3. Clayton Nightwind Stories

Clayton Nightwind Stories


  • THE NIGHT OF SHIMMERS

    My brother Nial and myself had been tempting fate by trying to rid the graveyard south of Norwick of its infestation of undead, it had been a harrowing evening as our skill set was not quite where it should be for such an endeavor. We finally called it a night and I found myself upstairs at the Grapevine Inn in a private room wanting a bit of privacy and it was not long before the fatigue of the day had overtaken me and sleep reached up from within and grappled me down to the bed. It loosened it's grip for a brief moment as I awoke to the sound of thunder as the upstairs window's clattered and the bed shook violently. I sat up, waited for another thunderclap which never came then fell back asleep wondering if the thunder I'd heard was real or just part of a dream!

    I groggily awoke from another unrestful slumber at the Dancing Mermaid Inn which seemed strange in itself as I did not remember traveling to Peltarch in the first place and I was even more astounded by how much the Dancing Mermaid had changed from the last time I had stayed there. The renovations were staggeringly beautiful and commented to the staff as to the improvements, they seemed utterly bewildered at my praise to their hard work.

    With a wave I stepped outside into a different world. It was Peltarch but it was not Peltrach, the statement itself was a puzzle even to my mind. I stood still in my tracks and closed my eyes and envisioned the view that I had been familiar with, upon opening my eyes again I felt a chill creep down my spine as my view was not how I remembered it. Peltrach had changed, slightly, but it had changed all the same. No cobblestone walkways, the Commons was angled incorrectly from where it should have been, the architecture of the buildings was off, more dirt and grass then remembered, the city was grittier.

    I spent the rest of the morning walking around the city confirming that the whole city had changed or at least my perception of it. In some places the city had stretched, in others it had folded onto itself I found myself heading out the west gate into the countryside in search of familiarity. I found none, the fire was gone, the guards gone, the terrain alien, I wandered a bit farther out and almost stumbled over an orc raiding party, not a kobald did I spot. Within the span of a few days the orcs have done what countless of adventurers had failed to do, drive the kobalds from the very walls of the city of Peltarch.

    I wandered back into Peltarch, my mind reeling and doubting my own sanity. I sought shelter and peace, a place where I could gather my thoughts, with difficulty I found myself at the Temple of the Triad and took a seat on one of the benches near the altar.

    What could have happened? Did the Gods grow tired and decided to re-shuffle the deck and change the face of Faurun? He looked to the altars of the Triad just a short distance away. Clayton shook his head ruling the option out. A wizard's spell? No, no wizard, not even a cabal of wizards could spin such a weave.

    Perhaps I am dead and this is some sort of afterlife? Well, then there are lots of others here that are dead as well.They walk and talk as they did before, why is it me that only feels the difference? If the others saw, wouldn't they too be concerned as to what is happening?

    Clayton raked his hands through his reddish brown hair. So what if I got hit while in the Norwick graveyard, perhaps a blow to the head? I have studied many of the healing journals at the seminary in Tantras. I know that a blow to the head can do damage that is not seen. I know that the power of Torm that flows through me can be channeled to mend broken bones, heal bruises, remove diseases and the like but perhaps the brain is a different matter. I've seen warriors on the field of battle lose their memories not knowing who they are or who their family members were. Sometimes the memories would come back, sometimes they would not be so fortunately.

    Clayton got up and went over to the fountain and gazed at his reflection, no sign of bruising, he thought. Fearing that he relied too much on his visual senses he put his hands to his head and gently felt around his skull inspecting his skull for any soft spots, scar-lines, lesions any indications that he may have suffered a blow to the head. After convincing himself that nothing was wrong he went over and sat back down. He sat there for a moment before re rose once more. He approached the altar dedicated to Torm and kneeled before it, closed his eyes and began to pray.

    A few minutes later he opened his eyes and smiled at the new world. He had received his answer in prayer and the answer was that it mattered not. Perhaps he was dreaming, perhaps the world had shifted, perhaps he was dead, Torm was with him still, armed with his faith he walked out of the Temple of the Triad to face the new beginning!

    OOC: Thanks much to the Devs who have put a great deal of time into rebuilding Narfell. Kudos.