensure almost certain success with one's plans.



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In the pale morning light a figure crouched near the western edge of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Her calf high boots glistened with drops of dew, and directly in front of them a small, brown rabbit lay unmoving. Shialla watched it's glazed eyes intently, understanding full well the state of fear that could leave a creature so paralyzed, so beyond hope that it waited unthinking for the death blow to fall.

Her thoughts drifted back in time to the slave markets and pleasure houses of Thay, to her two dead sisters, and to the wizard Gallander that they had called father. Gallander Macchionato, the man who had brought them into this world, and twisted and shaped them to his own purposes. A deep frown creased her brow as she recalled her first clear memory of those times.

He had leaned over the three of them, glowing with a fell green light, and hissed at them with teeth bared.
"You are mine and mine alone. You will not turn eye nor ear to anything I do not set you upon. You will obey me without question or pause. You are the children of my effort and you owe every miserable breath you draw to me."

He leaned menacingly closer to them, and instinctively the sisters linked hands.
"I will extract payment from your minds, flesh, and souls for the length of your days. You live and die at my whim, and should you ever cross me I will peel your skins like lemons and then dine on your still beating hearts."
They gazed fearfully up at him, and with perfect synchronicity the sisters all said, "Yes Father."

Shialla's face was patterned with a series of symmetrical markings, a part of her birthright that Gallander had enhanced with metallic inks driven deep within her skin. Hatred pulsed inside her, and as it did so the markings glowed a more vibrant gold and flashed momentarily to match the clear golden color of her eyes.

Each of her sisters had possessed a number of different anomalies, though Shialla had only two that were visible. Her right hand began to rise involuntarily, to rub at the places that itched, but with years of practice behind her, she easily aborted the move and allowed her hand to drift down again, and come to rest lightly on her knee. A small sigh escaped her lips as she imagined touching their faces once more - Marissa the gentle, and Vianna the bold. She came back to herself as the rabbit finally twitched with life, the motion drawing her from her reveries. Will I snap it's neck and feed? Or shall I let it live?

She reached out and gave the tiny creature's shoulder a nudge, and watched as it startled, then leaped toward the shelter of the woods. I have changed so much. Was this mercy I just showed, or simply a fit of sympathy I felt brought on by my thoughts? Am I getting dangerously soft, or increasingly more compassionate? Damn my wandering mind anyway, now my belly will growl all morning.

She snorted with mild disgust, and rose to her feet.[
"One day Gallander I will find you, and at that time you will be the one to pay. And one day I will track down the last of those that abused my beloved sisters at your behest, and they too will pay with their lives."
She spoke softly but clearly, and felt a sense of unquestionable rightness as she released the words into the wind.

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"Wake up lass, yer dreamin' a bad 'un again."

Brun leaned down and gave the woman's shoulder a quick shake, looking at her only long enough to ensure that she woke. His voice was usually as rough and gnarled as his hands, but now there was a hint of gentle concern beneath the gruffness.

As Shialla's eyes sprang open, fear and panic still obviously twisting her face, Brun looked quickly away and allowed her time to gather herself. It was not his way to rob anyone of their dignity or pride, and even his enemies were often given grunting praise by him for demonstrating their courage or prowess in battle.

His companions had all lost count of the number of times he had stood over a newly fallen foe and paid them a brief, if occasionally grudging compliment.

"Yer fought well laddie, but not well enough!"

"It's no disgrace to have yer head removed by the waraxe of Brun Axegrinder!"

"There's no denyin' yer bravery, but yer common sense was sorely lacking!"

Like his other companions of the road, Sador Lanner the fighter, and the colorful mage Zalvius Curiata, Brun had grown used to Shialla's nightmares over the past long year of adventuring. It saddened him to see her so haunted and fragile in her dreams. As far as the doughty dwarf was concerned, sleep was for healing, or dreaming of handsome dwarven women with broad hips and soft, silky beards.

His sleep was always deep and untroubled. Pragmatic, efficient and unwavering by day, at night he was equally no-nonsense, and could plunge into sleep within moments of closing his eyes.

"I always sleep the sleep of the just," he had once joked. Or the sleep of the just after!" and roared with laughter.

During their time together Shialla had not spoken a lot about her past. She had talked about her sisters, and about her life in Thay in the only the vaguest of terms. When pressed she had occasionally spoken of their father, the wizard who had forced them into service, but said only that he was an irredeemably evil and manipulative man, who had ultimately been responsible for the death of her sisters. She would not be drawn into more detailed revelations about him.

As time passed by, while trading stories with them to enliven long days on the roads, she had also spoken of some the missions the wizard had her carry out, but again in only the skimpiest of details. So although after a year of contact they all had a fair idea of the kind of life she had led, and knew of some of the things she had done, they also knew there was much that she kept hidden, kept buried deep inside.

A month or so after she first joined their little band , the three men had discussed her quietly together. Zalvius had been the most suspicious.

"She wears masks, layers and layers of them," he stated. "I know enough about her now to know that she is far from the innocent she portrays. And I hate to say this, but I am just coming to realize what a skillful manipulator she can be. I'd never have picked it up in the short term though, she is far too good for that, and frankly it irks me that I got taken in at all."

"Not disagreein' with yer there," Brun had replied, "But I've come to trust her to have me back in a fight, and I ain't one ter do that lightly. And anyway, what sort of a woman is it that can't get a man to skip and hop to her tunes? Sador, what's yer thinkin' on this?"


The lean fighter rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then shrugged.
"Her heart is in the right place, no doubting that. No doubting she has an inner demon or two as well. Then again, who doesn't?"

"Not me for starters," said Brun.

Sador snorted. "Oh you're a paragon of bloody virtue Brun. Not a flaw or weakness anywhere."

"Yer got that right enough," Brun grinned, "But back ter Shialla. Zal here has misgivings, what's yer vote?"

"I say we keep her. She's damn useful with a lock, handy with a bow, and .. well, I've grown fond of having her about. She brings out the best in me you know? Makes me stand taller, take a little more care with my looks, makes me feel protective and all knightly if you know what I mean." He looked over to Zalvius.

The bony wizard removed his long pointed hat and turned it over and over in his hands as though looking for a hole somewhere. A couple of minutes passed and finally he nodded to himself.

"Whatever else she is, or has been, we've been a happier crew since she teamed up with us. She's a good fit, and together we have more options than we used to." He nodded again to himself, "She's got my vote too, but I'll be doing a little more digging when I get the chance."


Since that time the four of them had grown much closer. Even Zalvius had laid to rest the last of his misgivings, although with his keen intellect he knew that at some time she would need catharsis, would need to open old wounds and see them bleed clean. Nevertheless, adversity and hard-earned victories had welded them into a highly competent force.

They knew each others strengths and weaknesses in battle, knew without thinking what the others would be doing, and knew beyond any doubt that trust was the deepest bond between them. For Shialla it had been a slowly transformational process, and for the first time since losing her sisters, she had begun to feel as though she had a family again.

She sat fully up now, and took several slow calming breaths. She scrubbed her face hard then with both hands, and ran her fingers through her hair. After a moment she reached out and touched Brun's arm.

"Was I noisy?" she whispered.

Brun pointed at the other two still sleeping deeply on the other side of the fire.

"Not noisy enough to waken those two reprobates. I heard yer squirming about mostly, and decided ter give yer a shove. Was it the tower again lass, or one o' them bawdy houses?"

"Neither," she said, and the pair of them sat and watched the flames in silence until dawn finally came.

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Sador, Brun, Zalvius and Shialla had been traveling along the Sword Coast for quite some time, taking on a job here and there, exploring old ruins for treasure, fighting marauders and wild beasts, doing whatever needed doing, until they eventually arrived at the once thriving city of Baldur's Gate.

A huge pall of smoke and ash hung over the city, and fires could be seen flickering in what they later came to know was the Palace Quarter. The friends exchanged glances again as they entered the massive gates, and noted the stunned and shocked expressions on most of the inhabitants faces.

"Rebellion?" whispered Sador. Factional conflict?"

In his usual abrupt manner Zalvius stepped forward and grabbed the elbow of a passing tradesman.

"Excuse me young man, pray tell me what has happened here?"

His clear, but querulous and unpleasantly grating voice carried across the street and several passersby halted.

The accosted man looked at Zalvius's fine turquoise blue and sable black robes and his eyes widened a little.

"Dragons milord, 'twere dragons this one day past."

Several of the onlookers chimed in.

"And walking dead milord! Walking bones and other more terrible creatures besides!"

"Dragons destroyed the houses of the high and mighty they did, as well as the Hall of Wonders and the Temple of Gond! All burned and black as night!"

"Killed a lot of people they did, all crisped up and twisted till they can't be recognized by even their own mothers!"

"The entire quarter in ruins, lost me uncle there I did, and him with four small children still at home!"

Zalvius glanced at his companions with a pleased look as if to say, "Milord... Did you hear that? ... Milord... At least these peasants recognize class when they see it!"

More folk gathered to see what the fuss was about, and Zalvius preened and stood as straight as he possibly could while he continued to question the growing crowd.

"You there speak up ... no not you, you don't look as though you could put a decent thought together if you tried ... that fat fellow there. Yes, you with the filthy apron."

It was not long before the group had learned most of the story.

Apparently it was only the day before that a large force of undead had attacked the city's East Gate, while at the same time dragons of many colors fought from the air and on the ground. All this it seemed had been a massive diversion designed to cover the more dire events played out beneath the Palace Quarter.

It was now believed that dark cultists conducted some foul ritual, and had caused the dragon-god Tiamat to be reborn. She had risen up in a blast of divine light and fire that leveled much of the quarter almost instantly, and then spawning a number of lesser dragons, she had flown away to the east, much to the relief of the city defenders still standing.

Opinions were divided on how many heads she had.

"Four it were. One for every direction. North, south, east and west. Call the Great Winds that dragon can!"

"Yer daft, that dragon had at least seven heads, I heard it direct from the mouth o' one o' the Flaming Fists."

"Dragon like that can grow as many heads as it wants, and if one gets cut off, why three more take it's place!"

As the talk degenerated into useless squabbling Zalvius slammed the heel of his staff onto the ground and caused all the flagstones for a twenty foot radius to heave and rock for a brief moment.

"Very good, very good. That will be all. On your way now, quickly, quickly," Zalvius waved a dismissive hand at the gathered city-folk who all suddenly recalled they had other things to do.

Despite the damage done, and despite the shock and the grieving of many of the residents, they were a resilient lot, and Baldur's Gate resumed a near normal pace within a few days. The companions settled in to enjoy the benefits of a big city. There were market stalls with both local and exotic wares, quality goods from long established shops, bakeries whose rich smells occasionally overpowered the less pleasant aromas of the streets, blacksmiths, armorers, weapon smiths, milliners and tailors, and for Shialla especially, minstrels and dancers to enjoy and study.

Several weeks passed by and Baldur's Gate had been very good to them, had given them all a chance to relax, and to replenish their supplies and repair all their equipment. Together Brun and Sador had carefully examined and thoroughly tested all the taverns available.

"Why it's a sacred duty lass," said Brun to Shialla as he held the end of his beard in one clenched fist to show the sincerity of his words.

Sador nodded vehemently in agreement. "We would be completely negligent, unforgivably irresponsible, and ...... well, almost criminal if we didn't keep up with our discovery guide to the Inns and Taverns of the Forgotten Realms. It will be a big seller one day, you mark my words!"

As time passed they grew restless though. Zalvius in particular was eager to go further south and to visit the renowned libraries of Candlekeep, home to the Wizards of The Seventh Circle.

Eventually they asked around town a little more for work, and then settled on some contracts from Master Maltz in the weapon shop, and one from the Torgeir Mining Company. It was time to leave. The Friendly Arms Inn, the wizard's tower of Candlekeep, and the city of Beregost were their next destinations.
As the foursome passed through the farmlands on the outskirts of the city and struck the road south, the sun shone brightly from a near cloudless blue sky. A light breeze sprang up and stirred the hair and danced across the faces of the travelers, carrying with it the sweet scent of flowers and freshly baled hay.

Walking slightly in front of them all Shialla suddenly found herself singing from the sheer pleasure of the moment. Her three companions almost immediately gave their obligatory derisive remarks, each one trying to outdo the other.

"Sounds like a pair o' cats mating on a hot tiled roof," said Brun.

"No," said Sador. "More like a pig being skewered by a spear."

"You're both as ignorant and mistaken as usual," Zalvius chimed in. "That is quite clearly the sound of half a dozen diseased weasels being skinned alive by a village idiot."

As the three all burst into laughter a huge smile lit Shialla's face and she sang even louder.

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Someone or something was following her.

Deep within the brooding forest named Cloakwood, Shialla lay unmoving in one of the rare open areas, her body cushioned by the thick grass beneath her, her hands spread wide and the fingertips worked slightly into the soil, sensitive to the vibrations of any approaching creature. She had come here using every one of her hunting skills to the maximum, and now she strained her preternatural senses of smell and hearing to the full, in the belief that in this place she may for once be able to detect the creature that had begun to dog her steps. In these woods, everything was predator or prey. Everything here either hid, hunted, or was hunted in turn. Perhaps here the thing would make a small mistake, and Shialla would learn something more that she could put to use at a later date.

Her cheeks ached from all the smiling and grinning she had done that day, but she knew the importance of subterfuge, of appearing friendly and open to those she met or mingled with. The more one blends in, the less closely one is observed. And truth tell, during her time on the road with her three trusted companions she had found a new ease and a depth of warmth in her soul that surprised her. Given the proclivity of the three men to fill their days with relaxed humor, and with jests and gibes that ranged from downright hilarious to shockingly crude, she had slowly been drawn into discovering and then setting free a sense of humor that she hadn't known she possessed. She had long been able to tell a jest or provide clever and witty comments to anyone she was instructed or employed to entertain, but in the past the things she had said left no echo of merriment within herself. She had always delivered her remarks quite devoid of true feeling, although none with her could ever discern how really cold she was. If she smiled at all it had been predominantly for show, smiles delivered to accomplish a purpose, and only ever occasionally genuine when she was with her beloved sisters, though they rarely had anything to smile about.

For a minute she lost focus and her mind drifted back in time to one of her earliest lessons with Gallander Macchionato, the Red Wizard who had magically fathered and then so malevolently fostered her and her siblings.

She had watched him as he paced carefully back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head nodding in time with the delivery of each sentence.

"To disarm a man in battle removes much of his threat correct? What use is the greatsword that lies on the ground a body length away from the hand that wields it?"

The wizard expected no reply, nor tolerated one unless asked for. He continued in a rhetorical manner, his dry, sibilant voice sounding almost disinterested in what he was saying.

"It is no less important to disarm a man intellectually and emotionally. Perhaps it is even more so. Win the battle of the mind first, and the rest shall follow like apples falling from a tree. And in this case the apples will fall exactly where I wish them to ... directly into your devious little manicured hands."

He leaned over her on the great stone slab where she was expected to lie whenever he instructed her. The chill beneath her back reflected perfectly in his eyes, and knowing him so well, she willed herself to that familiar place where pain was a distant thing.

"Smile for me now," he said as he reached out and took her right earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and began to twist cruelly. "Wider, wider still. No, your eyes are still cold, let the smile travel to them also. Yes, yes, that is much better."

He released her ear and reached out again, raising her arms one by one until her hands met above her head, palms up, one wrist crossed over the other.

"Yes, yes," he said, "Much, much better." The wizard put a hand into one of his robe pockets and withdrew a small pair of iron pincers. This time his voice thickened with obvious pleasure.

"Now let's try that again my clever little kitten."

It was now the small hours just before dawn and the swollen moon had slipped out of sight behind the great dark trees that surrounded her. Shialla brought her mind back to the present and the problem confronting her. Above her the night sky blazed brilliant with stars but she gazed at them unseeing, her mind recalling every detail of her encounters with her mysterious stalker.

It had truly startled her the first time. A sexless whisper so close in her ear. It had called her by name, and then circled around her completely unseen, whispering first in one ear, and then the other. She challenged the creature to show itself, and her companions had reacted immediately by searching for tracks, or casting spells of revelation. None of them, not even the highly skilled tiefling ranger Merrok, who was with them at the time could detect any hint of passage or presence. And still it whispered to her.

"Watching you," it said. "Watching you...."

It departed as abruptly as it had came, and over the following weeks it returned at intervals. It seemed to find her at will, day or night, in open road, woodlands, fields or caves - it did not seem to matter. Always it taunted her, teased her. Made vague, veiled threats and even vaguer promises.

Shialla weighed the facts carefully. For whatever reason this thing has taken interest in me, it cannot possibly know what I am, nor what I am capable of. It has been eight long years since I left Thay and even there I was a hidden thing. Like my sisters I was one of Gallander's dark secrets, and unless he has chosen to place a bounty on me .. she paused as she assessed that thought .. No, he will want to keep this personal. When it is convenient for him he will want to destroy my world while I watch. He will be compelled to see me suffer at his hands once more, and I doubt he would send a bounty hunter to collect his prize. Whatever this thing is it does not do his bidding. It does not know that it is my mind, my Gisaeng training that is my true weapon. It has seen me in open battle with bow and blade, and it has watched me track and hunt game, but these are the least of my talents. It cannot possibly be aware of the subtle arts in which I am so deadly.

In all these contacts, in all the times it has sought me out, has spoken to me, has turned it's thoughts to me - it has unwittingly bound itself to me. There is an intricate relationship between the hunter and the hunted, the gaoler and the prisoner, the master and the slave. The longer the time spent together the deeper the subconscious bonds grow, and the more the balance of power becomes exploitable.

Since that first contact I have played it, showed it only and exactly that which I wished it to see.

Once more her thoughts traveled back in time to the tower that had been at once her home, her school, her prison, and the source of her deepest and oldest pains.

The wizard's inner sanctum had thrummed with the constant presence of eldritch power. Across the high domed ceiling random bolts of arcane energy discharged in crackling green glare, then channeled down deep grooves in the blackened stone walls and disappeared through the polished floor. The lurid green light reflected on the gaping mouths and outstretched limbs of the hundreds of petrified creatures that knobbed the walls from floor to ceiling like nightmare fungi in a hollowed out tree. Each creature seemed to scream silently again and again as their faces shocked in and out of darkness.

In the center of the room a massive petrified gargoyle squatted on it's heels, it's head thrown back and it's bestial features twisted in frozen agony. It's enormous ribbed wings were held high and fanned wide like great shields of granite, every frozen bone thicker than the thigh of a man. It's mighty corded forearms were thrust forward at waist height, and the upward curling hands exposed every inch of it's extended talons.

Gallander reclined in it's lap, one hand idly stroking the gargoyle's claws, his gaze moving slowly from one to the other of the young girls as they knelt before him, their heads pressed to the stone below. No clothing or adornments broke the perfect curves of outstretched arm, bowed back or folded leg, and the flawless white skin of their bodies was in stark contrast to the deeply veined and mottled red marble floor beneath them.

"Three pretty white roses in a pool of blood," the wizard mused.

The energy flared again, and the brilliant green light washed the girls in ghastly color and turned the polished red floor black as onyx.

"Three poison green lilies glowing in the night. What lovely, lovely pictures you make for me."

He chuckled then, the sound as thick and clotted as a corpse covered with flies.

When his mirth finally subsided he dabbed at his mouth with a square of silken cloth and spoke again. "Sit up straight now and pay close attention."

"In a duel between wizards where power is evenly matched, it is the one who can disguise his intentions, the one who can select and release a spell without any forewarning who will be the victor. It is also not always the mightiest spell that succeeds. At times one must do the obvious and expected, or even deliberately and clumsily sacrifice a powerful magic, to provide cover for the smaller casting that can slip under the guard and bring all undone."

He watched them with the unblinking stillness of a snake watching mice.

"To do this successfully one must possess an adamantine will married to impenetrable purpose. The mind must become an impervious shield. An unassailable layering of glittering silver that coats the hidden depths below. This shield can be used for three distinct intents. The first is to show nothing at all. Only a smooth blank wall that will cause your enemies to probe and pry, or to batter at in in impotent frustration. The second use is to perfectly reflect back that which your opponent expects to see, and thereby lull them into complacency and carelessness. The final use is to project onto its surface, any and everything that you wish your victim to see and take note of. A painting of exquisite deception."

He paused once more, his tongue flickering in and out between his lips as he tasted the degree of concentration in the room.

Satisfied with the focus of his silent daughters he continued. "This is an essential tool for you to acquire. Not only will you use it against any mundane target I set for you, wealthy merchants, arrogant guild heads, or jumped up nobility .... but there will also come a time when you will be set against my peers, against other Red Wizards who strive in vain to become Zulkir. Without mastery of this skill they will tear you wide open and guzzle your secrets, like wolves gutting deer."

He lay back deeper into the embrace of the gargoyle, the shadow from its jutting jaw now covering all but Gallander's viciously pointed chin. His voice seemed to flow out of the darkness then and wrap around them, a disembodied thing of chill echoes and resonance.

"Close your eyes now my little darlings. Listen to your breath travel in and out, in ... and out, in ... and out. Slower now. Slower. As you breathe out let your thoughts go out with the breath. All those foolish little girl thoughts. Those idle bothers, and petty troubles. Let them all go. All go. All go."

Again Shialla returned to the present. She recalled how in her subsequent encounters with the thing she had displayed first nervousness, then bravado, then small fits of impotent anger. She had shown all the tiny physical signs that her stalker could wish to see to encourage it in its apparent success. She had detected early a hint of pride and a sure self-confidence bordering on arrogance in the way it spoke to her. In the things it said. Shialla had let her teeth grind at times, had made the tiny muscles in her cheek twitch and jump, had clumsily tried to see it in shadow or in dust. And the creature grew more taunting and dismissive.

Just recently, deep in a cave in the Troll Claw Hills, it's voice had come whispering to her again. Shialla had pulled back a little way from the group she was exploring with, then turned and retraced her steps by a dozen paces. She had made the feeble excuse of needing to adjust her bracer, and then knelt and hissed at the thing to leave her alone.

"Could you possibly me any more obvious," it whispered in reply.

Shialla knew then that she had it. The scorn in its voice was so strong and full of contempt, that she knew it had accepted her carefully presented persona. Now it was almost complacent. It had underestimated her and that was Shialla's hidden weapon.

A little later on near disaster had struck the party at the hands of a mighty Ogre wizard and his minions. To further its own purposes the stalker had come again and used some kind of scroll to save Shialla from her wounds. Shialla had listened to the rustling of parchment, and then the arcane words being read softly aloud.

She had risen unsteadily to her feet. "I am in your debt," she had murmured with her head bowed down.

"Yesss," the thing gloated. "And doesn't that complicate things!"

Despite her pain Shialla had smiled to herself in satisfactiion. And I always pay my debts in full.

In the Cloakwood a sudden thrill ran through her fingertips, something large was moving closer. She recognized the vibrations almost instantly. One of the giant Phase spiders that hunted these woods was approaching. Shialla allowed her mind to slide into stillness. Her breathing slowed almost to a stop and her heart rate dropped until it was near imperceptible. Her skin cooled rapidly until it was chilled and tinged with blue, and she lay there unblinking and unmoving as the spider's huge questing forelegs tapped at her face and scraped at her body.

As the creature moved away in search of live, warm-blooded prey she thought again of her stalker.

Yes, you are the powerful spider no doubt about that .... but I am the poisoned fly that sooner or later you will take to the center of your web. And then we will see what we will see.