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

The thicket was quiet and deserted apart from the few small animals that scavenged for food or some other urgent task. Well, urgent to rabbit or mouse anyway. The grass, slick with dew that was just starting to burn off from the bright morning sun. Not far away in the cities the peoples of Baulders Gate were starting to stir. One gentleman had taken his cup of morning coffee out onto his back porch to enjoy while he shook off the night’s sleep. He was only two or three sips into his enjoyment when he noticed the clouds over the not too distant thicket darkening.

The clouds over the thicket grew progressively darker. Slowly at first then picking up speed as they went. It was not long until the sunlight began to strain to reach the thicket. The rabbits and mice seemed to get spooked and scampered off to their hideouts as though they had caught a whiff of a predator lurking up wind. The clouds became pitch black and the thicket went dark for a moment before the clouds seemed to reorganize themselves into what appeared to be a shape. The shape of a black leaf hung in the sky for a few moments and then a loud thunderclap rolled from the thicket and a red beam of energy struck the ground at its center. As the sound of the thunder rolled over the land so did the black clouds dissipate, and the day became beautiful again. The man with the coffee shrugged his shoulders and mumbled to himself. “Mad wizards, gon destroy dis world sum day I tell ya.”

On the ground hunched over on his knees, where the red beam had struck the ground an elf with pale blue skin and a sickly thin build looked up at the sky for the first time in an era. In the next moment he began to expel the ectoplasmic goo that was filling his mouth, nose and lungs. Coughing and spitting he expelled the last of it just in time to inhale sharply and scream as the burning began over his eyes. As though binding his soul to a task, the yellow crescent moons burned onto his face covering each eye to the music of his screams. Seconds later, it was completed he sat upright and held his face for a moment.

“Where am I?” he thought. Taking in his surroundings he realized that he was in the woods and appeared to be alone. “Need help.” His thoughts began to race. Still kneeling he held out his hand and called out for one of his most trusted allies. “Katrina, come to me.” He commanded but the magic was not there. The vampire did not come. Then he noticed the back of his hand and pulled it closer to examine it. The flesh was smooth and clean and wrinkled a bit when he moved his fingers. No longer did it have the weathered and filthy look of the undead. “My ring!” He panicked and saw that it was not on his finger where it belonged. He quickly started to search the thicket around him but there was no ring to be found. His soul was no longer bound to it. It then hit him “I am alive again.” He thought as he realized that he was hungry enough to eat anything. “And apparently I need food.” He scowled at the thought and got to his feet to make his way through the forest looking for something to eat. “Valenfor DarkLeaf is alive again, but why?” he mumbled and paused for a moment “I should find Omen…..” he muttered. “After I get something to eat.” He added in disgust.

He wondered through the forest until he found some bushes with berries on them and began to gather them for consumption. When the tedium of the task was just about to take what he thought was his last bit of sanity he noticed that a small field mouse was sitting on its hind legs not far from the bush calmly consuming a few berries of its own. Raising one eye brow he smiled at the mouse. “I never thought I would be eating again, let alone sharing my breakfast with the likes of you.” He informed the mouse in the most accusatory tone he could muster. The mouse ignored him and focused on turning the round morsel in its paws over two or three times before biting into it.

To be continued.

Crouching on a tree limb deep in the forest the moon elf once known as the Dark Lord of the Coven of Darkness watched unseen as a small contingent of orcs marched toward him. His black and red robes hung around the branch like a layer of old Spanish moss and seemed to look natural unless inspected closely. His arms covered the hilts of his rapiers so that they did not glint in any of the sun light that could penetrate the canopy of the tree leaves above. His bright green eyes narrowed under the shade of his hood as he scanned and assessed them for any surprises that they may have to defend themselves with. “They are too close.” The words echoed in his head and his thoughts drifted toward those that he had sworn to guard at En Dharasha Everae. He felt a shiver rush up his spine and another voice echoed into his head “Feed them to me.” The female voice broke into his thoughts. “I am so hungry, Master. I have not feed in so long. Please!!!” The vampire begged and pleaded through her connection to the Necromancer. “No Katrina!” Valenfor forced the words though the connection. “I will not break my oath.” The words seemed to echo and repeat over and over as he forced the connection closed. Looking down he saw that the six orcs had reached his spot and it was time to dispatch them.

With the ruffling sounds from his robes he dropped down in the middle of the contingent of orcs. He drew his rapier with his left hand and his right hand reached out to touch one of the orcs. His right hand started to crackle with the red and black energy of the negative material plane as he made contact with the flesh of the first orc of the six. The orc surprised by the appearance of the elf was almost motionless as the obviously undead hand touched him. The orc seized up as though all of his muscles had been triggered by electricity and his green skin went pale gray as he began to shrivel like a corps that had been dead for a couple of weeks. Valenfor’s rapier in his left then found its mark on the second orc of the six. Slipping the blade through a small seam in the orcs armor the Necromancer stunned the second orc and he looked toward his wound seeming to forget everything else. An arrow from the crossbow of the third orc appeared sticking in the Elfs undead arm as the first orc fell to the forest floor dead. The Necromancer looked at the shooter and grinned as he stepped into a shadow and vanished from view. The three other orcs remaining seem to get their wits about them as the shooter dropped his crossbow and drew his sword. He did not have to wait long before the Elf appeared next to him to deliver a fury of blows. The orc parried three of them before Valenfor found his mark and brought his rapier up into the soft tissue under the orcs chin. As he fell to the forest floor one of the three orcs still moving found Valenfor’s side with his falchion. The robes ripped and his blood started to pour, as the Necromancer let out a pain soaked grow and turned to face the orc wielding the great blade. The Orc roared “Mine!!!” in orcish and the other two stepped back with their blades in their hands. Valenfor bright green eyes burned again from under his hood and he shot back in their native tongue “You had better run and tell your tribe that the Misty Forest is now protected by the Necromancer Valenfor DarkLeaf while I kill your friend here…. Next time I leave no survivors.” Assessing the situation, the two orcs looked at each other and then vanished into the trees as they made their way off. The remaining orc with the falchion snorted and retorted in the guttural growls of his language “ No next time, I kill you now!!” He swung the large blade at the Elf again and both rapiers met it to deflect the swing. Valenfor followed by spinning the right-handed blade and stabbing at the orcs face. The orc saw the move coming and bobbed his head out of the way while drawing his large blade back for an overhead swing at the Elf. Before the Orc could initiate the swing, the Necromancer stepped into a shadow vanishing from sight. The orc snorted “Coward! You run from my Superiority.” A couple of moments later Valenfor appeared next to the orc that was stunned and stabbed him through the throat replying in orcish. “Only making sure you do not get any reinforcements.” As the stunned orc joined the dead on the forest floor the two remaining combatants both let out loud growls and closed the distance again. A flurry of steel clashing followed as each tried to get the better of the other. This went on for what seemed like a few minutes and then the Necromancer uttered an incantation and one of his rapiers stuck in the ground next to him as the other deflected the falchion for the last time. Valenfors hand met the Orcs flesh and the life force started to drain from him. The gash in the Elf’s side started to close and the bleeding stopped. Without letting go the undead hand surged again with the negative energy as before. “You were a worthy opponent, but I cannot allow you near my Village.” The Necromancer explained in Orcish as he drained the life force from the orc and healed himself.

The elvish necromancer surveyed the dead as he removed the arrow sticking in his right arm, then closed his eyes to focus and listen for any more orcs. He heard nothing but the scurrying of animals. Valenfor then retrieved his rapier stuck in the ground and sheathed them both. He looked down at the orc that he had just killed laying on the forest floor and spoke in elven, “Let us hope that your people heed the warning….. For I will kill all of them if I must.” With another ruffle of the robes he then stepped into a shadow and vanished into the forest.

A fugitive has been away so long
A thousand years, and now he thinks of home
The Law men are waiting in the wings
To put him in chains upon his return
Emptiness, his bitterness is gone
Journey on to the eternal reward

It's a long way to go
A black angel at your side
It's a long way to go
A black angel at your side

The sirens call a sailor to die
Enchanted by the sound, his desires have been found
In his mind, his life is rushing by
All this while, the storm it rages on
He's turning old, he shall never return
Sail on to the eternal reward

It's a long way to go
A black angel at your side
It's a long way to go
With that angel at your side

It's a long way to go
With the reaper at your side
It's a long way to go
A black angel at your side


The fugitive has been away so long
A thousand years, and now he thinks of home
The Law men are waiting in the wings
To put him in chains upon his return
Emptiness, his bitterness is gone
Journey on to the eternal reward

Oh, no, never
Oh, no, never
Oh, no, no

It's a long way to go
A black angel at your side
It's a long way to go
With that angel at your side

It's a long way to go
With the reaper at your side
It's a long way to go
With that angel at your side
At your side

It's a long
It's a long, long, long goodbye
It's a long, long, long goodbye

The Moon Elven Necromancer sits quietly in the studies of the Arcane Libraries in En Dharasha Everae and feels himself start to slip into a reverie. With a quick shake of his head he snaps himself back to focus. " It has become time to rest it would seem." Valenfor thinks to himself. He rose slowly from the chair and crossed the room to a lounging couch near one wall. Just a moment before his green eyes closed they focused on the scrying mirror, and then he drifted.

While elves may not need sleep, they do in fact dream. At least, that's what Valenfor feels every time he exits reverie and remembers... remembers times gone by, when he stands from his rejuvenation and goes about living in this strange place.

Strange? Well, that is not all together the right word. Different. Yes, different might better explain it. Still the same countryside. Still the same gods, the same soil, the same Toril under Selune... but different. How long has it been? Years? Decades it feels like. How long has it been since there was an island; an Elben Attor. That was real. That was home. There are memories there of Fae, and the Coven. Of fighting with Omen, and Encadu and of being. Just BEING. That was home. Home for years until the Time of Shrouding.

You would think that the land would be eternal. Our Toril; our Faerun would last eternally. Our home would always be Our Home. But the Shroud took that. That fateful day when the magical fog crept through our hallowed home and halls, which ate Stonebar and the Coven Hall along with the Order of the Silver Rose, and it's Servants of the Light past. That magic which consumed Szith, and Qos, and the gorbog tunnels and took our heroes and villains alike, but did not take all of us. Those whom it did not take scattered to the winds. Some, ended up in Baldur's Gate the same, but yet, different.

Revenark Stonehold of the dwarves came, and to his side he was met by samman Bagnose, and Matilda. The native dwarves welcomed in their kin, and many an epic adventure was had. But it was not the same.
Lady Elvina rallied about her the knights of the Order of the Silver Rose who managed somehow to survive the cataclysm of the Island. The Order prospered in its new home, but still around the hearth in the Great Hall on some evenings, sers John and Seth, and lady Gina can still be overhead by sergeant Rand speaking in low tones by the fire, of the days that are no more.

The days that are no more indeed. Rumours from brave traders seeking fortunes in the underdark tell of Dev'Lin Drow attempting a coup in the city of Sshamath, in those far reaches below ground, only to be thwarted by powerful jaluk wizards. Of a risen Coven trying to establish itself, but faltering due to a proud leader and too little mystery. Of Omen and Encadu running the road from Beregost to Nashkel, and taunting effreeti and wyven alike, before leading them to a nest of Xvarts... So sad, so strange the days that are no more.

And so Valenfor finds himself set upon a path neither of his choosing or his making; a stranger in a strange land, looking for purpose. Looking for identity. Looking to finally wake from his reverie that seems only to keep him in memories of the past. A tel'quessir who longs for remembrance in the tomes of the memories of the People, but whose joie de vivre seems to have gone, with none and no one to take his spark and ignite the flame. Ah, but to live in dreams...

Valenfor finds himself alone on a pale, roan horse, on a dusty plain, plodding along with the horizon miles in the distance. His horse is as crest-fallen as he, and its rhythmic steps serve only to lull the dream along, step after step. This is an old dream; a familiar dream, and Valenfor closes his eyes and follows his horses gait. It is comforting in its familiarity, if not in its purpose. The journey goes on for some time. For some time it is nothing but the heat, and the dust, and the horses gait, until he hears something. Is that a song? Is that a voice on the wind, or only his imagination playing ticks on him? Is that a familiar voice? Straining to hear, he opens his eyes.

His horse has stopped and is standing nose to nose with another horse, this one a proud, white Arabian, whose tack is blue and white, and who sports tiny bells at intervals along her bridle. Astride this steed is a stunningly beautiful woman, in finely made shining armor, whose flowing cloak over her shoulder is emblazoned with a large rose, embroidered in delicate silver. As Valenfor raises his head, weary of his travels, the lady smiles and tilts her own head towards him, and she holds out to him a slender hand. Reaching for it, reaching and feeling a real sense of urgency, Valenfor grasps her pale hand and holds it tight. Bowing over her arm he feels as though he may weep, and closing his eyes he sees her radiance glow until he can almost see her through his closed eyelids. He shakes himself suddenly, and he is awoken. Awoken to find himself hunched by a fire in the pouring rain, sitting among strangers and villains and false friends; acquaintances long held, but none really known. Standing, he plods solemnly down the cobblestone roadway of En Dharsha Everae. What fate is this? What dream beckons and yet seemingly rejects him so? Is this the fates so cruelly telling him that he has no home, that he has no reality, that he has no purpose? Is this a dream within a dream then? Mocking his footsteps, which lead him to an uncertain destiny.

Valenfor shakes his head, and the raindrops cascade to the roadway, and his purpose resolves. "Elvina" he breathes, yet it is as whispers her name with reverence. She has come to him in his dream. She has told him there is a glimmer of hope, and yet.. he is unsure. He has guessed for months, years, why he is here, now purpose be resolved into action - he will seek out his answers through scrying; he must know that he has a destiny. That there is a destiny. That he is truly the protector of the tel'quessir. Climbing the steps to the hall, and standing under the arch he removes his cowl. The rain cannot touch him here. Here in this place he will find answers, and set his feet upon the path he was destined to walk... he enters and goes to find his answers...


(The dream written by the amazing DM Arkanus)