Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to the Baldur’s Gate Saga, or its characters, and this piece of writing is not intended to make me any money. However, I do own the copyrights to my character, Dykan.

The Race To The Stave

Chapter 1: Dykan’s Luck

The cold air sailed over Dykan’s head, and as he felt the chill bite his ears, he tightened the cord around his neck, pulling his hood closer to his head. He parted the bushes again, and peered across the square. The Flaming Fist enforcers patrolled outside the entrance, two on each march. In total, from what Dykan had observed, there were four of them, all clad in the uniform of the Fist, the Red Flame.

He couldn’t get in the front door, because of the four guards. Unfortunately, he knew that the back entrance across from the temple also was guarded, as well as guards marching around the perimeter.

Dykan had to concede the point in his own mind, that the Hall Of Wonders was a fortress for this present week. It hadn’t been a good week for Dykan, his expulsion from the Thieves Guild, him owing Gilzath (A wizard on current business in the Gate, currently residing at the Blade & Star’s inn) a neat sum of 5415 gold pieces (this all came about after he went into the Blade and Star’s to drown his sorrows after the expulsion, and somehow ended up in a game of chance with the pleasant conjurer. He lost. As Dykan saw it, although he thought Gilzath was a very pleasant and charming person, as far as humans go, he would think he could turn nasty for the princely sum he was owed), and now this, the Hall of Wonders being guarded.

The little halfling stayed still, crouching behind the bush. All this over a metal stick. Dykan presumed it would probably hurt a little if he received a blow to the back of the head, but the fact remains that it is still a stick. Although he had friends who were Magi’s, the art of magic sailed over his head like a ship in a lagoon. He didn’t take to it, particularly like it, or understand it for that matter. But, as far as he did understand it, this stick was highly sought after in the underworld, as rumours from the Undercellar of it’s reputation preceded the inanimate object. It was some kind of quarterstaff/wand. It had the solidity of Iron in it’s craft, and couldn’t be snapped even if a Frost Giant got hold of it. But it was no ordinary staff, it had been enchanted by some wizard of the past (Laburg in the Undercellar said it was blessed by Yilto, but who can ever believe Laburg), and had the ability to shoot Ice out of the north end of the staff, and Fire out of the south end. With qualities like this, it was no wonder that every Cleric and Mage in the land wanted this staff in their possession. And this is where the Thieves Guild came into it.

Dykan was “released” from the services of the Guild no less than three moons ago. But the Guild had been planning this operation for longer than that, as it was announced three weeks ago that the “Elemental Staff” was coming to stay at the Hall of Wonders for a week, as it was being transported from Amn to Waterdeep. The organisers thought that they could make a little detour via Baldur’s Gate to allow the people of the city to see the one of the finest weapons ever crafted.

And this is where the Staff found it’s other admirers. There were those who wanted the stave for war, to hurt and maim, but there were those who wanted the Stave to have and to hold, but most of all, too study. Once again, Dykan’s knowledge on the matter is pretty shoddy, but he is aware that there is a marking on the shaft of the staff, that many believe is the key to the elemental magic; fire and ice.

Dykan knew that the Thieves Guild was planning to raid the Hall for the stick, and he also knew that they were doing it tonight. The only thing Dykan couldn’t figure out, was how. There were guards all over the place, and they probably knew that sooner or later, the guild would make a move for the famous staff. Dykan thought he knew the reason for him not knowing, which was that he had been labelled “the clumsiest thief this side of the spine of the world”, by none other than the head of the Guild, Alatos. Now, when your a thief, this kind of reputation is pretty hard to get rid of, therefore work is pretty hard to find. In fact, impossible. Dykan had become the laughing stock of the Undercellar, and so for the first time in his life, he was unemployed. He was doing this for himself. He was going to get the staff for himself.

Now Dykan wasn’t really sure how he was going to get it. He hadn’t planned this, it was more of a, last chance so to speak. If he failed, he would either get arrested and his humiliation would be complete, or he would feel the blade of a sword run through him, and his anguish would be over. But if he succeeded, if he could manage to steal the staff, he would be the most famous thief in all of Faerun. But the Guild was after it, and they had resources. They had time to plan, money to utilise, and men to allocate various tasks. So how was he going to get it?

The time came close. In fact, in Dykan’s mind, there wasn’t really a good time, nor a bad time. Each time was as good as the next, after all, he wasn’t planning any of this.

“If only I’d have taken that bottle, hmmmm, a potion of Mastery Thievery would do some good here it would” the little rogue mumbled to himself. He set off. Blending in with the shadows, he moved out of the bush. Deciding that dodging the guards and hiding around the pillars of stone was as good a move as any, he slowly set off, careful not to make a sound.

Across the way, he thought he saw a very faint green glow. He stopped, and backtracked to the bush. Unsure of what has happening, Dykan lay on the sodden grass, squinting, hoping to see. The green glow was behind something, behind a shadow. As his eyes adjusted to the new-found light, Dykan was able to see that it was the shadow of a human, with a robe flowing in the wind. The light went, and so did the shadow.

“Arghh, rampge. CHARGE!!!!!”

Out of the place where the light came, six to seven Hobgobins ran. They charged towards the Hall of Wonders, and the Fist guards charged towards them with their swords. The hobgoblins stood their ground, and they fired arrow after arrow as quickly as they could.

“Whoooosh”.

Dykan could hear the arrow piercing the air as it sailed through it effortlessly. That very same arrow came to rest in the cheek of the Fist enforcer. Although he couldn’t see too clearly (his Infravision wasn’t too good over long distances) Dykan imagined the arrow splitting the skin of the guard, exposing his red flesh underneath. The guard crumpled in a heap, but Dykan still put the shot down to luck.

“Attack men, let none live. We shall avenge the death of Briedel, who fell courageously defending this hall”. The remaining perimeter guards, hearing the commotion came around from the side. The valiant defenders charged the Hobgoblins, anticipating a fight, and an end. Quite unexpectedly, the Hobgoblins retreated, and disappeared into the shadows. The guard, not wanting to leave their post, stopped. They sheathed their swords, and turned to face the Hall, and their fallen comrade.

As Dykan watched from his hideout shrub, he observed as much as he could. Throughout the events, he kept glancing back towards where the original light came from, but saw nothing. He watched the hobgoblins retreat, but couldn’t see into the shadows where they had gone. And now he was watching the guard attending to Briedel.

“We cannot stand for this fellow men, for we are the Flaming Fist. Breidel has fallen in battle” said a youngish guard, rising to a stand from one knee. “We came here to defend, but with this tragedy, we should now go to conquer. We cannot let him die in vain”. Without looking at his fellow guards, he unsheathed his sword, ran his finger down the blade, letting the blood drip to the floor. He then charged off, into the darkness, alone.

As if time stood still, the remaining guards didn’t move. But as if my some unspoken word, all drew their swords at once, and charged into the black, following the young and impressionable enforcer.

Dykan, quite shocked my the turn of events, skulked out of his position. Surely this wasn’t happening to him. He couldn’t quite believe that the guard had disappeared. Various thoughts ran through his head, the main one being that this was a trap, and as soon as any would-be intruder moved, then the guard would be back, and taking a cart load of prisoners off to jail.

Either way, Dykan came here thinking he was going to fail, and so what if it was a trap. He set off, hiding in the shadows, creeping closer and towards the light emitting from the torches atop the stone columns supporting the roof of the great Hall.

As he reached the first pillar, he looked around. All around was the darkness, except for a few lights in the far off distance, Dykan supposing people were still up in their homes. Approaching the door with great care, he once again looked back. He studied the door. He pushed it near the very bottom but the door didn’t budge. As he presumed, locked. He then looked at the door handle, a big brutish handle, nearly at the top of his head. The little halfling, looked even closer.

Dykan said to himself “Ha, being small has it’s advantages, does it not? Them men, they only make traps to fool men, never the little folk”. For underneath the door handle, was a little button. So as soon as anyone touched the button, something was going to happen to them. Dykan didn’t want to think about that. Dykan, now aware of this button, set to work on the lock. There didn’t seem to be a keyhole, but Dykan knew what to do. He removed from the inside pocket of his a long metal rod, that was very thin at one end, it looked as if it would break should you drop it.

With the thick end of the rod in his hand, Dykan ran the thin end over the door knob. He applied pressure, and made grunting noises every now and then. Suddenly, the rod seemed to half in length with a click. But it hadn’t broken, it had entered a very small hole, that wasn’t meant to be found, unless you knew it was there. With a turn of the rod, the door clicked again. With a wry smile, Dykan removed the rod, and slipped it into his cloak again. He then turned the handle, careful not to push the button he earlier discovered.

The door slid open, grating over the marble floor. Now he knew why in the daytime this door was always left open! Quickly checking around, he crept in, hiding in a corner. Now he could see the whole first floor. There were caskets, glass containers and cages, all holding various artefacts. Torches were still burning around the four corners of the room. But there were five torches. But only four corners.

Dykan, sensing danger, remained silent in his corner. Peering at the fifth flame, he could see three men. One was definitely a wizard, as he was wearing a darkly coloured robe, and Dykan could only presume that the other two were thieves. This was the guild’s doing. Staying silent, he watched. But he couldn’t understand why the trio wasn’t moving. He scanned the hall, hoping to spot a reason for this. He didn’t. But he did spot the case where the “Elemental Staff” was being held. Although he couldn’t see a label or a tag, every now and then, he could see a flicker or either red or blue, the red always flashing about four feet below the blue. That was the staff. But why wasn’t the guild going after it.

Looking back to the party, he could now see why. On the floor, was the body of another man. Another thief. What was the problem? He couldn’t hear them speaking, as they were too far down the hall, and were whispering as quietly as they could. From what he could see, the fourth man was trapped. He had been careless, and had got caught in one of the Hall’s famous “night time watchkeepers”, as they were so commonly known. But this trap, had trapped the thief. Not by magical means such as hold, but a physical means. A stone had moved, and his foot had gone into the hole. The stone slab slid back, locking his leg in place. Tempers between the group were getting frayed, and voices were getting raised.

“Let’s just leave him”

“We can’t leave him, he’ll be traced back to us instantly”

“Chop his leg off, that’s it”

The injured thief, not liking this, instantly piped up.

“You will not chop my leg off, or by the life left in me, you will not leave this hall alive.

It was then the wizard intervened.

“It’s all the same with people in your profession, you never look where you are going. Meant to be the experts, but you don’t know you’ve found a trap, until you have felt it’s effects. Anyway, we cannot leave him, and we cannot chop his leg off. We need to do this properly, as I’m sure your boss doesn’t want any “evidence” left behind. Let me think a while.”

Silence followed, and it was in this time that Dykan made his move. He slowly, crept towards the flashing lights of the staff. Looking at the floor all the way along, careful not to follow his roguish counterpart across the way, he got to the case without trouble.

Checking on the trio, he saw that the rogues were stood in silence, and the mage was stood in thought.

Knowing that the case would be trapped, he checked the lock. There was no trap. He unlocked it, using a standard lock-pick set, and was just about to open the door, when he heard the mage stir.

“No, that will not do. Just a couple more minutes……”

In that time, young Dykan noticed a latch on the bottom of the glass door. It was the same colour of the glass, transparent and almost impossible to see. Lucky Dykan had a “trained” eye, either that, or he saw a little glimmer of light flicker on the shiny surface. He examined the latch, and flipped a switch atop of it. The glass seemed to dim, and sensing that he had removed any danger he had previously missed, he slid the glass door open. The stave was of long thin iron, about five feet in length, and was longer than Dykan was tall. The bottom end was red, the top end blue. Quite mysterious, as it didn’t seem like “dyed iron”. It looked natural, as if the iron had always been that colour. It rested on top of a stand, and sensing this also contained a trap, examined thoroughly.. Not one visible trap could be seen. He lifted the staff, off of the pedestal, and felt the weight of it drag his arm down.

“WHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHH”

An alarm had gone, and their had obviously been a trap on the stave or its holder. Dykan panicked, and ran towards the door, forgetting any wariness of the place he was in. The trio behind him turned, and saw the little halfling running towards the door, trying not to laugh as he waddled furiously. The two thieves shot with their bows, and the Mage spoke words Dykan couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. He just wanted to run.

Climbing the steps as fast as his little legs would carry him, his head down, running with all his might. Until he hit the wall.

Dykan fell to the floor, thinking that the end would be on him soon. He couldn’t remember there being a wall there, perchance it was part of the trap he foolishly activated. The wall moved. It spoke.

“Ulrath bon selartirun, hiroltost”

Fire shot from the wall, lighting up the area. Dykan could see it was no longer a wall, but a man dressed in robes, black with a vivid red trim. The fireball hit the trio with some force, knocking the two rogues to the ground. The mage started to chant back, but by the time he could recover from the burning effects of the blast, an arrow set alight with a vivid green flicker shot towards him.

“Now lets go” he said. “Userlal, Hrito, okol val Serlrium”. A glow encompassed him, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He never did care for the arts.

“Stand still, your invisible. Now silence”, the man spoke with a harsh tone, but Dykan could sense that this command was for his own good. Focusing on the opposing Mage, Dykan could see him trying to get the thieves up, but they were too badly burned to want to continue. They’d rather give up and go home.

“Let’s get out of here Dudlik”, and with that, both thieves picked themselves up, and ran off, their clothes in ashes, clinging to their body, and their faces badly blistered from the force of the heat. The mage, left alone, muttered some words, and a blue door appeared in front of him. Drawing a dagger from his robe, he said whispered something to the rogue still trapped on the floor, and ran the knife across his throat, wetting the blade, and turning the floor red. He then stepped through the door, disappearing from sight.

“What was that?”

“It’s called Dimension Door, and yes, he has gone. Where I cannot say, but he will be back. He will be looking for you now young Dykan, oh yes, he will be looking for you. Now we must go, come on, before the guards come.” Dykan looked up at the huge figure of a man, he wasn’t especially well built, but he just seemed to be big. Dykan set off following the wizard, trying to keep up with his significantly larger strides. The task was also made harder by him trying to keep the huge staff from scraping along the ground.

And as he said that, guards appeared at the door, four of them. One remained at the door, while the others ran to inspect the corpse and the empty casing that once held the famous staff. The one guarding the door could swear he felt a gust of wind “bump” into him, but he didn’t want to “presume”.