Author's Note and a Warning: Welcome to my ongoing novelization/walkthrough fic of Baldur's Gate 1! There are a lot of great fics out there with noble protagonists, or unconventional, somewhat wimpy heroes. As much as I enjoy those, this story attempts something else: the main character is not a terribly pleasant person and takes after her father a bit more than most [Charname]s. Will she become a heroine, an anti-heroine, or an outright villainess later on? We'll find out!

Also a bit of a warning: while this story will generally follow the plot of Baldur's Gate a lot of characters are going to die (the main character is a magical loadstone that attracts death and destruction, after all. Also I took a lot of inspiration from the NPC conflicts that can break out in the game.) I apologize in advance for killing off any beloved characters, or worse still interpreting them in a different way than you might.

Also, although I'm reluctant to use the romance tag for this story since that's not it's focus, there will be a love-interest or two for our heroines (Imoen and [Charname] are essentially co-protagonists in this story.)

I do not own Baldur's Gate or the Forgotten Realms or any of the characters, etc. Bioware and Wizards of the Coast own those, respectively.

Story is rated M mostly for graphic violence, though a fair amount of raunchiness and a sex-scene or two occurs as well. And quite a few of the characters swear like sailors (what do you expect from someone like Shar-Teel?)

And a special thanks to Kyn for drawing Ashura's portrait, now the cover picture for this fic!

Death's Favored Daughter

Part One – The First "Adventure"

1 – Blooded

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster…when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you" –Friedrich Nietzsche

"Can we go just one day without someone getting brutally killed in front of us?" –Imoen

Mirtul 1, 1368 D.R.

As the first rays of sunlight began to warm the stones they found the girl on the battlement already sweating. She inhaled deeply and rocked forward, palms and feet resting on the stone, back arched, head up and muscles straining under her weight. She rocked back as she breathed out. Another inhalation and she repeated the exercise one more time before rising to her feet. After catching her breath she bent down and lifted two weighted practice swords from a small pile of equipment in front of her.

The dawn light fell upon the young woman's long dark hair as she paused to stretch, arms up, pointing the tips of the swords as high as she could. For a time she just stood and let the rising sun warm her through her black woolen tunic.

For two more breaths she enjoyed the luxury of the sunlight, then her arms swept down and the steel sung through the air. In tandem with the weapons her body spun, falling into a series of dueling stances. She looked at nothing in particular, head downturned with her mind's-eye focused on imagined foes. Her sandaled feet danced as she kept her left side facing the phantom enemies. The left-hand sword swirled through different parries and counter-attacks: blocking low, high, slashing back, stabbing forward. The right-hand weapon was hidden behind her body until the chosen moment when she locked her imaginary enemy down with a slash and followed through with a surprise overhand stab from her right sword.

Next she shifted to a stance that favored her right side and went through the same forms using the other sword to block and parry. She finished with an underhanded stab with her left-hand weapon aimed at imaginary guts.

After another shift in stance she launched into a series of simple combinations that used both swords in tandem. A simultaneous stab and slash, a double hack, a double parry, a scissoring cross-cut. Next came a low-

There was scraping sound on the stones behind her and the girl whirled around, pointing a sword out and bringing the second up behind her body as she tensed. The sword pointed at a short girl with a round, smiling face and copper-red hair who stood two paces away. She was in her late teens, nearing twenty, about the same age as the girl with the swords. The redhead's hands had been hidden under a purple woolen cloak but they shot up now. Her palms were open in a gesture of peace.

"And good morning to you Shura," the redhead greeted the dark haired girl in a sing-song voice. It was short for her full name: Ashura. Most people shortened her name to 'Ash' instead.

The blunt practice swords sank to the stone and then clattered as Ashura let them go. She let out an embarrassed laugh. "Uh, hey Imoen," she said. "Sorry about that."

"Throwing yourself into it huh?" Imoen noted. "Seems like you've been up here every morning for at least a tenday."

Ashura nodded as she leaned down and lifted a waterskin. She took a few careful sips before pouring more into a cupped hand and splashing it on her face. "Yeah," she said. "It's pretty private here before dawn. I can practice the forms from the old combat manuals without the Watchers scoffing at me."

Imoen turned towards the edge of the battlement and Ashura followed. Far beneath them lay the cobblestone road called the Way of the Lion, which stretched straight and true across the plateau on which Candlekeep stood. In the distance the road gradually disappeared into a forest of ancient pines. Imoen shivered slightly as a bitter northwestern wind rolled in off the Sea of Swords behind them.

"You thinking of taking up Reevor's offer?" Imoen asked.

Ashura shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes on the swaying trees across the plain. "Stand around in a metal suit looking important? No, can't really see that as my kind of life."

"Aw," Imoen said in a teasing tone. "Would have been nice to have a friend in the guard last year when Fuller caught me dipping my fingers in that traveling bard's pockets."

"Hardly," Ashura said with a chuckle. "If I joined the Watchers I'd take a vow to uphold the laws of the Citadel." She mockingly placed a hand over her heart. "I'd have to tell them about the little collection of trinkets under your floorboards."

Imoen pouted. "You wouldn't!"

A warm smile broke out across Ashura's face. "I wouldn't."

"Mask be praised," Imoen said with a grin, turning back to the horizon. After a pause she said: "When you go I'm going with you."

Ashura gave her a quizzical look.

"I know what you're thinking," Imoen said. "Yer sick of this stuffy old place. Yer thinking about what's beyond those trees. You want to follow that road, go on an adventure."

After a time Ashura slowly nodded. Since being brought to Candlekeep as a toddler she had hardly set foot outside the citadel's walls. During the summer when it got unbearably hot the youth of Candlekeep would sometimes make a short journey down to the ocean where they would swim and play on a few small spits of beach and in the tidal pools. Other times Ashura's foster father had taken her and Imoen into the nearby forest where they had camped a bit, learning to build fires, pitch a tent and survive in the wilderness. Other than that Candlekeep had been the only home the two had known.

Ashura spoke up again: "Father was disappointed when I made it clear I wasn't going to follow the path of Ohgma and become a scholar. But," she gave the slightest shrug, "that's just not for me."

"Good," Imoen said with a conspiratory grin. "We're in agreement then. I know where they keep the keys for the escape tunnels. I've also gotten pretty good at sneaking into the stables, and sometimes merchants come through with carts big enough to stow away on."

"You're thinking of running away?"

"Pish!" Imoen responded. "Wouldn't call it that. Sneaking out. A little adventure! I'd at least like to see Beregost. It's this big town we've been hearing about all our lives, maybe a day or two's travel away, and we've never even seen it."

Ashura smiled. "Well, when you figure out all the details I'd be happy to go on this little adventure." She turned and bent to gather her belongings: a sheathed knife, two small pouches for coins and various accessories, and the belt that she attached those to. "In the meantime I think I'll tend to morningfeast and then get to my chores."

"Ugh," Imoen frowned. "Don't remind me. Puffguts has me mopping the whole bleeding kitchen today."

The pair descended a few flights of stairs down to the outer courtyard and parted ways, Ashura finding her way to the barracks. Sparring with the Watchers of Candelkeep was a favorite pastime of hers, but today she was given more mundane tasks. After a quick morningfeast she was sent to fetch a quarrel of crossbow bolts for Fuller and deliver a sword to Hull. The two guards were apparently hung-over and had gone to their posts without full kit.

When she found Hull at the main gate he chided her for being lazy and slow. She rolled her eyes and tossed the sword at his feet, chuckling to herself as he nearly toppled over in his platemail trying to fish it from the dirt. Years ago at a Greengrass festival Hull had been the first boy Ashura kissed, and judging by his relentless teasing he still seemed to have a bit of a crush. These days she preferred knocking the boy on his ass in the training yard to kissing.

Chores chores chores.

Hull sent her to deliver medicine to the man who managed the stables (apparently it was for his 'prize winning' cow.) From the stables she delivered a book to a forgetful scholar named Phlydia (it was buried in a hay pile, which gave Ashura some suspicions,) and from there she was directed to the laundry to fetch fresh linens for the bunkhouse.

With crisp sheets piled high in her arms Ashura made her way along the path, her chores sending her full circuit around the outer courtyard of the citadel. She was starting to hope that Imoen came up with her escape plan sooner rather than later.

A strange sight stopped Ashura in her tracks. Her foster father was running through the courtyard towards her, the elderly scholar's robes billowing. Despite his age Gorion's breath was almost unaffected by the sprint. "So glad I found you," he began.

Ashura raised an eyebrow behind her pile of laundry. "Is something wrong father?"

Through his long white beard Ashura thought she saw Gorion open his mouth then close it and pause. When he did reply his words were measured. "We need to leave Candlekeep, I'm afraid. I will explain everything as soon as there is time." He offered Ashura a small pouch that clinked with the sound of coin. "Here," he said, "this should be enough for you to equip yourself for travel. Purchase what you need from Winthrop's shop and then find me at the central library."

Before Ashura could stammer out another question the old sage whirled around and quickly marched off. For a moment she just stood there in shock. Hours ago she had been thinking about running away from the drab citadel, but this hardly felt like a wish come true. Gorion had been pensive and distant for weeks, and she had never seen him as shaken as he looked today.

Shaking her head Ashura hugged the linens to her chest and walked the last half-dozen steps to the bunkhouse. With her elbow and foot she managed the door and swung into the dark room.

As the door creaked shut she looked up and stopped, unsure. There was a man in the room. A stranger with disheveled blonde hair and ragged, rough-spun clothes. And he was rapidly closing the distance between them.

A pace away the stranger stopped and gave Ashura a wide, toothy smile. "Ya'lo miss." He had a thick accent she couldn't place. Waterdevian maybe?

Ashura narrowed her eyes and did not respond. After a beat the stranger broke the silence. "You're Gorion's little whelp aren't you?"

"Little what?" She glared.

"Well ya are," he said with a slight shrug. "Don't worry. I won't be here long." He was easing his way closer and Ashura found herself backing towards the door. "And neither will you. Hehehe. You've a pretty face but I don't see what the fuss is about." The dagger left its sheath with a faint swish as the man raised it over his head and lunged.

The coin purse clattered on the floorboards as Ashura lifted the stack of sheets to meet the tip of the blade. There was a ripping noise as the dagger sank into the fabric. Before the man could pull back Ashura pressed forward and stamped down as hard as she could on his foot. The stranger managed to keep the grip on his dagger as he stumbled back.

Ashura tossed the pile of linens in his face and yanked her knife from her belt. At the same time she reached forward with her left hand, snatching the man's wrist. She yanked, he squirmed, and she drove her knife into his unprotected stomach. His lips were at her ear as he shuddered and gave a ragged gasp, letting go of his own dagger.

Pulling back Ashura stabbed the man again and again, tilting the weapon up and driving it into his chest, frantically hacking and twisting with the blade. Another loud gasp and another, then the man was dead weight leaning against her. She backed up and he fell forward, flat on his face. Blood poured out onto the floor and pooled around the man's still body.

The bunkhouse door groaned ever so slightly behind Ashura. She spun, knife raised and ready as her eyes met those of a gaunt elven man. He was dressed in the same sort of rough-spun wool as the other stranger. And he held a dagger, out and aimed at Ashura's chest.

And he was charging. Shit!

Twisting as the dagger narrowly swished past her chest Ashura managed to catch the elf's wrist. She yanked him closer as she drove the point of her knife into his slender neck. His eyes popped open wide and his mouth did the same but no words came.

Ashura's hand was showered with hot blood as she yanked the knife out and stabbed again, hoping she'd catch a vein or artery this time if she hadn't the first. The elf sank to his knees, defensively gripping his wounds as an inhuman sound left his throat.

Backing up until she pressed against the wall Ashura watched the elf. It took mere heartbeats for him to grow wobbly and then fully collapse, bleeding out.

Ashura's hands began to tremble and she looked down at them. Both hands and her entire right arm were drenched in red, flecked here and there with black. She gave the door a suspicious look. Were there more?

She tried to shake it off, knowing that she had to keep moving. The smell of blood, bile and voided bowels that was growing in the room spurred her towards the fallen coin purse, then the door.

After a few strides through the sunlight she was stopped by an elderly monk in dull yellow robes. Parda, the old man who had tutored her in reading and history. "Ashura?" he asked, "is that blood? Has Sergeant Reevor been sending you after rats in the cellars again?"

She shook her head.

Parda frowned. "I suspected as much." He placed a feather-light hand upon her bicep and gently guided her towards a rain barrel.

Using a pail Ashura splashed water on her arms, face and neck, then dumped the rest onto her head, soaking her hair and bloodstained tunic. "Men I've never seen before attacked me with knives," she explained, shivering. "Their bodies are in the bunkhouse." She turned to Parda. "They were looking for me. 'Gorion's whelp.' I…don't know why." She bit back more words as panic entered her voice.

Parda placed a soothing finger against her lips. "Hush child. It's okay. But you must prepare for your journey and be off quickly."

"You…you know about that?"

He nodded. "Please hurry. You're in great danger here."

So she hurried.

"Now that's an odd choice for a respectable young lady such as yourself," Winthrop teased as Ashura tested the weight of a pair of short swords. Ignoring him she cut the air a few times before sliding the weapons back into their lambskin sheaths.

They were standing in the section of the Candlekeep Inn that served as a general store tended by the fat, jolly man along with Imoen and his three true daughters. When she first arrived Winthrop had teased Ashura about her first time in the general store requiring a five thousand gold admittance fee but had gotten no reaction.

"A bit of a warning," Winthrop said as it became clear Ashura was going to buy the swords. "There've been all sorts of headaches recently with the quality of the steel that passes up and down the coast. It's a good thing yer taking two of those swords, since I can't guarantee the weapons won't break."

"Lovely," Ashura muttered as she admired a fine chainmail shirt. When she asked about the armor she found that Winthrop was asking for more gold than all of her funds. He directed her to the store's collection of leathers instead. First she picked out a pair of boots that fit her, then a thick tunic of cured leather armor that was reinforced by steel studs and thickly padded on the inside.

"This will do, I think," Ashura said as she whipped her belt away and shed her tunic. Winthrop turned away as she slipped into the leathers and tightened the new tunic's belt, flexing and shifting about. Yeah, that fit. Finally she picked out a pair of studded leather bracers.

With the remaining funds Ashura purchased a sturdy backpack and a light woolen bedroll. Next she went to filling that backpack, purchasing a sharpening stone and flint firekit, several lengths of hemp string and a cord of thicker rope, some strips of fresh linen cloth in assorted sizes and finally a few pouches of dried fruit, grain and a few strips of salted beef.

There were four gold coins and a little silver left in her coin pouch when Ashura left Winthrop's and took one last walk along the inner wall of Candlekeep. She passed through the inner gate and into the gardens where birdsong and the soft trickle of the fountains greeted her. Flowers of a dozen hues lined the tiled walkways, rising from the earth or hanging in careful arrangements from manicured shrubs.

Imoen was sitting on the lip of one of the fountains. She greeted Ashura as she approached with a toothy smile and a "Heya!"

"Aren't you supposed to be mopping?" Ashura asked.

"Snuck off," Imoen said matter-of-factly. "I've got all day to do my chores but…"

"I'm going on a journey with my father. But you already know that don't you?"

"Ya huh," Imoen said as she scooted off the fountain. They walked together through the garden. "You're lucky, finally getting to travel just like we were talking 'bout this morning. Sure are. Real lucky. Yes sir."

Ashura wrapped an arm around Imoen's shoulder, giving her friend a slight squeeze. "Message received. I'll ask Gorion if you can come along."

"Don't be silly. He'd never even let you finish the sentence. Not after what that letter said."

"Huh?"

"Did I say anything about a letter? I didn't say nothing." They had reached the steps that led up to the great library. Gorion stood at the top, arms crossed and face impassive.

Imoen turned and the two exchanged a quick hug. "Well, you take care on the road Shura," Imoen said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure you'll get to travel soon."

"One way or another," Imoen said with her usual mischievous grin before scurrying off.

With a deep breath Ashura took the last couple of steps. "I'm ready father."

The old sage nodded and led the way through the garden and towards the gate of the inner yard. Ashura fell into step beside him and as he walked he spoke. Even at his most affectionate her father always sounded formal, with careful enunciation and diction. "I apologize," he said without a hint of emotion, "for not being fully forthcoming about our destination or the reason for our flight. For your own safety it is best I tell you only what you absolutely need to know." At the great gate he stopped briefly, turning and looking into her eyes.

"Trust me," Gorion implored. "As soon as there is time and I feel that we are safe I will tell you everything." She found herself gulping and gave a nod. "Just know for now," Gorion continued, "that we are heading to the Friendly Arm Inn to the northeast. There we will meet Khalid and Jaheira. They have long been my friends, and you can trust them." With that he turned and hurried them along beneath the portcullis and out into the wider world.

The sun had long set and the sage and his foster-daughter had long left the open road for the deep shadows of the forest. They managed a decent pace thanks to a brightly waxing moon overhead and light underbrush. Ashura's feet caught on the occasional vine or shrub, and twice now she had tripped on a hidden hole left behind by long dead trees. She envied the way Gorion seemed to instinctively dodge the obstacles.

They had not exchanged words for a long while but it was clear her father intended for them to travel the night, and perhaps then some. That was fine. Ashura felt wide awake after the terrifying encounter in the bunkhouse. Who were those men? Did they serve some old enemy of Gorion's? He had never spoken directly of it but the old man seemed to have been some sort of adventurer before he retired to Candlekeep. When she was younger he used to tell her stories of fantastic places and exotic monsters and there was something about his matter-of-fact descriptions that made her think he had seen these things first hand.

The light brush and thick tree trunks suddenly fell away as they came upon a wide clearing. Under the silver light of Selune Ashura could see stones laid out across the earth in even patterns. The patterns formed wheels with clear spokes and hubs, perhaps marking some ancient burial ground. Gorion's pace never slowed as they walked among the stones.

As they approached the far end of the clearing Gorion startled her by suddenly stopping and barring her way with an arm. "Wait," he said with a quick, harsh whisper. His head slowly turned, eying the tree line. "There is an ambush ahead. Prepare yourself."

Ashura's swords found their way into her hands. She scanned the dark places between the trees. Nothing. Dead silence.

Then the sound of crunching wood echoed through the clearing, sudden and loud. Ashura's heart lurched and she gripped her swords tighter. At the edge of the wood branches snapped and fell as two massive figures lurched from the shadows. The creatures had the shape of men but were nearly nine feet tall with muscular frames to match. Moonlight glinted off their bald pates and the small tusks that protruded from their mouths.

Full ogres! They wore simple wool shirts and trousers and carried massive spiked warmaces, one handed.

Between the ogres two shorter armored figures emerged from the forest. One was far shorter than the other, armored in smooth black platemail with a cut that seemed vaguely feminine and long black hair.

The other figure was tall and broad, dressed head to toe in a suit of full plate decorated with baroque spikes at the gauntlets and shoulders. His helmet was even more stylized; shaped like a skull with a wide gaping mouth that served as a visor, lined with sharp teeth and topped with long horns. A second set of horns curved from the side of the helmet, giving the appearance of tusks. Behind the mask there seemed to be a fiery glow to the man's eyes. He held a greatsword loosely in one gauntleted hand.

When he spoke the armored man's voice was deep and booming: "Hand over the girl and you can walk away, old man."

Ashura gasped. They were after…her?

"You well know I have no intention of doing that," Gorion responded as he stepped forward, protectively blocking the path to his daughter.

The tip of the armored man's sword pointed at the old sage. "Very well then," the man growled.

As the ogres began to stomp forward Gorion turned and hissed at Ashura: "Run child! I will hold them off."

"But-"

"Run!"

The armored woman was singing something unintelligible. A spell! Ashura realized it just as the night was lit by a bright red glow; a bolt of flame that shot across the field at dazzling speed. The bolt struck her shoulder with a hiss and its force spun Ashura's body. She sank to her knees and pressed a fist against her burning flesh, gasping in pain.

Gorion was singing as well now, in the tell-tale chant of a magic spell. As Ashura found her feet she felt her hair stand and smelled ozone as a sharp crackle hissed and grew into a dazzling flash and thunderclap behind her. One of the ogres bellowed.

One foot stumbled in front of the other and then Ashura was running. Another crackle and boom from behind drove her on. She felt a wave of searing heat at her back and flames lit the night.

When she reached the far end of the field and placed a hand against a nearby tree trunk Ashura dared a look over her shoulder. She could see the charred, unmoving form of at least one of the ogres and the girl and the other ogre were gone. Gorion stood where he had been. His hands wove their way through the air, and the man in spiked armor was a few paces away. Advancing fast.

Red bolts of pure energy erupted from Gorion's fingertips, flying at the armored man in wave after wave. Sparks flew as the bolts struck the man's armor, but his pace never slowed. There was another storm of bolts with no effect and then the armored figure slashed out with his greatsword. The old sage stumbled back as the blade struck some invisible barrier. Another slash and there was a waver in the air as Gorion sunk to one knee. The armored figure reared back, aiming his sword again, and stabbed, running Gorion through.

Ashura turned from the sight, bile rising in her throat as she found herself leaning against the tree. She choked it back, pressed the pommel of her sword against the tree, and plunged into the forest. Branches clung to her and stung her face. She pushed and kicked her way through the bramble, running in sheer terror.