The Siege of Baldur's Gate(A Story)

[Attalus]

Some of you know that my sweet wife, who used to post here under the name of Galadria, wrote an alternate ending for TOB. Since IW has beeen down, I have been occupying my time by fleshing it out. Here it is, for anyone interested. Thanks, Galadria, for your help with the dialogue.

THE SIEGE OF BALDUR’S GATE

One early morning, Sir Attalus Delange found that he could not sleep, so he slipped out to the balcony of the suite that he shared with his wife at the country home of an admiring friend. He stared musingly at the delicate pinks and yellows of a spring morn. Soon, however, he felt a slender arm slip through the crook of his elbow, and he turned with a smile to the most beautiful face that he had ever seen. His wife Viconia was a drow elf, and lovely even by the standards of that race. Her ebon skin, snapping black eyes, and heart-shaped face would have brought her male attention anywhere, to say nothing of her lush figure, now scarcely concealed beneath her silk nightdress. Attalus felt a pang of lust strike him, though they had loved last night. She always had that effect on him, he reflected, even when they had been mere traveling companions and then lovers. He never was able to get enough of her. Perhaps it was some devious drow magic, though probably it was older than even that.
“So early you leave my bed, m’rann d’sinss?” she purred playfully. “Are you then growing tired of me? I must endeavor to please you better, so that these early morning moonings of yours turn back into the lovers’ thrashings that we know so well. Perhaps I can tempt you by…” But the suggestion was never made, for a loud knocking came suddenly to the door.
Viconia made a vexed expression in drow, but a bawling voice was added to the hammering, “Lord Attalus, Lord Attalus,” voices shouted. He winked playfully at his bride and unbarred the door.
A servant stumbled in, blinking at the sudden light after the dim corridor. He immediately focused on the man, though the sight of Viconia in her dishabille would have drawn most males. “Lord Attalus,” he said in a more normal tone of voice. “There is a messenger here for you. They say it is urgent.” His eyes brightened at being able to bear bad news. “Baldur’s Gate is under siege. The damned drow…” he finally noticed that Viconia was there, and was taking umbrage. “Your pardon, my lady, it’s just that we never think of you as a drow…”
Viconia cut him off with a chop of her hand. “Enough, jaluk,” she snarled with hauteur, “I am drow, just not a slave of the Spider God. So, the drow are attacking Baldur’s Gate. Why? How many? Are there females among them?”
The servant shrunk back, “Lady, I do not know. Perhaps you can talk to the messenger. He is in the library with Lord Jalin.” She released him from her glare and went off back into the inner room to change. With a single terrified look at Attalus, the servant scuttled off.
He quickly threw on a robe and rushed downstairs, to see a familiar figure standing talking to his host. Keldorn, his fellow paladin of the Order of the Radiant Heart, growing gray now and a little spare, but still with an erect carriage and a twinkle in his eye to mitigate the sternness of his face.. He strode up to them and was rewarded with greeting smiles. After initial greetings were exchanged, Keldorn characteristically jumped right into his message. “The news is grim, my friend,” he cried, “the drow have invaded the surface in force, laying siege to Baldur’s Gate. We hold the surface yet, all but a few buildings, but they are in the sewers, and have some kind of blasting fire to throw on anyone that dares go down there. “
Suddenly, his wife’s voice interrupted this tale. “The drow? On the surface? Keldorn, it could not be true. This is some plot to drag my lord from my side. We have not been married a month.” Once again, Attalus felt his arm gripped, and he smiled down into his bride’s lovely face. He did not understand how she could have gone from the tousled figure he had left in their rooms only a few minutes ago to this glowing creature at his side. Her white hair was confined in a mithril tiara, and she wore a silken robe of purple, blue and white. She was not looking at him, though, but glaring at Keldorn. Attalus winced a bit internally. They had never got on, he remembered, and both regarded each other with suspicion, though they had fought at each other’s side in many a desperate fight, and each could have claimed to have saved each other’s life a score of times.
For his part, the friendly smile had faded from Keldorn’s face. He faced Viconia squarely, and made a little bow. “My Lady Viconia, how shall I call you? Surely you will not go by your husband’s title.” He went on without waiting for her reply. “But it is true, nonetheless. We are just clinging to control, and your … former compatriots … are leading us a merry chase. But, your lord is well-remembered in Baldur’s Gate, having saved them from Sarevok, and the tales of our trip through the Underdark are current in all of Faerun, wherever the bards are trying to cadge a drink. They know, of course, that you two are now married, but the Dukes feel that no Surfacer knows the drow as well as my lord Attalus, and of course, there is your charming self to add to his knowledge.”
Attalus gave his old comrade full marks for mixing flattery and entreaty, but his wife did not seemed moved. She scowled at the old knight with the same intensity that she regarded all others save him alone. He wondered, once again, how it had happened that he had won this fierce wounded woman into trusting and loving him. Keldorn was wondering at that same time how two such dissimilar characters could make a pair. He could not have seen how deeply fitted to each other were Viconia’s deep-seated , but strongly guarded vulnerability and the patient care with which Attalus had earned her trust by believing in her even when she was fiercely trying to drive him away. Now that she had given way, all her defenses lay in rubble and he still treated her with the same affectionate but strong devotion. Indeed, in her heart of hearts, Viconia was now terrified that she might lose him now, the only man in the cosmos that she could love.
Keldorn continued. “So, you are needed, old friend. Surely, the hand that felled Sarevok and Irenicus, and the eyes that looked upon Amelysan the Black’s smoldering corpse will not falter at this deed.” He looked deeply into Attalus’ stern blue eyes, trying to guess at any arguments that he might put forward. He had never quite understood the younger paladin. Where other members of the Order were always content to fight whomever their superiors told them to, he had always tried to figure out on his own the rights and wrongs of it, and if the civil law stood in the way of what he felt was right, well, the civil law be damned. Attalus had always said that he served a higher good than the mere earthly one that most paladins were content with. Perhaps that came with his divine blood, and more than a little contempt for the bunglers he had often encountered as agents of the more or less corrupt princes and bearcats that he had to deal with.
Indeed, at that moment, Attalus was sorting out the conflicting urges in his breast. The paladin in him was all eager to draw his sword and add more drow to the bloody tally he had wrought in the Underdark. But, his love for his wife was such that he felt that he should listen to her objections. “Keldorn,” he replied at length, “much of what you say has merit, but I am no longer a single man, and I must consult with my lady wife. Give me one hour, during which you may repair your strength,” here he looked with mild regret at the breakfast buffet that was being set out, “and you shall have your answer.” Viconia gave her rival a look of complacent triumph as she swept the big man out the door back to their rooms.

When their door was closed, Viconia rushed into Attalus’ arms. He marveled that he could not even feel her fine bosom, so fiercely was she grasping him. He allowed himself to savor the moment, loving her all the more as they hugged, his free hand running through her fine silver hair. Finally, she released him slightly and looked up into his eyes. “So,” she drawled, “you will make the high and mighty Keldorn wait while you listen to my wise counsel, eh? That should have him fuming. He has never liked me, and I know he thinks less of you because you and I share this love. How could he know, that slave to a milk and water miss who nearly kills him with her pathetic little affair? Bah, if I were as angry at you as she claimed to have been at him, I would have not stooped to dishonoring you in your absence. I would have my whip out, screaming my defiance and lashing you.”
Seeing her husbands eyebrows draw together in disapproval, she gave her throaty chuckle. “I know, I know, it would all end with you pulling me over your knee and spanking me with my own sword.” Her chuckle took on a wicked note. “But not you sword, I beg of you, never that, no matter how angry I make you.” She caressed his cheek, then allowed her hand to go behind his neck, ruffling the curly hair there. She then kissed him, hard, letting her tongue play with his. “Well I know what your answer is to be. You are what you are, the finest warrior living. No wonder that the good citizens of Baldur’s Gate, who once tried to execute me, I remember well, curse that Flaming Fist, as his corpse rots cozily in Peldevate, no wonder they want you.
“Well, they shall get the both of us. After all, you need a drow down in the dark, and it has been so long since you have fought without me by your side, I wonder you could do it at all. But, though this is all decided, we still have an hour before you said you would answer. Let us put it to good use, eh?, as we have in every place that we have rested since I realized that I loved you.”
As a matter of fact, it was closer to two hours when they appeared side by side at the breakfast table, now grown cold. Keldorn was in very little doubt as to what they had been up to, to judge by their flushed faces and the intimate looks that they kept exchanging, but he curbed his irritation. They were, he sternly reminded himself, still on their honeymoon, and he was not nearly old enough to have forgotten how that was. So his joy was undimmed when Attalus strode up to him, his drow bride on his arm, and said exuberantly, “Well, old man, we are agreed. We.” he looked pointedly at Viconia, “are coming back with you. We shall be ready shortly, as I have to write a letter first, and we must pack.” He then went over to Lord Jherin, standing tactfully away, pretending to admire the view from his window, and assured him how grateful that he and his wife were for his hospitality. That nobleman beamed in response. He would dine out for years on the story of how the Bhaalspawn and his drow bride were honeymooning at his manor when word came to him of the investure of Baldur’s Gate. But, that is another story.
Meanwhile a few days later, another dawn came to another estate. This one was greeted by a slight redheaded girl whose dark-circled eyes spoke of a restless night. She had only the day before come to the house, drawn by an invitation of an old friend, and had stayed up late with her, talking old times and drinking far too much. She had been doing this often of late, for her sleep was troubled by dreams of past pain, and her hangover to her was less painful than the memories of her nightmares. The gathering light revealed a puff of dust on the road, turning into a horseman heading toward this very house. She exchanged glances with the man on guard duty, and readied a magic spell, half-hoping that an attack was on the way, for she was a wizard of no small ability, though her characteristic modesty frequently hid this.
The newcomer, however, proved to be a messenger whose livery she at first failed to recognize. Wait a bit, though, she thought, maroon and light blue - that would be Lord Jherin, at whose house her idolized brother was staying. Fearing bad news, she leaned over the parapet as the guard challenged the messenger, whom she heard say, “The D’Arnise Estate, you say? That is a glad word, Say now that Mistress Imoen is within and I shall drink to your health.”
Again she and the guard exchanged glances, but at her nod, he returned, “Yea, she is within. Why do you seek her?”
The courier yelled back, “I sought her at Candlekeep with my urgent message, but they told me there that I had missed her by a few hours only, and that she was here. Call her, please you, for I bear a letter from her brother, Attalus Bhaalspawn.”
At that, Imoen, for it was she, hurled herself down the stair leading to the postern and burst out to the startled courier, demanding the note. Seeing her brother’s new seal, presented to him by his new wife, a stylized “A” rune with the Lidless Eye replacing the cross-bar, she gave her head a slight shake of disapproval as she broke the seal. But, as she read, her eyes grew huge. “Holy smoke,” she finally breathed, and bolted for her room to pack.
(To Be Continued)

[ 10-14-2002, 09:07 PM: Message edited by: Attalus ]

[Attalus]

Lady Nalia D’Arnise was awakened from a sound slumber by pounding on her door. Woozily, for she had a slight headache, the results of yestereve’s celebrations, she unbarred it to see an excited Imoen standing there, her possessions hanging all over her, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. “Immy, dear,” she began rather crossly , but her friend cut her off.
“No time to talk, Nal,” she cried, “I’ve got to be off. I’m going to Baldur’s Gate. Attalus is there, and he needs me. You, too, I expect.” She shoved the message scroll into Nalia’s unwilling hands. It read:
My dear sister, I hope that this finds you as well as it leaves me. I hate to interrupt your studies (Attalus thought that she was still at Candlekeep) but something has come up. The drow, for some reason, are attacking Baldur’s Gate, and they have asked me to head up the defense. Needless to say, I would like you by my side. After all, there haven’t been many battles that we have not been comrades in, have there? So, come and meet me at Baldur’s Gate, to thrash the drow that were so cruel to your new sister-in-law, who will also be there. If you see any of our old friends, tell them of my urgent desire that they join us here, too. Your brother, Attalus.


Nalia looked up sharply at her guest. “Did you not see, Immy,” she asked crossly, “that your brother is asking me, too? Did you think I would say nay, after all we have done together. Sit down or get some breakfast while I pack. I’m going with you.”

[Attalus]

Did a little more on this, so I thought that I would post it:

Imoen could scarcely believe her good luck. Mounted on Nalia’s fine steeds, they made Baldur’s Gate in five days, being careful to travel only during the daytime, for a chance-met traveler that they had met at The Jovial Juggler Inn in Beregost had warned them that drow patrols frequently swept the roads at night. Not that they were too afraid of the chance war patrol - thy had killed too many drow for that, but it was best not to take chances. When they got to the Main Gate, they were questioned carefully until one of the Flaming Fist guards recognized Imoen, and they were let in immediately. The helpful guard, who looked at Nalia rather wistfully, she thought, directed them to a building in the Northern Section of the city, where it was understood that Attalus had set up as his headquarters. They hurried to the place, a gray stone building with battlements and a guard at the gate. Once more, they were questioned, but more briefly this time, as the little redhead was able to show them the letter from her brother.
As they entered the main hall, the big paladin himself was to be seen at once, talking to some military-looking men. With a cry of joy, Imoen launched herself on her brother, startling him momentarily, but quickly his face split in a broad grin and he hugged her close. Nalia was trying to say something, but she caught a glimpse of Viconia, standing colorfully clad in armor made from the scales of the great Red Dragon, Firkraag, which they had killed. Her expression was forbidding, thought Nalia, but then, it always was. She went over to the drow woman and hugged her in greeting, and was glad to see her scowl melt into a greeting smile.
“So, Nalia,” she said in her throaty voice, “we are to fight side by side again. By Helm, it does my heart good. The swords that brought down Irenicus, that confounded Amelysan, how could they fail against some Lloth-blinkered drow, eh?” Her smile disappeared, though, as she glanced at a tall elven figure standing a little apart, her eyes glued to the tableau of joyously united brother and sister. The beautiful drow woman’s voice dropped. “That Jaheira is here, may Mielikki blast her bones. She never has become reconciled to Attalus and me, and you can see it in every look on her face.” As there was no obvious answer to this but a deprecating smile, Nalia smiled deprecatingly. She rather liked Jaheira, sympathizing with the half-elf’s obvious love for her former ward. But, it would not do to say this to Viconia, for she, like most drow women, and indeed many women, was inclined to be jealous.

[Lucifer Lord of demons]

you have waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much time on your hands

[Kaltia]

Woo...creative family [img]tongue.gif[/img]
Buggers.
I like it, keep going.

[Megabot]

Cool story Attalus but maby a little long! [img]tongue.gif[/img]

[Attalus]

Thanks, Kaltia and Mega. Long? I haven't even got started with the fighting, yet.

[pcgiant]

Keep it up!
It's cool.

[Kaltia]

Originally posted by Attalus: Thanks, Kaltia and Mega. Long? I haven't even got started with the fighting, yet.

Ack, that was the one thing I could NEVER do [img]graemlins/1pissed.gif[/img] no matter how long I slaved at my keyboard I could NEVER flavour my fight sequances..they were ALWAYS bland and boring 8growls*

[Galadria]

See, Bill, they like it, I told you you could do it. If you can DM Hazardous Times, you can write a story. [img]graemlins/kiss.gif[/img]