Baldur's Gate re-written

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This is my attempt at rewriting the Baldur's gate book, right from the beginning, when Gorion finds the kid. Please reply, because I want to find out how good it actually is...


BaldursGate chronicles

Chapter 1
A new start…
A piercing scream echoed through the ancient keep, a scream of pain, and anguish. Echoing out and away, before dispersing into the fresh, brisk air out side.

Out in the bright sunlight, out in the fields, the corn swayed in the breeze, innocent and unaware of what was going on inside the central keep.
It was a fine day in the land of Toril, and it had continued to be sunny and pleasantly warm ever since the beginning of the month of Kythorn: The Time of Flowers. The trees were tall, the flowers bloomed, and all of nature was content, just to bathe in the glorious sunlight for the time being.

Birds took flight, fluttering away, dogs howled, and the barn cat awoke from his peaceful slumber in the bursting sunlight, as another painful scream emitted from the main keep.
And a third issued itself, a black and white magpie launched herself off from the dusty path, around the keep. Kicking up some of the dry dust and grit from the rock solid gravel pathway with her powerful wings. Flapping gently, she flew quietly up the smooth stonewalls of the Keep. Until eventually the young bird landed silently on the edge of a rough wooden window frame. The glass window was open, and swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. She looked inside, curious to see whom, or what was making the noise.
Inside, the room was small, and well lit, with bright light filtering in through the open window as well as several scented candles, burning brightly with an orangey-blue flame in another corner of the room. On either side of the open glass window, was a pair of billowing cotton curtains, fluttering in the wind. A selection of roughly hewn cupboards and drawers surrounded the edge of the room, draped in pure white clothes and vases of flowers standing on them, silently. The walls were plain, an off white plaster was pasted over various hollow cracks that had appeared. And the floor was wooden, old and tarnished, scuffmarks covered its once shiny surface.
But in the middle of the room, there was a bed, a small, simple resting place, draped in creamy blankets. And on the top of the bed was a child, a baby, a tiny little girl, in fact. Her soft skin was bright red, like blood, on closer examination, that’s exactly what it was, over her young body, were an infinite amount of tiny, weeping cuts. Deep red blood was slowly dripping out of hundreds of cuts on her body. Her eyes were tightly clenched shut, not allowing even a tiny ray of light to reach her eyes. And every now and then the building would almost shudder as the young child let out a horribly, in-humane scream. The white bed linen surrounding the child was slowly turning a red-brown as blood ran down from the cuts and onto the blanket, where it dried quickly in the midday sun.
Another, pain filled scream echoed through out the small, modest room. And the female magpie Cawed gentle, almost sympathetically. Before flapping up a away, gently over the outer walls and in to the outer wilderness.
The child lay there dumbly, for what have must seemed an eternity, before a loud creaking reached her ears, a well-built, muscular hand reached past the small oaken door, and gently eased it open, almost silently. A hooded figure entered the room, the bright summers light shone onto the persons robes, making them look as though they were dancing in the rays of glorious light. The human strode forwards, almost running, until the anonymous entity was standing beside the bed. The robed figure’s cloak and baggy clothes billowed behind, like black birds flying swiftly through the bright sky. The figure lent forward, almost touching the young child, whose eyes were crammed shut, blood was still oozing from various cuts over her body. Then strange person lent backwards, leaning against the creamy wall, casting a long shadow back across the room, from where the summer daylight drifted lazily in through the open window. The character reached up, the long black sleeves, falling downwards, revealing long muscular arms, covered in goose flesh, even though it was a warm, sunny day. Slowly a gnarled pair of hands reached up and, slowly, almost laboriously pulled back the big, black hood that covered up all of the persons face.
A pair of dull green eyes, squinted, as they took in the full force of the bright sunlight. It was a man, tall and young. His oaken brown hair, ruffled and wild looking from the breeze, was untidy, but clean. His skin was pale, and unhealthy looking, sweat trickled slowly down his brow, as he stared at the young, innocent child, wrapped in white clothe. A drip of sweat dribbled down his chin, and dripped onto his billowing black robes. He stood up straight, towering above the child on the small bed. One of his muscled hands reached down into the depths of his robe, and when it reappeared, the large hand was tightly clutching something, he grasped it with his other hand carefully, and pulled. There was a hissing noise of metal upon metal, and his hands became free of each other. In his left, there was a small, bronze scabbard, old and dented, dull. There were some small engravings on one side, but that was all. In the other, he held a wicked, double sided dagger-like short sword, the bright metal blade shimmered in the sunlight, like a dreadful tooth, sharp, and ready to sink itself into its prey. The young man gave it an experimental swish through the air, it sang, slicing air from air, separating life from death. He turned towards the child.
His eyes glowed maliciously, as he stared intently at the young girl, as though seeing into her soul, her very fibre of being. He raised the dagger above his head, ready to bring it down into the baby’s chest. He looked deeply into the child’s clenched eyes, wondering, what was going on in her tiny brain. Silence, he prepared to bring down the dagger, the bringer of death. Time stood still, but the dagger didn’t move an inch. The man looked at the innocent child, and paused, he hesitated. For a moment the murderer looked at the child’s wounded face, and for a mere second, she opened her eyes.
A look of pure innocence was enveloped in her face, piercing blue eyes stared back at him. His eyes started to water, tears almost dripping down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat along his neck. The murderer gave out a strangled cry as though he was choking, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand .He steadied himself, before raising the blade again, preparing to end this… child’s life. He didn’t notice the thumping of footsteps, outside the closed door. The small door creaked open, the metal hinges straining under the weight,
A crackled old voice echoed through out the room.
“Carbos, where are you? Carbos…Carbos, Is that you?”

 

very good, but I think it would be better if you wrote some orriginal fantasy stories.

 

Good, Idea. I'll have to think about an original plot...

 

Frosto what I did.Take the race.Make his people call him mome because he haad been exiled.At home he find out he has a power that can change the universes outcome.Can't control it.Starts an epic quest.

[This message has been edited by Padine the Paladin (edited July 03, 2002).]