Melody of the Sun

Prologue / 1

The essence of youth and innocence fades from their faces. Men fall to their knees, extending their hands to the heavens as if grasping for the last remnants of hope. Their desperate cries echo along the frozen paths leading the youth to war. As if those frail cries could leave traces back to what was once called home, a place to which they will never return. "My boy, oh my dearest darling boy," they cry, patching their open wounds with hymns of promises to an unknown leader.

"So we will, by the Gods, be with you.

Always. Our beloved, merciful..." they chanted in unison.

For centuries, battles raged among the forgotten realms, removing and reviving leaders one after another. Each cursed attempt at power brought death and agony, reinforcing the known fact: mortality never stood a chance against the immortals. One must strive for power without ever wavering.

Amidst this chaos, the rise of humankind and their vision of the future birthed a revolutionary era. Creatures darted away like fleeting shadows in the presence of humans. In stark contrast, Fearûn's cold, bloodthirsty creatures, their eyes gleaming with scarlet hunger, seized every opportunity with their sharp claws.

As human ambition built towering cities and sprawling empires, the vampires of Faerûn recognised a chance to wield power from the shadows. Their ancient greed guided them to manipulate the wealthy and powerful, using them as unwitting pawns in their schemes.

Sly and relentless, they seamlessly blended among the elite, their chilling demeanour concealed beneath masks of sophistication. Both sides benefited from this deceptive alliance: vampires gained dominance and sustenance, and humans, oblivious to their insatiable desire for power, unintentionally elevated the vampires to influential positions, believing themselves to be the masters of their own fate.

Fearûn's vampires thus turned mortals' ambitious dreams into a double-edged sword.

By 1925, the suffering was unmatched. Driven by this force, humans plunged large portions of Faerûn into senseless wars, even spreading their conflicts to neighbouring lands.

Starvation became rampant as anxious soldiers concealed their fear beneath bravado. They fell in battle for their beloved leaders or succumbed to insanity—taking their own lives. Those who returned from the chaos were scarred and vulnerable, their innocence stripped away. Hospitals overflowed with these hopeless beings. Baldur's Gate emerged as a haven for the wounded and shattered souls, its reputation as a place of healing a cruel euphemism for a mass burial ground, far from society's gaze, where the wounded often found solace in their final moments. Mortals who suffered under manipulated leaders saw invisible yet socially significant divisions dissipate. Hierarchies collided and shifted, rules were disregarded, and survival became the sole priority for many, prompting even the wealthy to flee on foot in search of refuge.

Among these wealthy families were the Heatherstones of West Estate. The Earl and Countess Heatherstone, both of noble half-elven lineage, witnessed the devastating effects of war on their fellow countrymen. Driven by compassion, they opened their grand estate as a convalescent home. The soldiers in recovery appreciated the respite, even if it meant spending their final days there.

The Heatherstones, a family of five daughters, provided solace to the injured soldiers. Two adult daughters engaged with the soldiers through reading, singing, and conversation, while the others served as nurses in various infirmaries across Baldur's Gate. Servants doubled their efforts, with valets taking on the roles of footmen and footmen departing for war, never to return. It was war, and everyone adapted to the harsh reality.

Amid the helping hands was Dahlia Arden, secretary to the Countess Heatherstone. Dahlia, like the staff, was human, serving the divine elves of wealth and privilege. Being chosen for this position was an honour Dahlia wore proudly.