3. Kristelles confession to her father

Kristelles confession to her father



  • Dear Father,

    Its been a while since I wrote to you, but here what has happened:

    Elvira is back! That made me happy and Jonnie too as it was the first thing he told me when I walked into the commons some weeks back. I havent had lots of time to catch up with her though, however, one day she and a party stumbled into Peltarch, some of them badly wounded.

    I rushed to aid Elvira, but she clearly didnt want my help. At first I backed off… but seeing her so obviously in pain.. was too much for me so I asked for Lurue's help to seal her wounds. Suddenly, Elvira drew her sword at me. I didnt understand her strange behavior towards me. This is so unlike her. I asked her what was wrong. Ofcourse she couldnt tell me nor write it to me with her blade in her hand. Jonnie had to step inbetween us, he said my healing was an assault.

    Luckily brother Kris was close by... he shouted at me to just leave it... so I did. Mother has told me to care for those that need careing never did I think a friend would draw a blade at me. Lesson learned, never again help someone that doesnt want to be helped. Odd... but what can I do?

    Oh, I bought an impala... his name is Vlad. He keeps me company while my brother isnt around. He is a tame deer. I bought him from a half orc. Jimmeh the mage gnome wanted to buy him too.. but I think he wanted to make dinner of him so I payed 500 coin for him. Thats like 1/3 of all the gold I have.

    I let him loose in the nars to run free. It is now when the teaching of different animals sound you taught me when I was little really is useful. As soon I step out from the south gate from Peltarch I make this coughing barking almost howling sound and Vlad comes running out from the woods greeting me. It is nice to have a close friend other than my brother even if it is Vlad the Impala.

    Now to a more serious topic.

    Twice now I have stumbled upon a vampire in the sewer. The first time I was with my brother in the barrows, I didnt remember much from that incident as I got charmed. Kris told me everything afterwards, the second time was in the sewers. This time he did not use his charming skills on me. I was so glad I had my helm on, so he couldnt see my pale face and eyes wide open in terror like a trapped animal.

    From some unbelievable force, my faith is strong and perhaps it was Lurues presence giving me the strength and will needed to stand against him, and to challenge his wit. He was speaking of excitement, possibly sharing it, but I returned his offer with unconcern and the promotion of myself as dull, mundane and uninteresting charchter that I in fact am. The only match I have to his interest is that I have never even kissed a man, but that should be levelled out by the fact that I am no noble. You once told me that vampires holds a special interest in nobles and virgins.

    I guess he finally got bored... and left me alone...

    Father I have never been so afraid in my whole life. As he vanished in the dark narrow corridors I ran as fast as I could back up, through the dock and straight to the safe, warm familiar Mermaid.

    Kris is convinced I need to see a cleric, or to take a bath in holy water or something, but I told him I am alright.

    Your daughter

    Kristelle



  • Dear father,

    There is something about a dusky evening where the mists swirl and sounds are muffled to extinction by the heavy air that calls to my heart. The lack of sight and sound sharpens my sense of touch and smell, giving me a whole different impression of the scattered woods I wander through. My hair seems flat and leaden as the tiny droplets weigh it down, clinging to my scalp and arms. The grass feels cool through my boots as the water soaks into them, while the smell of tree bark and the musky scent of damp earth paints a picture of my surroundings cloaked by the darkness. I pause at the shrine and close my eyes, taking in the feel of the rough carved stone under my hand. It feels so out of place, and in a way reminds me of myself…

    “Enjoying a stroll through the dark?”

    The deep bass voice shatters my reflection with its reassuringly calm tones. I do not startle, even though I should. A dim light cleaves the night and grows to a soft radiance with hints of green and orange sniping at each other as they shift back and forth. A tall man in armor stand before me, a shield in one arm and a helm tucked under the other. His armor is crimson with darkly smoky accents, but in the strange light, the crimson drifts from rusty brown to the color of flowing blood. He’s tall and lean, but there’s no hiding the strength in his build. His hair is dark like a raven, and his eyes match as they seem to look right through me. I shift my cloak, feeling like I should protect myself from his penetrating gaze. I feel goose bumps raise on my arms.

    How do I explain my need to be outside of walls to this stranger? To not feel restricted? To see the world through my own eyes and my own experience? To know what life offers if one is willing to take it? I can hardly explain it to myself. I must have said something, but I can’t recall what.

    “I feel much the same way myself,” he responds, taking a few step over to my side while looking off into the dark in a way that suggests the wariness of a hunting wolf. “I find the darkness has certain… mystical qualities.”

    He introduces himself, but I don’t remember his name. We converse for a few minutes. Small talk. My only recollections are the soothing tone of his voice, completely lacking in tension, yet countered by the sharp intensity of his eyes. Who is this man? I’ve never so much as seem him before, yet there’s something familiar…

    Did I invite him to travel with me, or was it the other way around? We’re both in the mood for company it seems. I shouldn’t trust him. He’s a stranger… yet not.

    We push down the road and through the gnolls. He moves methodically from one to another, never taking on more then he can handle. There is nothing fancy to his sword work. He’s as methodical and efficient as a butcher. There is no flash. There is no boasts or bravado. He shields my flank, but lets me do things my way, adapting to my style instead of forcing me to his.

    When we pass into the fishmen’s cave I can’t help but recall our trip together father. With you it was a lesson. You were teacher and I was student. This man treats me like a partner. He is respectful and his manners are impeccable. His confidence in himself is reassuring, and his confidence in me is inspiring. I feel like I could walk on air…

    We go deeper into the caves together. The Koa-Toa fall behind us. Everything seems so casual, like we've been in each other’s company before. I watch the way he moves… the way he reacts… how he approaches our challenges. Through it all that same quiet confidence. He is out to prove nothing to himself or to me. There are no innuendos or subtle jibes. No complaints. No demands or orders. He just is. Strangely… it lets me be myself.

    Before I know it we’ve cleared the Umbers. I know what lies ahead. I find myself telling him of our trip together, and the near disaster it could have become. It all comes pouring out of me and he listens to it all. He prompts me with a few questions, and thoughtfully listens to my answers. In the end his response is alarmingly simple.

    “We will be more successful.”

    Part of me wants to shove his calm back down his throat… and yet another part of me yearns to see how well we could face this challenge together. Do I trust him enough to take this step?

    “How do you know?”

    His penetrating eyes look through me once more and I can’t help but feel strangely exposed again. A chill travels my spine. How deep do those eyes go? …Was that a wink?

    “Call it intuition.”

    He puts his helm on and draws his blade, walking away with that quiet calm. I catch up in a few steps, just in time to hear him softly comment.

    “You have to have faith.”

    We stop at the shrine we met at on the way back. I feel like my spirit has been reinvigorated. Success has a way of doing that. He settles up my share of our earnings in advance, and is generous to a fault. We say our goodbyes, then he walks off into the sunrise leaving me to watch him go. Who is this man? Why is he so different then the others I’ve met?

    Father…

    Will I ever see him again?

    Kristelle


  • Dear Father,

    My hands are still trembling after our adventure together, so much so that it’s hard for me to write this. The thrill and terror of exploration and the dangers we faced is still sinking in to me I think. I understand better now why you and Mother are so protective of Kris and I.

    You were waiting by the commons for my brother, prepared to give him another of the jousting lessons he so hates. (I’m sorry father, your son isn’t going to be following in your footsteps there, but perhaps you have a daughter who will do you proud on that account) I told you I hadn’t seen him, but it wasn’t true. He told me he was going to “make himself scarce” to avoid his lesson. I think you had your suspicions, because you offered to take me on an adventure through the fish caves.

    We rode out of Peltarch together, father and daughter off to a grand adventure…

    I can see why you love horses so much. There is nothing to compare with the wind whipping through your hair to the steady beats of hooves thundering across the ground. That feeling of freedom knowing you can go anywhere you wish is almost indescribable, as is the power of such a large animal under your control. It’s exhilarating! …And the view from atop a horse is incredible. I feel like I can see for miles!

    I watch you as we ride. You’re firm and steady in the saddle, and your quiet confidence shines through, making me feel at peace with myself and the world. I can smell the trees… hear the birds chirping… feel the warm sun turn to cool shade as we enter the glen. Your smile is a comfort. All is as it should be.

    Lucia pulls up to a stop just outside the shrine, and my horse and I join you. Your eyes are focused ahead, watching for danger. The casual and relaxed demeanor is gone, replaced by wary professionalism. Your head doesn’t even turn to me as you speak.

    “There are gnolls ahead. Can you cast your spells from horseback?”

    I’ve been working on it father, but I haven’t mastered it yet. I don’t want to disappoint you, but it’s better now for me to be completely honest. “I’m not very good at it yet.”

    I search your eyes for some clue of your feelings. Was that a tug at the corner of your mouth? Are you going to have us turn back? I can handle myself father. I really can. I’m not the little girl that used to delight in catching frogs and throwing mud at her brother. I’m a grown woman now.

    “Best you dismount then. This is not going to be easy.”

    I say a few prayers before we head in. You pull your helm down over your head and my father disappears, replaced by an engine of war encased in steel, astride a beast trained for killing. All I can see is your eyes, intense blue spikes on a white background glaring out from narrow slots. There is death and horror in those eyes… I cannot look at them long.

    We approach the gnolls casually, watching them mill about unaware. Perhaps if I was still on horseback we could ride past them on to the caves. One of the gnolls turns in our direction. It pulls a skull and a piece of fur from it’s pocket and begins chanting. A shaman. You see it the moment I do, and you put the spurs to Lucia’s side and she practically leaps into the fray. The bolt of lightning slams into the ground where you were and I can see the sparks dance across your armor as you close the distance. I smell burned hair and flesh as I follow at a dead run in your wake. There are a lot of gnolls, and they collapse on you as you run the Shaman through. You take a few good hits before I make it in to help. I put my blade through the back of one’s skull, then three more turn to deal with me. It’s more then I can handle. I hold my own for a while, but it’s a losing effort. I can see you fighting with two, and more coming in from your opposite flank. I’m sorry Father. I’m in a position I can’t hold. I turn to run, but I fear the gnolls are faster then I am. I need to get away enough to heal, then come back and save you father. I step back past you, with the three gnolls after me. Lucia wheels suddenly, and her hind corner slaps two of them, drawing their attention as I slip away.

    I run as best I can, one heavily armored gnoll still after me. You’re outnumbered four to one, and two more close in on you as I turn the corner on the ridge, ducking through brush that I hope tangles the taller gnoll up. I pass by you as you whittle them down to five. I circle back around. Why haven’t you fled yet Father? Lucia can take you out of there in an instant. Have you no fear at all with death nipping at your heels? As I pass by again, you break from the crowd and intercept the one chasing me. I can heal now, and my god answers my faithful prayers. I return to your side, and my gifts close your wounds, and together we finish the disease riddled gnolls off.

    My hands are shaking. I watch as you sheath your blade with quiet aplomb. I’ve heard the stories growing up. The adventures you and Mom had, how your love grew from relying on each other in situations like this one. I can see now there are things about you Mother never talked about. Things that Kris and I have never seen. Is this another lesson father?

    As we pass through the fishmen caves you rest your hand on my shoulder. Something happens, but I’m not sure what. I feel calmer, more focused. Am I imagining my cuts bleeding less? It’s subtle. Almost like the simplest of my healing prayers. It makes me wonder once again about all the times I’ve heard people call you Paladin, even though you’ve never claimed that title yourself. I asked you about it once, when I was young. Do you remember what you said to me? “Torm smiles upon me, but people take me for something I am not.” I never really understood what you meant. Mother claims you can cast out the demons of illness. There are times Father, when you are a mystery to me.

    You give me simple advice for dealing with umber hulks… “Don’t look at their eyes.” “Let me get their attention before you close in.” “Retreat if you need to.” I follow what you tell me. We kill four, but you take some savage wounds doing it, as do I. I’m seeing too much blood, and I’m exhausted. We stop to catch our breath and you hand me some bandages. You remove your helm while I bind your wounds. Your smile is heartwarming, as is your praise for the job I’m doing with the bandages. How does a simple helm transform you between hardened warrior and concerned father? I play with the question as I drift off to sleep, knowing that you’re standing watch nearby. I dream about frogs…

    We stand at the fringe of darkness, our eyes straining to see the damp cave ahead. There are Hook Horrors hiding amongst the rock pillars and stalagmites.

    “We’re here not because I think you’re ready, but because you need to learn. These things are dangerous. We’ll retreat when we need to.”

    We press forward, My father on point. It’s all quiet. Water drips into a pool and the sound echoes. Far too quiet…

    The first screech was deafening, and the other two sounded like echoes that were too close together. Three Dire Hooks jumped on you from nowhere. When I joined in, they turned on me, and my lessons at fighting defensively failed me. Sharp claws pierced my flesh in rapid succession. I retreated, and two of them followed, their claws tearing chunks from my cloak. I watched you intercept them, but when you got the attention of one, the other one slipped away from you to chase me. We agreed to run when we got in trouble, so we did. I ran as fast as I could, wishing I could go as fast as my brother. Perhaps I did. After a few minutes I could run no more. I stopped to catch my breath, expecting to be shredded into little pieces.

    I was alone.

    Completely and totally alone, in a dark dripping cave, possibly full of hiding terrors and fiends of epic wickedness. Where were you? I strained to listen, and I could just make out the sounds of battle off in the distance. Why did you stay behind? Why? I didn’t come here to lose my father. The sounds of battle suddenly stopped, to be replaced shortly thereafter with the shrill cries of angry Hook Horrors.

    Why didn’t you run father?

    I stood there for an eternity. Too tired to move on. Too heartbroken to care if I did. Life is a short thing. It flickers into existence and then is snuffed suddenly when it ends. What we do between those points is what we get out of it. There isn’t time for regrets or doubts.

    The scrape of steel on stone caught my attention and broke my introspection. A light flared, blinding me for a moment. “All right, we go now,” was all you said. You were covered in blood, and walking with a pronounced limp, but otherwise the same calm man that had lead me down here.

    As I write this Father, my trembling has finally stopped. I did learn a lesson today. Maybe even several. I know why you and Mother have always been so protective of Kris and I. It isn’t because you’ve been trying to save us from the world, it’s because you’re trying to prepare us for it. You’ve wanted to be assured that we could handle ourselves when the time came, and that we’d be ready for when you weren’t here for us. You showed me your trust in me today, and I know you’re proud of us both.

    Your Daughter,

    Kristelle


  • She sits cross legged on the bed, a lone candle slowly burning itself to sleep next to a quill and her journal resting on the nightstand beside her. A large and intimidating book sits in her lap, flipped open to the beginning. She glances at her journal, and then back to the book in her lap. Her hand turns the title page carefully and she reads:

    Chapter I The Civil war

    Her eyes strain in the dim light to follow the dry prose written in flowery script, her thoughts drifting between history and recent events, making a jumble in her mind. Rubbing her eyes, she sets the history lesson off to the side and takes up her journal and the quill. Better to clear the present from her mind before delving into the past she thinks.

    Dear Father,

    I know it’s been a while since I’ve written to you. I hope you’ll forgive the delay. I’ve been working hard on my studies and training and the days have all run together until recently.

    There was an attack from the south on the gates of Norwick. Hobgoblins came at us in waves, supported by umbers. It was a pitched battle. We did well, but I fell. I wasn’t alone however, and a lady named Trish brought me back. I am thankful for her gift and good heart. We won the day, but only barely, and the dawn brought relief for myself and my exhausted companions.

    Also…

    I am happy to tell you I’ve found another teacher of a sort. He is kind enough to bring me books to read, and I‘ve gone through a lot of candles perusing them at night. I’m currently reading “The History of Peltarch.” I find them interesting, although a few of the histories could be a little more lively.

    He’s also brought me to train with him. He’s a jouster! Just like you Father! Although I have to admit, our first session was… Well… He knocked me from my horse every single time. I think he felt badly about it, although he didn’t patronize me by giving less of an effort, no matter how many times I dragged my bruised body and ego off of the ground to get back up in the saddle. You’ve always said that going against good competition makes one better. I should be a greatly improved.

    We have also trained in archery, which I’ve always thought was a weak area of mine. We talked between the twanging sounds of bow strings and the meaty thunks of arrows in straw targets. He is a member of The Order, just like you once were. I believe you two know each other and have met on the jousting arena. His name is Rath Ashald Jorinsen. I believe he will be a great compliment to that grumpy elf you have teaching me swordsmanship. I’d very much like to see the two off you square off with the lance. I think it would be a match well worth watching.

    I need to return to my reading now while my candle still has a little life left in it.

    Your Daughter,

    Kristelle

    PS. Oh! I bought a horse! She’s a sturdy mare with a steady disposition, but I haven’t named her yet.


  • Dear Father,

    It’s as if the spirits of the land have awakened. Old faces have returned, and dire news travels with them. Rumors flow like a creek after a storm, high in volume, but chaotic and hard to make sense of: threats from the West, fire giants, and elves of the darkness. Whispers of strong magics abound, and travelers speak of creatures moving in from all directions, unseen save for the corner of one’s eye. The forests are restless. I can feel unease amongst the fauna. This worries me a bit.

    Kristelle


  • Dear father,

    My brother claims I do not study, but he is wrong. I try very hard to learn, but some things come easier then others. Kris may be good at speaking with his hands, but he is a menace to himself and all around him with a longsword. Like the members of a team, we all have different talents, and it’s how we work them together that make us into a strong and efficient team.

    I promised myself I would research beholders, and I’ve been trying to. I’ve scoured the great Peltarch Library, but there is little to be found on them it seems, but what I’ve learned has been frightening.

    Beholders are also know as Eyed Tyrants, or Floating Eyes, for reasons obvious when one sees them. Some people claim they prefer to live undergound in still and desolate caves. Is it so the wind doesn’t blow them around? I’m not sure if I could keep from laughing if I saw a Beholder blow by on a windy day!

    Their origins are shrouded in mystery. One theory postulated they were created by an insane wizard to use as a familiar, while another argued that they come from an alternate plane of reality. One thing they do agree on, is they are powerful magical creatures of a malignant nature.

    The descriptions are fairly consistent with what I saw. A spherical body floating in the air, covered in chitinous plates, with a large central eye and gaping tooth filled maw. There’s still some debate on the number of smaller eye stalks on the top of the sphere. Some say ten, others say the number varies. Each eyestalk seems to have the power to cast a particular spell. Some of these spells include: Charm, Sleep, Telekinesis, (whatever that is) Fear, Slow, Cause Wounds, Disintegrate, Flesh to Stone, and of course, Death. The large central eye is supposed to be able to cast a cone of anti-magic so powerful it actually swats incoming spells out of the air, if you can believe that sort of thing. I don’t want to find out.

    I came across one scholarly debate where two wizards were arguing back and forth about the amount of area the eyestalks could cover in degrees radius and elevation. It seemed silly to me. I thought all the eyes were looking at me when we encountered it.

    Reproduction was disputed. One person claimed they mated with their tongues. Ick!!

    There wasn’t much debate on their character though. Beholders are cruel and wicked. They enjoy tormenting lesser beings before killing them, and when they encounter someone stronger, are quick to lure them into conversations so they can have time to assess their strengths and weakness. They’ve been know to accept bribes, and on occasions make them. They are intelligent on par with most elder dragons. (How they figured this out, I have no idea. Did they give the beholders puzzles to figure out?)

    Suffice it to say, only the exceptionally brave or stupid tangle with one.

    I’ll end this letter here. My eyes are so tired from looking through all these books that I think they are growing stalks of their own.

    See Father? I can study.

    Your inquisitive Daughter,

    Kristelle

    OOC: thanks to a friend of Iathouz making me this picture of a beholder


  • Dear Father,

    I find that I am a bit jealous of Jonni. He speaks of gold as if it were nothing! We were talking about armor and he said it’s -only- 2500ish gold, like it was a few coins sitting in his pockets. While he is very generous helping out, I’m not sure he understands how it make me feel. It’s not only me he helps out, it’s everyone! I wish I could too. I feel poor and useless sometimes. I know you’ve told me money isn’t everything and that we have the real treasures of health and family, so I told Jonni that our family isn’t rich, but at least we have each other, then he said, so do we! Right! Some have everything! Some have nothing. Point taken. Why do we have to be, as Mother always says, poor like church rats? Is it some badge of honor? Why can’t we have the nice home, or the fancy armor, or servants who take care of our needs? I don’t understand. Are they better then we are Father?

    I try not to let my jealousy show, but I felt I had to do something to prove my worth, so I told him he should take Elvira out on a picnic. I said it because I think she likes him and he likes her. Perhaps I overstepped a bit, but I want to do good things too. Shouldn’t I be able to?

    Maybe some day.

    Your frustrated Daughter,

    Kristelle


  • Dear father,

    I’ve met a few new people in my explorations of Narfell, a talkative woman named Willow and the bear man Llyran. They are a couple, or at least I think they are, as they seem very close to each other. They are good friendly people.

    I also met a hinnish paladin by the name of Morel. There are times he sounds very harsh, but I believe much of it is for show, although I’m not entirely sure. The spell caster Elaine teases him a lot, but it’s my suspicion that he actually enjoys it.

    There is also this Vash’t. I don’t know him very well. He has a gift for being there when needed. I don’t know how to explain it better, so I hope you understand what I mean. He has a bad mouth, which I don’t think you would approve of.

    Elvira is very quiet. She doesn’t speak at all, but I don’t know if she’s mute, or taken a vow of silence. She writes on a wax tablet, and it’s tough to follow sometimes. Kris talks to her with his hands, like you taught him to. I don’t always like it when they do, because I feel left out. I think it’s rude of him. He claims that he’s being polite and that I should study harder. I do study hard! It just doesn’t come to me like it does to him. We may be twins, but my strengths are mine and his strengths are his.

    I think Elvira likes Jonni and its mutual

    She looks about the darkened chamber by the fading light of the stub of a candle on her writing desk before rereading what she’s written with a slight smile of fond memory. She pauses for a moment before striking a line through her last sentence as maybe it isn’t good to gossip.

    Father, I hope you approve of me making friends. They are good bunch people, all with good qualities in their own way. I have to stop here. My candle is dieing, and I don’t have any more left.

    Your daughter,
    Kristelle


  • Dear Father,

    I don’t know if I can help myself some times. I find that I enjoy seeing new places and things. I had the opportunity to venture into the caves they said were inhabited by fishmen and I found I couldn‘t say no. Before you become worried Father, I did not go alone! I had the company of a shining warrior in white named Andrew, and a woodsman whose name was Ras… something.

    You’ve told me to study more, so I watched these two closely, in both their martial skills, and the their approach to problems. Father, I find I admire them both. Part of me wishes I could be like them some day, although maybe not so quiet. The quietness makes me feel not wanted or inferior, and I wouldn’t want people to feel that way around me. Jonni was with us as well, as was that pretty and colorful spell caster Elaine.

    We found plenty of fishmen, but we also found a Beholder! It was hideous! It was a great round sphere floating above the sandy floor of the cave. A great central eye stared unblinking while a great many snakelike stalks ending in starkly naked eyeballs weaved about on top of it, peering in many directions. When it spoke, the sphere slit open to reveal a huge maw full of teeth that looked like arrow points. It mocked Andrew so bad he was ready to jump at it, but Jonni and Elaine convinced him not to. I don’t know much about Beholders, but instincts and intuition warned me that attacking it would be a really bad idea. Certainly the unease of my companions spoke volumes when one read between the lines. I think it was a good call to leave it to making fish statues.

    Fish statues?!?

    I wonder why he does that? I call it he, but I don’t even know if it was male or female. Do they come in male and female? Do they spawn? Was it made by some demented wizard to serve as a familiar? I have a lot of questions, but no answers.

    She pauses in he writing to contemplate. After a moment, she wipes the quill clean and opens a vial of red ink to scribble in the margins: Study and learn about fishmen and Beholders, then wipes the quill clean again and goes on with her letter.

    Anyways, I was told they are highly magical creatures.

    The beholder was not the only thing we found. When we explored the fish cave further, we were attacked by grey skinned dwarves. We defeated many, but they just kept coming at us from a portal up ahead. I felt so useless Father. Andrew, Ras, and Jonni were fighting them, and Elaine usd her tricks, (that’s what she calls her spells) while I stood back at a distance firing my bow. I am such a poor shot. The battle was becoming more and more desperate until Jonni somehow managed to use a dispelling scroll he claims he got from his mother on the portal, causing it to vanish. It was a good thing, as Andrew and the woodsman were completely exhausted.

    We decided it was in our best interests to make a swift retreat to the surface. Jonni, Elaine, and I were running ahead when I heard the sounds of battle behind us. I rushed back to find Ras and Andrew fighting more of the dwarves. I was sure we closed the portal! Maybe there was a second portal or a few dwarves still hiding from the first. I don’t know.

    Ras and Andrew were beaten to the ground. I ran in as fast as I could, calling on Lurue’s blessings. I don’t know if it was me, or if they were saved by their own gods, but thankfully somehow, they both regained their feet.

    Once again she changes inks to write in the margin: Study and learn about the greys. She goes back to her letter, only to see that her story is finished, yet one thing still hangs heavy in her mind.

    I am sorry father, but on the way back I told them not to tell you where I have been. Maybe it wasn’t complete honesty, but it is not lying.

    Is it?

    Your daughter,

    Kristelle

    She blows on the ink to dry it, then shuts the notebook and tucks it under her bedding, careful not to disturb any of the pages, then hops up and walks downstairs


  • @06c319595e:

    Dear Father,

    You say I am older then my brother, but that is not true. I am the first. You told me to watch over him.

    The blackness fades and shards of memories returned to me in a jumbled order. Pain… Echos of footfalls on damp stone… My brother’s face frozen by magic… Odors of sewage mixed with sharp scent of fresh blood... Helplessness and ruined hope... Sounds too strained to recognize…

    I am sorry you had to drag my lifeless limbs out of the sewer.

    The Temple felt cold and empty. Your words were harsh. They contained worry and anger. You lectured me on responsibility and risks, but all I could think about was my brother. Was he even alive? Had he made it safely from where I had fallen? Why weren’t you telling me what I needed to know?

    I don’t know the voice that came from my lips. Cold. Fragile. Drained. My weak question stopped you and your face softened. My brother, you informed me, was home with Mother. I was relieved. At least he was safe. That counts for something, doesn’t it? I know I have disappointed you, but at least I did not fail completely.

    My dreams are the darkest sort of nightmares. Headstones dripping blood... The wings of bats beating at my helm... My brother fallen, poisons running through his veins... A man of bone, walking an endless plane searching for a stiff drink and a lost memory... Cries of tears from my mother... Fingers pointed at me... A tug at my chest as I awake with a start.

    You sat in the chair next to me the whole night. Holding my hand, though I wasn’t aware. I expected another harsh lecture, but you had time to think. Formal training is my reward, or perhaps my punishment. I accept it. You spoke softly about learning what it means to be responsible for another life. I am to have a horse to watch over and care for so I might learn.

    I don’t always understand you Father, nor do I think you always understand me. My dreams are my own. They are not yours, and they are not Mother’s. Kris shares my same dreams though, because we are cut from the same cloth, him and I.

    I must put down this quill now, as my ordeal has left me in exhaustion. Rest is the order of the day. Tomorrow I start again anew, and there is much that lies ahead of me. I look forward to seeking it out.

    Your daughter
    Kristelle


  • @9b5e7da74e:

    Dear Father,

    We’ve never been this far south before. There is a tower at a lake its immense stone walls looking dull purple in the often hazy afternoon. The scrub brushes by the lake gives away to open plains dotted with clumps of sickly looking trees with trunks twisted into gnarled shapes. This is as you told us, the hobgoblin lands.

    Kris and I decided to press forward, but before we did I took the amulet my grandparents gave me in my hand. The weight of it gives me comfort and the inscription gives me confidence, that my heritage actually means something:

    “To our Granddaughter, may you always find inspiration in the actions of your namesake. Protection. Devotion. Integrity.”

    You’ve told me the story many times father. My brother and I are both named after Crystelle Moonblade, the great heroine of Caladon, who turned the tide at the Battle of Frost Pass, and in doing so saved the life of the young and just king. The lines from the remembrance echo inside my head:

    “The Lioness barred her teeth with a snarl as she stood over the fallen King, daring all who would seek to harm him to test their mettle and meet their destiny in the bloodstained snow. The King’s men took heart and rallied to their leader, lest a good man be mourned by a nation. The tides turned, and that which was lost was won by Courage, Honor, and above all else, Loyalty.”

    It is a lot to try to live up to. You told me our mother was so taken with the story that you both decided to name your first child after her. Kristelle if she was a girl, and Kristovar if he was a boy. You never expected twins. I know our names cause confusion to a lot of people, but I would not have it any other way. He is my brother, and he is a part of me, as I am a part of him.

    Anyways , after my quick prayers for our protection. We pushed through some bushes, and out on the open plain. Brother bounced lightly on his feet, staying loose for what he knows is to come. The hobgoblins looked big, even from a distance. I could see the glint of sharpened steel and I tell you father at that point my leathers suddenly felt insubstantial.

    But brother and I have always worked well together as we continued on the lesser hobgoblins fall quickly. I watched my brother’s quick darting movements and I always marvel how he avoids the whistling blades that I’m certain should cut him in half. He sometimes claims he can see things before they happen. I don’t doubt him…. Much.

    Then there was a hobgoblin with a huge scythe, that moved with the confidence of someone assured of his lethality. I guess we were a bit intimidated by it, who shouldnt be?

    I’m not the best shot with my bow, but I can keep my distance, which voids it’s skill with the scythe… if I can keep that distance. Kris foolishly rushed forward and fired his crossbow from a scant few feet away. It grazed the monster’s thigh, and it pursued him relentlessly.

    My arrow whistled past the back of it’s head. Suddenly watching Kris I thought something was wrong, he should outrun this thing easily, but he wasn’t. It stayed right behind him, its scythe furiously reaping empty air just behind my brother. He needs my help, I thought and I took few steps forward, but Kris waved me back and danced away just in time yet again. Finally I saw what he was doing, keeping it angry and occupied so I could ply my bow against it. He run it in circles again and again, until one of my arrows founds it’s mark in the hobgoblin’s throat. It took a few gurgling steps and fell in the dust.

    Kris stood over it as I joined him. “This one was slow… and stupid.” he said.

    He has shown his talents and athletic abilities once again. They’ve saved him just like they have in the past, but how long will it last? I know I don’t want to see it when his feet aren’t fast enough to get him out of trouble.

    But father, you should be proud of him.

    Your Daughter
    Kristelle


  • Alright , here we go.._she murmurs quietly to herself_

    @7da6826edf:

    Dear father

    Kris says he saw a demon lady. His tone speaks of amazement at the wondrous things to be discovered, not of the terrible danger he put himself in. I too am curious. We take a raft across the Icelace to explore.

    He leads me to a cave and we enter it with caution. The demon lady was waiting. I had expected to see something like a harpy… this was more. A woman with large bat wings towered over us. She must have been seven feet tall, and beautiful in a cruel and horrifying way. Her hands ended in steely claws that looked like razors. She sneered at us in contempt. The teeth… the wicked, sharp, terrible teeth. I’ll never forget them.

    We fight it because it gives us no choice. My leather that have served me well against rocks and weakly fired arrows is no match for her fury. Kris fights along with me. He wears a simple homespun shirt, but he weaves and bobs like the pit fighters he watches through the dirty basement window hidden by bushes at the Ferret. Between the two of us, we barely succeed.

    In our pride we cheer our great fortune in victory… and that draws another one to us. This one comes prepared with an impish monster in tow. It spits acid at Kris as the second Demon lady rushes me. Kris yells “run” as the same word forms on my lips. I take off out the door with the demon hard behind me. The imp cuts off my brother’s retreat, and I am alone outside in the rain on the muddy slope of a hill.

    Alone isn’t the right word. I fight for time. With my brother, we can succeed, without him I am doomed. He doesn’t come.

    I’m face down in the mud, watching the red pool surround me. As the Demon leans in for the coup de grace, my brother dives out the door and bowls her over, the two of them sliding down the muddy hill in a pile. I have enough strength to yell “save yourself” and my brother regains his feet, drops a right cross on the demon’s temple, gets raked across the chest for it, and then runs off with the angry fury right behind him. I’ve been left to die. I count heartbeats, as it’s the only thing left that I can do.

    At 12 beats my brother runs past me while digging through his bags. The Demon is two beats behind. One slip in the mud and he’s as dead as I am. At 28 beats he’s circled the hill and past me again, this time with something in his hand. He’s gained five beats on it. He passes a third time with a bigger lead. The forth time he stops and slaps something into my chest that explodes in a shower of soft blue sparks. I feel my bleeding stop and the strength returns to limbs. He helps me to my feet as the demon comes back around the hill. My quick prayer restores my spirit enough that I’m ready to make a final stand. Kris whispers to me, “I’ll catch up.” then kicks my feet out from under me, sending me sliding down the hill. I run to safety.

    My brother, torn and bloody, but with a stupid grin on his face joins me a few minutes later. “She was almost as fast as me” he said. “You should have saved yourself” I shot back at him. My brother brushed the mud from my cheek with the back of his hand, I couldn’t misread the concern that haunts his blue eyes.

    Your daughter

    Kristelle


  • curled up on the bed with a quill and paper

    @ebe6a31fcf:

    Father,

    You ask me to look after my brother and I promised you I would do my best. It is no easy task. His curiosity takes him many places and he is a gifted runner. It feel like I only need to blink and he is gone. Most times I find him down at the docks. Does the sea call to him, or is it just all the activity that attracts him? I don’t know what is there that he finds so alluring, but I have a feeling I’ll find out!

    pausing she strokes her chin with the soft feather

    Oh and….

    she scribbles

    @ebe6a31fcf:

    It fits me like another skin. I’ve gotten myself some hardened leather armor and have taken to hiding it under a robe. It creaks when I move, but I found as long as I keep it oiled properly, then it’s not very noticeable. It works well against the rocks the goblins sling.

    she hops up from bed she leaves the quill, ink and paper on the desk to dry, then crawls in to bed for a good nights sleep