3. Stories of Kanen Hightower

Stories of Kanen Hightower


  • TALES OF THE SON

    RITE OF PASSAGE

    _Shalia had left once more, this time east out of Jiyyd. She was on another caravan to head to far Aglarond. Their parting was difficult, though both realized necessary for Shalia to honor her commitments to her church. Revanna was doing well, slowly getting used to the violent, chaotic land that was Narfell. Sir Adam had found some new information in the search for his father, so hope continued and was perhaps renewed somewhat.

    However, Durai’s thoughts turned to a recent event, something that he viewed as a turning point in his acclimation to this deadly place and in becoming a man and worthy priest to his Lord._

    Durai was walking along the road from Jiyyd to Norwick, as he had so many times before, when he saw him. A man stood blocking the road ahead. A man encased in chainmail, with a heavy mace and strong shield. Durai remembered running from such a man before, being told by Sam to flee from them, as they were priests of whatever god the bandits served. They used both divine power and had some skill in close combat as well, dangerous adversaries for most weary road travelers.

    Seeing Durai, in his bright breastplate and greaves approach, the priest raised his voice and laughed aloud.

    “Going to run this time, boy? I’m sure a scared rabbit like you should be able to outrun me if you start now. Go on, run boy, RUN!” and nearly doubled over in laughter at his own joke.

    Durai stood silent and still for a moment, then drew his sword from his sheath and slowly approached, warily, shield held high.

    “I am through running from the likes of you. You give the name priest a dark mark that, Torm willing, as a priest of the Loyal Fury, I will erase.”

    Seeing the young determined man approach, the bandit priest smiled, though without humor. He waited until the young man was close enough then began shouting a prayer to his god, calling for the approaching Tormite to be cursed and weakened.

    Seeing the priest begin his prayer, Durai quickened his pace and moved toward the man, though too late to disrupt the dark prayer. Durai clenched his teeth, muttering for Torm to protect him and felt the dark curse for a brief second then it was gone, he was unharmed and unaffected.

    The bandit priest uttered a curse of another sort as Durai swung his large blade at him, receiving the blow on his shield that nearly numbed his arm. Giving the boy an appraising glance, the bandit priest suspected divine enhancement to the boy’s strength, but there was little that could be done about it now…

    The fight went on for some long minutes. Durai fought as he was trained, defense first, only striking at obvious openings, trying to wear his opponent down. Though the priest tried again and again, he was only able to strike a glancing blow against the young Tormite’s shoulder, and was bleeding himself from several small wounds and cuts. The bandit priest attempted to heal himself but was interrupted by a well timed strike by the young man. Spitting blood and panting the bandit priest realized he would not survive another day unless he asked for mercy. Sneering and angry at himself for such a thought, he redoubled his own efforts, his broken shield dropping from his grasp and swung at the young man’s head with his remaining strength. Durai had slightly let his guard down, preparing for a finishing move against the bandit priest so was caught flat-footed by the sudden attack.

    The mace struck though thankfully he was able to turn his head and it was a glancing blow, but blood now ran free from the new wound, as he stumbled forward toward the bandit priest, more than slightly dazed. If the bandit had kept his shield he might have been able to block or avoid the sword that thrust into and through his abdomen, as Durai stumbled forward, dazed. His vision went black, as dark blood fountained from the mouth of the now dead bandit priest. Durai stumbled a bit, then regained his wits enough to whisper a prayer to Torm to allow him to heal his wounds.

    Tilting his head, he heard them approaching. Turning quickly around, Durai saw no less than two more bandit priests, and a bandit mage running toward him, only a short distance away, shouting how they would get vengeance for their fallen brother. The bandit mage cast a spell that sent a magical acidic arrow at Durai, which was stopped by the protections he had currently in place…but for how long? And how could he face this attack and deal with two more bandit priests when he was already winded and exhausted from his fight with one?

    He couldn’t, Durai realized and turned to run south towards Norwick, feeling no shame in running from a superior force in both numbers and strength. That’s when he felt the shivers begin, his mind suddenly filled with pain and he nearly fell over, forcing him to walk instead of run. One of the bandit priests had cursed him. Durai continued to move south, thinking if he could gain the position of Sam’s hill, at least he would make a good accounting of himself before they finished him, perhaps he could even kill one of the priests…

    Suddenly a large armored form came barreling down the hill that Durai was so desperately trying to climb, ran past him and into the bandit priests. Forcing himself to turn, Durai saw that the large warrior was quickly tearing into first one priest, the other, then finally the mage, all in a much shorter time than it had taken him to deal with the single priest.

    Sam helped Durai to the top of the hill, after taking the weapons from the fallen and wiping his blade clean. Durai rested then on Sam’s hill, eyes drooping in the campfire that Sam had made, and drifted to sleep realizing that though he had nearly died, he had faced a bandit priest on his own and was victorious. A small victory perhaps, but one that Durai would gladly accept.

    Durai returned to the present from his musings and went back into his family’s home, hearing Revanna already awake and having started her daily routine of prayer. The door into the house closed quietly, though eyes unseen watched on.


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 10

    _I see its past time to update my log again. Events continue and I really need to work at writing in this thing, if I want it to accurately portray my time here in Narfell. I met some more of my parents old friends. Wilhelm, a poetic sounding druid with a very large ravenous looking wolf as a companion, and Reginald Charlesgate who said he ‘pursued’ my mother. I didn’t ask him to elaborate as I found those thoughts a bit unsettling. Then, I was shocked with happy surprise; Shay had returned, her caravan trip aborted. She fell into my arms and I kissed her quite happily and soundly.

    She seemed very tired and her shoulder was sore she said from some incident on the road. I suppose I should have asked more pointed questions then, as her shoulder wasn’t simply bruised, there was poison and worse already at work at her system, we later learned. A few days later, when I examined her still sore shoulder, we found tiny thorns still embedded in her shoulder, the skin blackened with still open sores. I then asked in more detail of what exactly had happened, and Shay told of the animated vines that had attacked their caravan, and how a few died, she was injured, and this was the reason they turned back. I attempted several prayers to heal the wound, but none succeeded, despite my best efforts. Shay seemed at times to be almost normal to times of near unconsciousness. I found Sam, as I was half-carrying Shay north, thinking that if anyone could help us it would be Priestess Daisy of Tyr in Peltarch.

    When Sam saw her, how pale and lifeless Shay was, he was very worried and had me quickly tell him what was going on. Sam then said that Daisy wasn’t who we needed, but instead one of the ‘earth people’. I guessed he meant druids, and my guess turned out right. We turned around, and headed back south into Norwick, but saw no druids about. I thought perhaps the man named Vino might be able to help, and he did, at least somewhat, giving us some crushed herbs to be used in a tea to help slow the poisonous effects. Sam helped brew the tea and I mostly forced the foul smelling liquid down her throat. I can only imagine how bad it must have tasted, but it did seem to help her, almost immediately.

    Sir Cyrus and Sir Roland both attempted to heal poor Shay, but nothing seemed to work. Sam ran off to find a druid and told us to meet him at the Druid’s Glenn. I helped Shay up and we rushed off into the woods…when I suddenly realized I had no idea where this glen was. Fortunately others did, and we found and entered the somber, quiet home of the local druids and a delightful little druidess named Rera listened in rapt attention as Shay described the attack and the animated vines in detail. The little druidess was able to first stop the effects and then remove small wriggly plant-things from Shay’s shoulder and destroyed them. I thanked Rera for her help, for returning Shay to health once more.

    Then Sam and Cyrus seemed to have an argument about Sam’s entry into the Order of the Divine Shield. Cyrus seemed very reticent about allowing Sam entry, as they had apparently disagreed many times in the past. After tempers had flared all around, and I thought the matter lost, Shay took Cyrus aside and spoke quietly to him, and he suddenly reversed his decision allowing a still scowling Sam entry into the Order. I have new respect for Shay’s ability to reason with people. I was quite impressed, actually.

    Shay and I left the druid’s glen, and make our way back into Norwick, my arm wrapped around her waist. As we were walking toward the center of town I saw her, and stopped in shock and great surprise. I rushed up to her, crushing her in a hug, kissing her cheek. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a beautiful young woman, indeed. Shay, misunderstanding, started to brush past us, apparently thinking I was embracing a girlfriend or some such. I quickly explained the situation; I was simply hugging my sister, who I now saw so resembled our mother. Revanna Hightower, Paladin of Helm had come to Norwick.

    We laughed and I asked how she was here and why. Revanna said she had come for the same reason as I. To find our father. Apparently mother wasn’t doing all too well, spending a great deal of time in prayer, not eating properly and perhaps growing weaker. I introduced my Shay to Revanna as my fiancé, waiting for Revanna to pass judgement, but she did not, simply saying that Shay should write our mother and that I should write more as well. Sam was shocked, surprised and then went about the business of making sure that Revanna had proper equipment to defend and protect herself in this savage land.

    Shay seemed a bit distant as onlookers stopped and spoke to Revanna, my heart was filled with some joy at having her here, as we were twins and had not been separated so long before. Yet I noticed that Shay started to hang back, stepping away a bit, then said she was going home to rest, somewhat abruptly. I followed after her, telling Revanna, who I had always called ‘Vanna when we were growing up, that I would return soon.

    Chasing after Shay, I have to admit I was quite confused by her reaction, but she said she thought that now Revanna would push her from my attention, and of that of Sam’s and our friends. I attempted to explain how wrong she was in the best way I could and think I succeeded at least somewhat. Shay said she really was tired and that she needed to rest, after everything she had been through. She asked me to go back and help get my sister settled, and to take my time.

    I returned to find my sister near surrounded by on-lookers, a great deal of them young men our own age and couldn’t decide if I should be a jealous ‘older’ brother or not. One thing was for sure, though. Whatever it was that didn’t like me being in Narfell would likely not be pleased by Revanna’s arrival._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 9

    _Shay and I spent our last night together last night. A final night together of passion and love spent before the fireplace, both trying to forget what the morning would bring, if only for a little while. I will miss her very much and will pray for her safety and fast return. I have now, the memories of our times together, and the letter I just found she had left for me, to comfort me in her absence. She asked me to marry her, again. This time it was no ploy to avoid trouble or deception. While I was taken aback again somewhat by her forwardness, I found only one answer in my heart. Yes. Our engagement will not be short, as we both see how young we both are can hear the obvious objections, unspoken. Too young. Too inexperienced. Too soon. However, throwing caution to the wind, we have made this pledge, one to the other in the name of love and truth.

    Love and truth. Shay and I had a discussion late last night, or at least most of one…about this. She worships Lady Firehair, goddess of Love and Beauty. I of course worship Torm, god of Truth and Duty. Is it so strange that two such people would find love and happiness in each other’s arms? Sam’s face wasn’t exactly filled with joy when we told him. While I wish he would understand and be happy for us, I can understand his reticence. His is the voice of reason based on a lifetime of experience. As my father is fond of saying “Time will tell”. Either we were meant for each other and all will work out accordingly, or it won’t. Our choices are already made, however. Time will tell, Torm and Sune willing, all will be well.

    Shay and I walked quietly to the elven enclave south of Norwick, hand in hand just a few hours ago, the light of morning on the horizon, driving the night away. We said our goodbyes and I kissed her a final time, watched as she joined a caravan heading south. She disappeared into the distance, taking my heart with her.

    To add to my morose mood this morning is the news from Miss Robyn that although she searched the bordering lands all around Narfell, there is no sign and no one seems to remember my father passing through their lands. Perhaps Miss Robyn missed something, but she seems to think now perhaps he never left Narfell at all. When asked where she would look, she only cryptically replied “Hidden places.” No word from anyone else yet on their searches. Hope remains within me.

    My bond to Torm continues to deepen and grow. I have new prayers of wondrous power available to me. I will spend this time, while Shay is so far away, in meditation, prayer and study. I will try to gain a better understanding of my Lord, and to understand these new powers I have been given, and how best Torm would wish me to put them to His use. May I understand His will. May I find my father’s fate, and may Shay return safe and unharmed. These things I will pray each night._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 8

    _For duty’s sake, I’m writing this. I don’t feel much like doing it, but feel that I should. The day of Shay’s leaving approaches soon. I will pray for her safety each day and for a quick return. Things continue to progress with agonizing slowness in my search for my father. I’ve received no word from Senator Vino, old Mr. Adam, Miss Robyn, or Lady Alannia, though it’s been some time now. I suppose I’ll simply have to be patient and hope something is found, but I will keep trying to think of anything I can do as well, continuing to help patrol the forests south of Norwick, aiding those in the never-ending war against the goblin horde.

    I have had a few adventures since I last added to this log, I see. I was part of a quick strike against a goblin lair, home of the goblin leader Skara. I’m not sure how successful our mission was, though. Skara had fled before we could reach her, along with a great deal of her forces, I think. We slew many, many goblins and yet there seems to be always more. And we had a death in our party, for which I feel some shame. I tried to reach the man in time, his body fountaining with red rivulets as goblins stabbed into him again and again, but death took him before my prayers to Torm were completed. The rest of us survived, destroying what supplies and equipment we could find there, and then left before reinforcements came.

    I had a duel. Well more of a simple sparring match, actually. The man was the quiet, mild mannered man who simply wishes to be known by O. He wore no armor, held no weapon, yet was able to defeat me, and I was in half-plate, with bastard sword and shield. Sir Rick said he was impressed though, as I lasted a long time against the robed warrior O, before exhaustion and pain caused me to blackout. The training from the Academy is truly useful. While you are not able to attack very well at all when using the defensive tactics I’ve been shown, your enemy cannot harm you easily as well. A worth-while trade off if you have allies nearby, able to kill your enemy while you keep it engaged in melee combat.

    Sam and I had already reconciled our differences and I think Sam likes Shay, whether he wants to or not. He seemed pleased when Shay asked him about helping her with her ‘war against the kitchen’ and like any good field general changed the field of battle. Instead of Sam coming back to the house to help Shay (and, reluctantly, myself, as Shay was able to get me to agree to learn as well…I see I’m going to need to learn to not look so closely into her eyes when she wants something, or I’ll soon be converted to Sune and wearing red all the time.)

    Instead we went out hunting for birds and well, dogs. Shay and I both agreed that rats were out the question. Sam showed us both what plants to look for, for vegetables and spices. It seems I’ll be doing most of the killing for meat, however, as Shay seems very reticent about touching or handling anything dead or bloody. She only threw up once, I’ll say to her credit, when the meat was cut from the large dogs we found.

    Sam proceeded to give us quite a lesson in food preparation over an open fire, and Shay did very well under his tutelage. She seemed quite proud when the food she had helped prepare neither made me ill nor caused any chipped teeth. It was actually quite delicious!

    I cannot help but feel saddened that she’s leaving in less than a week and I find that we’re spending almost every moment of it together. I also cannot help but worry about Shay, being a beautiful young woman, traveling so far without escort. If only the fate of my father had already been found, I would go with her and face this journey at her side. I can’t help but feel torn, wanting to do both at once. I will pray to Torm to help guide her path safely to her far home, and then back again into my arms once more._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 7

    _I don't feel much like writing today. Shay will be leaving after all back to her home, and in less than a month. She says she will return as soon as she has faced her penance, but cannot say how long that might be. I'll attempt to keep a happy face for her. She wasn't lying when she said she couldn't cook. Her first attempt at bread was almost lethal to a man who looked like he could eat anything. We both continue to live at my family home together, at least happy for now.

    I saw Sam in the passionate embrace of one woman, and apparently spurning the advances of another. He and I had quite an argument one day, and I said things I should not have, it shames me to say. I later apologized, but I can't help but think that Sam has been acting more than a bit strange lately. I'm not sure what it might mean.

    There is not a day that goes by that someone I have never seen walks up to, perhaps peering at my face, seeing it as somewhat familiar and asking who I am. I am given constant reminders of my father. They are all around me. A hin wanted to sing me a song about my father, I refused, forcing a smile, as politely as I could.

    If it's not that, it's people attempting to restrict my movements. I've been called 'target' and most see me as little more than a child. I have been granted some ability at healing by Torm, and have taken it upon myself to help others in the woods who may need aid, doing my Duty to the town. But no matter what I seem to do, it doesn't seem good enough for somebody. The shadow of my father weighs very heavily at times. I try to tell them I am not him, I never will be. I am a healer, not a holy knight. That is not my path, can't they see?

    Oh and then the false Shadowstrider is loose once again. He was sentenced to die, but escaped from Waterdeep, the messenger told me. Torm only knows where he will go. I know I argued for the right thing when there were those who wanted to murder him while helpless, but if he kills again now, I won't be able to help but feel at least partially responsible.

    I will sorely miss Shay every day she is gone, after she leaves. Though I must at least confess here, that I think about another at times. Dark hair, though reddish. Is it wrong to simply admire beauty?_


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 6

    _The day after Shay and I had made our awkward and silent journey back to Norwick back from the city, I was sitting on the hill, watching as the water plummeted down the stream below. It was near-idyllic spot. Every time I attempted to study from the prayerbooks and study-guides before me, images of her kept interrupting me. From her first smile when we met, scant weeks ago, to the sullen expression she had as we went our separate ways yesterday, and everything in between. I attempted once more to force myself to concentrate on my studies, only to see a shadow over my book. I looked up to see the Lady Alannia Diams. Her hair greyed, her one eye missing and patched, but standing straight and tall, obviously proud of her life of service to Helm and all the sacrifices she had to make during it. Her eyes looked a bit weary, but otherwise she seemed hale and resolute in her black and gold full plate. She had returned from Helm’s Hold, apparently, as quietly as she had gone.

    I stood quickly, pushing my morose and lovelorn woes aside and quickly greeted Lady Alannia. I had only the deepest respect for her. My father had impressed on me his own deep feelings of respect for her, her trials, what she had endured, and he spoke many times of her honor, courage and quiet and sometimes unnoticed leadership. My father would at times say that he considered her the real hero that some claimed he was.

    When she asked me for what news had occurred with me since she had left, I think I may have shocked her, at least a bit, when I described all the events that had occurred to me during her absence. I told her how I had fallen in love with a Sunite priestess, been kidnapped and rescued, fallen out of sorts with my girl, and attacked by something or someone while sleeping at the Inn. She replied that I had, apparently been quite busy and seeing the most important thing in my list, started asking me about the attack.

    I told of her the events, and she asked to see the mark on my chest, which I showed her, opening the top of my robe. She looked closely at it for some time, but while agreeing it seemed a bit odd for a symbol of Helm, was unable to determine exactly why, and seemed visibly worried and puzzled about what it might mean. She then surprised me with her next words. She said we were going to see a bandit, a rogue, a scoundrel, a ne’er-do-well, but that I could trust him with my life. She turned and began to walk down the hill, back toward the center of town and the well, I threw my books into my pack and quickly hurried after her, wondering what she could mean.

    As we approached the well, Lady Alannia saw old Mr. Adam and said hello to him, and I did as well. She started to introduce me to Mr. Adam, but Adam quickly helped her understand that, as we had lived in the same town for years, he knew me already. They spoke a bit cryptically for a bit, about old times, I suppose, something about Mr. Adam saying he preferred when Lady Alannia treated him like a demon, it sounded like to me, but I’ve noticed that the older inhabitants of Narfell seem to make strange, cryptic statements and that it seems best to simply listen and ask about it later, if time is found.

    With some apparent distaste, Lady Alannia said to Mr. Adam that his help was needed. He agreed after some humorous comment that I cannot remember now, and both of them started to head to Friar Freds. I stood there, puzzled somewhat and said aloud to Lady Alannia that I had thought we were going to see a bandit? She shot a look at me, and said quietly that she had not said he was a bandit, exactly, which caused Mr. Adam to laugh further, when it slowly dawned on me what Lady Alannia had really meant.

    I followed quietly to the Friar’s where Alannia asked me to inform Mr. Adam about what happened during the attack. When I started saying about how someone had entered the room, Mr. Adam immediately interrupted saying that we should go to my room and search it, as evidence might have been left behind, and that he could likely find the source of any hidden clues. I stammered a bit as I admitted that I had not, exactly, been in ‘my’ room, when this attack had occurred. When asked further, I admitted, somewhat red-faced, that I had been in Shalia’s room during this attack, which caused Mr. Adam to laugh at my embarrassment, saying something about how the son was like the father, which caused Lady Alannia to flash a dark look at Mr. Adam saying that she didn’t want to hear it and that this was a serious matter. What he might have meant by that, I decided, I didn’t really care to know or ask further about

    Finally, after I showed the rune that was marked on my chest, Mr. Adam had his own ideas on what it might mean, but again I will be vague here, in case this log fall into the wrong hands. Lady Alannia, further , spoke of what she had learned in Helm’s Hold and of my father’s family. Again details will remain vague. It was decided then to find Shalia and ask permission to search her room for any clues the mysterious attacker may have left behind. We searched through the town and entered the Boar’s Head, but did not see Shalia anywhere.

    I said that I would return shortly and ran out the door, thinking of a couple places where she might be, and preferring to speak to her privately first about this, instead of approaching her with this with Lady Alannia and Mr. Adam in tow. I saw her leaving the Friar’s, and quickly ran up to her, my words rushed, my feelings mixed. I wanted to taker her into my arms then, but there was a distance between us, things that still needed saying, perhaps, perhaps something else. A bit abruptly, and perhaps gruffly, I explained the situation, and how I had been attacked that night in her room, and that we needed to search it for possible clues.

    She seemed shocked, upset and perhaps somewhat angry as I rushed to briefly explain what I had not before, saying that I had meant to tell her, but with the way things had happened, I hadn’t found the right time. Just then Lady Alannia rushed up, apparently upset with me, Mr. Adam in tow. She said that I shouldn’t run off like that. I suppose I snapped a bit at her, saying that I was a priest of Torm, and that I would not cower in a hole from my enemies. Then Shay and I got into a heated discussion about her not telling me the entire truth, and my keeping this attack from her. We went back and forth for some minutes, I suppose. Shay said she wouldn’t be leaving after all, much to my surprise. Lady Alannia let us continue on for some time before stiffly reminding us that we had more important business to attend to.

    Shay and I agreed and we both went up to her room to search. My eyes were drawn to the bed as we entered her room, the very same bed we had shared just a few nights before, full of passion and desire for each other. When I looked at Shay, she was looking at the bed as well. We glanced at each other then away. We attempted to move around the small room without making contact with the other, while trying to search for…anything.

    Stopping her for a moment, I told her the entire story of how something had came through the window the other night, the mark, everything. Just then she help a piece of fabric she found apparently stuck to a loose nail on the side of the bed I had slept. Speaking quietly, we resolved our differences, made up, as it were, and made our way back downstairs to tell Alannia. She said we should give the piece of fabric to Mr. Adam, which I shall when I see him next.

    Alannia left us, Shay and I traveled to and stayed in my family home in Jiyyd. Once there, I thought of a fine way to show my trust in her. I asked her to stay there with me. While she says she cannot cook, I think we will find a way to make things work. Making up can be quite pleasant, it seems, as I learned last night before the fireplace with Shay. May Torm guide us all, so I pray._


  • He sits there on the window sill, his wings folded behind him, cloaked invisible to the naked eye. His name is unimportant to most mortals, save his mistress, and even she has resorted to using a nickname lest her tongue twist in agonizing efforts to pronounce his real one. A small taloned finger reaches out, and dark yellow eyes peruse the journal in the early morning light.

    His mistress has grown in power he mused…his power to her, her to him bound by dark contract. The other day she merely glanced at a Marauder Priest, one of the Faithful, and he aborted his determined attack and walked away smiling.

    Now she used his eyes as extensions of her own, his fingers hers as he deftly flipped the pages. Then with patience born of immortality, he placed the journal in the exact position it was in prior to his arrival and turned to leave. There was a brief glance at the sleeping form of Shalia before ascending into the morning sky.


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 5

    _She lied to me. There’s no other way to say it. Where it had seemed fate, or even simple chance that she and I had come together, now it seems Shalia was sent here by her temple, to recover some object my father was keeping for them. Even after learning who I was, she did not say anything of this to me. Instead she was with me, almost constantly, and I with her. She was there in the house when I found what was there. She says that her love for me is real and not false, but now I find myself having to think about things in the light that she had lied to me, at least about her reasons for being in Norwick, and what she knew of my father. Apparently she had met him, and knew some of his movements outside of Narfell of which I was unaware, yet only now admitted them to me.

    I know what I feel is real, and I want to believe her. What confuses me more, is that, just before she admitted these lies she asked me to marry her, that very day. It was a question that shocked me in it’s suddenness and abruptness. While I was asking her why it was so important that we do this so suddenly, she began to admit that she had not been entirely truthful to me and came out with what she says now is the truth, as we stood on the streets of Peltarch, the fountain splashing in the background. Further, she says she must return to her temple to report that she was unable to recover this object. She’s leaving in less than a month, and isn’t sure when she’ll return. She says she will.

    We took a room for the night at the Dancing Mermaid, and our lovemaking that night felt right, but this morning I find myself thinking more and more on all of this. I have to admit I have not spoken to Shalia about the strange events of the other morning, and the mark on my chest has faded a great deal, enough that it’s not easily noticed in low light, as our room had. I had been thinking on how to talk to her about this, but now…perhaps I’ll wait.

    The warnings of others now come to my mind. Warnings of those more experienced and knowledgeable than a simple young priest as myself. Sam’s warnings. Even the false Shadowstrider told me that she would break my heart and leave me, though I’m sure he was simply trying to annoy me. Have I been a fool? A Tormite priest and an aspiring Sunite priestess. Is our love doomed to failure? Or, is she so skilled at hiding her true feelings and so good at her act that I am unable to tell if her words and actions are truly sincere? Perhaps this is yet another painful lesson of life, an experience I must learn and move on from.

    I love Shay. I cannot deny that. I want us to be together always. I want to believe her feelings and words are, now at least, honest and true. I will pray on this, and seek wisdom from Torm on how best to proceed. Sam’s words are in my head now. He said that Helm does not protect fools, and doubted Torm does either.

    I know that my father, and myself by association have many enemies arrayed against us. Enemies far beyond my ability to deal with or defeat. And after the events of the other morning, it seems at least some of them know of my search and are stating in no uncertain terms for me to stop. Yet I cannot. I will continue to search for the truth, to find my father, living or dead, until I myself cease living.

    This is my goal, and I have to keep my sight on this. Do I have time for the risk of love that might be false, or is it simply a distraction that I must avoid? So many questions, so much to think on. I think I’ll go for a walk._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 4

    _I sit here, as the early morning light shines in through the open window and my eyes are drawn to the form of Shay, still sleeping, curled on her bed. A bed that we had both shared the previous night. The night was one filled with passion and of love, as we expressed our love to each other fully and completely. It was beyond anything I could have thought or imagined, it has sealed our bond of love. However, this morning, I cannot but help feel a new slightly coldness in the pit of my stomach.

    I begin to see how my father must have felt, as he sent us away that last night, to save us from something that he was willing to face, but was unable to allow us to risk, I think. I remember how pale his face looked, how he hurried us along and watched as we faded into the distance, seemingly glad to see us leave, but now I understand better his feelings, I think.

    I begin to see that love is both strength and yet vulnerability, as I cannot bear to think of harm coming to Shalia, especially if it were to be of because of me in any way or form. I find my mind thinking now of how to protect and keep safe two instead of just myself. I will give my life for her if needed, and do so gladly. Now each day will include concern and worry for her as well as myself, but I find myself only tremendously happy and willing to bear this new responsibility without regret or such thoughts.

    I add now something that occurred only some few minutes ago, as I still lay sleeping next to my Shay, her body still draped on mine. I dreamed that as I lay in the darkness a sound awoke me. The window was slowly drawn open by some unseen hand, then a figure, hooded in a heavy robe entered the room and walked slowly to the foot of our bed, looking down at our naked forms. I attempted to move, to shout out warning, to do anything, but found myself frozen, unable to move. Shay only stirred slightly next to me, shivering slightly in my arms.

    The figure stared at her for some moments, looking at her from head to toe, and I heard a slight raspy breath coming from the hood. The figure then stared at me for some moments, baleful malevolence emanating invisible but palpable to me. Slowly moving to my side of the bed and crouching next to me, the figure loomed. My movements were restricted to blinking and moving my eyes, otherwise completely frozen, as though in fear or by magic.

    The voice that issued from the robe was barely above a whisper, raspy and raw, and seemed full of hatred and perhaps madness. The voice uttered:

    “The son shall know sorrow…and pain. He is beyond searching or finding. I have paid the full price, yes the full price. He will remain as he is forever more. The son must leave and end the searching or only more pain and death will result. The warning has been given.” I then felt a sharp pain in my chest, as though icy claws were clutching at my heart, yet again I was unable to move or even cry out. The figure then turned without a further word and seemed to drift to the window and then out, the sounds of the early morning suddenly returning, and the sun barely visible on the horizon.

    I awoke, and slowly extricated myself from Shalia, drawing a sheet over her form, as I sat to begin to write this log. What sends a slight chill down my spine however, are two things. I do not remember the window being opened last night, and yet, the sun is streaming in…and as I open my robe and look down at my chest I see a dark mark, apparently etched into my flesh. The symbol is very familiar to me and yet fills me with some measure of dread. Why have I been marked with the Eye of Helm? I will pray now to Torm for wisdom and guidance in this matter, and for his protection for both myself and Shay from whatever this may mean._


  • 4000!

    I really can't believe that my stories have been viewed that many times. I just wanted to thank everyone that has bothered to read them, and I only hope that some of you have found them at least mildly entertaining. I know I've enjoyed (and continue to do so) writing them a great deal.

    Hard to believe, but they cover a time period going back to December of 2002, back in Build 7.

    I'm not trying to pat myself on the back here, just say thanks to you all who have been reading the adventures of Kanen, his friends, and now young Durai. I've always tried to make them a mixture of mostly what happens in game, but include some external elements, thoughts, feelings and dreams to the mix.

    Who knows how much longer this will go on, but for however long, I know I've enjoyed writing them, and encourage anyone who has ever enjoyed writing to try it at least once. Stories can really help shape and develop your characters in the minds of your fellow players and in your own mind as well.

    Anyhow, just wanted to say…. THANKS!


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 3

    _Looking back at my first entry, I see that I left some unanswered questions. Shay and I went into ‘my’ house, though I think of it as my father’s, not mine. It seemed somewhat strange to be inside the house where I grew from infant to child to young adult. What was even more strange was the silence. No sounds of Revanna or my boy-hood self stomping around the house, yelling and fighting with each other. No sound of the voice of my mother singing her sweet songs, no sound of my father sharpening his enchanted sword, or polishing his armor. Only silence.

    There was a layer of dust over most of the house, the furniture still covered by the hastily thrown sheets by my mother right before we left that day some three years ago. We looked through the empty house, and Shay mentioned that she felt something just didn’t seem right about the place. She mentioned it was if all the good memories of the house had been perverted or corrupted somehow. I didn’t disagree, it did feel strange, though I had thought only I had the feeling.

    Searching room to room, we finally found something. We weren’t able to retrieve it then, but returned later with Sam, Ishar, and Lady Elinah and were able to do so. I’m being vague on purpose, in case this log should fall into the hands of those that seem to be seeking information, or attempting to hide such information, as we later found. A near miracle occurred while Sam was praying in the house of my father, however. A bright light appeared and it seemed to spread out and cover every surface in every room. The light faded, and the strangeness in the house seemed to be gone, or at least temporarily removed.

    We left the house with what we found, and took it to someone who may or may not be able to help us learn what it might mean. May Torm grant us the wisdom to learn it’s secrets. Something very disturbing happened only a few days after this. Apparently, Sam received a note while in Peltarch that he was needed as his hill, and when he arrived there found someone claiming to be my own father. What is most upsetting is that apparently this man was dressed as my father, in silver and blue armor that looked like his own, but acted very different, demanding information from Sam, and beating him terribly when Sam would not answer, leaving as quickly as he came.

    Once Sam was conscious again and able, he came to Norwick to look for me, to tell me this news. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I took the news very poorly, sure that if my father was here, everything else could be explained, somehow. Perhaps Sam had angered my father somehow, some action, some word, a simple misunderstanding. I only wanted to go see him for myself. Sam was forced to use physical force to restrain me, indeed, I lay sprawled out in the mud on the road by the north gate, Sam pressing on top of me, when I finally realized how childish I was being. Sam was right. My father would not act this way, no matter the cause. Therefore, the man could not be my father. The fact he came looking for Sam seems to mean that someone still wants something, or wants something to remain hidden. I pray to Torm for guidance and wisdom concerning this mystery. This caused me to become quite depressed and sullen, wondering at the power of the enemies arrayed against me, and if I would ever be able to learn my father’s fate.

    While my spirits were at the their blackest, feeling so poorly about myself and doubting if this journey would bring me any closer to answer the questions I so needed answered, she walked up to me, apparently having heard of what had occurred, offering her shoulder and arms to hold me. I know that no matter what else this journey may find, I found a woman that I love and know that she loves me. Using her gentle voice and kind words, she helped lift me from my black depression, indeed, lifting me into soaring with the clouds once more, as I feel when Shay is in my arms. We only seem to grow closer each day we spend together, no matter if we are patrolling the woods, talking quietly of our lives and hopes, or entwined together in a passionate kiss. If she was truly sent by Torm, I can see it is to help me endure this savage place, and deal with whatever I mean learn, or have to go through to learn the truth of the fate of my father. With Shay by my side, little seems not possible or bearable.

    I suppose I should also mention that I was kidnapped for a short time by one of the twins called Shadowstrider, the one who had overheard my first admission of my true identity to Sam. Things seem to have worked out for the best, the foul man captured, and I’ve sent word to Waterdeep to send someone to take him there for questioning and probable trial concerning the death of his own father, a Paladin of Torm.

    Finally, just last eve, I encountered old Mr. Adam and Mrs. Maya, more friends of my father who had recently returned to these lands and did not know of my father’s disappearance. Mr. Adam was most kind to me, saying that he would use his self-proclaimed ‘considerable resources’ to seek out my father, reassuring me that people like my father do not simply disappear forever, that he would be found and returned. He even had a wondrous gift for me, something that I will keep until my father is found, then return it to him.

    After he and his wife Maya left, Miss Robyn happened along, asking me to watch over her house as she was setting out, herself to look for my father as well. She seemed quite wistful when she said cryptically that he ‘forgot his archer’ and that she would search for him, from here to Waterdeep, asking everyone along the way. After saying goodbye to her, I must admit my mood brightened a great deal, perhaps things were being set into motion that would find my father’s fate. I had heard my father say before that Mr. Adam knew many things, and could quickly find out what he did not. And Miss Robyn was a tracker of great skill. If anyone could follow the three year old trail, it would likely be she. I will pray to Torm for both of them, hoping that they succeed._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 2

    _It was a pleasant afternoon. The sun was shining brightly down on Shalia, my lovely blue-eyed, golden haired companion, the young woman who had confessed her to love to me, and I to her only some minutes before. We walked, hand in hand, blissfully happy in each other’s company, from Jiyyd, out into the Nars to head to Norwick. A shadow seemed to pass before the sun for a moment, and I looked up into the sky only to see one of the trained birds of the bandits swooping down at us with an aggressive cry. Releasing Shalia’s hand, I drew my sword, annoyed at the interruption to our pleasant walk, swatting at the flying attacker.

    Just as I connected soundly with the bird, leaving little more than blood and feathers, I heard Shalia cry out from behind me in surprise and pain. Whirling around, I saw two hooded women, with sharp daggers drawn, circling Shalia, and as I moved toward them, one plunged her small blade into Shalia’s back. Shalia’s face went pale, a trickle of blood on her soft lips, as she collapsed in the dirt with a weak cry. The ambush was well planned and executed, I remember briefly thinking.

    Both of these foul women laughed shrilly as if this was something of great humor and looked down at her with their red blades, ready to send the dying young woman off into oblivion, my Shay. By now, I was at her side, crouching on the other side than the two sneering women, and quickly thrust my hands toward my fallen love, praying to Torm to heal her and to aid us in this time of need. Seeing my intent, the two hooded women charged toward me with a snarl. I was struck by one, receiving a savage gash along my side, the blade apparently glancing along my ribs. However, I was able to complete my prayer and was rewarded with seeing Shalia, slowly sitting up and looking about, obviously dazed and weak, needing time to gather her senses, her belongings scattered out around her.

    Realizing that our attackers could at any time turn and see her sitting there, near helpless, I thought of a quick plan and prayed to Torm that it was the right thing to do. I shouted to the women, calling them various names that perhaps no good Tormite should, and saw that they were both quite angry and hot for my blood, so I turned and ran away, towards Norwick, glancing back to make sure that both were still chasing me.

    I led them some distance away from Shay, then turned and engaged both, meeting their anger with my own. I used my shield and my blade as my grandfather and father had instructed me, to block and avoid their attacks. Attacking was not important, I was buying time for Shay to gather her senses and said another prayer to Torm that these two were the extent of the ambush and that I had not left her to die alone. By luck, or perhaps by the grace of Torm, I saw an opening and struck one of the bandit women with my sword, opening a deep cut in one of her thighs, causing her to limp and favor the leg.

    This caused them to become more cautious and wary, now realizing that while I could not quickly strike them down as someone like my father could have done, they could not easily harm me either; an impasse of sorts. Just then, Shay came running toward us, sword drawn, eyes flashing fiercely, apparently intent on getting revenge on these two who had so nearly ended her young life. I called out to her to instead run and head for the town, knowing that these two battle-hardened bandit women could quickly turn the tides on us once again.

    Gritting her teeth, she complied, heading down the road toward Norwick, frequently looking over her shoulder, waiting for me to begin following her. Praying once again to Torm for assistance, I bashed my shield into the injured one, sending her into the other, both landing in the dirt heavily. Using this brief chance, I turned and fled, running toward Norwick, following Shay. The bandit women gave up a short distance later, apparently unwilling to get too close to the walls of Norwick, and shouting derisively at myself and Shay, which we wisely ignored and headed into the town, exhausted and worn, but alive. My prayers that night were long and full of thanks and gratitude to Torm for allowing both myself and the young woman I loved to survive the deadly ambush, where we could have easily both been killed and left for the carrion animals. May His will be done. And may Shay and I know happiness._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Durai's Log 1

    _I’ve decided to try my hand at keeping a personal log. I will leave it with the Friar, and in the case of my death, I’ve left instructions to have it sent to my mother and grandparents in Waterdeep. At least that way, they’ll have an idea of what my life was like here. Torm willing, however, it will include the rescue of my father, or at least an accounting of what his final fate was.

    I spent most of the last day in study in prayer, seeking first in all things to grow closer to my Lord, the Loyal Fury. I also spent some time out in the woods, doing my civic duty, attempting to help keep down the population of vile goblins that infest the forest to the south of town. During this patrol with Miss Green, my friend Nico, and a couple of others, we encountered others apparently intent on this same task. Sam was ever present, a large clanky, metal shadow nearby though attempting to be unobtrusive.

    I saw again Lady Elinah, met Sir Roland, and a few others in a group of hardy and lethal looking individuals. We also again saw the self-proclaimed chieftain Rick and met his charming fiancée named Aaimie. This demure woman, while perhaps not of noble birth or bearing had a melodious voice, which she used with great talent, though the songs she chose were common and somewhat base in nature. I could not get her songs and voice out of my head all day, I found myself humming about ale and beer, neither of which interest me to any great deal.

    The rest of the day and evening I spent in Jiyyd. I hadn’t wanted to return to the town, to be honest. It was where I grew up most of my life, but I had decided I wouldn’t go back there even as I planned my trip to Narfell. Of course Duty said otherwise. First Lady Alannia wished to speak to me privately in the temple of Helm, another place I had wished to avoid, strong memories abound there of my father as he used to take my sister and myself there for services when he was able. And though I brought the key as almost an afterthought, it seems I will be going back into my old home, the house of my father. Mother hinted that something just might be hidden in there, and I must summon the courage to go inside and search, may Torm grant me the strength.

    Instead, this evening I walked around the town, speaking to the adults that once towered over me, being forced to listen to embarrassing stories of how they changed my diapers or things I said or did while a child. They even brought up how Revanna and I had escaped poor Mera that time, and how Revenna had been captured and taken from the town, only thanks to Miss Robyn and a few others that Revanna was returned safely.

    Whenever I attempted to turn the conversation to questions of my father or when anyone had last seen him, however, the story seemed the same. He had disappeared a few years ago, the same time the rest of us seemed to, and had not been seen or heard from since. Quite disappointing and depressing. I know I’m avoiding going into the house itself, and I will very soon now. However, I think asking these questions was a worthwhile endeavor.

    I write this from a room at the Inn in Jiyyd. I know it must seem silly or ridiculous to some that I would get a room at the Inn when I have an entire house I can rightfully claim as my own…but I will not enter there alone. Call it whatever you want, something just doesn’t feel right, may Torm grant me wisdom and guidance.

    My final thoughts are on Shalia. I did not see her this day, but then my movements have been varied and I’ve spent a great deal of time outside the town itself, where she likely is. I have to admit I find myself wondering what she’s doing right now, and pray that she is safe. Sam is worried about her effect on me, and I must admit surprise at how she makes me feel when I’m near her, yet I am a priest of Torm first and above all things. His fatherly concern I appreciate, though he and I may have words soon concerning her. My own father knew that matters of the heart did not preclude one from their service to their Lord, as I am living proof. Tomorrow I go to the house. Torm willing, all will go well._


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Keys and Dreams

    Durai looked at the two letters lying on his desk. One was from the Council of Jiyyd, saying that they had removed the extra lock from his family house and he was welcome to enter it any time he wished.

    The other was the response from his mother. She was obviously upset with him for running off as he did, but also glad to hear that he was doing well and congratulated him on his acceptance into the service to Torm, and that she was very proud of him, despite the circumstances.

    She further went on to say that she thought it was be best if he returned to her immediately, but realized he was his own man now and would make his own choices. On his queries of any information she might have been keeping, she wrote that she had gone over this her head many times in the many months that Kanen had been missing, but could only think of one possible thing she wished she had checked.

    In their house, somewhere, there was a secret compartment where Kanen at times would store sensitive information or dangerous items that he could not afford to lose or have lying about. Even she was unsure of exactly where this compartment was, saying that she had never really searched for it, as he had asked her not to. She finished the letter saying that she expected him to write soon and often if he refused to return to her, and that she would be praying for him and his father both, being in the dangerous realm known as Narfell, and for him to rely on Torm as his savior and for guidance always.

    After having read the letter for the third time, Durai allowed his thoughts to drift somewhat, glad that his mother was not too overly angry with him, at least apparently. He thought of a lovely young blonde lady named Shalia that he had recently met and was fast becoming acquainted with. He marveled at how he could feel both wonderful and yet very nervous when he was with her. He thought about their first passionate kiss and how wondrous that had felt as well, with a slight smile.

    Setting those pleasant thoughts aside, Durai realized that he would be visiting his home the next day, and this time permitted entry. As he drifted to sleep, he thought of what he might find inside, and prayed that it might help him find his father, who’s presence he missed so very much.

    In his dreams Durai saw Kanen standing in the middle of a vast and empty plain, and called out to him as he tried to run to his father, but never could reach him for some reason. No matter how loud or frantic he called out, the man in shining blue armor only stood still and mute.


  • TALES OF THE SON

    Arrival

    A young man, barely more than a boy, sits at a desk in a sparsely furnished room, yet another boarder for Friar Fred in Norwick. This particular boarder, tall in stature, thin of build, with piercing blue eyes, writes a letter by flickering candlelight, pausing at times as he gathered his thoughts and how to say what he needed to say. After speaking to Lady Alannia Diams, he realized he had caused his mother only more pain, more hurt, by leaving without saying where or when he was going, even though his intentions had been only to attempt to ease her pain. The young man mused a bit bitterly that little of his journey here, and his time spent since had gone according to his carefully made plans. Lady Alannia had also convinced him to give up his false name, and claim his true family name once, more; Durai Hightower

    He had arrived under an assumed name, Durron Hawkins. He was worried that whatever had befallen his father might still be watching for the return of the wife, or the children. And there was always Jubei to be wary of. The strange assassin from lands far east, his father’s mortal enemy who had always said he would take the children of the Paladin away, and the man who had once nearly killed his father, Kanen Hightower.

    Durai had been robbed almost as soon as he arrived into Norwick. Well actually, he had been swindled more than robbed, but the fact remained he found himself without most of his possessions, leaving only a bit of gold and the sword from his grandfather, the great Paladin of Torm. He was glad his grandfather had stressed the combat arts, especially defensive combat, and relied on this as he started to make his way in Narfell, patrolling against the goblins that plagued the Rallinswood. His priestly studies had fallen behind somewhat due to this martial training however, and Durai concentrated on this now, and soon felt Torm’s grace and power as he was accepted as priest to the Loyal Fury, a day he would always remember and treasure.

    Durai made some friends, hiding behind his false name, always watching the shadows for any threat, and keeping his ears open for any word of his father, yet though his name would be mentioned at times, never of any recent activities or sightings, only of deeds from the past, much to his disappointment. Two of the people that Durai became friends with, he felt closer to than the others. Nico Black was apparently a businessman of some sort, and Durai realized his aid to him was somewhat based on this, but Nico was obviously an honorable man, and dealt more than fairly with the young priest, Durai considered him a true friend.

    Another recent arrival to the town of Norwick was Alexander, a young pious Paladin of Tyr. Alexander and Durai got along well together, they would speak of their faith, and travel into the woods together in small groups to patrol the forest for goblins and slay them when found. Everyone knew that goblins bred like rabbits, and would swarm the town if their numbers were not kept down.

    In the weeks that followed, Durai eventually saw Sam, the gentle giant who was his father's former companion and family friend, and one day finally revealed who he truly was to Sam. Unfortunately, another was there in hiding and overheard this news and quickly left before either could stop the man. After this occured Durai realized his name was a secret no longer and would soon after to either hide somewhere or announce his name and trust in Torm and his father's friends to protect him.

    Returning to his letter, Durai tried to convey in his letter of his heartfelt feelings that he was sorry for running off and away from his mother and sister, and assurances that he was doing well in Narfell, he wrote of all that happened thus far. He further asked his mother for any information she might remember, no matter how small, any clues or hints she might have been keeping from her children on what might have happened to his father. Finishing the letter, he blew out the candle, undressed and jumped into the hard cot of his room. He would send out the letter tomorrow, and Torm willing, would receive a reply soon from his mother. As he had done every day since his father had gone missing, he prayed for him and for the hope of learning his father’s fate, then drifted into sleep.


  • EMPTY HOUSE

    Silanthas sat on the hillside, apparently enjoying a carefree, late evening snack, glancing about with a bored expression. However, Sil was actually watching the house below quite closely, looking for any sign of life or indication that someone remained inside the darkened building as evening quickly closed in.

    He had heard about it by pure chance. He was at the Regal, idly checking the patrons for any easy marks, when the young elven rogue had overheard an interesting conversation.

    _"Maybe we should see what Kanen Hightower thinks about this…"

    "Hightower? No one has seen him, his wife Seven, or either of their kids for weeks, maybe months now. Their house seems locked up tight. We'll have to deal with this on our own..."_

    Sil stopped listening at that point. He didn't care about whatever problem the two men seemed so concerned about. His mind was already working. Sil had spent some time here in Jiyyd. He was 'vacationing' here in small village to get away from the heat in Peltarch. His face was drawn on posters in Peltarch, he was 'wanted for questioning' about a string of break-ins in the rich quarter of the city. Of course 'wanted for questioning' was just a nice way to say the Black Dragon Knights and the City Guard wanted to put him on the rack and see how far they could stretch his elven spine…how was he to know his last house was owned by a close personal friend of one of the damned senators? Pushing the thought aside, Sil thought again on what the two men had discussed and how he might be able to use it to his advantage.

    There was a house near the Exotic shop simply known as the 'Hightower home' where some big shot Paladin-type, his uppidity wife and two almost-grown brats lived. Almost everyone in Jiyyd knew that. This big shot supposedly killed a lot of so-called monsters, been to a lot of places, faced death and died a few times. Even his wife was supposedly, at least once upon a time, an adventurous sort, killing and healing in the name of her god.

    What this meant to Sil was that Mr. Paladin and his missus probably had a good deal of loot hidden away in their apparently humble home. Why else would they have really risked their lives and faced danger so much if not for loot that they probably kept for themselves? No other reason would make much sense to the elven rogue.

    So Sil made himself a plan and over a period of days and weeks slowly and subtly started asking questions about the empty house and their owners. Just a question here and there, nothing obvious, just an apparent mild curiousity is all he revealed to anyone he spoke to. Sil liked more and more what he was hearing.

    The so-called holy knight would often be away for days, even weeks at at time, leaving wife and children at home, off smiting evil or whatever. What was so unusual was that the fact the wife, kids and the Paladin were gone. And it seemed that no one had actually seen or talked to any of them in weeks...months...maybe even longer.

    It seems in this jerk-water little village no one had thought it strange that the owners of the house hadn't been seen in what Sil believed might possibly be a year or more. What it meant to to the rogue was...opportunity. And so he had started watching the quiet house. He would sit on the hillside, not too close, but near enough to see if anyone entered or left, and never saw a single person, no matter what day or time it was. He watched the house off and on for days, all with the same result.

    Sil's favorite fantasy scenario was that after he quietly broke in he'd find all four dead in the house, leaving everything they owned and wore to his selection. It remained a possibility, since no one remembered seeing them pack up and leave, but his pessimistic nature told him to dream on. What was likely, however, is that for whatever reason the 'holy Hightowers' had left, they probably couldn't have carried everything of value with them, leaving in such a rush. So there would probably be some valuables just waiting for him to 'discover'.

    And so here he was. Crouched down in front of the door to the Hightower house, the gathering darkness hiding his slim frame from any eyes that might be looking in this direction. Using the tools of his trade, he began to work on the expensive lock on the door. After some minutes of muttered cursing he finally felt the lock open. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door, revealing a doorway leading into a hall, dark as night, and he felt a slight chill as he stepped through the doorway. He almost screamed when the hand descended on his shoulder and held him firmly from behind.

    "Stop yer strugglin' ye damned thief!"

    The Watchman held firm onto the thin bones of the rogue's shoulder, holding him in place. The Watchman had noticed the interest of the stranger in the Hightower home for days now, and had seen him watching the house, and been told the stranger asked some unusual questions about the missing Paladin and his family. The thief stopped his struggling and raised his arms high, surrendering peacefully.

    "Did ye think ye could jus' come to our lil' town and no one would notice ye?"

    The guardsman chuckled as he tied the rogue's hands behind him securely.

    "Ye may see our lil' town as some hick village, but we look out for our own."

    The Watchman forced the rogue out into the street roughly, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Turning, he looked into the darkened shadows of the empty house, seeing only an uninhabited house, no sign of it's owners apparent.

    Did something just move in the shadows? There…in the corner...

    Suppressing a shudder, the Watchman closed the door forcefully, quickly resealing the lock. Muttering to himself, he half-dragged the rogue down the street, glancing only once back at the empty house, chuckling at how he had allowed his fears make something out of nothing. Though it was pretty weird how they had all just up and disappeared.

    The house known as the Hightower home continued to sit silent and empty for many further days, weeks and even months as the seasons passed. The mystery surrounding it's owners' fate still remains.


  • DENIED

    On the final evening of the last day of the month, the Paladin arrayed himself in his armor, having polished and shined it with what failing strength he had remaining. The month had been very hard. Each day Kanen had felt weaker, wracked by coughs, suffering from increasingly frequent chills, fever and pain. And always, just out of the corner of his eye, the knight could see it. The dark creature with bright teeth and sharp claws that only he could see, as it impatiently bided it’s time, waiting for the final day to finish, to feed on his soul.

    Kanen sat in his chair, before the fireplace, waiting, wondering if the next breath he drew would be his last. Seven sat at his side, her blue eyes dry now, showing the strength and resolve that she possessed. She apparently had steeled herself for the end, she would be there by his side, even if this would be their last day together. The children had been sent over to a friend’s house to stay, Kanen had said his good nights and good byes to them, though they had not known nor been told the importance of this day.

    The bargain had been made without his consent or approval, yet Kanen could feel it’s weight, it’s finality. Either he was to bring the Holy sword, ‘Ever Vigilant’ to the dark knight, or he would die within the month, the month ending this very day. He would never surrender the blade, nor even it’s location. That it was safe was all he would reveal, and so it would remain, forever barring the return of that which it warded.

    Seven and Kanen sat silently in their chairs by the fireplace, waiting. Seven watched him closely, praying silently, keeping her emotions well in check. There would be time for that later. As it approached midnight, he felt it. A stirring. The dark, hungry creature that only he could see was no longer sitting still, it began pacing, emitting a low growl.

    Finally, it struck, as he sat limply in the chair, drained of strength and life, his features pale and drawn. The pain he had felt before seemed as nothing compared to the agony he felt now. The creature was shredding him, ignoring armor and even flesh as it shred and devoured the life force from his body. Kanen writhed about in the chair, shouting and screaming in pain, each ragged breath only more agonizing than the last.

    He fell from the chair to the floor, unable to see or hear anything around him, unable to hear Seven’s cries and prayers for his life. He saw only darkness, he felt only pain, his body writhing and thrashing as he threw himself about on the floor. Each breath, each moment was white hot agony. Through the torture, through the pain, Kanen began to realize something with both horror and the barest hope. The Paladin had already endured more than anything he had ever felt before, including the deaths he had been returned from. His mind felt ready to snap from the constant, overpowering pain, yet he continued to draw one ragged breath after another between screams. He could see the shadowy, invisible creature lying on him, it’s head buried in his chest as it devoured his life force with savage fury, yet it seemed he would not die.

    That’s when he finally understood. The knights of his Order had made the deal, that Kanen would turn over the sword or die in one month’s time, consumed by this dark creature. However they had made a deal with something they did not own. Helm had decided to not allow it. While Kanen was forced to endure everything the creature had, every attempt to end his spark of life, the pain ending release of death was being denied the Paladin.

    He was Kanen Hightower, Paladin of Helm. His master, his Lord was not willing to abide by the bargain. Kanen had no choice other than to endure. What seemed like hours, perhaps even days, but was likely much less passed. He wanted to pray for death, to pray for the release, but would not. He was a Paladin, and never realized what that meant more than in those moments. He was the servant of Helm. He was the warrior and champion of his Lord. His will, his desires, his life, always had been, and always would be, second to the service to Him.

    At long last a bright light threw the creature from him, back into the shadows and darkness, at last ending the pain, as the knight descended into a soothing unconsciousness, into a deep, deep sleep as he lay in his armor, limbs twisted, on the hard wooden floor. A terrified and anxious Seven slowly realized that he still lived and apparently needed now only rest. Opening the front door, she asked for help from those waiting outside, to help get him to the bed, and told them that Kanen still lived.

    The Paladin slept many days and nights straight through, yet was apparently, ever so slowly, regaining his strength and vitality. A worn and tired Seven stayed by his side, watching over him, until one day, over a week later, the knight’s eyes slowly opened. His eyes seemed different, changed and marked by the ordeal he had endured. He smiled weakly up at her, and she down at him. A new day dawned.


  • THE DEAL

    His breathing was labored. Since returning both to life and from that place, simply breathing was at times a challenge. Most of them had become diseased or stricken with some illness since being there. Paladins were immune to the ravages of disease and illness. But not this.

    I've failed. I've failed us all. Although the others say otherwise, I know better.

    The duel with the dark knight had been a joke. Although Kanen had called upon his Lord Helm for His might and His protection, although Kanen had prepared himself to the best of his abilities, it had been pathetic. The dark knight quickly had cut him down, barely wounded in the effort.

    As Kanen had felt the knight's sharp steel pierce his heart, he knew only the dispair of failure. His vision dimmed, his ears echoing with the laughter from the dark knight. Then the darkness had enveloped him completely.

    His next breath was one he never expected to draw, but was in the foul, dark atmosphere of the caverns. He was lying at the top of the stairs, wondering how he was breathing at all. He had been dead. The dark knight had said failure meant death, so how was he breathing once again?

    Blinking, Kanen slowly sat up and looked into the faces of his companions, those who he had failed. Their looks were guarded and they remained silent, looking back at him. The knight however, was chuckling. He said simply that the others had struck a deal with him, and that is why Kanen drew breath once again.

    With dawning horror, Kanen asked the others what had they done? What sort of deal had they made with this dark champion of evil? Laughing once again, the knight reminded the others that the deal was done and would be fulfilled, one way or another and left.

    Demanding once again they tell him what they had done, finally Kanen was told that they had made a deal with the dark knight. The deal was that Kanen had exactly one month to live. He could either voluntarily hand over the Holy sword Ever Vigilant, the sword of Faramir, or he would be dead in that time.

    Slowly standing, Kanen breathed a sigh of relief, glad that they had not risked themselves in this. If he concentrated he could feel it. A darkness surrounded him, at the edges of his vision, as though something with sharp teeth was biding it's time, waiting, but ever ready to tear him apart with sharp teeth and sharp claws.

    Forcing himself to look at the others, he heard coughing and teeth chattering from most of the others, as he felt himself. Kanen felt more like laying down and simply giving up. Letting his life end here once and for all in this dark place, leaving the eternal struggle to others. He felt so tired, so weak…instead taking a deep breath, he gave the others his thanks, and that at least he would have a month to say goodbye to those who he cared about.

    They made their way back out of that place, back up to the temple above and found the 'High Watcher' gone, the door unlocked. Kanen sat heavily against a pillar and looked about the room when he finally saw her. Her eyes looked as if she had been crying, her red hair disheveled. Robyn hurried to his side and asked what had happened, what was wrong, what could she do...smiling faintly, Kanen simply sat there musing. He listned to his own labored breathing, then coughed until his vision almost dimmed.

    He had a month. He had vowed to never give over the Holy sword. It was in a safe place and he would not reveal it's location to anyone. At least he would have a chance to say goodbye.


  • FIRST SORTIE

    Standing in the temple, mentally preparing for the battle that lay before them, Kanen looked at each of the others briefly. Ishar, the gentle knight. He was now leader of the Order of the Divine Shield, since Shane’s death. Roland, the brother Helmite Paladin that Kanen identified best with among this group of near strangers who were yet his brothers and sisters. Elinah, the only female Paladin with them this day, a fine Paladin that Kanen had known for a long time, though never closely. Cyrus, affable and quietly capable priest of Torm. Handryl, a knight that Kanen had never met before today. Finally, there was Kharbeh. The elven woman was difficult to predict and her humor was often at the expense of others, yet Kanen knew that the boisterous, near ancient yet child-like woman had a good heart. Also, there were very few finer scouts to be found in the land. Her ability to sense the well hidden and find a way to open the unopenable was very well known to Kanen. She was also a friend that he had known for many, many years.

    Together, they all went down into the catacombs below the temple. The shadows there were at first strange, but then became sentient and attacked. The knights fought shadows, shades, undead and even men, slaying all in their righteous anger, cleansing the tombs of the hidden evil. The men were found to be cultists, at least one of which a member of the Black Hand company. The others appeared to have links to Myrkul, the dead god of the dead.

    This all seemed too familiar. They found the bodies of three children in three different rooms. Each the apparent victim of some dark ritual, surrounded by profane symbols and runes. Each child looked similar. Light colored hair, all about the same age. About the age that poor Liam was killed, Kanen was almost sure. Also, approximately the age of his own children now. That thought sent a shiver through the Paladin, yet he put the thought aside for now.

    In one room, they found a statue, one with claws and an evil countenance, not something that belonged in the house of Helm at all. In indignant, righteous anger, Kanen used his sword, the wickedly, razor sharp blade “Fanged Justice” that was made of the near-mythical metal adamantite. With this sword he could cut through stone if need be, and methodically hacked the stone statue into rubble. In the rubble Kharbeh spotted a gem, one with seven sides, each side marked by some rune. It was given over to Kanen’s care for now. He placed it in his pack after a brief examination.

    They crossed pits, escaped traps thanks to the skills of the ever observant Kharbeh, and fought specters, skeletal devourers, and worse in their slow, methodical clearing of room after room of the catacombs. Kanen was determined to remove every bit of evil presence from this place, before it would be given the chance to fester and boil over once more. So every corner was checked. Every coffin opened. They prayed the dead and the gods would understand their need. When Kanen concentrated, he could feel the evil still. But it’s source was below them, somehow. They would need to find a way to descend further into the dark earth, into secret, hidden areas of the catacombs that perhaps even the builders of the temple were unaware. That thought bothered Kanen, but he could not immediately understand why, so set it aside as they continued.

    In one room they found a portal of light, yet after some simple tests, decided to pass it by at least for now, not knowing where it might lead, perhaps simply to a quick death. The halls and rooms were a constant battleground, requiring constant vigilance, attacks coming from both before and behind them. Protected by their prayers and spells from their gods, the knights and the scout continued to press on, never wavering from their goal of clearing the catacombs, and finding the source of this hidden evil that remained somehow below them.

    In one room, filled with sarcophagi, something was nagging at Kanen as Roland talked of being here before, and how keys were found here that allowed them to continue their quest at that time. Kanen stood silently, ignoring everyone around him letting the nagging thought come forward and began to concentrate. What had he said before…that the builders of these tombs must not have known that something might lay below these catacombs….looking at the walls around him, it suddenly became clear. These catacombs were not made by the builders of Jiyyd and the temple above…they were much older…and more disturbing still, appeared very similar to the dark halls of the city of the dead, Mintas Rhelgor!

    Kanen quickly told the others of his realization, Kharbeh seemed the least surprised, perhaps already coming to the same conclusion on her own. The knights prepared to enter and clear the final room of the known catacombs, still unable to find any passage below except the ominous portal that may well have be another death trap.

    They entered the room and were immediately surrounded by a cloying, burning cloud of vapor, draining them all of their strength and fighting ability. Stumbling forward, his eyes blurred Kanen walked into yet another trap, one of deadly sharp blades emerging from the very stones of the floor. Before he could react, the knight was cut deeply by one blade, then his leg was near severed by another. Stumbling backward, still choking on the fumes of the poison around them, he drug his now useless leg away from the deadly blades, a specter saw the blood-soaked knight and moved to quickly finish the mortal with an gleeful howl.

    However, Cyrus, priest of Torm, saw the bloody knight and healed him of all wounds with a mighty prayer. Thanking Cyrus, Kanen returned to the battle, just as the others were finishing the last of the foes there, both undead and men. As they carefully searched the room, each of the knights felt the same thing. The temple above was under some dark attack at that very moment. Moving quickly, the knights returned to find the door locked that led to the temple. Kanen once again used his ever sharp blade to destroy the door, and they all quickly moved upstairs to find the High Watcher near death, surrounded by the bodies of more men in dark robes.

    After healing the man, it was decided they would rest and regroup for the day, as everyone was weary from the effort spent thus far, and likely they faced still stronger challenges ahead. Wishing everyone a restful evening, Kanen left the temple, squinting in the bright daylight outside. Removing his helmet, the knight walked west through the graveyard, and noticed a light on in Robyn’s house after many months of it being empty.

    Knocking on the door, Kanen smiled as Robyn opened the door. Just as he started to tell her of the strange things that had been going on, he noticed another person, a man that Kanen knew, already in the house with Robyn. Smiling wider, he heard Robyn say that she was talking business and was too busy to talk now. Nodding at her, the Paladin simply told her to ask him sometime of what they had found below the temple and quietly turned and left, the smile still on his face.

    Hopefully, the man inside the house had finally wisened up and told Robyn of his obvious feelings for her. If he would make her happy, Kanen would be glad indeed, as he knew Robyn deserved much. And if the man would hurt Robyn…well, it wouldn’t be the first bard that the Paladin had challenged to a duel. Chuckling softly he made his way down the hill and back to his home where Seven and the children waited for his return.

    Tonight there would be much needed rest, meditation and prayer. Tomorrow would take care of itself, Helm willing.


  • House Tainted

    When I entered the temple of Helm I felt a disturbing darkness, though faint, about the altar. After having found and removed that, darkness resides still, apparently from the crypts below. Some speak of a revenant, which brought me back to my memories of my test by Helm so many years ago, within those musty dark crypts.

    Could this be the spirit of the fallen Paladin Faramir, attempting to come claim his sword once again? Some even thought it might be Shane, yet that makes little sense, as she has earned her eternal reward, watching at our Lord's side. Questions and mysteries. I will go with others of the Order and find the cause. The House of my Lord must be clean. We cannot allow ourselves to fail. This must be why I have been allowed to return home at this time. I am needed and will serve, as always.