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Emperor’s Lanceboard	By : DCS Category: +A through F > Baldur's Gate Views: 1021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All rights belong to the original creators of any characters subject to copyright or trademark laws. I am not making money from this story, it was written for entertainment. All rights reserved to Larian Studios and Wizards Of The Coast.

Chapter List
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After everything, it was most fortunate that Elfsong still stood intact. Though uneventful, the return trip to the tavern was not without a good measure of carnage in the streets. Throughout the city as a post-battle peace settled upon Baldur’s Gate, civilians and city guards were martialed to quell fires and clear the dead. Woeful mourners, shell-shocked citizens shrieking, the injured and dying, as well as a few babbling religious zealots lent their voices to the cacophony of noise of what was once a lively city.
There would be no celebration feast, revel, or tavern songs tonight. This was a time to say goodbye to the dead, and to friends. Most of all, she needed to leave and gain distance between herself and the others as the turmoil of emotions within her was not to be trusted. Passing through to their shared room in Elfsong the faithful barkeep Alan offered the worn band of adventures an acknowledging nod before turning his attention to the growing number of patrons sheltering downstairs of the tavern in the wake of the destruction of their homes.
Once inside the rented room in Elfsong, she moved toward her bed and chest with haste as she fully intended to collect her things and immediately leave. Paranoia gripped her mind as a multitude of worries gnawed at her thoughts. In her mind, her usefulness was at its end; thus, the swing of the executioner's blade loomed. How long until the colnbluth sought outlets for their anger and pain? How long until a being of the Underdark, such as herself, was dragged into the streets to then be torn apart by an angry mob bent on revenge?
Scattered upon her bed lay the few personal belongings she owned, which were left behind in the rushed preparation for the final battle. Mixed among those items was a single item she was loath to gaze upon, the simple shell collected from the Emporer’s former hideout. Laying alongside that shell was something that was not hers, a single elegant glass wine bottle upon which a parchment with a small handwritten note was attached.

“Safe travels.” Simple, short, and without a signature. Such a gift was not to be trusted, yet there lay upon her bed in a place where few had access. Bottle in hand, she looked to Withers, questioning yet knowing the curious being was extremely unlikely to have gifted her such an item. She could of course, question him and the others as to who left the gift, but that would require staying longer than she desired. If nothing else, the wine bottle would make for a weapon or could be sold for coin. The less awkward final goodbyes, the better.
A quick inventory of what possessions there were made her aware that her favorite dagger seemed to have been lost at the climactic battle, as well as her pendant necklace which bore spider etchings in the metal. It was the necklace that she hoped might help her unlock the secrets to her past.
Against her better judgment, the shell and gifted wine bottle were added to her things in her travel bag. As she finished the final details of her hasty packing was startled as something brushed up against the back of her legs. Alarmed her head sharply turned to cast a baleful stare toward the offending party, only to soften upon seeing who had brushed up against her legs: Scratch, a ball held expectantly in his mouth.
Kneeling down, she reached forward to gently and fondly offer the dog a final petting. “I’ll miss you,” she’d mutter softly, loath to give voice to such honest and heartfelt words. Something about the dog reminded her of her lost past; there was a familiar appeal to the dog that she could not place.
With the only heartfelt good-bye, she cared to say done, Yvonstra double-checked the secure lashings on her travel back to ensure it was resistant to thieves and then slung it over her shoulder. No one else had yet made it back to the room. Faithful as ever, Scratch followed at her heels, only for Yvonstra to make certain to close the door so as not to follow her.
Though exhausted and baring wounds from battle, the day was drawing to its end, and the setting sun offered her the promise of travel by night, which was the safest. Alone she walked through the rumble and carnage that remained, pausing only once to cast a questioning look upon a statue of Balduran before departing with a hastened step.
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End of Chapter Reference
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-The character Tav is presented by the name Yvonstra in this fan fiction. She is a middle-aged drow female (human age equal around 30) that is a warrior / rogue who is an observer of Lloth. Through the series of events in Baldur’s Gate 3 gameplay, inwardly, she questions her faith. Yvonstra is effectively the Tav character for gameplay purposes without the Dark Urge plot. Yvonstra, though the campaign opted for welcoming the Emporer’s advances, knowing such is likely a manipulation tactic and is a highly dangerous coupling.
----Drow Language Glossary----
*Abbil - tongue-in-cheek term for allies and “trusted friends”, and oxymoron for Drow culture.
*Colnbluth - non-drow races.
*Elamshin - will of Lloth, or something like destiny.
*Haszak - Drow term for Illithid.
*Jivvin golhyrr - A fighting style used by Priestesses of Lloth to force a foe into a humiliating position.
*Qilovestualt - Drow wine made from mushrooms.
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