Chapter 1, part 2: New Companions; Journey to Nashkel

Imoen and I stuck to the Eastward-winding road, avoiding the wolves and gibberlings Gorion had warned us stalk the wilderness beyond Candlekeep; the Friend Arm Inn, our goal, is supposedly North of Beregost, a town situated between Baldur’s Gate and Nashkel.

– Xelia Blackmoon

Unaccosted by beasties though we were, we encountered, of odd characters, a slew, most notably a surly halfling and his emerald mage, the latter of whom appeared to possess a disorder of the personality; declining their offer to join them journeying Southward to Nashkel, a question of the Coast’s obtaining Iron Crisis, resulted in insults and threats. I feel better having declined. Imoen agrees.

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Nightfall. A full day’s journey to the Friendly Arm Inn. From Gorion I’d heard stories of Khalid, an able, surprisingly reflective Calimshite warrior, and his partner, Jaheria, a druid and member of the Harpers, an organization dedicated to maintaining the good across the Sword Coast’s so-often compromised expanse. I needed something to hold on to. More than just Imoen. Maybe she did, too. I can’t always tell. She hides behind japes and good-humour.

Moving through the quieted, nighttime grounds, past manure-laden stables and a pair of homesteads built into the Inn’s massive walls, Imoen and I, children of Candlekeep. The people here were strange – not strange – normal; they didn’t speak like the monks, like Gorion or Parda, haughty tones, enunciation. It occurred to me I’d lived an incredibly sheltered life. Frightening though it was, I felt, concurrently, excited by my freedom. Possibilities. Candlekeep was my home, but it was as well a dead-end, a closed fortress at the world’s lip.

Upon the steps up to the Inn, a man approached us, asking after me, asking after me by name. Friendly-voiced. Fatigued, not thinking straight, I confirmed myself; I doubt it would have mattered, ultimately, however. He attacked, wielding illusion magic, though I cut him down before he was able to do any serious damage.

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Unsettled by the attack, Imoen and I forewent the Inn and travelled South, Nashkel our only point of reference. Before leaving the Friendly Arm Inn, a woman named Joia approached us, asking our help retrieving an heirloom ring from a band of hobgoblins that had robbed her of it. Needing the money she offered, Imoen and I agreed, making, as it were, quick business of the group before moving to Beregost, a perilous journey through night and forest, gibberling and wolf blood wetting our respective blades.

Staggering into the nearest inn, Feldepost’s, we were immediately accosted by a drunk man, Marl, a man with a fat grudge against the adventuring type. While Imoen approached the innkeeper to ask after a night’s accommodation, Marl, who had been lingering near me, grabbed my shoulder – a bold move given how heavily I was armed – and we got into it.

At my suggestion, Imoen and I headed to the smith; on the way, a young man, Garrick by name, noting our blades and bows, stopped us, asking after help on behalf of his mistress, a woman named Silke.

The men obviously innocent, Imoen and I refused to do Silke’s ghastly bidding; she turned on us, whispering sorcery on red-painted lips. Imoen’s first shot stuck her in the stomach, halting incantations, before I struck her with such force she literally exploded. I don’t know my own strength.

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After dispensing with a number of tasks around Beregost, restocking our rations and arrows, Imoen and I moved South, the road to Nashkel a violent exclamation point punching Southward. I am of elvish blood, to the forest ostensibly attuned, but I haven’t experience beyond Candlekeep; I am yet, on the road, in the wood, despite my nature, admittedly out of my element. Serving as guide, Imoen and I briefly lost the path, wandering, apparently, Westward into the vicinity of the great wizarding fortress, High Hedge, just Northeast of which we encountered the elf, Kivan.

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Unlike Baldur’s Gate 2, many of the NPCs in Baldur’s Gate will disappear if you refuse their offer to join you/team up. Kivan isn’t one of them, but keep this in mind.

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Fighting through hobgoblins, gibberlings, and ogrillons, Kivan in short order proving himself a worthy companion in combat and travel, his experience in the wild allowing us to bypass many enemies and assume a route far more expedient than I might have had us walk, we were approached, with Nashkel within view, by a woman calling herself Shar-Teel, who challenged us, or, rather, our ‘strongest man’, to a duel.

Shar-Teel thusly recruited, we arrived in Nashkel at daybreak, tired, wounded, and relatively aimless. Shar-Teel informed me the mayor’s name is Ghastkill, and, if we’re truly interested in addressing the Iron Crisis, we should speak with him. I admit feeling somewhat uneasy about Shar-Teel’s loyalties, pledging herself to us as she has on no more than a lost duel. Her conviction, however, I admit greatly; Kivan has mentioned the same.

The Cloudpeaks loom beyond Nashkel. Great blacknesses in the gloaming, great shaded teeth. So far from the ocean, the gull call, I feel trapped.

– Xelia Blackmoon

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Chapter 2: Nashkel; the Mines; New Companion(s)

Exhausted after the trip, we weren’t spared another assassin, this one waiting at the town inn. A cleric of some dread deity, spells slung off a black tongue. Kivan’s arrows sang true, my blade drank deep. We paid the innkeeper a small sum for the cleanup, rested overnight, then spoke with Berrun Ghastkill, Nashkel’s mayor – an elf, like me – who informed us of alarming reports snaking from the mines: demons stalking orelit shadows.

– Xelia Blackmoon

Despite our imperative, I couldn’t resist Imoen’s pleas to visit the town carnival. Her burgeoning interest in magic lead us to a performer to summoned (thrice!) an ‘exploding ogre’. Though the illusion went awry the third time, turning a tangible, enraged ogre loose on circus grounds, the danger almost felt worth it for the wonder the magic lit in Imoen’s eyes. I don’t necessarily approve of her burgeoning interest in magic, but her enthusiasm is infectious.

Of the carnival’s many notables, most so was Branwen, a woman turned to stone standing in the event’s bustling middle. A nearby gnome, Zeke, dressed in mint-coloured hood, alleged he had, conveniently, a scroll what might reverse her condition. Only 500 gold pieces, he said! A hefty sum, but my conscience – in addition to Kivan, Imoen, and Shar-Teel – told me the right thing to do was buy it and, presuming it worked, return her to the world of flesh and blood.

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With Branwen joined to us, we made our way into Nashkel’s mines. Rarely have I felt so oppressed, so trapped. Raised though I was by a human, elven blood is nevertheless my own. I yearn for the open sky, the vast expanse. I sensed, in Kivan, the same apprehension. We were offered obscure warnings by the miners on the first level. Hearsay. Once we reached the second, we stumbled upon, in short order, the terror’s yipping source.

Cutting our way through endless kobolds, ghouls, and great, snapping spiders, we arrived at a great carved dome sat in an underground lake. A half-orc, Mulahey, evidently the mechanism driving the kobolds, had been stationed within. Our attempted deception went over like a lead balloon. Bloodshed follows me like a bad itch.

Held prisoner among stalagmites, we met an elven mage, Xan of Evereska, sent to the mines to investigate the suspicious activity his Greycloaks had detected, who offered his services. Perhaps it is Branwen’s influence, her wisdom and council, or Imoen’s continued experimentation with her cantrips, but I, normally opposed wholesale to magic, accepted his offer. I hope time will vindicate my decision.

Our goal is the bandit camp, and, perhaps, answers relative the Iron Crisis. Evidently this Tranzig mentioned in the documents we took from Mulahey’s corpse, the same man who turned my dear Branwen to stone, possesses directions, and is holed up in Beregost. Kivan is pleased at the idea, venturing into the bandit camp. Bloodlust for his slain wife at once quietly and glaringly consumes him, a seething, black flame he cannot hide. A real hatred sometimes visible in him, his long, silent starings into the middle distance.

I have been dreaming, of late. Terrible dreams. Shrouded in mist and blackness and the feeling of warm rivulets – blood – streaming down my body. Twice, now, this has happened, and I awake cognizant of some ‘power’, an ability, magic. I can heal others, or myself, in the manner of a druid or cleric. Though these abilities are beneficial, I cannot shake the nature of my nighttime visions. Portentous. Evil. At once obscure and utterly clear.

Fate.

– Xelia Blackmoon

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Chapters 1 and 2: The Appendices

Baldur’s Gate is a massive, massive game. The number of sidequests and areas is obscene. What’s more, although you don’t have to do them, you really actually do lest you be woefully underlevelled. As I can’t cover every wilderness area in such detail as I cover the main(ish) story, I’ll pop a number of images and context corresponding down here, screenshots documenting the adventures more far-flung of Xelia and co.

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Congratulations, you have beaten Baldur’s Gate’s 1st and 2nd chapter! Tune in Wednesday for Chapter 3!