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

I created this to simply have a place to do some creative writing during the spare moments that I have here and there. (I am not a gifted writer, but I do enjoy attempting to craft stories and I find that it helps to let me get to know my characters a bit better.) These tales will be glimpses into Vanira’s reverie, memories of an elf centuries old. Some will contain short stories of what led up to her wanting to focus on those moments and others will be just the memory. No timeline will be kept to, the events will be randomly ordered. These memories will be glimpses into her life through her backstory, RP from a NWN1 server, off screen moments, and as well as some of the events that have happened here on this server. I love that while she was made to be a disposable evil character, her story changed and went in a direction that I had never thought of going with her. Vanira has had a long and rough life, she has become a complex character that is constantly growing and has surprised me quite a few times during the years I’ve played her. That all said, I suppose I should now actually begin…

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The elf settled onto the sofa before the fireplace, here in a busier part of the Keep, she often found refuge. There was a strange comfort in the constant company of familiar faces. She trusted them; a thought that amazed her still. While she had doubted her decision before in officially joining the Order, she no longer had such thoughts. It changed how she has had to work and some things were certainly more difficult to do; but she was becoming better for it.

The dancing of the flames glinting off the gem she fished out of her pocket, this was used to help her focus. It was a cherished gift from a dragon she had helped aid, one of her more prized possessions because of the memories that it contained. While it wasn’t that particular memory that she seeked, this had become the gem that she used the most to search her memories. Not all cousins had the ability to control which memories would surface during reverie but she had gone through extensive training which allowed her better control over it. It wasn’t always guaranteed; despite the training sometimes her reverie would be filled with memories she would prefer not to relive. She envied those with the rounded ears for many things… that they could wake up from nightmares knowing they weren’t real, that they were things that were imagined.

Control over mind and body; these were crucial skills to have when one was what she had been trained to be. Some of these skills she was now teaching another, a difficult dance of sharing just the correct amount of knowledge without teaching him the skills that constantly whispered seductively to her; their attempt to call her back towards the darkness. Meditation in itself isn’t difficult but using it to control the reverie, that was certainly a more difficult task.

The one she trained how, he fought against his own elven heritage in a way that held back some of what should just be instincts. This would be something in which she would need to figure out how to work him through. She believed that he was certainly up to the task, she had recruited him after all… seeing something within him that perhaps he was not even fully aware of himself quite yet. Those, though, were worries for the coming daylight, right now she needed to focus.

Wintery blues moved down to the blue diamond that was lightly held, trapped between the tips of her fingers. The firelight danced as it refracted through the gemstone, bending and dispersing within it, creating its own sort of visual magic that made it seem as if it was glowing.There were others in the room, those coming off their shifts and finding their ways to the dinning hall but it was the voice of the silver that she listened to now. The voice of that belonged to the fraction of a soul that remained intertwined with her own; his warm voice lulled her into an unplanned reverie…

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Cold hard eyes of icy blue stared into the fire that burned before her. The pop of the small pockets of steam once trapped within the burning wood was the only sound. She envied its escape from the wooden prison that had held it and carefully let the emotion roll off and away from her. Emotions of any kind are dangerous, they hold the ability to consume you, blind you, and in the end cause you to miss step and get yourself killed. Rage was an emotion that she knew was best to be avoided. Rage causes you to act sooner than you should, to lose your patience, to lose sight of the dangers that are waiting for the opening to destroy you. She would kill him, one day, kill him slowly and relish in it… that was her promise to herself, but that day was still far off. There were still things to learn from her master; things in which she would twist, sculpt, and use for her own purposes. She would strike when he least suspected it, the long game allowed the slow movement of pieces on the board to be missed. She had the years of her kin on her side, time was no enemy of hers.

She stepped away from the fire and approached the standing mirror. It was a fair face that gazed back at her with its pale flawless skin, wintery blue eyes, and a pert nose. Dropping her chin slightly, her eyes shifted looking upwards, her lips gave a hesitant twitch that wasn’t quite a smile. The expression of one that is timid and likely to bolt at any sudden movement. Silvery white hair that tumbled down in waves of loose curls framing her face completed the illusion of innocence. In an elven village there would be a great many others that would attract the eye more than she. It was the fact that she was only one of the few in this city with pointed ears that enhanced an exotic attractiveness to her. An advantage to hone and to use as a weapon against them.

What could be seen however, was not completely seen. The mirror reflected lies and half truths. She both admired and despised the falseness of the reflection she gazed upon; that it earned the attention of the eyes of those she passed in the streets while attending to the errands she was sent on. The focus now was fully learning how to use it to her advantage; inspiring and exploiting the men’s instinctual need to come to protect and aid her. Controlling pieces on the board and moving them without them realizing that they were being manipulated. Studying her reflection once more she took a mental note of how each muscle in her face felt, shifting and then falling into the same pose once more. Memorizing the feel of the facial expression; this for now was the only weapon she had at her disposal.

The mirror did not reflect the whole truth, the truth could only be reflected if it was exposed for the mirror to see.

The elf turned her back to the mirror and let the robe drop to the floor. She refused to look at first, knowing the ugly truth that it would reveal. The scars and bruises never appeared on her face and arms, no that would ruin his illusion to the people of the city. The man was careful and took great care in the pain that he brought. For the public to see his cruelty, would be to remove the careful mask that he wore and displayed to the city. Wealth and power allowed you to get away with a good deal, but there were limits and he was wise enough to know them. To the citizens of this city, he was a wealthy merchant, a good man that donated to the temple, and a patron of the arts. This man was a cruel killer, a cheat, a wolf in sheep's clothing. His deeds were what they were, she was no one to judge anyone, she too did as she must to survive without pause or hesitation. No, the reason she detested him was because he made her call him master, thanking him for both the kind and the cruel things he would do to her. As much as her temper and words seemed to entertain him and brought a hungry fire to his eyes, in the end she knew he aimed to break her to his complete will.

Reaching up to brush her hair over her shoulder, she then turned her head and gazed back at the mirror. The cruel scars where his blade had carved into her back, wounds that had been allowed to fester as he refused to have them tended to. These were to remind her that he could do anything to her, there was no escape, and that he could even go as far as making her verbally thank him for this punishment. She was his until she finished the task he gave her, there was no escaping the geas she had agreed to. An agreement made to guarantee her survival, an agreement she would make again despite the horrors she had suffered. Surviving was everything, there was no cost too high, because at the end of this, he would be just as dead as the ones he was having her kill.

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Wintery blues took in every foul mark upon her body, the physical bruises as well as those scars he carved. She came out of her reverie with a slight jerk.

Why?

Why did this memory resurface?

Quickly the elf recomposed herself and cleared her face from revealing any of the thoughts that now raced through her head as she slipped off the sofa and joined the men at the tables. Letting their laughter wash away that memory for now, she would continue to think upon its resurfacing later.

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There was a breeze in the air that flitted in and out of the crowd that had gathered in the town square. The breeze was both a gift, bestowing a brief respite from the heat, and a curse as it assaulted one's nostrils with the scent of chamber pots freshly dumped as well as the scent of bodies gathered close on a hot humid morning. The chattering of the crowd was both angry and excited. Their voices raised as they noticed the activity happening closer to the gate of their lord. Their shouts condemning those that would soon be brought before them.

A silvery strand slipped out of the hood of the robe that she used now to attempt to hide her appearance. With careful movements she raised her hand to tuck away the strand, for she must not draw the attention of the knight. If he saw her, he would take her back to the house, the knight did not wish for her eyes to see this. Yet, seeing this...she knew that she must.

The gates opened and there was a pause in the voices of the crowd, as they all focused on those that would emerge. A shout to her right, caused the robed figure to jump, startled at the breaking of the silence. From the gate, five prisoners walked forward towards the platform to which the crowd had gathered around. Their footsteps were unsteady save for two. The man.. the man he walked as if he was the lord of this place. Chin held high, no shame, no care for the insults or the bits of rotten food that now flew in his direction. His rich brown eyes observed the crowd as he walked and it was when his eyes met her own eyes that she looked away. A cold shiver ran down her spine and she suddenly wished she was anywhere but there.

Behind the man, walked the elven woman. Her clothes ripped, filthy from the cell that she had been held in, face smudged, and yet she was still beautiful. There was a proud presence and grace to the woman as she moved forward. The sunlight glinted off of her silver hair and cream colored skin causing a change in some of the voices in the crowd that now commented on the woman’s beauty. The hooded figure took a slight step forward, fighting the urge to race up to the woman. That step was enough to have gained her the attention of the woman and it took only the briefest of moments before a flash of recognition registered on her face. A mocking and hateful sneer came to her full lips. Her beauty transformed to that of fearful ugliness as harsh violet eyes cast invisible daggers in the small hooded figure’s direction. Any that had begun to feel any sorrow for the death of such a lovely creature turned on her.

The crowd’s voices raised, growing to a deafening level. She wanted to reach up and cover her ears, but that would draw attention in this eager crowd. These people sounded just as excited now as they had when they had come to see them perform two tendays ago. This though, would be the final performance of those standing now upon the platform. This performance would be forgotten quickly enough by most, for the hooded figure, it would have a larger impact.

The words spoken by the men upon the platform were lost, her focus being on the man and the elven woman. The man’s eyes locked onto hers once more and she was a prisoner, paralyzed in his gaze. His piercing gaze felt as if it would devour her, taking her somehow with him to his death or perhaps cause her to die in his stead. A burlap bag slipped over the man’s head, breaking the silent spell he was casting upon her. Free… she gasped for breath. The noose was then placed around his neck.

She turned her head, feeling the violet eyes upon her. There was something in her eyes, the hooded figure did not, could not understand. Their eyes remained on each other, again the jeers and heckling of the crowd fell to the background, heard but not. Time felt frozen and yet not long enough. Would she miss her? Yes, the familiar is often noticed when it is no longer there. That didn’t make her weak; she was not weak!

A loud clack of the wood sounded as the platform opened up beneath the feet of the performers. Their bodies dropped till the rope jerked them to a halt preventing further descent and from finding respite from the noose around their necks. Two went quick and quietly, their necks snapping and releasing them from any further suffering. The dwarf, his body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, his head following soon after, rolling and staring empty eyed at the feet of the crowd. The sound of someone nearby lost their stomach contents at the sight soon followed.

Her eyes though were on the elven woman’s. Even those that walk to meet death so bravely end up fighting to live in the end, it is the natural response of the body to struggle to breathe. The woman’s eyes grew clouded, but not yet with death. Were those… tears? Why would she cry now, did she fear the whispers of death that were now so close. No, it looked like something else, but she couldn’t place it. Tears leaked down the woman’s cheeks, struggling until she struggled no more. Time felt surreal and to know how long it took for the elven woman to die, the hooded figure would never really know, only that it felt never ending. Violet eyes now stared ahead empty as death took her into his embrace.

Movement pulled her eyes from the woman and here she watched the man move his feet slightly, almost unnoticeable. He would suffer longer. The man deserved no less of a fate.

The wintery blues of the hooded figure moved back to the elven woman. She would be strong now; she must. There would be no one now to teach her how to protect herself. She was alone; she could not stay in the home of the knight and his wife who wished to take her in as their daughter… no, she certainly could not.

Her eyes searched for the knight but found him, she did not. He would still be here in the crowd somewhere. It was him that had led the raid on their camp and ordered the other men to grab them all. “I’ll be back one day, Sir Owen, and I will kill you for taking her from me.” The words were unspoken, but a binding oath nonetheless. There had been no love between the woman and the hooded child, such a thing was not permitted. Love makes one weak and vulnerable, it was something that could be used against you. This would be her purpose now, but first she must strengthen herself and learn how best to complete such a task.

She took one last long look at the elven woman. “Good-bye mother,” she whispered, then turned and weaved herself into the dispersing crowd.

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