Adalia

[Llew Hy]

****

Standing in the mud with her blade held high she tries her best to remain perfectly still. She struggles not to move or speak, but despite herself and her efforts her breath still flows freely to and from her lungs, burning with each labored gasp. Deeply entrenched in the brush and the thicket -- and hidden from the night sky by the trees which stand tall as the guardians of the forest -- she tries her hardest to remember how she came to be in this moment. Regardless of whoever may be pursuing her or their reason for doing so; she remains hidden in the woods, the adrenaline that flows through her veins holding her in place. A thought crosses her mind and she quickly looks to her blade: worrying that her pursuer might catch the glint of the steel. She immediately notices that the shine is now dulled by a dark red stain.

After what seems like an eternity she lowers her sword, allowing the tip to rest in the mud. In a moment of hope she feels that perhaps she has lost her pursuer. Her muscles begin to relax and she replaces her fighter’s-stance, with a more casual posture; loosening her shoulders and allowing her arms to fall to her sides. She listens for a moment to the crickets chirping from deeper in the woods creating a serenade the beauty of which is lost on the average person (Appreciated instead only by those of us who have been forced to consider our mortality). As the sands of the hour glass begin to flow again her rate of breathing returns to normal. Closing her eyes for a short moment she massages the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, a desperate attempt to rub away the stress. And yet… her peace is suddenly interrupted. Without warning the symptoms return. The hairs on the back of her neck bristle as her heart rate quickens. From behind her she can feel the eyes burrowing into her -- a stare of malevolence and hatred -- and she hears the snapping sounds of twigs and leaves being crushed under-foot. In spite of her feeling of absolute dread she manages the courage to turn and face her assailant.

****

The world crashes down around her and abruptly she opens her eyes. Dampened by a heavy sweat she lies there, unable to breath. A lock of golden hair lies across her face; a silver streak down the middle of it reflects against the small bit of sunlight that leaks into the wagon, a beam of light misplaced by the heavens (A beam that intrudes, clashing against the darkness). She spends a brief moment in limbo between dream and reality: a place of darkness and confusion that enshrouds its victims in panic as they attempt to determine whether their existence is real or imagined. Gazing around the interior of the wagon she is soon reacquainted with her authentic life. As her eyes happen upon her sword – lying cold and lifeless by her side – she notices that it is as clean as she had left it the night before, further proof that she lives and that she is no longer trapped in her own mind. She sits up slowly and attempts to comprehend her world. Letting out a sigh of relief she dons her armor, grabs her sword and heads to the back of the wagon. Still groggy from another long night she rubs the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand as she descends down the wagon’s step.

The air in the Stormhorns Mountain is crisp and cool, a welcome respite from the inside of an over-crowded wagon. It’s early enough in the day that the clouds roll across the ground instead of the sky, which at this height places them in the valley below giving them a clear view to the heavens above.

“Ye still be havin’ them dreams, Del?” she hears from behind.
The Dwarf walks quickly to catch up to her pace.
“They’re nightmares, Necius, there’s a difference.”
“Do ye remember this one at least?”
“Some of it.” She hangs her head as she walks, strapping on her sword and cinching up her belt. “But not all.”

The gypsies from the convoy ignore their presence, busy with the morning work of cooking breakfast and packing the wagons for another day of travel.
“The commotion in this camp can probably be heard for miles” Adalia says quietly to herself.
“Are ye hungry this mornin’?” Necius asks with a tone of concern in his voice.
She sighs sadly and shakes her head. “Not right now.” And then adds “But don’t let me keep you.”
Necius nods to her: “Don’t you worry, ah’ll be back in the swing of an axe.” He winks to her before jogging off towards the campfire.

As Adalia approaches the cliff she can see the Sunset Mountains clearly jutting out from the fog on the other side of the valley. After a few minutes spent taking in the sights; Necius casually walks up to her.
“Is that where we’re headin’ next?” He carries with him a stein, steam escapes through the top of it.
“No, Iriaebor is next, Just to the south-west over there.” She points “And then we cut through the Reaching Woods to Scornubel. I’m sure we’ll be able to find some work there to tide us over for awhile.”
She looks to his steaming-stein and raises an eyebrow. “What in the nine hells is that?”
Necius shrugs, apparently indifferent to the origins of the concoction he is devouring.
“It’s gruel of some sort lass.” He smiles a toothy grin “It ain’t pretty but at least it’l put meat on yer bones.”
She cannot help but roll her eyes. “And you wonder why I don’t eat anything.”

A day of travel put them in Proskur, and another in Iriaebor, though the gypsies only went as far as Easting.
Leaving the roads behind Adalia and Necius carved their own path through the south of the Reaching Woods to Scornubel, adding two more days of travel. By the time they reached “Caravan City” they had completely run out of funds and were desperate to earn a few coppers.

[Llew Hy]

Life in Scornubel.

****

“Look, miss, we don’t hire young girls around here. They’re simply not reliable and can be far too much of a liability. If you’re that desperate for money why don’t you hit the streets and show some leg, I’m sure with those pretty golden eyes of yours you’ll bring in a few coppers”
The man sits leaning forward, hunched over his desk and wringing his hands. Behind him, two large bodyguards snicker at his words. He looks to Necius and shows as close to a smile as he can manage.
“You – on the other hand – look like you can handle a weapon. I’ll give you 15 coppers per Bugbear head. How ‘bout it?”
Necius looks back and forth between the man behind the desk and Adalia.
“How ‘bout I slice off yer head and spit down yer neck ye’ bloody git.”
Calmly the man sighs and returns to his paperwork as his bodyguards eject the girl and dwarf out into the street.

“Why did you have to go and say that?” Adalia yells, showing her frustration.
“He’s a bloody fool, I’m not workin’ fer his stupid arse.” He folds his arms across his chest and holds his head up high. “And that’s not how ye’ supposed to treat a lady, neither.”
“That’s what this is about? We still could have gone out together and killed those Bugbears.”
Necius shakes his head sternly. “That’s not the point lass it’s the principle of the matter.”
She lets out a discouraged moan. “Now what are we supposed to do? We don’t even have a place to sleep tonight.”
“Well, I suppose that be my fault ‘n I’m sorry fer it.” He leans against the wall of the Red Shields office and slides to a sitting position. Lowering his head he places his forearms on his knees.
“Hey Necius.”
“Yeah lass?” He says without looking up.
“Thanks” She smiles.
Necius looks up to her, smiling in return, a big toothy grin.
“Anytime Del, Anytime.”

****

Scornubel grows quiet shortly past midnight. The shops are closed down, and the fires in the camps for the trade caravans are extinguished. The only living creatures that stir at night are the thieves and the Red Shields, both locked in an indefinite game of cat-and-mouse. And then there’s Adalia.

Snap: The sound of a lock-pick breaking in a door. Adalia stomps her foot and curses the sub-par craftsman that furnished her tools. Synching her hood tighter she peers around the shop, looking for any signs of guards or mercenaries. She smiles to herself as an idea comes to mind. Reaching down she grabs a sizeable rock, tossing it in her hand a couple times she then turns and bangs it against the padlock. She takes a moment after it breaks to see if anyone comes running to investigate the noise. Confident – after a few minutes – that no one heard the bang, she makes her way inside.

****

She drops the bag of coins on the dock next to the Dwarf, causing him to jolt from his sleep. Panicked, he grabs his axe but drops it just as quickly when he realizes where he is.
“Lass did ye’ have to wake me like that?” He rubs his eyes which have yet to adjust to the morning light.
“What’s that ye got there?”
Adalia smiles and shrugs. “A gift. So tonight we won’t have to sleep on the docks again.”
“Oh no. ye didn’t? Not again, Not after what happened in Highmoon.”
“Look, don’t worry about it. I didn’t get caught, it’s okay.”
Necius is noticeably agitated. “No, Del, It’s not okay! Ye can’t keep doin’ this. ‘n I can’t keep bailin’ ye out of trouble when you get caught!”
Visibly ashamed, she hangs her head. “I know. And I promise I’ll stop. But we needed this. And now we have at least enough to get to Baldur’s gate. Plus, it’s not like I took everything, they could spare this stuff.”
“Ach, Ye just don’t understand Del! It’s not right, you’re not a thief, you of all people should know the difference between right ‘n wrong.”
Adalia crosses her arms; obviously it’s her turn to be upset now. “Why’s that Necius? Because of where I come from? I told you to forget about that, that’s not who I am anymore!”
Necius crosses his arms too, trying to stand his ground. “Well this isn’ who ye are neither!”
She stares at him angrily, fuming, and mutters under her breath: “It is now.”

[Llew Hy]

The Wounds Time Cannot Heal.

****

As she enters the small hovel her initial reaction to the smell is to scrunch up her face: wrinkling her forehead and furrowing her brow. She fights this instinct out of politeness and also, quite possibly, fear. In her mind she can conceive of two potential outcomes: either the woman is nutty, which could make her dangerous; or she actually can predict the future, in which case she is definitely dangerous. But in either scenario, Adalia finds a strange solace in the fact that it would be bad for business for the woman to kill a paying customer. Her house is about what anyone would imagine from an elderly spinster with a hooked nose and rotten discolored teeth. The outside has become dilapidated and discolored, while inside it’s cluttered and adorned with strange little trinkets. Jars of regents line her shelves; filled with herbs, spices, and of course the occasional amputated limb. As Adalia wonders whether the body-parts are human or not the woman flashes a crooked smile.

“Do you like what you see?” She cackles “It’s all for sale. For the right price of course.”
“That’s alright.” Adalia replies; coming off a little more timid than she had intended.

The woman is supposedly human but is no taller than an average Gnome. She claims to be a diviner but is vague about where her powers come from. If not for the fact that her services are the cheapest in Baldur’s Gate Adalia probably would not have even considered the offer; but that and her desperation for meaning and direction were reason enough to continue. As the Diviner leads her into the next room she is consumed by the darkness and with the door closed behind her the only source of light is that which slips in beneath it. The woman takes her hand, guiding her to a seat. As she sits in the silence and the darkness she begins to fear, her instincts lead her hand to rest on the hilt of her blade which extends from its sheath. After what feels like a lifetime in the dark she hears the woman starting a chant. Unbeknownst to her; the woman sits on the opposite side of a small fireplace, which ignites as she speaks her incantations.

As Adalia’s eyes begin to adjust to the now dimly-lit room she is able to watch the smoke escape through a small hole in the ceiling. Across from her, the woman now sits quietly, staring intently into the fire.
“Before I begin to examine your future I must first take a look at your past.”
The woman stands up and walks into the darkness towards the back of the room. Although only a vague silhouette remains Adalia can hear her moving objects in the dark, searching for the appropriate regents and announcing her location. She soon returns to sight with a frying pan, a dagger, and a jar of small bones. Adalia tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword. With the dagger the woman cuts diagonally across her own hand, as she squeezes it into a fist the blood drips into the pan which waits below. When she feels she has enough she wraps her hand in a rag and grabs the jar of bones.

Starting another incantation she spills the contents of the jar into the frying pan and extends the pan over the fire. She continues speaking for a few moments as she pushes the frying pan back and forth over the flames. After a couple minutes of this she goes silent and pulls the frying pan back. With great interest she studies the contents of the pan.
“You come from a troubled past with much death. It seems the Time of Troubles has affected you in a unique way.” The Diviner looks up from her pan to gauge Adalia’s reaction.
Adalia nods, her head hanging slightly from the despair of her revisited past.
“The Martyr’s Progeny?” The woman asks, barely above a whisper.
Again Adalia nods.
“But you didn’t react the way they wanted you to, the event has made you bitter. And now you have forsaken your true identity.” The woman speaks in a sagely and knowing manner.
She receives no response from Adalia who simply listens quietly.

The woman spits into the pan and extends it over the fire again, moving it back and forth over the open flame she chants a few words. She retracts the pan a second time, now to examine the present.
“You are traveling to Luskan, you have very few coins and have recently been betrayed by a close friend. He has abandoned you and ventured out on his own. This must be why you sought me, yes?” She looks up from the pan to see Adalia’s nod but immediately returns her gaze back down. Once more she spits into the pan and extends it over the fire, after another incantation she withdraws it again to see the future.
“I see two paths before you decorated with the corpses of both your friends and your enemies. Each depends on what you do with your past. If you forsake your past and your identity you have the potential to become something very powerful, but you will also be forsaking righteousness. On the other hand; if you accept your former identity and return to righteousness it is your own death I see.”
The woman looks up and locks eyes with Adalia.
“These are the paths that are set before you.”