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

(Credit to AI, I forget the name of it, and Mizz <3)

She was running. She was running and she had weight, she had breath. He knew this because he could see it, little puffs of warmth cast out into the cool Eleasis night. That bothersome point in time before the harshness of winter set in (and he had little doubt she would be cruel this seasons, or, at least, cruel to those peoples south near the Cloudpeaks) of fall quickly chasing on the heels of summer. She was running, and he chased her.

The shepherd hound named after the weather was at full sprint, and despite his long legged gait, he could not match her. For every three steps he took she seemed to gain on him. Night had come upon them, but Selune's light shone brightly enough that neither had to worry for catching a false step. She gained such a lead that he could barely see her now, and he yelled out into the night as he slowed to a near halt,

"Rain Girl! Where are you going little lady?"

He did stop then, feet lost in the tall grass, his body sucking in wind to steady the rhythm in his chest. As Rain Dog disappeared into the brush, he began to realize better his surroundings, and the peculiar sight of a long dead tree under the full glow of Selune.

"You only catch her at the end, Michael." The priestess' voice, so close it sounded like it was over his shoulder.

***

That jarred him awake, that or was there a pounding at the door? There was no mistaking the puddle of drool that had escaped him and formed on the table top of the lantern lit room of the Blade and Stars. The frequent rain of the season hammering upon the glass panes of the windows outside the room. He lifted his head in a groggy haze, back stiff, after having fallen asleep in his crooked positioning of the dinner table chair.

Laid out upon the table before him were piles and piles of metal whats-its, gadgets, gears, doo-hickies, and a smattering of tools with which to fashion the lot. Tin, copper, iron and steel - even a few appeared to be plated in finer metals. In a crate, to his side, were the beginnings of the pile he'd been working on with the others. They'd be back soon (one may have been already, he wasn't sure but he thought he'd heard knocking?) and back to scheming and putting together small devices meant to be agents of great change. Carefully secured in the corner was a barrel with an acrid odor he'd come to love in his time upon the road, the contents of which had to be kept particularly dry, safe, and secure from flame.

"Who goes?" He called out this time to the door.

Amid the persistent rhythm of raindrops against cobblestone streets, Bolgar Harrin navigated the twisting alleys of the city. His cloak, drenched by the downpour, clung to his form as he strode with a purposeful gait. The scent of wet earth mingled with the faint aroma of distant hearth fires, creating a unique fragrance that always seemed to accompany these rainy nights.

In the pockets of his cloak, the weight of gathered supplies jingled softly. A mix of tools, gear components, and a few vials of oil – each item meticulously chosen for their role in the intricate dance of creation. He had carefully selected each piece, his mind already envisioning the potential devices that could emerge from their assembly.

The Blade and Stars inn loomed ahead, its windows illuminated by the warm glow of lantern light. The inviting ambiance spilled onto the rain-slicked streets, casting a golden halo against the wet canvas of the night. His boots whispered against the cobblestones as he crossed the threshold, the comforting embrace of camaraderie beckoning him forward. He knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the room and mingling with the drumming of the rain outside.

"Lo there Swiftheel," He called out, his voice carrying a blend of warmth and familiarity. "Hope I didn't interrupt any important dreamin' or schemin'. Just thought I'd check in, see how the gadgets are comin' along."

A neatly penned letter was delivered via courier shortly after Bolgar's arrival.

He rose with a crackle of joints and the soft sigh that aging demanded of one moving from haphazard slumber. As he made his way to the door he straightened up, quite literally, taking a moment to stretch toward the ceiling. He felt mostly presentable by the time he reached the door and opened it, ushering his ally inside.

"They're coming but I'll damn sure conscript you into service since you're here. Come on in and dry off. Fierlith might be by later with food, ham and bread for sammiches or maybe some fresh sghetti from up the block."

As Bolgar made himself at home by invitation of hospitality, he'd sweep his hand toward the table and its myriad of contents.

"Burners, stabbers, gassers, freezers, zappers, you name it we've got a pile of it, by the gods. Still working on the smokepowder one's but there'll only be rain if the gods will it. Hoping a few of the other fellas come by later so we can show them how these thing work, or more importantly, how to not spoil the mess early."

He made his way back to his seat, picking up a screwdriver, and going to setting up another spring loaded contraption as he spoke.

"I hadn't had a chance to get the parchment to Azariel yet. Figure with what we've got we'll have him target a specific spot, but I'll jaw about it when he's here. And don't forget you and I have a specific part to play in all this, and it will fall to the pair of us like as not."

Small talk carried on before the fated courier arrived, was tipped, and Dunn quickly broke the wax and read the letter aloud to the present.

"Thats a relief, I knew she was leaving with the knights up the road out eastward but she'll be back for the job, she says. Magick or a Door I assume but she did not specify. So the three of us will set on that task, then."

Soon after a small, blue haired figure arrived behind the door juggling two baskets filled with varied edibles from bread to cheese and ham, veggies and fruits alike. Some scratches and thuds were heard from the door while the little elf tried to open the door. Somehow managing to pry the door open with full hands, she stepped into the room and brought the baskets to the nearby table. Help yourselves, she said with a nod, brushing her pale hands together. I gathered some bits and pieces from the market to eat and the innkeeper said he’d bring some fried fish in once it is ready.

Free of the baskets she turned to the worn leather satchel at her side and pulled out a few vials, inspected them and then placed the vials next to others on a small side table next to miscellaneous assortment of healing supplies. Don’t mind me, she smiled moving across the room to bury herself in the corner of the sofa.

The trio toiled through early eve and well and far into late. Small breaks for food and the sharing of tales, laughter and warmth shared despite the task at hand, and the nearing one looming ever closer with a sense of fate, and foreboding.

Several marks burned through a candle somewhere before a sizeable collection of gadgets was assembled, with several set aside to be tested sometime during the following day. Rest took them each in their own way eventually, the brilliant stout surely slept, the elven maiden meditated, and the troublemaker dreamed.

*****

He was running. Chasing after a dying light in the distance while nameless horrors nipped at his heels. Things that would at one point have form, and substance, would melt to black nothingness as they hounded after him as he made his way to the only point of refuge in this desolate place, that knew neither color, comfort, or love, but only lengthening shadow. Sometimes, it would be faces, both familiar and altogether alien for what they'd become in that place, which would lash out to greet him with all the malice and injury such things of nightmares could inflict. In his flight, he trips and scrapes across the desolate and rocky soil, and in his scramble to right himself, the first spectre greets him.

"You brought her to me, and she brought Thedran. You watched me die, you know that? Its my turn to watch." Drogo said, offering him no hand up before melting back to nothing.

Something tore into and through his shirt, but he was back in full flight and could not stop to take account of the missing fabric, or its lack of sound as it tore in this place. As he drew closer to the dim light of refuge ahead the ground became soft, and he was quickly bogged down in the mire as he trudged onwards. A face surfaced in the morass, muddy water foaming out the corner of her lips as she spoke,

"Save me? You wouldn't even make the choice! You won't have to make such a sacrifice, or feel the pain that I did, just give up, and lie down." Teeth surrounded the visage of the speaker, Aesa, and the mire consumed her.

He kept on, he'd nearly reached the tree, when more recent loss spoke behind him, causing him to look back and see a shadow of his former ally, Olesya, intoning,

"Run from it all, they catch you in the end, Dune."

He falls again, having hit firmer ground as the mage's form fades back into the shapeless shadows that plagued him and drew about in a circle. Though before they press in the first color to greet him flits past the corner of his vision. A mote of blue light, followed by others. Familiar hands reaches under his arms and hauls him up. There is the light, he'd reached her, the priestess.

Despite the danger that drove him there he admired her as if it was the first time they'd met. The blonde haired, blue eyed beauty that made him an oath breaker. Her hair tied back, held by a ribbon covered in stars. He'd lost that, too. She said something to him and in his awestruck moment he missed it entirely, asking her to repeat herself, and she obliged.

"When the night is long and dark, when you are afraid or alone or feel as though you may never find your way: know I believe in you. Know I am always with you.
All you have to do is look up, remember?" Tess said, patiently, kindly, warmly.

He turned his head then, gazing up. But there was no comfort there, only full dark, no stars.



When he looked back to Tess. All the color was gone from her, and the bluest eyes that he'd remembered were dark, and empty. Her lips moved as black ichor leached out from her mouth.

"You think they'll ever let you see me again? All you will know from your days of wandering is loss. Delay it all you like, grow old, til memory becomes shadow. But don't dream otherwise, wake, up."

*****

"Wake up."

"Michael, wake up. You're dreaming again."

There's a moment as he's fighting the sheets, before he realizes where he is, and he looks lost and small for a moment before he focuses on who's there, and what's real. Kind, patient blue eyes framed by blue hair look down at him, a hand smoothing out the messy hair atop his head. She smiles, but doesn't ask, she knows its simply the way he deals with things, he'll talk if he's ready.

The pair break fast and prepare to journey for the day, and he's painted on a smile by the time they're out the door. Headed out to a less trodden stretch of road to test some of what he and Bolgar spent the previous eve in a great deal of preparation over. The days are closing in now, time is not their ally.

A hole is dug off the beaten path, and the trio, Dunn, Fierlith, and Bolgar, set up on a hill top not far off, but near enough they could warn any persons of the danger of walking up and approaching the baited deer leg strung up over a buried mound. A spyglass is shared as they wait and see if what they've set up will 'cut mustard' as he is fond of saying.

... its not even a mark later and the sharp explosion of smokepowder has reduced an unfortunate predator to mist, dirt, and smoke. Michael is ecstatic, hat flung up once in the air before he catches it. As for the other two....

The blue haired elf stands a short distance away from the excited pair, watching the duo dig into the ground. Occasionally she observes the surroundings but mainly keeps her focus on the back of the taller figure thoughtfully. Her metal armor reflects the few rays of the sun escaping between the drifting clouds. She glances up towards the sky with wonder, breathing calmly a few times before looking back towards the task at hand.

She does not help the working pair, nor do they ask her to do so. The dwarf and the ranger simply appear to be absorbed in their task, enthusiastic chatter floating about them, followed by anticipating wait when they move further away to test the result of their labor.

She winces when the trap is sprung, not joining the cheers of success. This is enough, yes? she asks then with mild displeasure evident in her tone of voice. However, despite the discomfort, she does not judge them for she understands the necessity of testing the mechanism to ensure its viability when it truly matters.

"Huh?" Dunn spun around toward her, grinning ear to ear like a schoolboy. The grin didn't fade despite her demeanor, and he shrugged. "Well, yeah, reckon thats enough for that test, but there are others to be had. I'll round up a few travellers later for that."

*******

And he did. The day before the job he worked alongside Darragh and Thok, with vials handed out for protection as various mechanisms were put to the test. Gouts of flame, electricity, and other powers still burning black marks in the open field.

*******



His legs hung freely as he leaned against the twisted bough of the tree. Tess sat there beside him, under the thumbnail of Selune, whose silvery light shown down on them and the moors. For a moment, he might've confused all this for a view of the war, but he knew well in his heart that war had come to pass, and this was a dream. Still, they spoke.

"This is enough, yes?" She said, hadn't he heard that somewhere already? He'd remember later.

"its what I get, all I get of you. I thought I saved you, Tess."

"Who says you didn't?" She casts her gaze, kindly at him, her legs dangling as she took a moment to fix the ponytail of her hair, giving it a shake before regarding him again. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Sometimes you aren't. Sometimes its a shade of you, that my mind's eye conjures up. And you're death, or maybe... its worse than death its nothing."

"That's another power at work, and that should not at all be what you remember."

"But I do. All the same I do. And sometimes I tell myself that I'd accept -that- version of you, I'd let her kill me, just to see you one more time. To really see you. Your eyes alone could cut me to nothing, and that, that'd be alright."

"Don't! Don't." She protests, a hand reaching out to settle upon his arm. There's silence, for a time, neither of them breaking it. She, looking to him with unwavering understanding. He, in turn, looking at her and feeling the loss as if it had just come to pass again.

Hard to tell how much time in the space of a dream passes, before he speaks again,

"I'll find you again, at the end of the road." He says, with finality.

"I don't think it works that way, Michael."

"I don't care how its supposed to work. If heaven or some life of ease is all that is promised at the end, then I would say that isn't enough. I will find you Tess. It isn't a matter of who is going to let me, there is no force in the divine or the hells that will stop me." He was worked up, tears flowed freely as he said every word without the well practiced poise and control he had in his waking hours. He was raw and his breath felt hot and he poured it out.

"Don't forget the living, in pursuit of dreams." She says, countering his emotion with soft spoken patience. "You have a life yet to live, Michael Dunn. She is sweet, and she is kind, and she loves you, too. You have friends, and allies, that count on you. That adore you. Some of them have moved the world for you."

He is quiet, and when he replies his voice too has lowered, "When will my time come?"

"You know I can't - "

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't." She says, and almost laughs at the sudden absurdity of that small exchange. He too, manages a wan smile, though tears have intermingled in the beard upon his face.

"Sometimes, you're like her. Every morning I wake and admire her, she's just the same as the day we met, years ago. And here you sit, just as full of life and light and youth as I recall. You're both forever young, while I grow older. I might be an old man when it comes time to hound you down, Tess."

"You really are dreaming big if you think you die an old man, Michael." There's a bright twinkle in her eye as she teases him.

"I'm tired of burying my friends." He admits, breaking out of the moment of mirth. ".... I never buried you. I didn't dare. To do so would be to admit you're gone, and I couldn't stand it. The thought of it alone, breaks me, to travel down that road I think I would just lay down and give up. That damn hilltop has near as many of my departed friends as I have living ones."

"Michael, there is something more I need to tell you," She tries to interrupt him and the dark thoughts that came forth.

"Unless its you're coming home, I don't rightly have an ear for it." He said, and he turned toward her, reaching for the hand that touched his arm, reaching to hold her, just a moment, that's all he'd beggar of this phantasm. And just as he was about to reach her, the dream was over, in that jarring moment between what passes in the mind and what happens in the waking world he caught only a wisp of her parting words.

"....your pocket."

*******

He twitched, a hand caught up in the coverlet, and he was back in the Blade and Stars. Far from alone (and that was a blessing greater than he oft admitted to), but still on -the- road. That euphemism he used for 'living', or 'life.' Still with a job to do.

Everything was as ready as it could be, supplies, double checked and tested, everything was set to move.

He sat at the table of their little room, a rag and can of polish at hand, as he worked in small circles upon the silver pin he still wore nigh daily. A simple, shield shaped brooch, meant to be worn as a pin over one's breast. Silver and etched, its depiction that of a bare tree overshadowing a crescent moon. He didn't remember if he'd ever told anyone why a moon. Naturally there were those that had served in the Vanguard that were faithful or inclined to worship Selune. And to most folks if he asked he might make a remark about the crescent moon shining just enough light, so that the works of the Vanguard could be seen as 'good', but not so much that they would've been caught at the more clandestine things they took to. But the truth was far simpler and more personal.

He'd done it for Tess.

He finished polished the pin. Its flatter surfaces a near mirror shine, the recesses he let keep the antiquation of the tarnish so as to highlight them in dark tones. He set this aside.

He spent a little less time, but no less care, polishing up his boots and cleaning the dust from his hat. Waxy leather soap cleaning them both up and protecting them against the incessant rain that fell this time of year. These too, he set aside.

He cleaned his blade, Madelyn, as quickly and efficiently as he could. The truth was, he was afraid of her these days. Such the point that the iron chain and its bloodstone charm never left him, even as he slept. Otherwise he'd be a risk to all around him, a liability. The thirst might rear its head. The blade too he set aside.

Irons warmed in the fire, and he took to ironing out his own clothes. A winter set dug up from the last year. A strong coat that had seen the ravaging trolls driven forth by Kossuthians at Bekkregard. He chose a blue shirt to match his trousers, why blue? It was one of the last thing's he'd ever spoke of to Telia, it was an old potter's trick, you see.

"We choose blue so that people might otherwise see past the flaws and marring that would devalue a piece of clay pottery, if we know we've made a mistake, it is glazed blue to make it sell better. More appealing." He remembered the old potters words, speaking them now low to himself, or to the all too sharp ears of his love were she near.

As he began to make ready to depart for the day, for the work ahead, he donned his heavy coat. Taking a moment to admire it in the mirror as he pinned the badge of the Whitewood Vanguard over his chest, above his heart. As the pin settled in place, he felt something crinkle in an inner pocket, and by whimsy investigated it.

Within were two things, the first was a letter, now well worn and wrinkled but still legible. The latter, was something he'd thought he'd lost. A midnight blue ribbon with small chips of clear gems, as if it were decorated with constellations. He paused a moment, to reread it.

Michael –

I’ve known a great deal of pain and sorrow. Losing my brother, my father, nearly losing you.

But nothing has ever hurt quite like this.

Like leaving our camp, leaving Rain, leaving you sleeping as I love to watch you do in the last bit of silver light before dawn. Leaving little more behind than a kettle of coffee still warm for you on the embers of the fire we shared last night.

I’m not certain what else I have to say, other than I know I ask for forgiveness.

I hope one day, when you are caught by surprise by the beauty of the stars in a cloudless sky and you think of me, you will understand. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving as I am. But far more than that, Michael: I hope, I pray, one day you can forgive yourself.

Because I’ve seen the storm in your eyes these many months on the road, after all that has transpired, and I feel so helpless trying to part them so the light can shine through again. So your heart can be unburdened, as you deserve it to be after all you’ve fought so hard for.
And I have come to realize perhaps I am the reason you have struggled with it so. Perhaps I am what holds you back. Perhaps I’m altogether wrong. But I know there is only one way I can be certain, for us both.

And maybe, too, I am selfish. Maybe I must find my way, find a life for myself where I do not feel like I must share you with the ghosts and shadows of your past. Maybe I cannot settle for less than walking openly in the light.

Please do not spare a moment’s thought on doubting whether I love you. You know I do. You know I always have.

But all things wax and wane, my love. And one day, should we meet under the full moon’s smile, and should you ask me with an open heart to dance beneath the stars with you and only you, you know I will. There will always be a silver song that plays only for us.

But until then, my love... my dearest friend, my constant companion. When the night is long and dark, when you are afraid or alone or feel as though you may never find your way: know I believe in you. Know I am always with you.

All you have to do is look up.

– Tess

His hands shake a little, as he folds it back up carefully, replacing the letter where he'd found it. As for the ribbon, it was tied neatly around his right arm. Joining the lanyard he'd made of Fierlith's symbol of faith, Sehanine Moonbow, he adjusted his coat till all was right, all was in its place.

A moment of prayer was held between the two of them, she to her goddess. He to the Helping Hand, Shaundakul. A small side prayer was made to Sune, asking her to heed the prayer of her faithful local knight. Nothing that he'd explain beyond vague terms. And out the door the pair went.

The die was cast.

Observing others is a habit of the elven priestess – as natural as breathing. The small things she picks up and stores to memory – at times even unconsciously. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should take the easiest of roads and just because you are kind, doesn’t mean you should be a stepping stone for others. The weight of wisdom paired with understanding and intuition to connect lost, discarded or, perhaps, hidden pieces to existing ones is sometimes heavy. Patience makes it easier to bear.

And as so many times before, she observed while preparations were made, while she gathered her own equipment – various last moment healing supplies. Most things had already been packed away on the saddlebags of the stubborn pony.

Once done packing away her items, she settled down on an arm chair and crossed her legs. Eyes closed as she took a few calming breaths, the noise about her faded into a distant hum. A pale, delicate hand reached for the silver medallion around her neck and the cool fingers curled around the emblem. In her mind’s eye she saw a flash, barely recognizable and less than the length of blink of an eye. An image of smoke and fire that one might easily dismiss as a trick of light caught in one’s eyes.

Quietly she murmured.



For a moment she only listened to the sounds around her as they slowly intensified and returned to normal background noise. As her eyes opened, the dim light of the room briefly flickered on the pair of light blue eyes. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the room. Her attention focused on the nearly ready ranger. Be careful, will you? It will be dangerous and I won’t be in the fray. Watch out for smoke and flames.

She wanted to say more but she held back, another habit of hers that did not always serve her well. She hovered on the spot for a moment, thinking, staring, then picked up the remaining bags. I’ll take the supplies to the Triage. I’ll stay there. She padded towards the door, juggling with the burden. At the door she paused and looked back and for a brief moment sadness washed over her face. May the warm winds bless you today and the stars favor - the rest was carried away by a sudden gust of wind and with that she was out of the door, heading towards the stables to go and be ready to care for the wounded.