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

Exiting the White Mask theatre after the performances Sylvia was approached by rather charming, well dressed human who wore a pendant of a unicorn upon his chest. They spoke to one another, resting their legs upon the bench overlooking the theaters pond. He introduced himself as Davion. The mood was amiable, they were both however distracted at times by the butteries that fluttered past. As a monarch butterfly flew by the man held out an outstretched arm, catching the butterfly upon the back of his hand. It rested upon his hand as he brought it down to show Sylvia. Along with it came an offer for a drink at the Helm and Cloak, she did not refuse.

Davion seemed to frequent the inn, shouting welcomes and introducing Sylvia to its patrons. He retrieved two glasses of sweet honey mead from the barkeep before escorting Sylvia to a table where a few patrons were already seated. They wore pendants similar to Davion’s, and greeted him and his guest heartedly. The mood was boisterous, Sylvia was at unease till a few drinks ran down her throat. As the night set in an elder gentleman about the table waved down the band playing, as they quieted another offer arose to Sylvia. For her to share one of her songs or tales, she did not refuse.

During the night it was mentioned Davion played the flute. She gathered a worn paper from her satchel and handed it to Davion, upon the front there was writing, it back a few lines of notes. Davion quickly glanced over them as Sylvia spoke. At this point she was just a little more than tipsy, but she tried her best to maintain composure.

“Followers of the winged queen, eh?” She looked between the faces of the audience about the table. “I have just the tale for you. It is said Mielikki first laid eyes upon the new born calf Lurue on the grounds where the city Silverymoon now resides. Some like to think of them just as best friends, but I like to think that night they shared even a stronger connection. That, that night at first glance they became sisters. An enteral love for each other as Mielikki taught the young calf how to dance, prance and chase the moon.” She looked to Davion who had now placed the paper down and held flute in hand. With a little nod be begun to play, Sylvia soon chimed in with her song. Despite being addled she managed to put on quite the performance.

I'm awake
Feel so alive now
I see the light, breathe the white
Liberated to dance now

I’m here
Here with you now
Look to the skies, give us life
We're together now

Side by side we will bloom
Hypnotized by the tune
Until forever looms
You'll find us chasing the moon

Follow my lead, I will teach you the dance
Together through the forests we will prance
Eternal love at first glance

You'll find us chasing the moon
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…
You'll find us chasing the moon

Butterflies, Butterlies
We were meant to fly
You and I, You and I
Colours in the sky

We could rule the forests, someday, somehow
But we’ll never be as bright as we are now
Till then, You'll find us chasing the moon
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…
You'll find us chasing the moon

Side by side we will bloom
Hypnotized by the tune
Until forever looms
You'll find us chasing the moon

Follow my lead, I will teach you the dance
Together through lush forests we will prance
Eternal love at first glance, till the sun rises

You'll find us chasing the moon
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…
You'll find us chasing the moon

When the daylight's fading
We're gonna play in the dark
'Til it's golden again

And now it feels so amazing
Can't see you coming
And we'll never grow old again

You'll find us chasing the moon
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…
You'll find us chasing the moon

/// song hashed from "Chasing the Sun - The Wanted."

The table roared with cheers, it was not till after a few more songs and drinks that did Sylvia breathe the chill breeze of the winter air. Davion standing behind her, he thanked her for her songs and tales. Along with it came an offer, for her to stay the night at the inn. This time she did refuse. Davion however could not however let Sylvia walk home in such a state so together they made their way out of the cities walls with a few laughs. Soon after Davion returned to the inn alone.

The following day they found each other with hangovers. Together they shared lunch at the inn before walking the street together chatting. Sometimes they found themselves stalking, chasing the many cats of the city. But almost always if they found someone in need they would do their best to help. Later that night they returned to the inn. This would continue on for the next few days, it was not till the third day that Sylvia was not seen leaving the inn at night.

Upon the 6th day the pair was seen leaving the walls of Baldur’s gate. They looked to be packed for a long travel. Sylvia walked by Davion’s side who was leading his white horse by its rein. They both were wearing warm leathers, upon the horse a saddle pack seemed to be filled to its brim. At its other side a heavy shield with an image of a unicorn rearing glistened as the sunlight reflected off of it. Upon their faces a gloomy look, but this quickly faded as they began their trek south along the tradeway.

Their pace was slow. They seem daunted by the thought of their final destination. As such they often would travel off of the tradeway whenever something caught one of their eyes. The braved the bone chilling waters of the Chionthar, perhaps not their best idea. They skipped across Wyrms Crossing, humming a tune. Sylvia could be heard reciting the following verses one each along the sections of the bridge.

Kahu, oh Kahu, where could you be,
Somewhere lost, up in the trees,
Soaring up above the clouds so high,
Come down just a moment, don’t be shy.

Kahu, oh Kahu, do you see your broken wing,
This bellbird wishes for you to hear it sing,
She comes not for you blindly, not as a prey,
For you to listen to her words is all she prays.

Kahu, oh Kahu, she has listened to your riddle,
Without answer, simply wishing to see you giggle,
A bird weighted down by its reputation,
She sings for you to live without hesitation.

To remain immobile is to stagnate and die,
Move, evolve, and thou shall live,
Living without love is to be grounded when you could fly,
Dance, sing, there is no one to forgive.

/// First time writing poetry in many, many years. Thought I best start with something simple.

///Warning long tale follows.

As the sun sets over the Wyvern bridge a fair skinned copper elf and human friend rest her feet around the campfire just south of the bridge. They seem amiable to those about the camp fire, introducing themselves as Sylvia and Davion. Sylvia invites travelers off the road to take a moment to listen to her tales. As the dark of night sets in she wraps her cloak over her shoulders for warmth, the crackling fire glows the faces of its audience. The copper elf speaks up, her tone darker than earlier.

“Although I believe life should be filled with joy, we should be reminded of the darker sides of life. So we might truly appreciate what we have and where we are now. I share with you tonight a tale gifted to me by a hardy man, he said it an old wives’ tale to scare troublesome siblings of his tribe into getting along with each other. There may be some truth to the tale though, as we will find out.”

She pauses for a moment. Looking between the faces of her audience she takes a moment to compose her thoughts. She leans forward in her seat as she beings her recitation.

“The man who told this tale to me was no ordinary man. His skin thick and weathered, scars littered his arms, each with its own tale of battle to tell. He was a hard man. You would have to be to live in the lands he calls home. The bitter, desolate lands of the far north. These indurated men and woman form tribes to survive its harsh winters together. This tale takes place upon a place called Raven Rock, where two brother tribes called home. The Greywolf and the Blackwolf tribe.

It is said that the two tribes were once one, supporting off of each other’s strength. But a bitter rivalry between their chieftains caused the tribes to splinter. The two tribes became distant. No longer would they share fires with tales of battles and competitions of strength.”

The copper elf pauses for a moment to brush her rich brown hair to a side to reveal the forlorn expression upon her face, perhaps a foreshadowing as what is to come. She takes a glance over to Davion before continuing her tale.

“A myriad of winters came, and passed. Without their brothers assistance the Blackwolf tribe struggled to survive. Their chieftain Bjern walked through his camp with a depressed face as he looked upon starving children, their bones showing as their mothers tried to comfort them. Hunting wolves fought over the dried bones of a kill almost a tenday old. Another night without meat, Bjern loathed the thought. The harsh call of winter was approaching and they had not even begun to stockpile food to survive through it. Something had to change.

The winds however blew more kindly to their brother tribe, the Greywolf. Their wolves caught more deer, their wives birthed more children. Their warriors became renowned for their strength. Despite having all they would wish for in these harsh lands, they longed for more. ‘Why should I bother wasting my time hunting for food when I could simply take what I want from the other tribes of these lands.’ It was not till when a young man, slaying the previous chieftain to claim it for himself, named appropriately Svaglar ‘The Brutal’ did the tribe act upon this thought.”

Over the crackling of the fire a low droning hooting of an owl fills the atmosphere. Some may have noticed that the copper elf’s ears have moved, tilted downwards, their tips pointed horizontally. She continues on with the story, her voice gloomy but it holds clamors of emotion.

“Svaglar and his warriors marched down from Raven Rock and confronted the other tribes of the land. The tribes were helpless to stop Svaglar from taking what he wanted. Those who did show resistance to the chief and his warriors were shown why he holds the title ‘The Brutal’. They would return to camp dragging behind sacks of supplies, sometimes young children who showed promise in becoming mighty warriors. The Greywolves grew fat and complacent. No tribe dared stand up to their might. They did however hold a shred of compassion. They left their brother tribe, the Blackwolves unmolested.

Bjern knew of his brother tribe’s prosperity. Though he did not quite agree with the means to it, his tribe was in need. Along with a few of his warriors he made pace to the Greywolves camp. Around his camp Svaglar welcomed his brothers. ‘What brings you to my camp Bjern?’” She speaks in a deep burly voice trying to imitate the Greywolves chieftain’s voice. Many would be surprised that such a voice could come from a creature considered so cute, but since her story begun that cuteness has been masked by her expression upon her face. “Irritated, not knowing the means to the visit. ‘To simply share battle tales like the days of old, my brother Svaglar.’” She imitates a lighter voice, Bjern’s. ”Tales of battle were told, Svaglar haughtily boasting skulls of the beasts he has faced. Bjern’s more humble, the mood was amiable.

‘You have grown fat my brother.’ Bjern bluntly stated taking a glance down at Svaglar’s plump belly. The massive man rose quickly, towering over Bjern and his men an aggravated look upon his face. ‘Do you wish to challenge my leadership Bern?’ Saglars voice bellowed over the camp. ‘Your leathers do not hide your scrawniness Bjern, my own son-’ He motioned to a healthy young boy looking to be the age of elven. ‘Could wrestle you with an arm tied behind his back’ Trying to ease the tension Bjern spoke calmly. ‘It is not the reason I have come my brother, to ask for your help is-.’ Cut off from finishing his plea Svaglar bellowed out over Bjern. ‘The Greywolf did not grow strong by asking for help. Leave Bjern, before I show to you why I hold the title The Brutal.’

Bjern and his warriors were shooed out of the Greywolf camp empty handed. The sight of an overflowing tent full of food churned Bjern’s stomach, he and his men could not return to their camp without some of its spoils. They waited just out of sight of the Greywolf camp as night dawned. To their dismay the night was lit bright by a full moon, it illuminated the Greywolf camp. Bjern and his shabby warriors waited anxiously as the fires of the camp died down to embers. They could see no one standing watch, it was then they snuck forward.

The complacent Greywolves did not bother to set watches at night. Moonlight glistened off of Bjern and his men’s battle axes as they crept forward. Their eyes set upon the overflowing tent, the food that will feed their children and let them survive the imminent winter. To their luck their footsteps were silent, the Greywolf camp slept soundly as Bjern and his men strapped their axes to their backs and took in their arms as much of the food as possible. A sigh of relief washed over Bjern as he and his men made their way over to their side of Raven Rock.

This feeling did not last long as a roaring of life echoed in the night behind them. A restless young Greywolf had snuck into the food tent for a midnight snack, his cries of finding the tent empty awoke the whole camp. It was not long till Svaglar, his blood burning in a rage set on hot pursuit of Bern. Bern and his men were not as fit as Svaglar’s, slowed down by their heavy sacks it was only a matter of time before they were to meet.

And meet they did, only a hundred yards out from his camp Bern hear a voice calling out behind him. ‘Bern you coward, come and face me as a man.’ All sense of hope faded from Bern, he dropped the sack and held his battle axe tiredly in both hands as he watched Svaglar and his men approach. ‘Bah! That’s the way my brother, drop the supplies, bend your knee and I might consider sparing your life.’ Bern stood unfailing as Svaglar approached. Svaglar’s eyes bloodshot red, the moonlight flickered as he adjust his grip upon it.”

Syvlia pauses for a moment, her face turns white. She glances down at her lap for a few seconds before looking up, eyes gazing at the chaos of the fire before her. She begins to sing in a solemn tone.

And who are you, the proud chief said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a wolf of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.

In a coat of grey or a coat of black,
a wolf still has teeth,
And mine are long and sharp, my chief,
as long and sharp as yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that chief of Raven Rock,

But now the rains weep o'er his camp,
with no one there to hear.

Yes now the rains weep o'er his camp,
and not a soul to hear.

/// Hashed from "Rains of Castamere" From the "A song of Ice and Fire" series

She lets the distant hooting of an owl linger as she pulls her cloak in close about her arms.

“That night Raven Rock ran red with blood. Svaglar did not spare a soul of his brother tribe for their insolence. Without remorse Svaglar and his men made their way over the rock carrying gore soaked sacks of food. It is said that night the tribespeople of the rock were not the only ones witnesses to the onslaught.

Some say Malar was entertained by the bloodlust of Svaglar and his tribe. He gifted them his boom, the ability to turn into the most horrendous mindless creatures every full moon, so they might entertain him once again.

Others say Selune wept watching brother slaughter brother under her grace, so she cursed the tribe. From that night whenever the tribe laid their eyes upon the full grace of Selune that they be reminded of the mindless creatures devoid of empathy that they are. It is said she also lifts the curse from any tribespeople who is born with compassion that recognize the tribe’s brutality and leave it.”

At this she lets out an exasperated sigh.

“It was then the hardy man who shared the tale with me lifted his shirt. His chest and back were strewn with claw marks. He told me ever full moon their tribe hid their children and kept a wary eye out for the beasts that roam the night. The scars were of battles past with the beasts defending his tribe. The tale of how the Greywolves became were-creatures may or may not be true, but there is no denying their existence.”

Sylvia exhausted from the tale scoots to her side, leaning into Davion’s side who wraps his arms about her. They chat idly with each other and the others about the fire about the tale, but try to steer the conversation to a lighter subject before they retire to their tent.

Their journey south was slow, their legs stiffened by the harsh winds of winter. They were cautious to avoid the dangers that loom over the tradeway south of Baldurs Gate. But perhaps it was still the thought of their final destination that caused the winds to feel so cold.

The found themselves arriving at the drawbridge of the Friendly Arm Inn midday. It was though, late enough for them to begin drinking. They warmed themselves with mead, as night begun to draw near they found themselves braving the winds again. Atop the roof of the Inn.

There the pair chatted gazing out at the red setting sun. Those outside the Inn might of heard morsels of the conversation above. What follows is some of those words that may have been heard.

"It has been many winters since I have sung this tale, it was not one I wrote myself. Many winters ago in Silverymoon as I and my mate at the time were watching the sun set our ears perked as they caught hold of a beautiful, youthful human girl. Her lush blonde hair glimmered red from the setting sun as she begun to sing with her rich, sorrowful voice."

The copper elf ears turn down as she sings, reiciting from memory.

Oh, partisan breeze of the tramontane
Guide our wings, sanctify our souls
And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke
Keep watching over your sons and daughters

If this is to end in fire
Then we shall all burn together
Watch the flames climb high into the night
Calling out mother, stand by and we will
Watch the flames burn auburn on the mountain side

And if we should die tonight
Then we should all die together
Raise a glass of wine for the last time
Calling out mother, prepare as we will
Watch the flames burn auburn on the mountain side
Desolation comes upon the sky

Now I see fire, painting the skies
I see fire, burning the trees
And I see fire, hollowing souls
I see fire, blood in the breeze
And I hope that you'll remember me

Confined in mountain caves
Forced to forsake your gift
We long to spurn this grave
Calling out mother, hold fast and we will
Watch the flames burn auburn on the mountain side
Desolation comes upon the sky

Now I see fire, painting the skies
I see fire, burning the trees
And I see fire, hollowing souls
I see fire, blood in the breeze
And I hope that you'll remember me

*her voice becomes thick, rich with tremble*
And if the night is burning
I will cover my eyes
For if the dark returns then
Your children will die
And as the sky is falling
It is your name we’re calling
As smoke smolders from its snout
I hear my people screaming out

Now I see fire, painting the skies
I see fire, burning the trees
I see fire, hollowing souls
I see fire, blood in the breeze

/// Taken from Ed Sheeran's I see fire

Davion hugged his arms about Sylvia, keeping her warm as the light of the sky faded, hiding the world.

"I spoke to the girl asking the tale behind the song. She said it has been a song passed down for generations. It tells the tale of the remnants of the Avariel that were ravaged by dragons, forcing them to hide among the mountains. Forsaking their wings.

It is said Lathander sets red in remembrance of the days when dragon pyre ruled the skies and the blood shed to them."