The sun stands high over Narfell. A few minor clouds marring an otherwise pristine sky, but there is no wind to drive them on.
On a cliff overlooking the Icelace sits the young man, his bouts of writing interrupted by the thoughts running through his head. Unaware of his own actions, he touches an item lying next to him. He writes only when he occasionally snaps out of it.
And then you get an answer.
Reading back through my own words, I have come to realize something.
For most of my life, I did not quite trust the gods.
Certainly, I gave them praise and offerings. They rule countless aspects of my life, and I always had enough to be thankful for. They rule countless aspects of the world itself, and take their tasks seriously, even the ones whose task is to not be too serious. I respected them.
Trust, however? No. The gods are not mindless, they are not emotionless, they are not devoid of desires. They are fallible. They plan and scheme, working towards goals of their own. Any semblance of balance and stability seems to come only from as many of these plans succeeding as failing and being countered by another god's plans.
Not that different from mortal power struggles at all.
And like the struggles in my dear Peltarch, I believed staying well clear was the best choice.
To keep your head down and do what had to be done to protect those you care about. If you do not rely on greater powers, you will never have your world collapse when you find they do not answer one day.
Steel can be trusted. Your hands can be trusted. Your eyes can be trusted. Surround yourself with allies, but always be willing to do it alone.
And yet. And yet. Can I honestly say I have ever done it alone? Not counting my many capable and stalwart companions for a moment, though I would never forget them.
To face the Far Realms so early in my career, not once, not twice, but thrice over. The crisis of faith it brought. To find solace in Helm's temple, then meet Kanen Hightower when I began to wonder.
To arrive just in time to stop a hit by the Far Scouts on a girl that now proves herself most useful in finding out what N'Jast is after.
To fall trying to stop the mage who made meeting the Hightower possible, and be met with Robert Holmesmead beyond the veil to warn me of what Rhodes was truly planning.
To lay dying on the walls of Arrangar, yet have a god hear my plea and put me back on my feet.
Pivotal moments, and there are many more. Each time, something put me where I needed to be. I used to figure it was just chance. These days, however, I cannot shake the feeling that I was always part of the game.
By said chance, I started to carry the gnomish map around again. On a whim, really. Not three days later, it warned me of an adventurer falling. The curious thing was that it did not mention a name. I just had to go look, of course.
I was outside the Mermaid with Cormac and Morgan at the time. They balked, but decided going to have a look see was better than watching flowers grow, pretty though they were. We were joined by Gnarl, and Raazi after, then set out to find the mystery fallen.
I am sparse with the details, because so much of it is unknown to me still. What we found was a crater, with a large crystal lodged into the ground. We all knew the area, and that was certainly new. First, we figured the crystal had fallen on top of some poor sap. The more we looked at it, though, we started to notice the crystal's peculiar shape. Something that might be a torso. Something that might be legs. Something that could definitely be a head. Which had quite the crack in it.
As I approached the head and examined the wound, I saw several smaller crystals inside, shining more brightly than the rest of the body.
I did the dumb thing. I know, I know, I should know better by now, but I have seen, spoken to and fought so many Outsiders. I had never seen one like this before, and curiosity got the better of me.
I touched a crystal. The moment I did, the crystals inside the head slithered. Stone, my friend, should not slither.
A moment later, we all felt a searing, burning pain in our bodies. When it passed, we found we were all branded. I have something that looks like a cross between a branding and a birthmark on my left thight. Cormac has a like symbol in his neck. Gnarl has one on his tongue. Morgan has one in his eye. A strange twist of fate I shall not bring up with Elliot. Raazi has one, too, but I don't recall if she mentioned where. All star shaped.
So far, the brand only seemed to have stopped us from acting aggressive towards the crystal, sending new waves of pain when Raazi attempted to kick it.
When Morgan attempted to ressurect the creature, what we got was the spectral image of a large crystalline spider. It tried to communicate, in its way, with a series of clicks to represent numbers, and the numbers representing our alphabet.
Whatever the creature was, it is expected to return with the new vessels. Us. Return where? "They" are waiting for us among the stars. This was not a neogi, though.
What irks me most is that we are not immediately compelled to find a way back the "them". We may be the vessels that need to return, but this likely means it has more planned. I worry it will compel us to mark more vessels.
With its message done, the spectral image dissolved, leaving the curious gnomish map that lured us there.
Now it falls to us to learn what is done to us, and how to remove it. The others seem to have more options. Well, maybe not Gnarl. The map will have Legend Lore cast on it, and whatever other manner of divination spells Morgan and others can muster. Raazi could likely find gods know how many volumes on rare Outsiders over in Spellweaver. Cormac over in the College. And there I am with my bloody piece of steel in hand, right?
I could head to either of those or Little Candlekeep and ask to look through those books, but the good books are all written in Draconic. Figures.
Yes, my friends and companions can help. Yes, I asked them, and I trust them. It is just frustrating to have to wait, unable to act as long as I have no clue what I am dealing with.
And so, I trusted. Trusted that I am not alone. That all these situations I am thrust into are not just happenstance. That the path I walk is the will of Helm. Dear Aoth warned me to be careful about praying. Place enough faith in a god, and they will place their faith in you. It seems I am in for it now.
I prayed. A simple enough prayer. Asking for guidance. A sign to tell me what was needed of me. To show me what I could do against this new threat.
I have heard His followers are occasionally granted visions when they are at wit's end. I assumed that would be the extent of it.
To tell the truth, I had not expected an answer. Despite that I believe He watches over me, it seemed so insignificant.
And then? You get an answer.
The young man puts the quill down and picks up the item that lay next to him. A finely crafted steel hilt, fit for a bastard sword, oddly warm to the touch. Part of him had not believed it when he first found it. He'd even visited Helm's temple to have Alicia tell him what he already knew.
This was his sign.
His fingers run along the elegantly engraved letters on the hilt.
"Ever Vigilant."
