Warmth in the Dark (somewhat BG2)

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Hi, er, hi. No, no, no, that was all wrong. Let me do it over again.

Okay, here goes, this is my first time with the Creativity Surge stuff, so don't expect anything great. In short, this is about a quest in bg2. However, it is something that never happens in the game, or affects the PC directly. It is about what happened before the Cult of the Eyeless quest, a side story to the game, about a man named Gaal.

Thanks, here goes, this half-inspired, hastily done story.

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WARMTH IN THE DARK

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Chapter I

The sky was dark and the air was cold.

That was all Drivan knew as he stole down the Athkatla street, clutching his the leather hilt of his dagger, hoping to guard himself from the night filled with danger. There was so much safety he could run to.

Safety from whatever Gaal was leading him to.

Safety from whatever lurked behind the next stack of crates or in the next barrel in the pitch-black darkness.

Safety from whatever was behind the new rival guild – something that had the gut to challenge the Shadow Thieves themselves.

“What in th’Abyss’s Gaal leadin’ us to, Kregg?” Drivan asked quietly of the lumbering half-orc thug that walked in the darkness aside him.

“You ‘spect me to know? Priest of Mask leadin’ down Bridge district, maybe kill sommun, maybe rob a nobleman, me dunno, just thug.”

Drivan sighed. Of course. After all, they were just two upstart thieves, barely knowing of each other, let alone what lay ahead. But Gaal, that cocky, confident Priest of Mask, did.

He clutched his dagger once again. Maybe it would provide something against the darkness.

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Chapter One to continue, likely days later. Thanks for your attention, so far.

 

Now YOU are having ME hooked.
Please continue!

 

Well, here we go again, a continuation of Chapter One.

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Chapter One (cont.)

She stalked down the street of the Bridge District, at the same time Gaal and his two lackeys were walking. She hoped that the priest would be punctual as she hoped. She continued to move silently through the darkness.

She was not what one would call a human, and what few would call a person. She was more like . . . an entity

Yes, that was the word. Entity. One with a powerful master.

She saw the three before they did see her. She came out from the very darkness, it seemed, in front of Gaal and the two thieves

The priest of Mask’s heart skipped a beat, as did the half-orc Kregg and Drivan

“Aaaah, priest, you are here. And early too. And to think mortals were not punctual." She creaked, her voice spitting out “mortals” with dark contempt.

Drivan was gripped with fear. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head. Who, or what was Gaal consorting with? It was unlikely Kregg, the other Shadow Thieves, or even Gaal himself knew. Only this . . . entity in the darkness knew herself. Who was she?

Kregg was as frightened as Drivan. He shouldn’t have been scared of a lady, especially an old one, slinking in the night. But this lady radiated darkness that blackened even the darkness of Athkatla at night; not just darkness, evil, fear, something terrible that was beyond him.

Drivan clutched his dagger once again. Was this what Gaal was leading him to? A lady? An old lady? He should have been safe, ready to spring out of the darkness and sink his dagger if need be.

His grip tightened. He knew it would be useless should a fight ensure.

A bead of sweat ran down Kregg’s sloping forehead. The thug gulped nervously.

Gaal spoke. He was just as nervous, but the words came out to the lady before he even realized it. He spoke to the woman that was
(fanged)
(terrible)
(a danger)
in front of him

”Er, y-y-yes, thank you, th-thank you.”

”Spare the pleasantries, priest. Are you willing to make the arrangement?”

“A-a-a-arrangement?”

“Yes, the arrangement, mortal,” the lady in the dark spoke, as if frustrated with a child. “Fear not, it will be soon and safe. “

Her eyes bored into Kregg’s and Drivan’s eyes.

“The arrangement is done; you may leave Gaal. The half-orc and the cutpurse will come with me.”

They both realized who she was. Gaal was still in the dark.

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EDIT

Chapter One continues, once again.

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It was like when Drivan suddenly realized the workings of a trap or the interior of a lock. A burst of genius, of immediate enlightenment. It had been so obvious; why couldn’t he see it before?

She, whoever she was, was a friend, an ally. An ally of Gaal and Kregg, too. Tonight was supposed to be a meeting, a rendez-vous, with an ally. Hadn’t she said that an arrangement was to be made, after all?

To Gaal, it seemed that his two subordinates were now willing to defend and fight for the woman he would rather die than touch. It was apparent that this. . . entity had imposed her will on theirs.

“You are spared the fates that wait for these two,” the lady creaked. “Go about your life as normally; though you are of our guild now, continue to operate with the Shadow Thieves. Adieu, mortal,” she told the priest, sneering the word “mortal” with contempt once again.

Gaal nervously nodded, as she, as well as the two thieves, slinked back into the shadows. Where the lady had taken the two, or what their fates would be, Gaal did not want to know.

He sighed heavily. Was this the right path down his road of life? One of deceit and cloak-and-dagger plans it certainly was, but who would end on top? The guild he had betrayed, or the one he just made a pact with?

He remembered the manifestation of the guild war in the slums eight days ago. Over a dozen black-hooded thieves lay dead in the streets, each one wearing a face of utter terror. Surely this was the road to power. Surely the guild of mysterious figures could overcome this rabble of thieves and assassins.

Either way, it was too late to walk back down the metaphorical road now. Only darkness lay ahead.

Somewhere in the Athkatla night, in the Bridge District, four crossbows were loaded. They fired upon the priest standing in the Merchant’s Square.

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[EDIT]
I've added more - Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

What happened? Gaal remembered. . . something. . .

Yes, that was it, something. Something in the Merchant’s Square, in the middle of the Bridge. With. . . the two novices and. . .

He shuddered. Blackness, evil, fear. He shut his eyes; was there escape? Was there a place to run, a place to hide from the awful, terrible, darkness? Even after the “arrangement”, he didn’t find himself safe – not from the. . . entity, or whatever lurked at night in the City of Coin.

And thieves, he thought, not just the City of Coin, but of thieves and assassins.

And of shadows and darkness that blackened the night.

And underneath, hidden from the sight of peasants and merchants, of entities. Beings. Things that no one could dream nightmares of.

You couldn’t run, couldn’t hide from any of them; be it the assassins who stalked in the shadows, or old, fanged, ladies in the Bridge District, or even the darkness itself.

He had known about all of them, hadn’t he? Yes; the thieves before, and now. . . an entity just before. . . whatever happened. And the darkness. . . always the creeping, encroaching, darkness that would swallow and suffocate you if you weren’t careful.

But where was he?

He didn’t want to know. He wanted to forget about the arrangements, the pain coursing through his body, on his head. He just wanted to rest.

He closed his eyes, and tried to forget about the pain and the bolts lodged in his shoulder and calf. He remembered. . . to eight days ago.

* * *

EIGHT DAYS AGO

Ches 5th, 1369 DR

Bel Dalemark the merchant stepped out of his home in the Bridge District. He smiled, for a new day was upon him. Here, the people were tight-knit, almost a big family, where everyone knew everyone, from the actress, Raelis Shai, to the local guard Aegisfield. Ah, the rising sun was emerging from its slumber, and a new day would rise, once again banishing the darkness and shadows of the night to bear a city of trade and coin for another day.

Bel felt optimistic today; the sun was shining on the waters under his home, on the roof of the Five Flagons Inn, and on the. . . blood?

Bel’s heart skipped a beat. He ran as fast as his portly figure would carry him, following a red, coagulating, path to
(by Waukeen)
a heaped pile of carcasses, perhaps of ten or so black-hooded thieves.

Bel gasped heavily, and let a short cry escape from his lips before he could stop it.

Rose, the thin, red-haired, courtesan who often lounged around Bel’s stand, peeked around the corner of the building, asking, “Aye? Somethin’ wrong, dea-”

The courtesan was shocked as Bel. Shadow thieves. Around a dozen of them killed.

A third person had found his way to the gruesome sight, his hair-covered feet treading down the cobbled road

“Tsk, tsk. Guild war. Bad fer business, worse fer the Shadow Thieves,” the halfling sighed, shaking his head.

A small crowd had now formed around the heap of corpses. One of them, Gaal, clutched his quarterstaff tightly. He recognized one of the dead: Ralht, an experienced member of the thieves’ guild. And was that Samneric? Yes, another one, a high-ranked assassin.

His faced paled. He knew who killed them. Everyone knew. The rival guild, convincing the thieves to join their side, and viciously slaying those who did not, was the murderer of these dead ones.

Gaal sighed. How long would it be before they killed Mae’var, or Bloodscalp? Or even Aran Linvail? Or him? He had to find safety in this war, had to find a way out of the darkness.

* * *

FIVE DAYS AGO

Ches 8th, 1369 DR

Gaal woke in the middle of the night. His throat was parched and he bore a horrible headache. What went on last night slowly came back to him. He had left the thieves’ guildhall at sundown, then discovered
(no no not again no the rival guild it’s gotten someone no no another of ours)
the body of a dead Shadow Thief.

He had wanted to forget about what would eventually happen, what appeared to be inevitable – the Shadow Thief guild would be razed, destroyed by their rivals, and so would he.

He just wished to forget the corpse lying in the darkness, or the heap of dead thieves in the Bridge District. He had tried to put those thoughts out of his head; he had mug of bad, watered-down ale after mug, until he just fell down. He realized that someone must have thrown him out of the bar.

Gaal realized after that, he was lying just outside of the Sea’s Bounty Tavern. Relieved that no one had mugged him – or worse, the priest of Mask stood up and wiped the dust and the filth of the street ground. His stale vomit stayed on his clothes, and a yellow, parched note fluttered to his boots.

Picking up the note, he bothered not to read it till the next day. The priest then staggered in the tavern once again.

“Urgh, r-room for a night’s stay, barkeep,” earning the barkeep a disdainful look, then handing him a handful of coppers.

“Mmmm,” the fat man grunted indifferently, “Sec’nd room t’yer left, up the stairs.”

* * *

FOUR DAYS AGO

Ches 9th, 1369

Gaal sat on the barstool, hunched over the note. He had felt considerably better, and was now intrigued by the note – and who had left him it.

Gaal could read the words well, despite the yellow and crumpled paper, and the spidery handwriting of whoever had written this.

The note read:

Priest of Mask: the Shadow Thieves weaken day by day, and cannot even protect their own members from the night they claim to know so well. What do your guild dues pay for, besides the opulence of the Shadow Council? Join with us and receive what you know you are worth. We shall meet when during the night, after the tanner Hidesman’s shop closes. Be at the Merchant’s Square in the Bridge District five days from whence you received this note. Bring two novice thieves with you. Do not tarry.






[This message has been edited by C'Jakob (edited March 25, 2002).]

[This message has been edited by C'Jakob (edited March 27, 2002).]

 

I like the way you are introducing the various people from the game into the story.

I like it so far. Very.

 

Well, it's been a month since I kinda abandoned this story, but I've restarted it today. I hope that I can just make a good enough story to entertain you all for some time. Without further ado, I present the delayed story.

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THREE DAYS AGO

Ches 10th, 1369 DR

Look at the sun at you’ll become blind,, Gaal thought, his head tilted toward the moon. He wished he had known more about the phases of Selune. It was ironic, a priest of thieves admiring the moon. His colleague thieves would have cursed a clear night, but here he was, staring at it. Look at the moon and you’ll become a poet.

Gaal sighed wearily. A teardrop fell from his cheek and splashed into the clear, running waters of the Temple District. It was such a damned choice. Go with the other guild, survive. Stay with what you stayed with for three years, get killed. Yes, he could leave. He could leave what had made him of the Shadow Thieves, of a Priest of Mask, and join some far-off, strange rival guild.

But everyone knew who would win. The silent heap of corpses testified.

Things stopped blurring. He saw things clearly again. He was stumbling down the metaphorical road of life, paying his toll, and he met a three-pronged fork in the road. One led to where he was. One lead to where he could be. And one lead to darkness. The last one was always there, silent, hardly noticeable, but always there as a last resort. It was the last choice, to throw yourself into the darkness. There were many ways. A vial of poison. A knife. A noose.

But, no. That was what each thief made a run against. A run against the creeping, intruding darkness. To find, somewhere among the accursed Athkatla darkness, warmth and light and shelter. Darkness was the enemy, the one you could not slay or capture, but could always run or hide from. But it came eventually, sooner or later, in the form of old age or a poisoned arrow or sickness, it came and swallowed you up. Darkness was inevitable. Delaying it for a while was not.

And that was what everyone, the thieves and bandits anyways, ran for. Safety in the dark was what they ran for, as what a child huddles for from the shadow-monsters when he lies in bed. Somewhere in the damned maze of lies, thievery, and death, there was a prize. One that meant you didn’t get to be eaten up by darkness. At least for a while.

But down which path was the prize? The thieves? No, they would be consumed by the darkness. Darkness? Of course not. Safety from darkness was not in the darkness itself. And that left the strange guild. It seemed that that guild was the logical course of action. After all, no member of the guild had been found dead, and they had slain heaps of thieves. They had the power to stave off darkness and the power to overcome the Shadow Thieves. Yes, to the strange, unknown guild it was. They would provide warmth and light and shelter.

And so Gaal responded to the note, and sacrificed two upstart thieves, Drivan and Kregg, to the darkness to avoid darkness. And now. . . where was he?

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May 8, 2002

I apologize for the fluctuating advancement of this story.

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CHAPTER THREE

Gaal stared into the heavy dust and into the darkness. Into nothingness, really. He didn’t want to realize, to acknowledge, to accept the damned fact. The fact that the door was locked.

The fact that he was captured by the Shadow Thieves.

The fact that in the end, he would die a slow and painful death, that he would be tortured until his skin could no longer bear the red-hot awls and the scalding water and the array of torture weapons.

But there was hope, wasn’t there? There was hope that maybe, just maybe, in all of its foolishness and naïveté, he wasn’t prisoner of his former guild. Maybe it was bandits. Maybe it was slavers. Maybe he was just in some crazy reverie.

He spat in contempt of himself. All the pointless, green, hopes couldn’t banish the stark shadow of reality. But he tried to convince himself, with pointless lies and excuses, that what was going to happen would not happen. That what was real would crumble before what was fantasy. It did no good, just like Gaal had tried to lie himself into the belief that she, whoever “she” was, was human. That he was like him. Maybe a bit darker, maybe a bit more evil, maybe a bit more supernatural than he, but just a human in essence.

And those pointless hopes did no good. Of course he was prisoner of whom he had turned his back on. Of course they would open his mouth and find his agenda through excruciating pain. Of course she was a vampire. The simple, plain facts sat in the back of his head, refusing to be banished with his weak lies to himself.

Gaal stopped wondering and resumed staring, cursing his misfortune, and waiting for an inevitable, painful, end.

* * *

A stream of flickering light poured into Gaal’s cell. His eyes were blinded by the sudden, yellow flash that came through the outer hall. His heart skipped a beat, then sank into despair. A figure, one short and fat, suddenly blotted out the golden light that had poured into the cell.

The torturer flashed a smile at him. One of joy of torture and pain, and of contempt of his victim. He yanked Gaal by his shirt-collar, and threw him against the stone wall. Gaal immediately felt a sudden blow of pain and humiliation. This was the end; the inevitable end that came and swallowed him up. He did not brace himself. He did not try to stem the flow of pain and tears. He let himself be debased, until the torturer stopped beating Gaal. He flashed another poisonous, rotten, smile.

“Git up, fool. Yer comin’ to Mae’Var.”

Gaal did not cry for mercy. He continued to silently curse his bad luck, and hope, as he did in the prison and before the vampire, that something would save him. He cursed the names of every god and person he knew. He cursed the vampire and the torturer and Mae’Var and the other guild. Most of all, he cursed what would happen.

But it was all external. He only showed a blank expression, in spite of the tears flowing from his eyes, and the blood flowing from his wounds. Even as he was strapped down on a table, where the torturer and Mae’Var watched with anticipating eyes, remained silent, except in his mind and soul, where he continued to curse the names and existence of everything he knew.







[This message has been edited by C'Jakob (edited May 08, 2002).]

[This message has been edited by C'Jakob (edited May 08, 2002).]