|The Morbid, The Merrier
Author: laudanum86 PM
Two merry daughters of Bhaal, a love-smitten knight on his quest of rescue and revenge, a superstitious thieves' guildmaster just off his luck - and a strange little shop that wasn't there yesterday... A crossover-ish 'once upon a time'.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Adventure - Chapters: 20 - Words: 18,069 - Reviews: 16 - Favs: 3 - Updated: 10-22-12 - Published: 07-23-12 - id: 8349821
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Imoen, Anomen, Renal and Charname, and all the Baldur's Gate saga characters showing up or being mentioned doesn't belong to me - guys at BioWare/Black Isle own them!
The certain knight and few other guests appearing are not mine, either.
( Aforementioned characters abuse and derailment is entirely my fault, though... )
Please, do point mistakes, but don't bite me ;).
A crossover-ish adventure that starts in Athkatla, following into the other strange places! Reviews most welcome ^^.
"Aww, look at that!"
Somewhat reluctantly, Millara looked in pointed direction.
She frowned, seeing nothing out of the usual - an infinitely long row of shopping stalls with their marquees striped blue-white and red-white flapping in the slight breeze,the flurry of colours in a stark contrast with darker granite city walls. The narrow alleyway was alive with raised voices of vendors and customers alike, words being shouted in a dozens of languages from all over the continent. People milled among the stalls, coming in and out the brightly painted door, the wind carrying mouth-watering scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, sweet date-stuffed bisquits, honeyed creamy cheese and fig tartlets, fluffy macaroons served with maple sirup and whipped cream and candied violet petals on the top, and-
Millara sniffed at the air; she knew what she wanted - a Maztican chocolate and cherry gateau with a whiskey-flavored buttercream and a caramelized hazelnut praline.
Suddenly concerned, she gazed down at her waist, then shrugged. There was nothing to worry about. Mrs. Cragmoon's mixtures were the best possible quality. The old hedgewitch instructed her she could do whatever she felt like doing without getting in troubles - as long as she remembered to drink her tea right afterwards, did she not?
The half-elf already decided - she licked her lips as she caught the baker's apprentice's eye, and smiled a coy little smile.
The boy blinked, glanced around, and realising she was indeed looking at him, promptly turned the rich colour of a cooked crayfish.
"Err... Can I be helpin ye, missy? Anythin' to please."
"Mhm. Why, yes." - Millara sighed, running fingers through her curls - "Perhaps-"
A hand came down to land heavily at the back of her head. The half-elf swore.
"Ilmater be patient... There! There, ya orc-witted eejit!" - Imoen huffed, then cheered up, bouncing in anticipation - "Look! Betcha we missed this one so far, no?"
Helped eagerly by the other girl, Millara spun around, the baker's boy and a Maztican chocolate and cherry gateau with a whiskey-flavored buttercream and a caramelized hazelnut praline already forgotten, this time really noticing.
"Cute, isn't it?"
The exterior was painted in a kind of faded, washed-out blue that held a reminder of old, lazy days spend on the sea shore. She couldn't read letters on the notice board - elegantly curved, the script was foreign. The crushed velvet, beaded curtain was parted ever so slightly, as in an invitation.
Millara cocked her head; she was pretty much sure that the little shop wasn't there just yesterday.
"Let's go inside!" - Imoen hopped up and down, tugging at her elbow - "C'mon! Just for a quick peek. Hey, just think, Millie, maybe they have the..."
The half-elf hesitated, her amber eyes narrowing as she looked up to the sun. It was mid-day already and-
"Millie, are ya listening to me at all?"
"Yes, but Renal-"
"He's late, so can wait, right?"
"I'm not sure if-"
"Imoen, I still-"
"Oh, can you believe it, now? Look who's there! Isn't that your knight-boy?"
"Which knight do you-"
She broke off abruptly as soon as she, too, spotted the familiar figure; tall, bearded and clad in immaculately polished steel from head to toe. He didn't seem to notice them so far, busy with throwing withering looks at whoever happened to stumble his way.
Once upon a time, Millara might have liked Anomen. She admired his strong arms and muscular frame, but then, he was so boring sometimes. He compared her to his sister, insisting on holding her hand - a hand, for gods' sake - and he talked way too much. Funny things, mostly - flowers and dresses and music. He'd even took her to the theatre in the Bridge District some other day.
All the while he blathered on, and the half-elf listened. Ever so patiently - and even though he never seemed to listen when she tried to say something, anything.
Truth to be told, she had quite a hard time resisting the temptation of putting some of the ghost root and wartweed concoction into his ale. It took her a good while to figure him out.
When she finally did, she'd felt disappointed, if a little sorry.
All these countless monologues about art and fashion, and how did Anomen stammered and jerked as if bitten by a horsefly, shying away from her touch - and she had only tried to-
How could she not notice the obvious for so long?
"Hey, let's ask him to go with us, shall we? The more, the merrier!"
"We should give him his space, Immy. He's not into-"
"Aww, don't be like that! There, Ano-"
Millara moved and grabbed her sister's arm - at which Imoen said 'ouch!' - much too loud, then hastily, she pulled the curtain and they stepped into the shop.