Disclaimer: Currently I own no Baldur's Gate games whatsoever, but even if I owned a demo, it wouldn't say crap as to me owning the rights to the Baldur's gate games, which I don't. I also have no affiliations to Bioware whatsoever(impossible anyway since Bioware is now defunctTT). Any attempts to sue will result in your utter failure...and my amused laughter.

And now, without any more roadblocks, Tninja Literary Soloworks(hey, I made up my own companyish name without even making a company! HA!) presents his THIRD submission(What a milestone!) that is actually a multi-chapter story(Again, freaking milestone ) based on Baldur's Gate(which will never die).

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Years have passed since the Time of Troubles saw its end. The Forgotten Realms have seen the great gods that rule it combat each other as fiercely powerful and heavily rivaled deities clashed. In the end, many old gods fell, and a few mortals achieved godhood, becoming new gods. One such god who died was Bhaal, the evil deity of murder and death. However, this god foresaw his own death. To prevent his death from erasing his identity completely, Bhaal set in motion a plan to infect a select number of eventual newborns with his taint, effectively making them his spawn, all of them capapble of one day succeeding him in godhood. His plan worked.

Now, with the little-known emergence of the Bhaalspawn comes a new time of trouble, a period in which animosity will arise, and war will threaten to take hold of the Sword Coast. And in the middle of it all is bound a young, infernal-touched ousider...one who will one day discover his identity and realize his true purpose. So begins the tale of Damien Stormraven, feared rogue of Faerun.

Heart of Murder: Slayer Stormraven

The Prologue: A Raven in a Nest

Fifth day of Mirtul, 1373 DR, 12th hour of the day:

I suppose today is definitely a day worthy of writing in my journal, as every day seems to be. Feels like it's the only thing interesting to do in this gods forsaken place. After all these years, I continually ask myself how I got into writing so easily. Must be the endless sea of books that seems to pervade from this place. I'm thankful that SOME of them are of interest to read; particularly that 'History of the Dead Three,' very clever that one. All the rest...well, let's just say I'm glad that some of the library's tables are comfortable to SLEEP on! Gah, I hate this place. The uppity people, the endless chores...if it weren't for any assistance I'd gotten in my early years of training, or for that paranoid father of mine, I'd've left long ago.

Speaking of leaving, that brings me to today. As I've mentioned before, my normally worried old man had been getting excessively scared over something in the past days. It annoyed me so much that I actually got to talking to the guy, which I rarely do, just to get him to stop bellyaching and tell me what in the nine hells is WRONG with him! Of course, he never says what it is. He just pushes me away, telling me to do my chores, or walk around, or something. PAH! And people said I was selfish.

Selfish, rude, downright hostile sometimes...they've always said these things about me, ever since the age of twelve. Of course, they're all right, but it isn't my fault. I finally learned about my heritage during my studies around 8 years ago...well, it makes sense, doesn't it? I'm part infernal, dammit! Of course, it never occurred to me until I realized I'm the only person here with little horns sticking out of his head how different I was. Before I was twelve, though, they weren't quite as mean, but they still looked at me unsteadily, like I was going to attack someone or something.

Man, I must've been different. Even when I was a little boy, the people I knew looked at me differently from how they look at eachother. The reactions were fairly varied; from suspicion to fear to animosity...some of the kids my age downright teased me about it. I hated it, especially when, back then, I was just a happy little guy trying to make friends. It was odd, too, because I had no idea why they were making fun of me, either, not back then. Often times I would just push the comments aside and keep trying to be nice, but people still regarded me as all those things. It never made sense to me! I thought, what's with everyone? I've got two arms, two legs...I work and play, like everyone else...so my skin was a bit pale, big deal. I just figured I was one with the crowd...especially since nobody ever told me why I was treated this way. Not even my own damn father, no matter how hard I pushed the issue into his head.

Geez, I got off track all of a sudden. Why am I recollecting on all this? Hm, must be because it's my twentieth birthday.

Eh, well, I'll keep going. Learning from the past has helped me, after all. Anyway, when I got around age ten and was given a choice as to what profession I wanted to do, well, I wasn't sure at all...at least, until one night on my tenth birthday. I was lazing around at the Candlekeep Inn, trying to relax after a hard day's work. It was tough, considering some nobleman and that fatass kept jawboning about stuff, rousing me from my nap continuously. Eventually, it got to the point where I was about to yell at them to shove it already, when a dark figure strode casually into the inn. I'll never forget that day. Anyone and everyone who was talking suddenly looked over at the man, dressed in a sweeping black cloak with a hood. I could've heard a pin drop, and I was very thankful. The stranger ordered a buttermead, which Winthrop hesitantly gave to him, then sat over on a seat. I walked up to him, intrigued. "Who're you?" I remember asking.

He didn't seem interested in talking, but then he took a look at me and his eyes lit up a bit. We went over to the couch I was originally sitting on and talked about things. Turns out his identity was to be kept secret; all he said was that he was a member of an order of people like him, an order that was very powerful...and feared. Talk like that got me excited. Powerful? Feared? Anything like that had to be better than this dreadful keep of boredom.

When I took my turn to talk, I told him about my problems; the people here that either made fun of me or regarded me negatively. You know what he said? He said he liked the way I look. Was enthralled by it, he was! I never thought I'd hear someone say things like that. He said he simply found it interesting, that I was someone not commonly seen. He didn't say anything about my looks himself, even when I pressed him, but he did say that one day, I'd be destined for great things. One day, I'd leave this place, he said, and then my life would soon get better. I'd become famous...and respected.

I was swayed by the words. For once, someone didn't make fun of me; he actually complimented me! Eventually, he had to go, but I asked him what profession I should take to help me live a good life. He turned around and said, "Be something that will give you great power." I keep those words to heart even today; I feel that, even after all I've gained, I can still become so much more.

After he left, I tried to ask ol' puffguts what that man was, but he simply left the bar. Heh, must've spooked the guy. Around that time, yet another person came in; it was a girl, about my age, with pink hair and a charming grin. "Heya!" she said to me. "I'm Imoen, nice ta meetcha! I just came here earlier today." That bubbly personality of hers...man, it got on my nerves right then and there. I said a quick hello, then went upstairs to get some sleep for once.

The next day, I learned that Imoen had started on her own profession training. She was going to be a thief, or a rogue as some were called. I learned about the things they did, using stealth and guile to get through most situations. They could do lots of interesting stuff, like pick locks, disable traps, and, well, STEAL unnoticed. I was hooked after learning it, and began training myself. As time went by, I was honed in the many things I'd learned about. Though I loved learning to steal, my favorite lessons were in combat, using small weapons to fight quickly and with deadly precision. At a younger age, I'd've thought bigger weapons were better, but my heart turned to short swords instead. Imoen learned more with the bow. To be honest, I did enjoy learning with her back then. Her over-friendliness was irritating, but at least she was friendly. She never made fun of me back then, either. She thought I looked interesting, but scary as well. Heh, scary...I love that word.

I remembered that man I met, talking to me about being respected. I enjoyed that thought. In fact, I figured since I was becoming a professional rogue, I would get respect right away. I figured, with my skills and abilities, the kids would stop making fun of me, and the adults would stop being apprehensive. I remember the first day I got time out of the library(training kept me in there more). I eagerly showed people what I learned, and told them about it. Imoen did too.

I should've stayed inside that day. Everyone's attitude became worse, as though it seemed like they were afraid I'd become a thief. Not to mention they kept pressing on about these looks of mine. Some of the kids my age spat on me; the younger ones just laughed. The frustration in me soon began growing. I did everything I could to keep it down, but it stayed in me.

Of course, that wasn't the worst of it. While I got the scorn, Imoen got the praise! They LOVED how she became a thief, and were all interested in what she was doing. She would often shoot arrows into the sky, and everyone would applaud. Man, that hurt me. It did, however, become a source of encouragement, as I trained harder and harder. I figured one day I'd finally be able to best Imoen somehow, show people how capable I was. That day never really came for me.

In fact, the comments and beratings grew worse, and no one ever told me why, not for another two years. Eventually, on my twelth birthday, when I tried and failed to garner people's admiration, I finally couldn't take it anymore. I stopped my swordfighting demonstrations and screamed at everyone. "What the hell is wrong with everyone?" I asked. "Why do you continuously do this to me?" I must've hit a real nerve with all that yelling, because people drew back, worried I'd do something stupid. When no one answered, I scoffed, calling them a bunch of idiots, before I started leaving. The next moment would be unforgettable.

A boy my age ran up to me and said, "At least we aren't a bunch of tieflings!"

I was astounded. What did this kid call me? A tiefling? I took it as an insult, with the bad mood I was in. I yelled back, saying I was human like everyone else. But he kept calling me a tiefling. Soon the others joined in, the grownups explaining calmly that he was right, while the kids jeered on. I persistently denied the claim, my anger growing every second. Before long, I was finally unable to contain myself. Gorion and Imoen came out from the library in a hurry; they must've heard all the clamoring, because Gorion was urging everyone to calm down. But he was far too late, and he knew it.

I'd already thrusted one of my swords into the boy's heart. Sreams and cries of rage resounded, but I ignored them as I pushed the blade in deeper, causing that boy dire agony as he cried out in pain. The guards quickly ran over and restrained me, pulling me away and getting me inside. Too little too late; the boy was dead seconds after I was led off. Now, I'd already been taught about the difference between right and wrong, but after putting up with this much animosity, I didn't really care anymore.

Inside, I burst into tears. For some reason, those words stung me horribly, especially "tiefling." I didn't understand why people called me that at all. Eventually, I went up to Gorion and yelled at him; demanding to know who I was. He tried to disregard the issue, but I repeatedly forced it into him. Finally, he sent me up to my room with a book on infernal races and a hand mirror, weeping as he did so. There, I learned about my heritage: tieflings, an outsider race that was planetouched. There were other outsiders, but my kind held the minor taint of devils. I read about their traits; small horns, pointed teeth, the smell of brimstone, that sort of stuff. After reading, I looked at myself in the mirror. My skin was somewhat paler than others, I knew, but I also discovered pointed teeth and horns, even red eyes! For the rest of my twelfth year, I didn't know what to think of myself.

For the next eight years, I was confined to my room and the library. I was never allowed to hold a real sword for the rest of my training. Man, I hated that. Still, I trained on, getting better as I went. As I honed my skills, I kept wondering what it would be like, venturing out into the world like this. For some reason, I felt no doubt that there would be other people treating me like this; hating and reviling me, just for the way I looked. Just like everyone here. Well, everyone except for Imoen.

I remember that day I killed that boy. As I was forced inside, I saw her face. She was frightened out of her wits. She just stared at me, with an open mouth, as though I'd done the worst thing possible. I merely glanced at her and looked away, wondering if she would make fun of me or rebuke me or whatever. She didn't. Instead, she merely tried to help me feel better, possibly to get the bad feelings out of me and make me friendly again, like I used to be. Try as she might, nothing worked. The truth was made known to me, the damage had been done. I knew I was a tiefling, and nothing would change that. I simply pushed her away from me, out of my mind. She still tried to talk to me, even to this day. But nothing could erase the pain. Nothing could deter the fact that for twelve years of my life, I lived in a place where people disliked me, teased me, and threw scorn at me. And I had one person to blame for it all: Gorion, my old man, who never told me the truth. After I found out the truth about myself, I didn't speak to him again for 8 years. Even as I trained to be a thief, I simply did it so I could get out of this place and never have to bother with these people again. I figured I'd live secluded in the wild, so I'd never get mistreated like I did. I figured I simply didn't belong in society. Well, I did, until an old friend came back.

At the age of fifteen, while I was reading in the library, the dark-clothed stranger arrived once again, this time in the library. When I saw him, I eagerly waved my arms, begging for him to sit by me. He complied with a chuckle, and we were talking again. He told me about a few adventures he had, all of them exciting. When I spoke, I told him about everything that had happened. Amazingly enough, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "You did the right thing." I was astonished, telling him that killing was wrong, even though I felt compelled to do it. What he did next made my eyes open even wider. He simply threw off his hood, revealing his own pair of horns a bit bigger than mine. His black hair smelled of brimstone. He was a tiefling! I immediately asked him if he'd had trouble similar to me. He said he did at first, but when he was taught about himself, it made him realize how different he was, and being different really wasn't all that bad. In fact, he learned that being a tiefling gave him ideas. He could inspire fear in his enemies. He could embrace the darkness within him and live the life of an evil person, which wasn't as common as good. He did admit it was a rough path, but with his training as a thief, along with the benefits of his race, he soon rose in status to become a very powerful and respected individual. I asked him if it could happen to me, and he nodded. In fact, he said someday, I'd become even more powerful than him. When I asked how, he mentioned to me that I had the mark of Bhaal, former god of murder, on my neck.

The mark of a god? It couldn't be! I didn't even notice it in the mirror! I took another look that night, and sure enough, there it was. I ended up doing research on Bhaal. I didn't come up with much, except that he was indeed the lord of murder, a powerful one at that, and that his symbol matched the one on my neck.. However, I also learned that he died during the time of troubles. Well, that didn't sound good to me. How would I get fame out of a mark that symbolized a dead god? Still, I took it to heart, hoping that it would garner some respect. At least the thief liked it!

Unfortunately, Gorion learned of my meeting with the thief. He admonished me greatly, saying I shouldn't listen to people like that. Their talk would simply mislead me and lead me to trouble, possibly death. Of course, I simply ignored him. I wouldn't let the ramblings of an old man stop me, or even a young girl's talk, for that matter. Yes, Imoen added her own thoughts, believing that the thief was full of rubbish, and I should do good things in life, be a person with a pure heart. I simply told her that my lineage made a pure heart impossible to get.

I never saw the thief again after that, but I didn't care. Life simply went on as usual. My training carried me leaps and bounds over what I used to be, making me a formidable thief indeed. I was proud; one day I'd finally achieve the respect I deserved.

On my nineteenth birthday, however, things changed. My old man, Gorion, soon began acting really off, like he was afraid someone would come and kill him. I remember the first time I saw him like that. He had this frightened look on his face as he read some letter while walking through the library. I ignored it at first, but that didn't last. I saw him around the library more often, bouncing around, talking to the various people in the library. I never got close enough to figure it out, but I kept watching him move around, confiding in others. For once in my life, I was wondering what was going on.

Time passed, and he appeared more agitated as the days went by. Even as I concentrated on my training, read books, wrote in my journal, and slept all day, that attitude of his was getting to me. Not a day went by without me seeing him scurry about, as though someone were following him. It even worried Imoen as well.

One thing did take my mind off of it for a while; the completion of my training. One week ago today, I was congratulated by my tutors in the completion of my schooling in the arts of thievery. At last, I thought, soon I'd get a chance at leaving this keep and making something out of myself for once. Man, I couldn't wait! Imoen was also done and excited. Of course, training for her was always better. She'd always been showing people what she learned, and they applauded her all the time. Even with that dark-dressed thief's encouragement in me, I still seethed at how she got all the attention. I'd notice her out a window, showing off to the other villagers, reveling in her performances. If only that could've been me.

That wasn't all I could worry about, which finally brings me up to today. This morning, I was doing a few chores around the library, when Gorion interrupted me. The man looked like he was gonna faint at any second! He was babbling on about how it was time to leave, and that I needed to get prepared right away. Though I was elated at the talk of leaving, I still couldn't help but wonder why. I finally talked to him, asking him what was going on, but he simply repeated his orders. Irritated past my limits, I finally yelled at him, wondering what the deal was and what was wrong with him. My informative response was from a couple library guards, who picked me up and tossed me out the library.

So, here I sit by the Candlekeep Inn, which I just found out doubles as a shop for equipement and stuff. I honestly have no idea what on earth is going on or why I'm being rushed around like this, but I can't help but remember what the thief told me about rising in power and status, soon becoming a thief of great renown and power.

Something tells me that I'm finally taking my first step on that road today.