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The Thoughts of a Wanderer


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So this is one of my first fanfics I have ever written. I decided to do it on Baldur's Gate becuse it's one of my favorite things. I hope you enjoy.


The Thoughts of A Wanderer- Prologue


Day 30, Hour 12 (1 Mirtul, 1369)




Some say death is a deliverance; a timely release that is woven into the strands of fate to ease the pain and suffering of mortality. These intellects embrace demise; welcome it with a wide smile and open arms. Others look upon it as a hindrance, a blockade to achieving the highest power, or simplest pleasure. These thinkers resent departure, so much so that they try and bend it to their own selfish will.


Every night I have thought endlessly about these two philosophies while staring at the glimmering heavens and cursing them so. I have tried to place myself in one category or another for some time now; I cannot. My mind; it wails in agony every time I step forward, begging and pleading for the pain and misery to end. But both my heart and soul tell me there is hope, Hope that I will overcome righteousness that has turned from the light, and mend evils that were not supposed to be broken.



My blood.


My blood has nothing and everything to do with it…




It is a dance; a glorious dance for spectators with unseeing eyes. Two performers lift their heads in hesitation, calculating the unseen motion upon the ground. They are weary, weary of the same routine repeatedly. Suddenly, one of them moves, sending a shudder of anticipation into their sweating fingers. Their eyes flicker with smoldering passion; bodies quiver with concealed adrenaline. So they dance. The movements of their hands and feet, fast and flowing, are the only real thing on their minds. The intricate steps one must take during the performance are like coquetry with certain death. In a long spell the dance is done, like dying embers slowly extinguished by a cruel breeze. One of them falls; hushed whispers from the crowd swallow them, consuming both psyche and spirit. The silent audience stands and applauds, but they cannot hear the praise.


This is no dance; this is real. This is a battleground.

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The Thoughts of A Wanderer- Chapter One




Day 5, Hour 2 (2 Mirtul, 1369)





I find myself waking up at night, drenched in sweat and tangled in worn sheets. My dreams; they are constantly in my thoughts. So many times I have dreamed of Irenicus and his detached face as he carved the cool knives into my skin. How many times have I seen Imoen snatched away from me? My fears and doubts are preyed on constantly. My innermost reflections are reality when I am caught in the dominion of dreams. Even after all of this ends, if it ever does, I have some trepidation that they will not end.






Ashan crouched, staring down at the newfound corpse lying upon the dingy soil. He shook his head in remorse, letting his long, raven hair rest across his broad shoulders.


“Bandits?†Ashan questioned while pilfering a corpse for unseen gold.


“Indeed.†Jaheria replied without hesitation. She surveyed her surroundings to make sure no members of the group were fatally wounded; thankfully the battle was over quickly and no one had lost large amounts of energy needed for upcoming travel. She passed Ashan as she strode over to a small hill close to the battlefield; a certain sunrise had caught her eye.


The side of her head gently rested on the end of her quarterstaff; her cerulean eyes surveyed the magnificent golden streaks that swept over an open meadow. She noted the small daisy patches dancing about in untamed manners. A gentle breeze caught her hair, caressing and swirling the golden-brown locks. Her gaze shifted to watch emerald trees slowly sway in the breeze; their branches extending and coiled high, as if praising the Gods above. She sighed contentedly for the first time since what seemed like months. Her hand slowly wove to her side to catch her lover’s fingers in hers. Her hand only rested in empty air; her husband Khalid was no more. Irenicus’ dungeon entered her mind; she remembered sitting behind closed iron bars, silently waiting for Khalid to return to her. Her grip on her quarterstaff became tighter. She stamped her foot in worthless agitation; she would be useless to the group if she could not keep hold over her emotions. Her eyes filled with shining tears as she turned away from the beauty in front of her. She wiped them away quickly as she turned back around to the group. She took a moment to compose herself, pretending to watch the gray clouds in the distance with much attention. Ashan soon called her name, signaling the group’s eagerness to continue the journey. Her stare returned back to the terrain where she noticed the members watching her with discontent. She held her head high, and with a huff, stalked back to the group. “Silvanus help me!†She whispered under her breath.




Night approached more quickly than anticipated for the worn out adventurers and their aching feet. Ashan’s cold blue eyes looked on as the last of the dying embers made love to the rotting timber; he rubbed his trembling hands together quickly, trying to create friction between the chilly digits. Exhaling slowly, he watched as the pasty wisp of air floated amid the blustery weather. Although there had been beads of sweat on his brow from the unrelenting sun earlier that day, the bright orb had now disappeared and left the cruel wind and frozen stars in its place.


A melodious female voice unexpectedly broke both reflection and silence. “A-Ashan?â€Â


He did not look at her; he knew he would see countless things he did not desire in her gentle expressions and large sapphire eyes. “Aerie, you should be fast asleep.â€Â


“Oh. I-I know. I just…I-I wanted to tell you something.†The fair-haired Avariel responded. Every graceful step brought her closer to him. She seated herself near to him, so dangerously near that he could feel every ragged breath that came from her full lips. He knew what she was going to say, and his heart ached at the realization that he was going to hurt her. Did the foolish girl not understand? Could she not comprehend that he did not love her? That he could not care for her as he wished he could? He closed his eyes in deep thought of the next words that would be uttered by his lips.


“I-I think-†Aerie began; Ashan’s eyes rapidly shot open. He shook his head violently, standing in haste. He turned away from her as he spoke.


“No. Do not tell me Aerie; it will only make the pain of what I’m about to say more unpleasant for you.†Ashan watched as the gathering clouds cloaked the star-filled heavens undoubtedly waiting to release their sorrowful tears on the forlorn companions. He could already hear the sobs racking the young woman’s body. He bowed his head in anguish, his eyebrows knit in pain.


“I care for you Aerie, I truly do; although I do not care for in the way you wish. I am not a man you want to spend the rest of your life with. I would only bring you pain and suffering where others could bring you love and contentment-â€Â


Aerie was next to him now, her slender fingers tenderly pressing his arm. “D-Do you not see that you are not a burden to me?†She slowly moved in front of him, boldly taking hold of his proud chin. She bent his head until their eyes met. Her spirit grieved at the site; his eyes were filled with boundless pain and numerous other mysterious emotions. “Have you not thought about the numerous things you have done to help me look at this new existence with fresh eyes? Have you ignored the fact that you have gained both my trust and love by being a kind and selfless man? Does it seem unacceptable that you have brought more light than darkness into my life?†Her blue eyes filled with unshed tears; her hand came to rest affectionately upon his right cheek but he denied her of the touch. She understood at that moment what he meant. There was no need for any further words that somber night. She silently withdrew from him, painfully aware of how lovesick and desperate she sounded. She backed away in horror as if seeing the true man he was for the first time. Ashan was left abandoned as he watched the despairing Avariel fade away into the darkness.


He knew he would not sleep that night; he could hear Aerie silently sobbing away her pain and frustrations of a broken heart.


His large hands swept over his face numerous times as he sat back down on the rotting stump. There was no freedom for love in a Bhaalspawn’s life. After all, he told himself, look what happened to Gorion… and Imoen. She and Gorion had been the only ones he had allowed himself to love, even if only in a familial fashion, and they were snatched from right under his fingertips. No; it was better he lived a lonely existence and allow others the liberty of the pleasures of life without him looming around like a sordid rain cloud on an enjoyable, sunny day.


The sound of lithe footsteps could be heard roughly nearby. Ashan turned, seeing Viconia’s curvaceous form in the moon’s silhouette. He noticed a haughty smile formed on her full lips.


“Did you finally rip the wings from the flightless butterfly?†She asked innocently.


“That’s between us, Viconia.†He replied sharply.


She only smiled wider, her ivory teeth now showing. She stood behind him gradually, making his back straighten in uneasiness. She put one hand on his shoulder, her lips leaning in to touch his ear. Her breath tickled the hair on his neck, as she started to speak in a soft voice.


“She is weak jaluk, and the weak shall never survive.â€Â


The sound of heartless laughter could be heard as Ashan stood and started walking towards his bedroll.


“Your turn to keep watch; alert me if you see anything.†He stated as he disentangled some tattered covers.


“We’ll see.†She replied simply as she sat by the lifeless fire.


Ashan finally slipped into the bedroll for the night, a grimace upon his face. He tossed and turned for a long while, until he finally drifted into the world of unpleasant dreams.

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The Thoughts of a Wanderer- Chapter Two




Day 6, Hour 11 (2 Mirtul, 1369)




I understand it is a thing that is hard to give, and even harder to lose. Aerie has been acting very queer as of late. I can understand under the current circumstances, but I believe it is something more. I perceive it every time her eyes lock with mine. There is a coldness there that I cannot explain, like she has made some decision that none of the other group members may know about…


We shall see.






Ashan’s eyes lazily opened to the flickering of a candelabra in an abandoned room. Oddly enough he was in a standing position, and in leather armor. The air smelled heavily of odd spices and interesting concoctions. He grimaced. He’d remember that smell until he’d cease to be. It was the scent of old Gorion.


He watched as Gorion entered the room with one hand occupied by a wooden bowl steaming with fragrance. A smile was planted on the old man’s face, and he was whistling a catchy little tune. With a twirl of his fingers the heavy door behind him shut and the loud clank of the locks could be heard. He set the bowl down carefully on a nearby desk before many hasty knocks on the stilted door could be heard.


“Gorion?†Ashan hastily called. He had wanted to catch Gorion’s attention while they were alone. After all, didn’t dreams reveal things that could otherwise be unknown?


The old man neither heard nor acknowledged him, for he kept walking to the door with unwavering determination. A flick of Gorion’s wrist and the bolts were unlatched, and the door opened.


Ashan snuck closer to get a better look at the scene that was unfolding before him. In a moments time he could see the petite form of a child with pink hair running down one of the corridors. He smiled broadly; memories flooded back to him of the times he and Imoen would play tricks on Gorion. They were harmless, to be sure.


Gorion shook his head for a moment before bolting out of the room, obviously chasing after little Imoen. Ashan could hear her tinkling laughter echo throughout the grand hallways. It was the same laugh she still had, and he found himself missing it terribly recently. With a pang of guilt he wished he was out searching for her instead of drifting through the world of dreams.


Suddenly, a raven haired boy came running into Gorion’s room with an odd pouch in his hand. He passed right through Ashan’s body, and made his way to the bowl sitting on Gorion’s desk. Ashan immediately recognized the youngster as his own self during the younger periods in his life. The small child was barefoot, and his little cheeks were tinted red and soiled with dirt. He opened the small pouch and poured a powdery substance into the bowl, giggling innocently all the while. Ashan also began to chuckle, the deep, throaty sound of merriment. He remembered this trick well. Gorion would be coughing up butterflies for the next three days- a specialty from Imoen.


The footsteps of Gorion could be heard closely now as he quickly approached. The younger Ashan gasped quietly, running out as swiftly as possible. Ashan decided to get closer to the bowl so he could see the old man’s reaction after he finished eating. Ashan had always wondered whether Gorion actually made that comical face Imoen had constantly talked about seeing.


Gorion entered shortly, grumbling and huffing about the latest events. He passed the door, deciding to leave it wide open for anyone to enter. His aged hands sought the cloak’s clasp around his neck. Once it was off, he gently placed it on the back of a russet colored chair. He slipped off the shoes he was wearing beside his desk. Running his hands over his gray hair, the old man sat in front of his bowl of broth. The rays of morning sunshine from a nearby window swept over his hair, leaving it sparkling and brilliant. The old man sighed serenely while looking out of the glittering window.


“It seems my work is never done!†Gorion whispered faintly.


He took the bowl in his hands and began to drink the broth slowly. Ashan crept closer to inspect his face. He was caught off guard when Gorion began to choke. The mage’s body trembled erratically, knocking the man out of the chair. His eyes looked about wildly for something that wasn’t in sight. Ashan’s eyebrows furrowed as he kneeled next to Gorion. No, No! Ashan whispered, It didn’t go like this. Ashan could sense that Gorion was dying. He noted the mage’s colorless lips, and pale skin.


“No. No! Gorion!â€Â


Ashan bent down to hold the old man’s trembling head in his hands, but his fingers passed right through the soft flesh. He desperately attempted to console the dying wizard, even whispering a song to him through a stifled voice. Ashan couldn’t handle seeing Gorion die in front of him a second time. He tried to call for help, his voice rumbling throughout the small room, but to no avail.


Astonishingly, Gorion’s eyes locked with Ashan’s; his white eyebrows uplifted in surprise.


“Y-you killed me!†Gorion whispered.


Ashan bolted upright in his bedroll, sweat heavily trickling down his features. His sweaty hands reached for the worn covers that had been thrown off of him. His head pounded, and his eyes were filled with unshed tears. He grit his teeth in frustration.


The first rays of golden sunshine could be seen peaking over the rolling hills of wilderness. The animals rose, readying themselves for their daily routine of frolicking and searching for food. The birds sang of new days and happiness. The companions slept easy in their bedrolls, dreaming happily of their own personal pleasures whether it was gold and riches, or having their dear husband back. While Ashan rose and stalked off into the forest, cursing the Gods for allowing his existence.

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