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

Pyron Ther'ruil stood up from his seat after the lesson was concluded in his small class at the Evereska College of Magic and Arms. His class was very small due to his lineage, and his professor very timid, not wanting to anger any of the noble youth that populated his classroom. His teacher was especially easy on Pyron, as he knew that with just a word, the Ther'ruil family could take his job away, and he did not wish to be shamed with such an action. After a leisurely walk home with his friend Cal'aith, he returned to his palatial estate, and served a meal from his Moon Elf butler, who he did not know his name, nor did he care. Pyron enjoyed the finer things in life, as his family was one of the most eldest and revered Sun Elf families in Evereska. As such, his attitude was offensive to most townsfolk, as he genuinely thought that he was better then all of them.

Not feeling inclined to further his studies from class that day, he decided to take a walk, however, he did not want to be burdened with the watchful eye of the family guard. Grabbing the multi-jeweled crown his father had given him years past, he set out to walk a bit to help digest the meal.

What seemed like hours, Pyron continued his little walk, turning his nose up at the common folk that greeted him. Passing one of the smaller homes that stood in the shadow of another nobile familes palatial estate, he had thought he had heard voices coming from behind the home. His curiosity had gotten the better of him this time, as he strutted around the home to see what this was all about.

There stood Galaeron, of his families rivals, the Nihmedu clan. They were of less importance to his family in Evereska, but none the less, still nobles. Pyron recalled the rumors he had heard of Galaeron dabbling in the Shadow Weave, but none were ever able to confirm as such. Galaeron was a moon elf, and as such, his family had disdain for them, as they did not believe Moon Elves should hold any sway in politics of the city, as this right shold remain solely to his kin.

Galaeron was conversing with a fair Sun Elf maiden of another noble family. Pyron knew her as Nyola. and had always admired her from afar. Her family was almost as old as his, and as such, held much sway in the city. Galaeron was making passes at her, boasting that his mastery of the weave was second to none of anyone in Evereska. Completely disinterested, Nyola made a few snide comments and tried to brush aside Galaeron, which completely infuriated him. Pyron stood in the shadows, trying to hold back his snickering. He knew that Nyola was destined for him, and not some lowly Moon Elf, nobility or not.

Galaeron pleaded with her to wait, as he wanted to show her his mastery of the weave. She turned to him, telling him that there was nothing that he could show her that would impress her enough to give him a fair chance. Galaeron then, with an angered look on his face, grabbed her, and uttered an invocation that called upon the power of the shadow weave. Nyola was somewhat an experienced wizard herself, and had understood what exactly he was showing her. However, Galaerons arrogance exceeded his natural talent at the time, and his invocation had gone terribly awry. A small rift had opened, and from it, an outsider came forth. Galaeron stood there, his jaw somewhat open at the sight of this, and wanting to protect himself over Nyola, shoved her toward the aberration.

Pyron stood there, wanting to call out to her, but stood somewhat paralyzed, as fear had washed over his entire body. Galaeron rushed past him, knocking him over in his retreat, only looking back to see Pyrons face. A concerned look crossed over him, as he knew that there was a witness that could incriminate him, and his entire family at that.

Nyola stood there, whimpering, as the aberration lumbered toward her, tearing her helpless body to pieces. Pyron could not watch any longer as the woman he had admired for many years was dismembered. He fled himself as well, knocking over a guard patrolling the city. The guard knew him well, everyone did, as Pyron was known at the bratty child of Surnthi Ther'ruil, a councilman of the revered Hill Council.

The guard had heard the screams coming from behind the building, disregarding Pyron to inspect the situation. There he found the outsider, as well as Nyolas head. Needless to say, the guard had taken care of the outsider, and alerted the others of the situation.

Pyron returned home, smashing things in his luxurious room, infuriated that the one he had decided to be his mate had been slain in such an uncouth manner, caused by the man he himself held in such low regard. He immediately called for the family servants to clean up after his rampage, and tired by his rampage, decided to rest his eyes for a little while. He could surely decide what to do about Galaeron once he was in a clear state of mind.

Shortly thereafter, the guard had arrived to Pyrons home, demanding that his father turn over his son.

"You dare make such accusations to my family! Do you know understand who you address?!" exclaimed Surnthi . He himself knew his son was spoiled and ill mannered, but surely, he was not capable of such a heinous feat! Then, Galaeron stepped forward, and along with the guard, told Surnthi that if he did not wish to incur suspicions toward his family, he would turn his son over to the guard. "These matters are decided by trial Surnthi, surely you understand this." boasted Galaeron, as each of the guards nodded their heads in agreement. Surely, Surnthi had no choice but to comply. He thought that his seat in the council should have no problems getting his sons name cleared. He then gave permission for the guard to enter his house, only to be escorted by the two family guardsman his estate employed.

Pyron opened his eyes as a sharp knocking came from his door.
"Who dares wake me from my meditations!" exclaimed Pyron. Did the servants forget their place in his home?

As he opened the door, his eyes widened as they were met by Galaeron and the guards escorting him. "You!" exclaimed Pyron, "What nerve do you have coming into my home, murderer!".

"Pyron Ther'ruil, you are hereby charged with the crime of murdering a noble in cold blood, and will await your trial by council in holding" said one of the guards, in a gruff tone. "We will not permit such heinous actions to be performed in our lands, be it from noble or commoner".

"Wait, this is a mistake! The one you speak of is with you!" Pyron cried out, pointing his finger at Galaeron, "He walks with you right now! Fools! Do you not see the folly in your actions!".

"I had seen you fleeing from the scene of the murder. I felled the beast that you had called forth before it could spill any more innocent blood!" exclaimed a guard. Pyron narrowed his eyes, looking upon the speaker. It was the one that he had bumped into as he was fleeing in terror! Pyron thought to himself for a moment, and understood just exactly where this confusion came from. Surely, the council would hear his story, as his father was a respected member, and that he could SURELY sway them to the truth. He would not waste his words on these lowly guards. He agreed to go with them, and await his trial.

However, what Pyron did not know, is that the other council members desires were ill set to Pyrons cause. They so desired that their own families be revered higher then the Ther'ruil name. They had decided in secret that this was the perfect chance to bring down the Ther'ruil house, and further their own ends.

Pyron spent days in the circle of holding, patiently awaiting his chance to ruin Galaeron for what he did. The morning of his trial, he was taken from the circle to face the council and plead his story. As he entered the council chambers, his eyes shifted about, looking for his father. To his surprise, his fathers seat was empty! What happened? Was his father elsewhere? What could he do without his word to back him up!

"Pyron Ther'ruil. The Hill Council hereby sentences you to death, for the deed of murdering nobility, and the practice of manipulating the forbidden shadow weave!" said the council spokesperson. "But, let me tell my side of the story! I was not the fiend who committed this act! Please!" cried Pyron with a confused look painted across his face. What was going on? His father is not at the council seat, and that they had already made their judgement? This was all too much to take in.

"You will be sentenced to immolation, at sunrise. May Corellon forgive you, as we will not".

Pyron sat, weeping in his holding circle. Everything he knew had been ruined in an instant. How could this have happened to him? Was his noble blood cursed? This surely was just a joke! There he sat, resigned to death, as if he could not live as a noble, he would rather end it all.

Suddenly, one of the guards fell with a muffled scream, gurgling blood as he laid on the floor. The other fell just as quickly, his blood spraying against the wall. Pyron looked up with tears in his eyes, as they met with the eyes of one with a shawl covering most of their face.

As the moon elf undid his shawl, Pyrons eyes met..with..his..servant???? What was the meaning of this!?

"Servant! Leave me be! I did not ask for a meal at this time! Just leave me here to die!" wailed Pyron. The servant stood there, shaking his head. He placed his hand on the holding circle, and after muttering a few words, the barrier had been broken. Pyron sat, watching his servant do such amazing things, now completely confused.

"Servant, what are you doing! How does the one who brings me my tea hold such prowess? You will tell me immediately!"

"Master Pyron, please address me as Ruaran. I fear this will be the last time we speak. I have enjoyed these many years serving your needs, as well as your fathers personal assassin. I fear your father has already been slain by assassins from the other houses. He had told me that a move would be made on his life, and it appears his predictions have come to fruition. You MUST life Pyron, as only you can exact revenge for what has happened here. It is up to you to restore your name to honor." Pyron meekly nodded, and agreed to leave with his servant. The servant then cloaked the both of them with the weave, to not be seen by prying eyes, and ushered him quickly from Evereska, all the way to the outer limits of the vale.

There, his servant and him parted ways, never to be seen again. Pyron trudged forward, his mind a mess from the events that had just transpired. All Pyron could feel was hatred in his heart, and over the next twenty years of aimlessly traveling, this warped his entire personality. Pyron along his travels had taken the name of "Pyron Nain", just in case that the council had sent someone to finish him off, and cover the entire event up.

After 20 years of wanderlust, Pyron arrived at the Elfsong tavern. It was here that he decided that here, in Baldurs Gate, he will start moving toward the day that he exacts his revenge.

For now, I have taken up room in the Blade and Stars. Though these accommodations are far below my tastes, the room is indeed spacious, and allows for much storage of tomes that I have collected over the years, as well as weave experimentation to go alongside my research. The food is disagreeable with my pallet as well, a far cry from what I was used to back home. However, I do suppose it is significantly better then some of the swill that I have tasted in my years after leaving. After what I can only assume was days of research, I felt the need to walk a bit, and perhaps refill my cask with some wine from the Elfsong. As I entered this deplorable establishment, I took a seat at an empty table. Much to my chagrin, I was joined by two raggedy folk who said they were intrigued by the crown that I wear. After staving off requests from the ruffians to let them hold it, one had said something to garner my interest. It would seem that there are some catacombs outside of town, of which are said to contain some lost tomes regarding the manipulation of the weave for self-transmutation. This is certainly not how the ruffian put it, but I was able to put this together from his slack-jawed lamentations of what he had heard from another wizard patron of this establishment.

So, after refilling my cask, I set off to these ruins. After a few attacks by some wolves that seemed to be out of place for the area, I happened upon some ruins, of which had stairs leading down into the catacombs. Deduction can only reason that this is the place that the brute had spoke of. Without delay, I fortified myself with a few protective spells that I had prepared earlier, and descended into the dark.

Giving my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, I looked around for a threat of some sort. Many unfavorable types tend to make these places home. Try as I might, my nose refused to adjust to the musty odor, and my skin crawled as the dampness of this hole assaulted my flesh.

After only a minute of walking, I happened upon three strange men, all seemingly wearing masks. I immediately wrote these buffoons off as adventurers, for it stands to reason that no other type would wish to venture into this rancid pit.

I told them to stand aside, as I wish to pass. The three then turned their attention to me, and perhaps I may have been a little tired, but I could have sworn their eyes glowed red briefly. Shortly thereafter, I appear to have blacked out, and the cause of which eludes me.

I awoke alone, still in the darkness, with a sharp pain in my chest. I was laying down on what appeared to be an altar. My robe, dampened with my own blood, and a strange feeling in my mind. Struggling to my feet, I stood, wobbling a bit from the loss of blood, my vision blurred as I looked ahead. What exactly transpired here, and why could I not remember any of it. These thoughts suddenly seemed unimportant, as I could hear tiny footsteps, and growling. I likened these noises to the presence of kobolds, as I have happened upon these foul little beasts in my travels. Knowing that they generally travel in packs, I struggled to make my way out of this filthy catacomb.

I just now returned to my room, and after further inspection, it would appear that I had been stabbed in the chest. Strangely, the wound has healed remarkably quickly..in fact, too quickly by any normal means. Only a minor scar lie in its stead. I believe I will relinquish my studies for the day, in favor of rest and recovery. I will leave the contemplation of those events, and trying to piece together what had happened for a later time, perhaps when I feel that I am in better condition.

I was in reverie far too long following the event in that catacomb. Though my body is frailer then most, I know from personal experience that I generally recover quicker then this. This sounds strange even to me, but I feel that, somehow, something is happening within me. As to what, I cannot completely fathom at this time. There are times during my studies that I can almost hear a very distant sounding whispering, though when inspecting my surroundings, no presence can be detected.

I decided after many days of straight research and study, that I am nearing almost complete memorization of the material that I currently possess. Soon, any further research of this will reach complete redundancy, and will not yield any further gain. So, being as such, I decided to set off again for the same catacombs. I grabbed the bow that I had learned to use in the past ten years, and slung it over my shoulder. I will say right now that the use of such paltry weapons disgusts me, but less so then engaging in melee combat. After all, my mastery of the weave is not where I would like it to be as of right now, and I can only expend so much of myself using it every so often to defend myself.

Along the way, I had met a human who had appeared to have been hunting the wolves in the area, proclaiming that he was hired by an individual named Jorn to clear out the recent infestation. I did try so very hard to avoid talking to his dirty sell sword likeness, however, he continually followed me until i protested. Through my protest, I revealed to him that I was looking for some tomes of value within the catacombs not far from where we were. He then proceeded to offer his services to accompany me into the ruins, asking for a bit of coin in return. I starkly refused his offer, but this did not seem to deter him one bit. He then stated that no coin was necessary, and that he would accompany me out of sheer whim. I am certainly not a fool, and that the assistance of such a brute could prove very useful. Rather then suffer pain, the human could simply trade blows with the kobolds that inhabited the place, while I safely provided assistance from a distance. With a nod, we set off for these ruins, that we shortly arrived at thereafter.

Along the way, the human had tried prying into my past, and I appropriately responded with dialogue that I had felt accurately conveyed my complete lack of need to tell him any of it. Apparently, the human took my words as being offensive. I seem to get this accusation quite frequently, though really, these filth should understand that just being in my presence should honor them deeply.

As I had anticipated, we were quickly assaulted by the foul little kobolds, who viciously threw rocks, or whatever they could find, in our direction. Thankfully, the humans skull deflected these attacks, rather than them hitting myself. I did praise the human however, as he seemed to travel prepared, quaffing salve after salve of restorative potions.

Not before long, and many a kobold slain, I happened upon a pile of books. The human busied himself with a crate of stolen goods, courtesy of the filthy inhabitants of the catacombs, while I sat and sifted through the contents of each one. Much to my surprise, quite a few of these were very desirable! Ones that touched upon certain evocations, conjurations, and even a few books of fiction! Even though I am completely driven to further my knowledge of the weave, so that one day I could return to my home and make a certain man pay for his actions, I still require a bit of fantasy to lose myself in. We all require some sort of entertainment, do we not? Not all who seek knowledge are mindless automatons.

Shortly after stuffing the tomes of value to me into my bag, did the human turn to me, and raise an eyebrow. I looked at him, however, the sight of him appeared to blur drastically. He was trying to tell me that I did not look well, or so I believe. In moments, I was not looking at his wretched face or the light of his torch any longer, but just complete darkness. In just mere moments, I was back at that altar I awoke on two weeks ago, but seemingly floating above myself. I could see the three strange masked men standing around me. I could hear them chanting some unintelligible words. I could feel the one masked man plunge the dagger straight into my chest. Unfortunately, these events started to fade, and I could not make out what he said after the dagger was plunged. Before long, everything returned to blackness. However, before I awoke, I could hear that whispering again, only a tiny bit clearer then the random times I could hear it during my studies, but still not clear enough to make out what it said to me.

I found myself lying prone, looking up at the mold-encrusted ceiling of the catacombs. Trying to collect myself, I struggled to my feet. Getting my bearings, I looked around for my human cohort, and was not able to detect his presence any longer. The only thing that I could find was a charred corpse not too far from where I was. The remains were so burned that I could not make out a face. The corpse was about the same height as this human, but surely I would remember if something had happened to him. Besides, I did not much care for the welfare of that human anyway, so disregarding this sight, I set off with my recently acquired reading material, and head back to my room.

I now have these tomes arranged by content, and must now decide to pick one to study from first. I must say, the last two days have been very, very productive!

Being in a foul mood, I simply could not focus on my research. That blasted whispering has started to frequent my ear more then I care to hear, and at times, I can almost make out what it says to me. Perhaps I am going mad? I do not feel as such, though my..disposition..has been more rancor as of late.

I found myself having the same vision as well, with the masked men, and the altar. This time, I awoke to find myself grasping one of the young human custodians of the inn that I reside in. As the vision faded, I had found that the boy pleaded for his life, tears swelling from his beady eyes.

As I have grown used to my accommodations, I found that paying the disgusting brat a small sum of gold in exchange for his silence to be the best course of action. To prevent any further occurrences of this, I have taken to barricading my room shut, as it would seem that I am not completely in control when these accursed visions come to visit. I shall not let this deter my studies though, as they come first and foremost.

Checking my gold purse, I had noticed that my funds were growing frightening low. Bribing the little scamp in exchange for his silence was not of ill consequence, as it would seem. Paying for the room, as well as regents and assorted tomes from the Sorcerous Sundries have taken a toll on my remaining funds. As I have feared, my funds from departure of Evereska would not last forever. As much as I despise adventuring, I despise not having quarters to study from much worse. Setting off past the city limits in search of pawns to venture forth with would decidedly be the best course of action.

As I set off down the Trade Way, I happened upon a group of other adventurers, huddled around a fire. I approached them, setting my walking stick down, and took a seat among the rabble. It seems that many of these fools do not recognize greatness in front of their eyes, as the complete lot of them refused to do my bidding. However, I was able to gather that a mine rest within the cloakwood, and that a dwarf from the Tonegir Mining Company would pay an acceptable sum to collect an amount of ore for him.

Though the thought of lugging such a dense mass back with me to the 'gate did not sit well, the mention of items of value might be found there, as many a foolish miner did meet their end as the infestation of the mine occurred. It stands to reason that they had little time to gather their belongings and leave. I could perhaps profit from this as well, leaving ample funding for my research and accommodations, and perhaps a bit of wine for relaxation.

After reaching the mine, I was immediately greeted by a rather stout, yet deplorable human, which went by the name of Drahano. This brute had a rugged, almost devious look about him, resting a ridiculously large axe over his shoulder. Though I really do not enjoy the company of humans, I could surmise that such a brute could be of value to my endeavor here. I was able to convince him of my value, offering up an array of transmutations and conjurations to enhance his battle prowess. He quickly agreed to this transaction, and I could not be more pleased. This will make it so that he will do most of the fighting, while I could proceed unharmed, without worry for even having a drop of my precious blood being spilled.

This human, which insisted that I call him "Drah", cut through the massed of bugbear interlopers with such speed and so effortlessly, it almost reminded me of a foul dwarf simpleton I had met in my travels, who guzzled ale with such rapid fervor, that I had thought that his stomach contained a rift to another plane. I had chosen well it seems. Much to my surprise, he appears to think along the same lines that I do, though I suspect that he does not hail from any noble origin. Though groundless, it was somewhat refreshing.

However, the brute has persisted in butchering my name, quite repeatedly in fact. My protest of such fell upon deaf ears I assume, as he continually called me "Peon". How dare this brute address me as such? I found myself mustering as much restraint as I could from completely immolating him. Had it not been for his utility in this endeavor, I do not suppose I would have though twice about it.

Before long, I had collected as much ore as I could stand to bring with me, as well as some trinkets that I could tell would fetch a fair price. The coin that will come from these hardships will afford me a long stretch of unhindered study, meals, and various extravagances that I require.

Suddenly, as I opened a door that I had thought was on the way out of this filthy cave, I caught a glimpse of a strange creature, if only for a second, then a blinding flash of light. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by darkness.

I awoke in a temple of Lathander, with the brute known as Drah prodding me with the hilt of his axe. It seems he had carried me, along with my ore and belongings, from the cave, and all the way to the collective of hovels known as Beregost, and had paid the resident cleric to call be back to this mortal coil. I am unsure if I completely understood his actions, as he was seemingly annoyed at my insults to his heritage and way of life. Even so, he showed me a great boon with his actions. He went on to explain that I had come in contact with a Beholder, and clearly out of breath, he told me that he had to drag my petrified body to this temple for cleansing.

Perhaps I was correct in not deciding to immolate him for his butchering of my splendid name....

*His handwriting seems to be a bit off and hurried*

Things are not as they seem. I repeatedly question now if my will is entirely my own. The whispering has been getting louder, yet clearer. I am starting to believe that it tells me to "Come to Us", following with "You need Us". I have always thought that I needed no one, only my will to continue my studies, and to one day return to Evereska, to dole out retribution to a select few...ESPECIALLY that man..

In my travels, I have repeatedly made the acquaintance of one who calls himself "Vauk". He is an emotionless sort, and generally covers the entirety of his face. I sensed use of the weave at one point, a transmutation I believe, before he lowered his hood to look upon me. He hides something, I am sure of it. However, I find myself strangely drawn to his company, and I am unable to fathom why.

I will cease my writing for now, as I feel as if a thousand orcs march against my skull. This blasted feeling has been reoccurring too much for my tastes..