Jump to content


Little Dragon

Member Since 27 Mar 2005
Offline Last Active Oct 29 2010 10:43 AM

Topics I've Started

Mouse in the Maze

22 March 2006 - 08:12 PM

Just an idea I've been thinking about since revisiting the BG1 NPC's in my Heritage series.

Mouse In The Maze

It was waking up to the emptiness that he dreaded. When he could see nothing, hear nothing, and feel nothing but the warmth of the thick liquid that surrounded him. At first, he tried to cling to memories, but soon it was only the memory of once having memories that he focused on.

He wanted to feel something, and began to look forwards to the times he woke strapped to a table, screaming as what felt like a thousand tiny needles probed his brain. Sometimes, he passed out before the pain stopped, and other times he stayed awake long enough to see the wires that ran between his body and the man who lay on the table beside him. It was always the same man, his half-elven features looked familiar, but he had no idea who he was.

A man with a face that never seemed to move, always stood between the two tables, watching the occupants as he adjusted a machine with strange lights and levers. Sometimes, there was also a woman with a soft voice who would watch as well. Once, she had caressed him with a cold hand. "Pretty, pretty mousie. Would you like to play?" she had said.

"Leave him, I still have a use for his life essence," the man by the machine had said in an emotionless voice.

"Why do you waste so much time and expense duplicating this one, brother?" she had asked. "Oh, I do appreciate the ones you've given me to play with. They make such lovely, mindless fledglings, but all you do is destroy yours. So much simpler to use those annoying thieves I give you."

"You cannot possible comprehend what I am doing here," he had answered in a cold voice. "Suffice to say that observing the effects of different deaths on the same creature is necessary for my research."

That was the only time they spoke about him.

After a while, he no longer woke up on the table. There was nothing but the emptiness. Time ceased to have meaning, and he began to think about just letting his soul drift away. He wondered if he could will himself to die, if he should try to embrace death, but whenever he thought too much about dying, a vision of a woman with gold-streaked brown hair appeared in his mind. He could not remember who she was, but was certain that if he died she would, somehow, never let him hear the end of it. So, he resigned himself to waiting in the emptiness. If death came, it would not be because he welcomed it.

He had almost learned to enjoy the sameness of his days, when he was shocked out of a pleasant dream by pain shooting through his whole body. He was lying on something hard, and he gasped as air entered his lungs, displacing the liquid that had kept him in suspension. There was no light to be seen, and, as his eyes shifted to nightvision, he saw three short, stocky figures hovering over him. Dwarves?

"Laduguer's piss, this one's still alive," one exclaimed in surprise.

"Don't matter, just kill him quick," another said. "The meat'll be all the better for being fresh, anyway."

Kill ... me? The thought had barely begun to register when the dwarf swung a huge hammer at his head. Acting on reflect, he rolled away, wincing as several sharp objects pierced his skin, coming to stand on shaky feet a few paces away from the dwarf facing him. Sometime during the roll his hand had grasped a large shard of broken glass, and with a yell he dove towards his assailant. Soon, he stood over the bloodied body of the dwarf, and snarled at the other two dwarves.

The dwarves looked at him with expressions of shock, and then looked at each other. "Bugger this!" one yelled as both turned to flee.

He slumped to the floor in a daze, wanting nothing more than to let sleep take him, but instead bound his wounds as best he could. Stripping the dead dwarf, he dressed in the ill-fitting tunic, gazing wistfully at the armour that would never fit him, but feeling comforted by the war hammer that was now slung on his belt. Greedily, he drank from the waterskins, and eyed the dried meat in the dwarf's pack with both hunger and suspicion.

Well? He heard the voice of the woman from his visions say. Go on, eat, you need to keep your strength up.

Yes, dear, he thought with a grimace as he closed his eyes and started chewing.

The room he woke up in was filled with huge bottles, some broken, like the one it seemed he had been in, and others intact, but with nothing but darkness to be seen inside. Nothing he found gave him a clue as to where he was, or what had been done to him. He had knowledge that must have come from a life before this place, but no idea who he had been.

He set out to explore the warren of tunnels that led out from the room with the jars, and found nothing but more puzzles. There was a room with pools of water fed from underground springs where he could quench his thirst, and the air was sweet, proving there must be a way to the surface, but huge piles of dirt, rock, and brick blocked the tunnels that may have led to a way out. He found the dwarves, busily tunnelling downwards. He decided they must be searching for a tunnel that would lead into the vast caverns of the Underdark, and kept out of their way. He would keep an eye on their progress, if they found a way out he might have no choice but to follow them.

Hoping to find a way to the surface, he was elated to catch the scent of trees and grass wafting through one blocked tunnel, and dug his way through a thin layer of rock. He was disappointed to find a cavern with a magically sustained grove, and three sad Dryads, instead of the surface. They did have food, however, and once he convinced the wood spirits he meant them no harm, they were glad to help him, and healed his body, if not his mind.

The presence of the supernaturally alluring females had another effect on him. One that he was at first embarrassed by, but the Dryads were willing enough to help him sate his sexual urges, and he began to lose his desire to leave. Something made him restless, however, and he felt a vague sense of guilt, as though he should not be dallying with the Dryads. With reluctance, he left the grove to try unblocking a tunnel that led upwards. It was slow work, but with time he was sure he would find a way to the surface.

Scrabbling at the debris, he was elated to hear the sounds of hammering coming from the other side. He hollered as loud as he could, and was answered. Eagerly, he waited to greet whoever had come to rescue him.

His elation fell as soon as the creature stepped through the newly opened passage. He recognized the features of the man who had lain on the other table, only they seemed distorted now, and the face was far too pale. With horror, he saw the creature open its mouth to display overlarge canine teeth. Undead, he thought with a sinking heart. He tried to fight, but was no match for the creature, and soon sagged in the embrace of the vampire as it sank its teeth into his neck.

"No!" the voice of the woman who had watched him on the table called out. "Bad boy! Leave the mousie alone!"

With a whimper, the vampire let him go, and they both watched the newcomer, unable to do anything but wait for whatever came next.

"How clever of you to survive, my little mouse," she purred, running a hand through his hair, before winding it around her hand and pulling hard. "I'd like to keep you for myself, but perhaps it would be better to send you as a gift to my brother. I must keep him happy, at least until he's done what he promised. Sleep now."

The next time he woke up, he saw the man from the tables. This time he could see that he wore a mask over his face. The masked man seemed irritated. "I have no more use for this one. Throw him to the Director's maze; it might be amusing to see how long he survives."

If he has no use for me, why couldn't he just let me go? He thought tiredly when he once more found himself trapped in an underground maze of tunnels and monsters. Have I ever walked the surface?

Weeks passed, and he had explored as much as possible. Roving packs of hungry Umber Hulks and Minotaurs were a threat, but the few times he could not hide, or sneak by them, he was able to outrun the creatures. Several doors led to caverns with artificial light and meadows where food, small animals and edible plants, could be found. These areas were guarded zealously by whatever group could stake their claim to them. He found hints that the way out could be found in the part of the dungeon farthest from the first area he explored, but the way there was barred by a Lich and his minions.

He had survived by stalking stragglers from the larger groups, and taking what he needed to survive from their corpses, but now it seemed he would be living in the maze for a long time, and he wanted allies. The Yuan-ti and Kobold settlements proved too hostile to make contact with, and he sought out a tribe of Goblins to join. The Goblins agreed to ally with him after he helped them defeat a Rakshasa and its pet Mephits that were preying on the tribe.

He discovered a portal in the room the Rakshasa had been living in, and when he went to study it, a voice spoke of three gemstones that would open the portal. In his earlier explorations he had found three gemstones that pulsed with power, and now he took one of them out and held it in front of the portal. A snarl could be heard when the portal opened, and he gripped his sword and fought back the fear that washed over him when the distorted, shaggy figure of a werewolf lunged forwards and attacked him. He barely survived the fight, and spent days lying in a stupor as his wounds slowly healed, aided by the regenerative nature of a ring he had found sometime before.

He was disappointed to see the portal was closed again, but still had two gemstones left. Wary of what might come through the portal this time, he stood at the entrance to the room, as far from the portal as he could get, and lobbed a gemstone towards the portal. He was sure his heart stopped when a demon appeared in front of the portal. It started beating again, very rapidly, when the demon turned its gaze on him. He turned and ran, hearing claws scratch on the floor as the pit fiend followed him. The demon was faster than him, but hampered by the small width of the corridors of the maze, and he was able to keep ahead of the demon as he led it towards the area claimed by the Yuan-ti.

The Yuan-ti hissed and hefted their weapons threateningly when he hurtled into their camp. They soon forgot about him, however, when the enraged demon swept upon them. He dove behind a row of makeshift tents, and watched as the Yuan-ti and the demon destroyed each other. The few Yuan-tis that survived the battle were too weak to hinder him when he left their camp.

After the Werewolf and the Demon, he was reluctant to use the final gemstone. He was beginning to lose hope of ever finding a way out of the dungeons, however, and finally decided to try the portal one more time. Once again, he stood at the far end of the room, and tossed the gem at the portal. This time, a Djinni appeared, and he stepped forwards cautiously when the Djinni showed no signs of hostility.

The Djinni looked crossly at him before speaking. "The stone commands and I must obey. This armour is the gift to those of sound mind. A puzzle. A riddle. A reward. Thusly was my home built and I have fulfilled my duties. You are doing well, Khalid."

Khalid? Is that who I was? He wondered, but before he could speak, the Djinni disappeared, leaving behind a full set of plate armour. He stared thoughtfully at the once-more closed portal for some time. He was pleased to have the armour, but far more grateful for the gift of a name. He was no closer to getting free than before opening the portal, but felt a growing certainty that if he could survive, he would one day be free.
___________________________________________________________________________
Note: I doubt there will be sequel to this story since I was just trying to find a way to get Khalid into BG1 without changing the original storyline. It's always bugged me that there was no way to bring him back to life for Jaheira in the game.

Heritage of Evil

11 July 2005 - 06:13 PM

This is a story set in the world of Baldur's Gate. It begins a few years before the events of BG1

disclaimer: this chapter has some dark themes-torture, human sacrifice (but no sex, sorry)
____________________________________________________________________

Knowledge

Poor, poor, medium, poor, good, good, poor. The small child sighed as she worked. Her long, dark hair was matted with sweat that rolled down in rivulets to leave dark streaks in her dust-covered face. Her name was Shann and she had been born a slave, looked upon as little more than an animal by her Drow masters. Shann wiped her sweaty brow with a dust coated hand as she crouched over a low bench heaped with small rocks. It was her job to sort the illithium ores into rough grades. It was a dreadfully tedious job and her back always ached by the end of the day. Don't complain, she chided herself, soon enough I'll be sent to dig the pit like Momma and Grandmother.

The drow overseer looked her way and Shann quickly began working again, fearful of being punished. I wish things were different. Grandmother says to trust in the god Ilmater, but she's been praying for years and is still a slave. Maybe the new Commander sent by the Matron Mother will make things better.

Shann furtively watched the new commander, Mistress Sidhie, as the Drow inspected the mine that was the heart of the N'evarn outpost. It was buried in the Nether Mountains. The location a secret guarded zealously by the O'farn family. Against all predictions, a large deposit of illithium ores had been discovered there. The immense wealth generated by the mine more than made up for the discomfort of those sent to work there.

There were no proper caves in the area and both the drow overseers and the slaves were forced to live on the surface. Many of the slaves were surfacers and did not mind the sun. Some, like Shann's grandmother, had come from the Underdark, but gradually became used to the surface. The Drow masters rarely ventured outside in the daylight. Corridors linked the buildings together and a Drow could spend months without ever venturing outside when the sun was shining. The colony slept during the day and most work was done during the night.

The trouble began when the workers gathered for their final feeding. Shann liked mealtimes because she could spend time with her mother, Dornleif, and her grandmother, Berthild. Most of her life was spent working or sleeping and Shann adored the chance to relax. Unfortunately, meals rarely lasted as long as Shann wished they would. Shann soon finished eating, and was idly swinging her feet, when Sidhie looked over at her family and whispered something to the aide by her side. She came over to Shann's mother and stood there, glaring at her.

"Why has this mongrel abomination been allowed to live?" Sidhie asked of the chief overseer, K'ress.

"Dornleif is a strong worker; we are constantly plagued by a lack of servants," K'ress answered as Shann's mother looked down at the table. Sidhie placed the handle of her flail under Dornleif's chin and forced her to look up. "How old are you, girl?" Sidhie asked in a quiet voice.

"Seventy-eight, Mistress," Dornleif whispered.

"Seventy-eight!" Sidhie repeated, with venom in her voice. "And already the filth shows signs of ageing. It ages faster than either elf or dwarf. Is that not proof that Lolth detests the unnatural mingling of drow blood with that of the lesser races? It should have been strangled at birth," Sidhie screeched as she struck Dornleif a blow that knocked her unconscious.

"Momma!" Shann cried, and reached a hand out to touch her mother. She realized it was a mistake to move when Sidhie grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up.

"You allowed the abomination to breed." Sidhie said in a quiet voice that was more chilling than her earlier shouts. "How far has this outpost been allowed to degenerate? It is a wonder Lolth did not destroy you all for blasphemy." She threw Shann down, and then pointed at Dornleif. "Why wasn't it sterilized?"

K'ress trembled as she realized her life was at stake. "It was, Mistress. It should not have reproduced; there was something unnatural about the breeding. The high priestess said the child seemed to be the same racial mix as the parent. It has aged faster than normal too, like the mother. It is only eight, but it is almost grown enough to be useful in the mines." She looked at Sidhie who was getting more and more irritated the longer K'ress continued talking. K'ress swallowed nervously, and then tried to explain why Shann was alive. "The high priestess, she ? she prayed, but said Lolth gave permission for the infant to live. I swear it is the truth."

"How convenient that the high priestess is dead and cannot verify your words." Sidhie looked around and frowned. She raised a hand as though to strike K'ress but stopped. It appeared that Sidhie needed K'ress's help to control the colony. Instead of venting her anger on K'ress, Sidhie beckoned to her guards to take Shann away. "Punish the small one for daring to interrupt me. I shall retire now to think about the matter of the abomination."

Shann was no stranger to punishments. Sometimes she earned blows and whippings by not deferring properly to the masters, and sometimes she was punished for no reason she knew of. Shann gritted her teeth as the blows fell on her body, determined not to cry out this time. She knew the cuts and bruises were superficial; the Drow could not afford to lose a worker. Punishments were painful, but rarely did any lasting damage. But, as the pain increased, Shann was unable to stop herself from screaming.

Berthild and Dornleif came over to Shann when the guards threw her into the slave barracks. Berthild stroked the child's hair and tried to heal her as best she could. Shann backed away in anger. Dornleif reached out to comfort Shann, but found herself rebuffed.

"You told me I had elf blood in me. Not Drow," Shann said accusingly.

"It doesn't matter, Shann," Dornleif said, but the look of shame on her face belied her words. "A...a Drow is still an elf."

"The masters are evil! To share blood with them is ... is obscene!" Shann said.

"You cannot be Drow without being raised Drow," Berthild said. "All her life, I have said as much to your mother, but she has never had the sense to accept it. I expect you to do better."

"And I suppose you are not Duergar, Mother?" Dornleif said wearily.

"If I do not wish to be, I am not." Berthild said firmly. "Shann, you have the blood of dwarves and elves within you. What particular type of dwarves or elves your ancestors were is not important." She raised a hand and spoke in a voice that would accept no arguments. "That is the final word on this subject."

Shann knew better than to speak again, and secretly resolved to never think of her Drow heritage again. Grandmother is right, I am not Drow if I do not want to be. Still, I wonder, what else have they lied to me about?

As soon as the sun set, the workers were called to order. After they ate their first meal, they were assembled, as was normal, but this time they were not marched to work in the mines. Instead they were led to a vast clearing where the crude altar that served the needs of the outpost's priestesses was located. Sidhie was standing in the place of honour surrounded by the two lesser priestesses of Lolth and the five other Drow nobles who ruled the outpost. Assembled in a semicircle around them were the Drow commoners not assigned to guard the slaves who formed the outer half-circle.

Shann's attention drifted as Sidhie started speaking. She caught parts of the new commander's speech about no longer allowing degeneracy in the workings of the colony, but didn't really care; she was too happy not to have to work. Shann's focus returned when she heard Sidhie say she would no longer permit abominations in the eyes of Lolth to exist. Two soldiers came and took an unprotesting Dornleif over to Sidhie as she said this.

The soldiers stripped Dornleif and bound her to the altar. Shann tried to call out but Berthild put her hand over the child's mouth and turned her around so her face was buried in Berthild's shirt. "Do not watch, child," she said and gazed forwards with a blank face. Sacrifices of intelligent beings were rare in the labour-starved colony, but still performed on occasion, as Lolth demanded. Berthild sighed, but she was used to outliving her children. All of Dornleif's siblings died in the mines; perhaps a quick death was preferable to further degradation.

"The N'evarn colony will be a testament to the ways of Lolth," Sidhie stated after Dornleif's body had stopped twitching. The slaves were sent to the mines and ordered to work faster to make up for the lost time. Shann found herself grateful for the tediousness of her sorting job. It gave her a great deal of time to think about Dornleif's death. Shann knew she should mourn the loss of her mother, but did not even cry. Instead, she found herself fantasizing about hurting the Drow, and wondering what it would feel like to break their bones and cut their beautiful flesh. Thoughts of revenge comforted Shann and kept her feelings of grief at a distance.

When they returned to the dormitories, Berthild tried to console Shann by reminding her that Dornleif was surely welcomed by her god, Ilmater. "You must be faithful, Shann, and he will watch over you too."

"When it's my turn to be sacrificed?" Shann said flatly as she looked at Berthild. "I am as much an abomination as my mother, and Mistress Sidhie will not permit me to live." Berthild's eyes filled with sadness as she nodded. "I do not want to go to a 'glorious afterlife'." Shann stated.

"Shann, you must have faith and accept the life that you have been given."

"Faith? What good did faith do mother?" Shann said bitterly. "I do not care for your useless god, a human god. He probably doesn't even listen to your prayers. I will find a way to destroy them all. I will feel their blood on my hands."

Berthild shuddered when she saw the bloodlust that shone in her granddaughter's eyes. "Shann, you must not allow hate to overcome you. Better you should die with honour than find joy in killing."

"That's not what Father says," Shann said and saw her grandmother draw in a breath as a look of fear crossed her face. She knows, Shann thought.

"What?what do you mean by father?" Berthild asked.

"He has come to me in dreams. A great, powerful man who tells me that I have the blood of a god in my veins." Shann drew herself up proudly. "He says he can help me escape from this place. He will give me the power to hurt my enemies." She looked at Berthild. "Do you know who my Father is? Is he really a god?"

"Yes," Berthild hissed. "The knowledge was given to me shortly after Dornleif was violated by that monster. Your father was an evil god, Bhaal, the Lord of Murder. He is dead, Shann, he cannot help you, and you must not listen to him. He will draw you into a darkness you cannot escape."

Shann looked at Berthild and smiled. If he cannot help me then why is she worried? I will leave tonight but best not to let her know. "Yes, grandmother, I am upset. I will pray to Ilmater tonight. A live god must be more powerful than a dead god."

The sun was high in the sky when Shann attempted to make her escape. Her Father had promised her a great power that would let her leave unnoticed. Your grandmother's blood grants you the innate ability to become invisible once between resting periods, Bhaal had said in her dream, I will enhance that power so that even the skills of Lolth's priestesses will be unable to detect or dispel that invisibility.

Shann trembled as she crept invisibly from the slave quarters. If Grandmother had been right about Bhaal, and her dreams were lies, then Shann would soon be detected by the wards that ringed the outpost. Shann stood and blinked in the bright light of day. She was unused to the light, but since she had been born on the surface, she was not blinded like many Underdark dwellers.

She walked cautiously towards the common soldiers' equipment room. The single guard was half-asleep and did not stir when Shann crept past her. She went through the supplies and outfitted herself with travelling clothes and a small dagger and slingshot. She wanted larger weapons but realized she could never use them properly. Shann felt a lot more confident once she had filled her backpack with travel rations from the stores and was ready to leave.

With a growing sense of relief, Shann stepped lightly as she moved away from the despised place which was all she had ever known. She did not dare travel on the single path that led away from the N'evarn Colony. She walked through the underbrush that bordered the road, keeping an eye on the path so she would not get lost, never looking back until night was beginning to fall. Then, Shann looked towards the now unseen outpost, and vowed to return some day. When I am strong enough, I will return and destroy all of the masters. I will be the greatest Drowkiller in all the lands. Father has promised.