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

The moon was whole. It fashioned the blighted wood's features; it scoured it of its blemishes - such was the power of transcendental light. Great oaks, their rounded frames severed, slashed and scarred by mortal conflicts, stood proud once more in the glow of their Mother. The shadows they cast masqueraded and cavorted through the night, growing in heart as the day’s gloaming gave way to the black.

The Haggard Hollow was alive. Its strife was momentarily forgotten, its hardships passed. Its creatures were impassioned by the lunar glow, and they fought, mated and harried their way through the gloom of the midsummer night. This was a celebration of nature's inherent, inane fortitude. It was primal, passionate and pure. Free from mortal intervention, subject only to the whims of nature. This was the world as intended.

And yet, the wolf was still. Cold, shrewd eyes peered out at the shifting shade of the wood and condemned it. A callow world. A world soon to be lost, and yet ignorant to the threat. Unblinking, the beast shifed, its strong legs flitting to and fro with unnatural haste. It had seen enough.

The wolf was rancid. Its grey fur was tainted with the congealed, crimson stains of carrion flesh, and its claws were thickly coated in the rotting remnants of some pallid prey. Yet, the thrusts of its legs were measured, not feral; its path straight, not wild. In morbid beauty, this was bestial art; a wolf without peer.

Climbing and rising to the canopy, the creature relented. The swift thuds of its limbs against fetid bark became infrequent as it continued its journey from beneath the sanctuary of the branches overhead. Far from the cries of the wood's other bestial denizens, and shrouded from the moon's savage, wild influence, the hunter felt at peace.

The wind changed. Perhaps the forest had sensed its presence. Perhaps it sought to bar the path. No, nonsense. Leaping into the onrushing current, the wolf pressed on. Branches lashed out in impetuous, impulsive rage, aghast by the intruder's presence. Parasitic nettles stretched their sinewy stalks in the harshened winds as the wolf leapt from a branch to another, reaching for the creature's furry limbs. Nicked by clawing thorns and garbed in foliage, the wolf was resolute. The forest would not break its will; it would remain undeterred.

And then it emerged; Tol'varen, the wolf's cradle. Sanctuary. The great tree rose up from the sundered, sullied earth like a behemoth. It was as though it had been shaped by some otherworldly architect and erected by the hands of some ethereal entity. A surreal, glowing pillar in the midst of a wearied wood.

The wild creatures of the wood, the Moon's children, would not venture there. This was a bastion of the twisted and tarnished, not of the pure. A shrine to nature's dark, forgotten failure. Swooping down, flagging and fatigued, the wolf entered its sombre embrace. Gently navigating its moss-ridden roots, the wolf returned to the tree's heart; home.

Emerging into a pool of light, cast down from the tangled mess of roots above, the werewolf stood on its hind legs, and then it was no more. In its stead stood a man. Bearded, rugged and clad in all manner of filth, he staggered forwards.

He did not belong. He knew that now. The forest had turned on him, on his kin. He was a folly of nature. He demonstrated the Mother's capacity to err; Her fallibility. There was no place for him in Her abode.

He had to flee.

Dusk. The gentle rays of the setting sun bathed the world in a calm sheet. Even though the still lingering warmth would eventually fade, the sun did not seem to be in a hurry in the slightest. It laid its loving embrace upon the world below, giving everything and asking for nothing in return. The long reach of the horizon lay at peace, drawing breath slowly, lingering and relaxed, perhaps subliminally knowing it would later require the warmth and strength it was now freely given. On top of the moment's utopia stood a single mountain. Proud and confident, it did not feel guilt or remorse for claiming the majority the sun's gifts.

Rather, it felt them well deserved.

At the mountain's shoulder two tiny figures took their place in the vast scenery, barely noticeable at the ridge, yet equally and as unquestionably loved by the peaceful shining mother of all things.

“A beautiful evening, is it not, my lady?”

The young woman startled, having lost herself in the breathtaking scenery. Scolding herself for letting down her guard, she glanced over towards the voice. A man walked up to the edge of the cliff where she stood, taking a position at a comfortable distance, facing the play of light and earth before them.

“My intention was not to startle you. Yet, I could not bring myself to miss this display of beauty we have been blessed with tonight.”

His lilting voice was steady and soft, his gaze resting on the gently blazing horizon. The last rays of the sun landed on his armour, but their dance died out in an instant. The man was clad in a suit of pitch black plate that seemed to devour the sun's gifts like a hungry beast.

“I… did not expect anyone else to be up here, that is all.” she finally replied, shrugging off the tension, but keeping the stranger under a close eye. She examined his strong posture suspiciously. He seemed at ease and relaxed, yet there was something unnerving about him. It was his visage, more precisely his expression, she concluded. His chin was slightly lifted against the sun, and a gentle smiled played on his lips. The look of his face and the gleam of green eyes conveyed a sense of profound peace and harmony in stark contrast with his youthful, Half-Elven features. The serenity of his countenance clashed with his ominous armour like forces evil and good, and left the young woman groping in darkness when trying to make her mind about the man.

“I was drawn by the love the plane is showing its children tonight.” the man said. He then turned his head to face the young woman and smiled gently at her. Meeting his gaze and smile, she was torn between whether to smile back or unsheathe her concealed knife from the depths of her gown. She hid her indecision, and began only then to consider what the stranger had uttered. It made no sense.

“That makes no sense,” she spoke her mind.

The man's soft smile didn't waver, he merely swept the landscape in front of them with his eyes.

“The grace we admire tonight is just one of many gifts the world provides for us,” he clarified after a moment of silence. Turning yet again to smile at the young woman, he continued: ”May I ask in turn, what brought you here tonight, my lady?”

She shrugged, finally relaxing to the extent of detaching her eyes from the stranger to glance at the sunset.

“It's as good a place as any. It hardly matters to me where I am,” she said. “Maybe I can find answers here.” she added after a moment, more to herself than the black-clad stranger.

“Wandering without a purpose, my child?” the man worded softly, his gentle smile never escaping his lips.

The young woman blinked rapidly, caught off-guard yet again by the accusation. She thought for a moment in silence, peering suspiciously at the smiling knight in lusterless armour. Eventually she answered the question hanging in the air with another.

“What else is there?”

The gleam in the stranger's eyes sparkled to rival that of the sun, whose light had already dimmed as it sunk inevitably beyond the horizon – chased away by the arrival of pitch black darkness that is the night.

"Grant us the courage to change the things we can,”

The shadows were always moving in these woods, tormented spirits of the once slaughtered had long been deprived of their rest. The land itself squirmed in agony, the blackened trees weaved silently in the still air; as if reaching out to grasp the living flesh that had dared to enter their domain – envious of its warmth.

“Give us the strength to accept the things we can't change,”

Amidst the near tangible stench of decay - which itself seemed to be as malicious as the land - stood a formation of figures, rigid and veiled in black.

“And the clarity to know the difference between the two,”

The firm row of solemn expressions was in stark contrast with the writhing trees and restless dead, bringing order and discipline into the forest overrun by chaos. In the ranks stood humans and orcs alike, in harmony and unity; each covered in black armour and veiled by an atmosphere of reverence and melancholy.

“Don't be sad-“

Before the congregation stood a pedestal of marble, a beacon of serenity in the heart of the blackened forest. It formed a stark contrast with the dark clad figures gathered around it. And so did also a young girl lying on the stone; for those around were still drawing breath – and she was not.

“She is in a snowflake,”

Her snow-white gown was spotless and without a wrinkle, and on her chest lay a black rose and a cleaned wound. As easily as the sharp object had penetrated her heart, the words woven in the air penetrated the hearts of those gathered.

“She is in the rays of sun,”

The presence more unwavering than that of frigid girl stood beside the stone pedestal. The black-clad man preached with a gentle and steady voice, his posture straight. His face was filled with compassion and understanding, his eyes sparkled with wisdom and the humility of an old man who had seen enough to understand the insignificance of them all. He was their shepherd.

“She is in the sparkling of stars.”

The combined light of the stars illuminated the waist of the preacher, and sparkled on the blade of the dagger the shepherd had used to kill his lamb.