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

Karris pursed his blood caked lips.

I took in the scene before me, in a sorta mild euphoria, an audible gagging went up in the air before steel boots stifled it. . . the sky a pale blue full of mean carrion. Careless Hunters overhead, more or less.

I was a hunter just like them, I stared at the glass embedded in Karris' head, but it wasn't enough for me. My bloodlust churned, had just woke up really.

Twenty bodies in a cluster of bushes, drizzled red. All lifeless.

I gave a crooked grin to Karris who staggered about in a torrent of pain. I glowered at him for acting pathetic and stowed my rapier in a shriek of steel.

"Let's get back to the tavern," Karris said roughly, his mouth altered to a bloody, embellished mess.

I couldn't tear the grin off my face.

"Burn them. Burn them all," I spat hoarsely as Karris hefted his axe and looked around for something to start up a mean burn.

The smell of roasted flesh also triggers a sorta euphoria in me, reminds me of childhood's "graces." I fell back into shadow as Karris doused their corpses in alcohol, struck a twig aflame, and turned back to me all weary-like.

"Sure we can't just bury them?" His dawn grey eyes traced my general area, but they were unfocused and darting excessively.

"What do you care about peasants with no past, no future?" I pulled my hood low.

"Good point," He nodded his acquiescence and flicked the twig atop the heap of dead people already attracting maggots.

I crossed my arms, my lips trembling in excitement. Maggots calling other maggots.

Rhaegar coming in from Sembia, couldn't be a better time to get things in bloody motion.

My thoughts went dark again, thinking about all the people who slighted me in life.
But enough about me, its all about what Mask wants. Its all about blending in.

I got some malice in my face then, smoking in resetnment and prone to pop like a boil. I could hear rain pattering against the building and a distant thundering heralded sweet memories. There is a message in Sembia. . .

The Gods are out, gold is in. And if a Sembite has to choose his King it'd be gold. How strange that Mask proves to be ever so twined with wealth. There is intrigue in shadow that the light cannot offer.

The rain poured across the wild night as I ruminated over my day, as I skulked within this place they call Baldur's Gate.

I see people blindly running towards petty temples to Gods forged in hypocrisy, lies, murder. The longer I stare, more contempt pumps through my prickly veins. I saw their true colors then. Ego-twitching parasites scurrying through their days yet I caught something with a redeeming feature today.

A woman wielding a great-sword in combat, employing the use of cut up fists that stunned the unfortunate aggressor when things got hairy in our haunts. . . she claimed herself to be a seeker of justice which i privately snorted about. I found the redemption in her energy, in her attitude- a grin flashed over my pale face then.

Was this the first breath of finding someone I deemed loveable?

I shook with a scowl, getting attached to anyone outside of Mask's Calling is asinine. Assassins of Mask are -not- asinine.

Nonsense, I can still be myself. I have not lost myself. . .

I edged to a dark corner of the gate and the most purest thought ran through me. The Gods are only as powerful as you let them be. Take away the petty prayers offered up to them, and if they do hear the cry of a mortal let it be one of contempt.

She told me to meet her tommorow at the temple of justice, it makes me squirm thinking about entering that knight clad place of ill-gained royalty that dung poor farmer parasites flock to with their coffer and befouled mouths open.

I hope such places burn to ash, along with the bloody peasants, but I pray that Mask saves the darkest haunts of the plane of shadow for these so called knights.