Tales By The Fire

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  Burning Scrolls - The Writings of Diadne
  • Robyn

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  The flames of the bonfire whipped merrily on the shore of The Scar. Diadne stood within, the lantern at her feet. The ceremonial clothing had long since burned away, and she stood with arms outstretched, fingers splayed, hair blowing in the fiery updraft. She looked up at nothing an onlooker could see. Her mouth was parted, and her eyes stared blankly into the heavens. Her irises glowed brightly with divine magic and despite the heat, her body shivered slightly. The flames took a form of their own, and Diadne was caressed by their touch. As the night settled across the land and the flames sputtered and died, Diadne collapsed to the ashes at her feet. Mirtul 6th The communes have become more … intimate as of late. They are soul bearing in ways difficult to put on paper. It’s as if my entire being is laid out before him. I no longer even feel the need to ask any questions. I find myself counting the days each week until the lantern is ready again. I have sacrificed certain physical pleasures for this, and I’m coming to realize how little I’ve actually given up. My life as a servant to the temple and courtesan in Thay are shadows of my current existence. However… Last month I was in Eltabbar, and a child ran up to me asking for coin. He looked at my holy symbol, regarded me innocently and said, “blessed be the flame which warms my house and cooks my food”, and held his hands out. I looked into those innocent eyes and dirt streaked face, and my heart went out to him … and then sank as I realized I would never have a child of my own. I could adopt. The orphanage of Peltarch is full of children looking for someone to call mother or father, but to stare into the eyes of your own flesh and blood has to be one of the greatest joys a parent could have. Yet, I never will.
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  Unen Alow - A Journal
  • Kwyn

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  I must admit dear journal, I'm not sure what is going on. I have of late been going on expeditions to far and scary places, and as such I have lost the thread of the story in our fair kingdom. It seems that things are slowly turning towards what has been suspected. Perhaps it is time to look for allies that are thinking the same thing. On Minotaurs, I am impressed at what they have built i must say, endless corridors, paths to nowhere, mind boggling directionless wandering. Put some sand and and a few drinks around and I call that a vacation. Honestly it was harrowing, but I am satisfied with the direction we have gone, I yearn to see the new and wild places in the lands, to gather what strength I can. I am happy to say our adventuring party is becoming a true group of friends, and look forward to where we go in the future. Anyways, journal, you keep it together while I'm gone out adventuring. unen nods and sets the journal down, and continues on the rug he is weaving in his room
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  Anthology of Mistakes - Hannibal's Path
  • SatansAdvisor

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  Hannibal whistles a simple repetitive tune quietly as he slowly walks through the farm town, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. Norwick was a pleasant place when it wasn't besieged. He smiles slightly to himself as he walks to the outskirts of town. Dressed in a simple tunic of faded grey, middle aged and with no discerning features, nobody noticed him. Just as he preferred. He was an average man, deserving of no recognition. He was not worth anybody's time, despite what they might think. His whistling stopped as he reached his destination - the remnants of a small cottage atop a hill. The cottage had burnt to the ground years ago, and nobody of any importance had lived there. The pain and suffering that had taken place here years ago had gone by completely unnoticed by any living soul. Hannibal's smile faded as he arrived, replaced by a slightly pained expression. With a gentle exhale of breath, he walks past the charred debris to the base of a sakura tree. It was blooming. And he never missed a bloom. Pale pink blossoms littered the ground like snow, and Hannibal sat down amongst them, his back to the base of the tree. Leaning his head to rest against the smooth trunk of the tree, he let out a somewhat ragged breath and slid his worn journal from his pack. He picked up a blossom and twirled it between his fingers before placing it between pages in the journal. Taking up his quill, he began to write on the nearest fresh page. "I too often find myself alone with my thoughts. Years have gone by since I was able to put them to paper or a listening ear. A true shame, but so it goes. I must pick up where I left off those many years ago to truly put my life to paper. "I had escaped from a life of violence, only to find existence away from combat and strife too quiet. I was a combatant through and through. I had been trained to kill, both physically and mentally. I excelled at it and immersed myself in it. To my secret delight, I took to combat like a fish to water. It spoke to me, and gave me something to be proud of - something I had never had before. The emptiness I felt inside when I realized I would never again bet my life against another was soul crushing. I felt as if every emotion in me had been imprisoned, leaving a void in myself where there had once been a personality. I had taken the man I had become and tried to escape him because I feared where he would take me. I am not possessed of a particularly strong will, and it did not take me long to realize that I would waste away if I did not reopen that metaphorical box of caged emotions. I was nothing without who I had been. I fled the life of peace I had tried so hard to return to, much to the dissatisfaction of my family. I returned to those few friends I still had and we took every job we could find. The mission did not matter, and while we pretended we fought for coin, we really fought for the fight. The beast inside each of us was not satiated until we had fed it the adrenaline that comes with combat. A life of combat is unsustainable. War takes everything from those who give themselves to it. Every town and city from here to Waterdeep has the same seedy tavern full of mercenaries. Every war camp I have ever been to is full of them, too, and they come in every color. The young, smiling youths who eagerly await their first taste of combat, coins already spent on fresh gear and women. And, side by side with them, their future. Old, battered men who have given their entire existence to war - they are empty inside and will fight until they die. Their existence is meaningless, and they know it. But due to their decisions, they are doomed to follow battle until it ends them. Many of them die inside long before a blade finds their heart on the field. But do not weep for them, as that is how their story goes." Hannibal takes a break and rubs his stubble before returning to the page. "As years passed me by, I lived on the road and in those taverns. I gave my blade to anybody who would pay, and with it, my essence. Our actions, willing and unwilling, change who we are. I allowed myself to become consumed yet again by the emotions inside me that thirsted after fear, adrenaline and satisfaction. I came close to death many, many times. The medics patched me up each time, and my friends and I hid the rational fear a living being ought to experience after such behind laughter and stories. I was happy in my work, and I did not care who was harmed in it. I was a selfish man whose sole interest was the satisfaction I felt after giving myself to my basal instincts. And so I ended up in Narfell, under the employ of the Town of Norwick. They hired every mercenary who held still in those days, and my displayed lack of morals was just another attribute to my credit. Norwick changed my life more than any town has a right to, and I will always owe a large piece of who I am to it. All those years ago, while wearing Norwick's colors, I was struck down in battle. My first time. We always remember our first, or so I am told. Truth is, I only remember what happened afterwards. I awoke in a sandy desert at the feet of a tall man in a ruby robe. He looked down at me, and when I met his eyes I knew he was superior to me in every way. I sighed and awaited my fate. But when he spoke, it was not the cruelty I expected and deserved. He simply asked me what my deepest desire was. Keeled over in the sand with the King of the Nine as my only company, I finally experienced the quietness my mind never granted me in life. I had given everything to my lust for violence, and only in death did the urges subside. I was at peace, finally. It felt extraordinary, freeing and as akin to true liberation as anything I had ever felt. I no longer had any reasons to do anything. I had been absolved of any responsibility and all consequence. It felt undeserved. I was not a man who deserved peace in death. I met Asmodeus eyes and asked him what he meant. He knew, just as I did, that I had no desire. I was a shell of a man. An empty husk that hid from responsibility on the battlefield and gave in to basal wants. The archdevil shrugged his shoulders and told me that I was the type of man that deserved to be on the mortal plane. He said he would send me there with anything I pleased, in exchange for a favor. I looked around the endless expanse of sand and took his offer. I had seen death. I could always return. I had never walked the Realms with a favor from an archdevil in my pocket. Until then. I awoke in the Temple of Chauntea, thinking it had all been a dream. A much calmer dream than I usually had, but a dream all the same. I no longer felt the urge to throw my life away though. I was resigned. Weary. As I collected myself and walked out, a child with red eyes stopped me and produced a bag of gold coins. He thrust them towards me and spoke in a quiet, yet even, tone. Remember our deal. Then he left. I had made a deal with the Lord of the Nine, and had been compensated well for it. My weariness subsided, replaced with an excitement I had not felt since childhood. Years went by once more, and I spent the coins as quickly as they would appear in my pockets. The fanciest armor and the best made weapons. I plied my services in Oscura, bounty hunting for the city. I figured I might as well break in my new possessions. I bought expensive rooms and worked for the foulest people in all of Narfell. I contracted for anybody who could afford me. Not because I missed violence anymore, but because I thirsted for gold. I had tasted power, and I wanted more. And I knew I could get it. I had found a new meaning in life." Hannibal places his quill on the bed of blossoms beneath him and closes his journal slowly. Placing it in his pack, he gathers his things quietly and efficiently before running his fingers through his hair and leaning his head against the trunk of the tree behind him. He takes a small flask from his belt and uncorks it. He brushes a few blossoms off a small, unadorned stone marker near the base of the tree and pours a small amount of liquid from the flask onto the ground before taking a swig for himself. After swallowing, he scowls and leans back against the tree, closing his eyes in the remaining afternoon warmth.
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  Item Enchantment - Master Storm Dove for Blue Sparrow III
  • Kerby

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  For Safe Keeping.
  • Dragon Sai

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  The Story of Thorin Goldenaxe
  • Preacher

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  Two days later… The blunt side of the axe finds the knocked on the ground Thorin on the shoulder while he still strives to avoid any more brutal swings from the enraged Duergar. The other dwarves are being pushed back as well. Doigan is pinned down while fighting against two of them and Dafur is being kept busy by their on-guard leader. The young priest of Clangeddin is among the weakest when it comes to melee fight. He is more suited in a supportive role. The Duergar has seen through it and manages one more brutal hit through Thorin’s torso. The beardling loses consciousness on his own pool of blood. The Duergar cracks a bloodied smile and heads towards help finishing the rest. Not long after, three more dwarves fall too and couple of Duergars as well. While in the heat of battle, Dafur and the Duergar leader measure each other’s strength. Intense moment of gaze battle draws eyes on them. Both know that their fight outcome will play a crucial role on the mine control… Duergar cracks a small grin, like stating meaningfully that Dafur is weak. Dafur doesn’t give in and stands firm as always. He fears death not. In front of him stands the one who killed his brother. Duergar’s death is the only compensation… The Duergar glares at him flatly and intensely. Dafur knows that the slightest mistake means his own death, and in turn his brothers as well. “So you‘re the fark who killed my brother, huh? Not sure how you made it . . . You bribed Tymora perhaps . . .?” Dafur said mockingly as he looked him up and down. He knew the importance of the mental games in a fight more than enough in his 420 years of life. Countless foes had fallen while trying to kill him. Not once had he ever fell unconscious in battle. Doigan was gifted with his father’s toughness as well. “. . . Why don’t you come and see for yourself pig head? Your brother had the same confidence before I run my blade through his heart . . .” Duergar responded in similar manner. He sounds like a war veteran as well. Such threats seem to be a joke for him, obviously being a warrior who has nothing more to prove. Dafur realizes it may actually come to who has the strongest will, and stubbornness perhaps. Oddly it is the first time he is sweaty. Gargon Bloodbeard his name, an infamous being who will not hesitate to “sacrifice” his brethren in the name of the greater purpose… Dafur has heard of his deeds, he is not intending of dropping his guard. The two dwarves approach each other slowly, carefully. They measure each other for a long moment. Bloodbeard lower his axe almost to the ground and cracks a grin. Dafur hesitates for a moment but he takes the initiative. Bloodbeard rises his blade defensively after shoving the dust and on blocking Dafur, he manages to blind Dafur momentarily, allowing him in turn to slash him partly along his right bicep. Dafur though is fond of being pushed back and keeps pressing with an impressive focus. His hammer moves insanely fast and manages to reach Duergar’s helm, making him lose balance. Bloodbeard chuckles a bit and responds with similar speed, but stronger… He manages one more brutal hit along Dafur’s right leg this time and drop him down. Dafur feels the pain, but won’t give up. He has more than a few reasons more than anyone to kill Bloodbeard. As the Duergar is close to him, he lets his shield and grabs Bloodbeard’s axe. “There is a reason why Moradin’s children are feared in battle the most...” He cracks a bloodied, bloodthirsty grin and bashes duergar’s head with his hammer, making Bloodbeard step clumsily lots of steps away before he falls on the ground. Dafur stands on his feet and spits some blood. He stands along the edge of the underground cliff but he has the advantage now. He stares at him for a moment while his opponent mumbles something that sounds like nonsense. “Bare this in what mind has left in you… Dwarves never give up. And death in battle is the greatest honor we can have… You already lost.” Saying that though gave time to Bloodbeard to chant some kind of prayer, something that moments ago sounded like nonsense. Suddenly a searing light pierces through Dafur, leaving him paralyzed, enough for him to drop his guard. That is when his opponent charges enraged and manages one more, even tougher slash. Dafur falls down on his knee, reaching his limits and swimming in his own blood. Bloodbeard won’t speak, instead he will crack a grin before the final blow. This time though it’s his time to feel the same searing light, leaving him on the ground as well. The left for dead young priest of Clangeddin on the far corner of the battlefield had found the strength to channel one last divine gift through his enemy, giving his father whatever opportunity he can against Bloodbeard. Now the battle turns to Dafur’s favor. Bloodbeard knows that and after a mutter he jumps off the cliff into the underground river… Shortly after the battle ended with the rest of the Duergar lying dead. Mission accomplished and the dwarves gained an important advantage around with this new mine. After some serious bandaging, Thorin raises and while his brethren cheer their victory he glances thoughtfully at the river. Bloodbeard was a most dangerous opponent…
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  Robyn's Whispers
  • Robyn

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  Legacy Yavie attacked with precision. Coupled with her ferocious speed and strength, I had to rely on every trick in my book to avoid getting hit. There was a degree of recklessness in the assaults, but most importantly she had finally learned to use the rapier has it was meant to be used. Gone was the influence of the heavy weapons training. It had been replaced by her own unique twist on my instruction. She would never be a master with it. That would require set of disciplines she wasn’t ready for. But the swordsman who broke through the lines thinking this archer would be easy prey would be in for a very rude surprise. I found myself near the edge of the stage and signaled her to stop. She looked at me puzzled for a moment, still no confidence in her own skill. Despite my usual demeanor recently, I found myself smiling. “Very well done”, I said. She blinked for a moment and beamed a smile in her inimitable fashion. I took the practice weapon from her, and packed it until my bag. She gathered her own gear, and balled her hair up in an unruly knot, fanning the sweat from her neck. “Same time tomorrow?”, she asked. I looked at her for several moments thoughtfully. I wish I had her near eternal youth, her unfettered spirit of adventure, her hope and idealism. I had many of those things, so very long ago. It was time to leave those things to a younger generation. “No”, I said, “We’re done. That was our last lesson” She looked bewildered and crestfallen. “Did I do something wrong?”, she said, almost in a panic. “No”, I replied with a smile, “You did everything right. There’s nothing left I’m going to teach you” She stood there looking directionless as I gathered my things. Then we stood there silently looking at each other. Finally, I spoke up. “Walk with me”, I said. We spent the rest of the day meandering through and outside the city. I told her everything. I told her of my love for a man I could never have. I told her about the house on the hill, with apple pies made for the adventurers who would visit. I told her of murders, retribution, and false justice. I described the ease of how anger can lead to darkness, sorrow and addiction. We walked the villages surrounding the city. I spoke of duty and honor, and the importance of fighting for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. I spoke of the importance of friendships and loyalty. Finally, I spoke of the sword. I told her of Livia, Vortelli and Donar, three inseparable adventurers who lived a very long time ago. I spoke of Donar’s death at the castle battlements, of Livia’s death at the hand of Drow, and Vortelli’s anguish and pledge of service. I spoke of the Tyr blessed blade, of Livia’s service within, and the celestial blessed duels for justice. I told of a very young woman named Robyn Jahnsdotter who received that blade and became bound to its service too, wielding justice in Tyr’s name. Hopes and dreams put aside for duty and service. At the end of the day I felt relieved. Unburdened. Yavie thanked and hugged me, and we went our separate ways. I hope she carries on my fight, and inspires others to do the same. My time here is at an end.
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  Reyer's Thoughts
  • lorenzom

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  Is not my fault... is totally my fault! I went to Maria only to ask her what was the official position of the Keep about Chaevre and the Silver Host after the exile judgment. The Keeper was surprised, she even didn't know about it. She asked for an explanation and I summarised what I saw and heard at the trial trying to be the most objective I could. My only remark was about my fear about how the pale professor could be escaped to the sentence. My feeling about the impossibility to lock up her so easily was well-founded, rumors about her appearance in Oscura already spread. I swear that I didn't want her expulsion but in the light of events I can't blame Maria's decision. I hope to clarify Chaevre's actions and motivations.
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  Conscience flow - anonymous
  • Dermin_Lantaional

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  2 So you need help, buddy, is that what you’re saying? Oh hey, a messed up wheel. Pity you, my friend, so pity that it happened here in the road. I’m just going to watch. I’m just going to help you by watching. What? You don’t think that’s enough help? That’ll do it, you’ll see that’ll do. Someone is coming. Two. The good travelers. Just look at them, they give you relief. They are going to help you with what you yourself screwd up earlier. Makes sense. Makes totally sense. That’ll definitely make you more rational and stronger. Teach you a lesson. Alright buddy, I’ll be over there while these idiots give you a hand (I bet you are going to give me your hand at some point, no hurry). Take your time, take all the time you need. I’ll just take mine. Finally. Psst. Hey! Over here imbecile! Are you blind? Shouldn’t be surprised. Don’t follow that road, friend. Distrust of the road, always. That road doesn’t lead food. Safe, I meant. I know a shortcut. Yes, I know. Don’t you believe the person that just helped you earlier? Ungrateful. This way, I know these woods, trust me. Good. A fine decision. Finally something you do with your own volition: taking a decision, making up your mind. Hey! Over here! Fucking blind, are you? Psst. We are almost there. Glance over there, I think something fell from your cart. And. Dope. Something is in your backbone now. Oh, you can’t move? Is that fear in your eyes? Yes, it’s fine, should be always like this. Lay on you fucking blind human, I’m opening your chest to end your misery right now.
• L

  The Many Paths - Garen's Notes
  • LustJaw

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  “To distinguish good and evil; to uphold virtue and condemn immorality” I write now to contemplate over the happenings over the past week. Much has transpired during the short time of my return to the lands of Narfell. -- I joined the Silver Host on their crusade into Jiyyd to be rid of the remaining demonic forces still plaguing the land. Many other adventurers had joined the effort as well, given it was towards a good cause. This would mark the first time I would meet Sir Robert Holsmead, Torm’s voice on Toril. Every little bit the hero as tales would tell off, his presence alone was enough for our party to be instilled with some measure of his divine might. We were stronger, faster than ever before, charging into the demonic line without fear, cutting them down with blade and arrow as we surged forward on angelic wing. Three demonic general yet remained in the ruins of Jiyyd, and our task was to slay them. One by one they were met, beings far greater than our own; but now empowered by Torm, we were a match. Robert made sure to check on us between every fight, even while his attention was on the strongest of these demonic creatures. Tending to our wounds as well as going as far as to bring back the dead, specifically Tyrus who had been felled in combat with the flaming skulls. He joined our side when we faced the final demonic general, a balor, wreathed in flames. I suppose given the image, it was again something out of a fairy tale, the holy knight battling against the very embodiment of evil. The minor magics of my weapon did nothing against it, so I did what I do best and served as the distraction; taking a number of blows against my armor and shield while my companions concentrated on its exposed flank. And given time, even the balor fell. We returned to the Bluff tired but victorious, where we basked in our accomplishments for a time and shared many a drink. Fellow adventurers came to join the festivities shortly after, including one by the name of Reyhenna Jorino, of who I am to believe is a close friend of Isolde’s. She had never struck me as a personable sort, always with the quick abrasive word and intentional show of rebellion. Festivities abruptly came to a close when it was announced that she was to be attending the second tribunal for sentencing. -- While I should find a sense of accomplishment in facing the demon generals in melee combat and holding my own, I simply cannot weigh it as one of personal attainment given the divine empowerment. It also seemed fitting that the shield I had earned in facing the demonic slime creature proved its worth further still with these outsiders. Regardless of what others seem to believe, I am no hero. I was simply in the right place at the right time to assist. -- Many a familiar face attended the Second Tribunal, and more still of those unfamiliar to me. As I walked up, the lady Chaevre was the subject of scrutiny. The halfling Vere of the Silver Host looked into her and told the truth that was her being. Sacrifices of children made in the name of Lady Infernus and the quest for lichdom. Chaevre was allowed to defend herself, though lies were not tolerated. A zone of truth permeated the circle of blades she was trapped within. Following that, people amongst the audience were allowed to speak on her defense, but few knew her personably, instead speaking to the unfairness of judging and sentencing. Roslyn spoke of leading questions, Vick simply made the usual snide comments. Chaevre was sentenced to exile. Tendrils of light wrapping around her as she was taken to a plane elsewhere to think over her crimes and find redemption. -- This was followed by Marie Andersdottir. As was told in her truth, she had turned to the darker arts, seeking a way to bring back her brother, Talbot Anderson. She seemed resigned to her fate in exile, and instead of defending her cause, stated that her brother would kill all of the Silver Host. While Marie may not have believed in herself, many present did. Making heartfelt pleas and examples of her inherent goodness and road towards redemption. She was found wanting, and exiled. -- The final individual to be judged was an elven druid, a follower of Malar. Aoth spoke up, not towards his defense. But simply that the druid circle would be more fitting in handing a fair sentencing. Robert seemed to accept this, and for good will between the Druid Circle, accepted the release of the elf into Aoth’s hands. -- I am unused to the heckling that the Silver Host received during the Tribunal. From where I am from, matters of grave importance are usually a respectful affair, even if one does not agree with the proceedings. While I understand a number of the accused were friends and known companions, they did not and could not deny the evil that they had committed in their past. They were even allowed to defend themselves, and provide witnesses of their character. And given the past release of Chandra and the druid, it is not as if it were just a formality before exile. It does no good to interrupt and make a nuisance of oneself, when one can instead try to observe, learn and understand. Through understanding, find a course amicable to parties aggrieved. -- Sir Zachary had been sent as an emissary to Peltarch, firstly to quell their fears in regards to a Silver Host attack that was not to come, and secondly for Reyhenna to submit herself to the Silver Host for judgement. I was not surprised in Reyhenna’s order to capture Zachary, given the impression she left upon me on the few occasions that we have interacted. The sheer speed in which the magic users appeared and spirited the man off was also commendable. However, Sir Zachary was a good man, and the capture of him and the violent means in which he was disarmed was a dishonorable act. I knew I would not stand with Reyhenna and by extension the City of Peltarch. This differed greatly with the adventurers I stood with, and again I could not understand why they would choose war instead of a fair judgement for sins committed. Knowing I would have little impact on the events that would then transpire, I chose to stand with the alienated Tormtar in Peltarch, torn between their godly duty and loyalty to the city, they would be worth protecting from harm, as this war was not of their choosing. -- “Vere is pulling the strings.” This theory was put forth by Isolde and companions as we were whisked away from the third tribunal. I would imagine this accusation is partly based on bias given the subjects of the tribunal, and partly because Vere had her attention on Robert when he spoke to Torm. I do not believe this is possible. Robert channels power greater than any paladin or cleric that is known to me, I would surmise Torm is aware of him specifically. If Vere was in control and guiding Robert’s hand towards evil, I believe his powers would be stripped given the scrutiny of his god; if her intentions not outright revealed given Robert’s ability to commune with Torm during the third tribunal. The implication that Vere being in control would mean that the power is not Robert’s and by following this line of logic, not of Torm’s. This does not make any sense given the nature of gods and their believers. -- As I pen this, I am reminded of the demons we struck down during the crusade who on their dying breath claimed that we were following a lie. I had originally thought it in their nature to sow distrust in our forces and paid it no heed. While we debated the issue of the Silver Host, Ting spoke of intuition, of knowing when something is wrong when all facts point otherwise. If I follow this thought on the assumption that the Silver Host is based on a lie, the question remains, where does the divine power stem from? Would it not be simpler to ask Torm himself?
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  Item Enchantment - Lady Aurora Moonbeam for Blue Sparrow II
  • Kerby

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  The World According to Ting
  • StCroix

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  The Ranger Ting is seen leaving... * waves *
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  Shadow Wolf
  • Karion_Silverbow

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  The Bows The bonding ceremony was over and the reception had begun. Food was being devoured and wine and mead flowed. The music played and even the wolves danced. All of a sudden the music stopped, the skies grew dark, and there was a weak knock at the gates to the den. I didn't know what it was at first. It looked like some sort of zombie and I was near to attacking it until she spoke. It was one of the professors from the Spellweaver. Assuming she had come to see Maria, who was there already and head mistress of the Spellweaver. I let her in. The necromancer came with gifts for Ting and I, which at first I didn't trust and was very short with her. Upon the necromancer taking her leave, I asked Thau'lira to look the bows over for any curse that may be present. Theaon, also there at the time, gave them a look as well. Both priests said the bows held no cusrses that they could find. I trusted both their words and their ability. In the process the darkness came to light and all was good once more. Ting and I picked up the bows and they felt quite impressive. The night was young and festive and we thought little of the bows for the rest of the evening. The party wound down and folks began to depart. It wouldn't be long before everyone was gone and only Ting and I remained. Our minds went to the bows immediately as if they were calling to us. We tried them out on the archery targets. At masters' range we were frequently hitting center bull's eye. The bow felt good in my hand. I wouldn't have to worry about buying arrows again as one appeared by magic at the touch of the bowstring. However, it's not adjusted to my strength nor as sentimental as my Wolfbow, which I cherish and will continue to use. I wrap the darkwood bow in white linen and put it away in my chest. I close my eyes and refleck of the days events. It would not be, as it was not the past the I saw in my mind's eye, or waking dream as Ting calls it. "All is quiet in the Den. A hint of moonlight shines through the clouds creating a feeling of tranquility. I hug our child tight and lay her to sleep in the cradle. A side glance to the bed nearby I see Ting in a state of reverie. A sudden chill fills the air. A skeleton bursts through the ground intent on the baby. In an instant I grab my darkwood bow and draw the string, an arrow appears magically and I let loose destroying the skeleton. A noise behind me catches my attention and I turn drawing another arrow but I stop. To my horror, my child, now an adolescent stands before me, eyes black as the abyss and skin as pale as death. The child smiled at me and moves to embrace me lovingly. I feel I might let loose an arrow on my beloved child. I suddenly feel like I'm shaking uncontrollably. As I gather my senses, I realize the whole thing was a dream, an uncomfortably real dream." I come out of reverie and look over at Ting who is still in a meditative state. Suddenly her eyes open and she stares straight into my soul. ""Did you have...?", she asked. "Yes", I replied. She then says, "You know.... it is already too late my wolf.... if the cycle has started... we have...." She needed not finish. I knew what she was going to say. Part of me was worried about the vision I had seen. Mostly I was elated that I was to be a father. The bow? Is it where I left it still. I had to see and I did. It would remain safe in my chest. TIng has been out and about all day. When she returns the states that she had been out testing the bow and it seemed to do well against the skeletons in the old Norwick Graveyard. We both head south and I too test the newly acquired bow on the undead. It performed well, quite a bit better than on living creatures. However, it was still useless against zombies. Still not all that impressed, I return my bow to the chest where I kept it. It calls to me. I hear it. It wants to be used. It talks to me but I resist. A skeleton rises from the ground. I reach for my Wolfbow but it's not there. Instead it's the necromancer's gift. I grab the bowstring and an arrow appears. I let loose and the skeleton is destroyed. Other than there being no child as of yet and Ting not being present, it just like my vision. In fact, I had thought it another vision, at first, and waited to come out of reverie. It would not be so this time. What just occurred was real. But I left the bow in my chest. I rushed to the chest inserted my key and opened the lid, slowly. I was hoping to see a bow there wrapped in white linen. I had hoped that I had put the wrong bow in the chest. There it was in the bottom. The white linen still wrapped around, to my surprise, nothing. I did have my Wolfbow but, the undead's appearance seemed to make the darkwood bow come to my hand instead. This indeed is an interesting bow. It speaks to me, promises power, but I resist the temptation. Ting, however, is having a rough go at it. She can't take the voice in her mind. The bow wants to be used and should be. I feel different when I use it though. It's as if I lose a part of myself. It's as if the Lone Wolf calls. I must do what is necessary for the survival of my family. Ting and the twins must be kept safe. No, I can't lose myself to Fenmarel's wild ways! I feel her. She's in trouble! I must find her! I emerge from the shadows as I enter the city of Peltarch and make my way to the commons. I can feel her fear. I can feel her anguish. I go to her. It's the voice of the bow. It calls to her. Skeletons rise from the ground. Instantly the bow appears in her hand and she lets loose a barrage of arrows with deadly precision. I try to calm her and get her to resist the urges of the bow. People have already gathered. Accusations fly of us leading the undead to the city but she and I think it's the bow. More skeletons burst from the ground. My bow, which I had left locked up at the den, appears in my hand. Without a thought we both let loose and the skeletons fall to the ground. We go to the lighthouse in hope of receiving help in getting rid of the bows. A paladin comes in and can see an evil aura about Ting and I but not originating from us. He asked to see the bows. We showed him and he confirmed that it was indeed the bows giving off the evil aura. He wants to destroy the bows. At first I was fine with that but the bow called to me. I couldn't let him destroy them. I rushed up to him to push him away but it was like pushing on a sturdy stone wall. He would not be budged. By this time, Ting had had all of the voice in her head that she could take. Others, I fail to recall who, grab her. They're hurting her. The twins! The darkwood bow comes to my hand by shear will. I reach for the bowstring but fail to touch it. I can't move. Ting can't move. We're trapped. NO! The bows! One by one the bows are destroyed and Ting and I released. All is well again. The voice is no more. We go back to the den. It calls to me. I hear it. It wants to be used. It promises power. It promises to unlock it's secrets. I must resist. It feels good in my hand. I must...
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  Tacticum Vita
  • rei_jin

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  Walking with purpose, equipped in her finest armor, the red haired woman walked to Jiyyd after giving her horse away. She would not need it for what lay ahead. She had resigned from her various posts, each cut at her more than those who received it would ever know. But it must be done, it must. One letter to John, her oldest remaining family member. One letter to William, to tell him of the sword, her last act of legacy. The ruins of the former farming town lay mostly silent now, save for the odd undead who still shambled about. The evil outsiders were no more, the planar bubble remnants destroyed.The Temple of Helm was open again. Yet, the ruins remained, and likely would for a generation or more. Jiyyd was no more. She cried, grieved for what had passed. Her own connection to Narfell began here, and it would end here. All those years before, part of the Steelfangs who had joined the battle against the "evil Peltarchians" who were behind the slaughter of her king. Part of the Steelfangs who uncovered the plans to slaughter civilians by a mercenary unit, and destroyed them for their evil. Part of the Steelfangs who suffered a mock trial and were imprisoned, tortured, executed and worse for seeking justice. A lifetime and longer ago. But the flames of hardship had forged in her something stronger than steel, for the blade itself is weak and brittle, but the hand that wields it is where true strength lies. A hand, a heart, a mind, a soul. These things are greater than any tool, greater than any weapon. She had proven that time and again. Defeating the Shadovar, saving Peltarch during the Calculabe trials, fighting for Oscura and Norwick during their times of trial, and ever searching for the truth, ever recording what had passed, ever teaching, ever learning... No, she had done what she set out to do. The wrong was righted. The price was paid. The red haired woman could hold her head high, knowing that she could do no more for this realm, the land that she had grown to love. N'jast may have been her family's home, the place of her estate, where she was born and raised. But Narfell was where she truly grew and became the woman that the Red Knight had called her to be. She kneeled, and prayed a silent prayer, looking to the ground a moment before scooping up a small amount of it and placing it inside a locket. "Home..." Standing, she cast a series of spells, drawing ever more and more power into herself until she fairly glowed with power. She sang the arcane songs of defense, of might, of speed and power, she drew upon the divine songs of righteousness and splendour. Melding them together, she became... more... than she had ever revealed... more than others knew. Her time in the pocket plane had borne more fruit than simply a new tongue and a refreshed perspective. Drawing her sword, her singing blade of Sune, she imbued it with the power of divinity, just as she did her shield. Striding, singing an otherworldly song, she drove the evil from her simply by her presence. The shadows retreated as she advanced, unable to hold their ground. Those who resisted were obliterated... there was no room for the darkness in the presence of such light. Howlers, skeletons and zombies disintegrated or fled. No quarter was asked for. None was given. Mintas Forest lay ahead, and at its heart, her goal. Yet, the beasts in Mintas (for the most part) were not evil, simply animalistic. Her presence would not drive them away. She nodded to herself, and began to pick up speed, first stepping then striding then sprinting headlong, screaming as she went. A burst of power and the leaves on the forest floor rolled back in a wave, the tigers, bears, wolves, and boars either running in fear or charging her in anger. Her sword flashed and sang in the midday sun. She was not death, but she wielded it with efficiency and speed, no movements wasted, no suffering given. They were innocents, but they had to die so that she could live. A trail of corpses left in her wake, she moved deeper and deeper until she found her first goal... the flame-burned footprints, the stench of sulphur, she knew her quarry was near. The Nessian War-Hound. With a prayer to the Red Knight, she launched herself towards it, bouncing from rock to rock until she launched herself into the air and landed upon it, striking a single killing blow directly through its skull. Its Lemure handler vanished upon seeing the carnage, and the animals of the forest melted away, sensing the fruitlessness of opposition. The field was hers, as it was fated to be. Sheathing her blade, the red haired woman walked into the remains of Mintas Rhelgor. Past the cliff tower with its throne and rooms. Past the timber fences which somehow still stood. Past the abandoned watch-towers. And into the ruined temple, and into the barracks, where she was greeted by the faithful, and by Shallyah, her old friend, who smiled and embraced her warmly. "Welcome home Val. We've been expecting you." The two began to pour over maps and sheets of numbers, and the troops closed in, as one life ended and another began. FIN
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  The tale of the Beholder Balloons
  • rei_jin

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  FIN
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  Chaevre's Thoughts
  • metagod

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  Ceremony of Endless Night I have completed the ceremony though I should not have gotten the peltarch officials involved. That almost ruined everything. The ritual required committing a deed that was considered beyond evil. Research suggests murdering a child, or sacrificing a virgin, or other simple deeds but I decided to takeit a step further. Using a toxin I discovered in the Fey wilds I was able to hypnotize some farmer into believing his house was infested with rats and a bit of confusion magic. He ended up murdering his own family. I sealed his memory so he wouldn't know he did it. He would suffer for a while and likely be blamed for it. In order to complete the ritual I needed him to remember, i needed his heart filled with emotion, hatred, regret, anger, and sadness, enough to drive him to suicide. Getting to him was difficult though as he was put in jail under guard. It took some time but I had my familiar navigate the sewers until she could access the jail. I had her give the inquisitor a charm that would release the seal on his memory and then I used sending spell to communicate with him. To convince him that he should seek vengeance, that he could even see his family again. He didn't immediately accept my proposal but I suspected he might not. I will let the emotions continue to burn his soul. It was several days later that i decided the time was right. I would have the man kill himself and I would collect his blood. He had been moved to another cell in the jail and his guard was increased. Worse yet there was something going on and my familiar had to drop the dagger in order to escape. We waited until the jail cleared out, there was another prisoner and a child in different cells now so I had to think of how to get around everyone... First I decided on a distraction. I had my pixie slip in the cell with the tied up prisoner and set fire inside the cell, it burned quickly consuming the man before the guards could put the fire out. This drew the attention of the ceruleans who came over and used magic to extinguish the fire. Meanwhile my familiar returned to the other cell through the sewers, nearly triggering a couple traps but managed to disable them, and gave the man the dagger needed to kill himself, the promise of seeing his family again and the guilt of killing them in the first place was enough to force his hand. Shouts from the other room were heard, an innocent child locked in a cell. He wasn't part of the plan but a little bonus never hurt. The pixie had little difficulty ending the boys life. The blood was collected and the blade discarded. All that remains is the phylactery and the ritual of becoming will be complete.
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  Indestructible Master of War! (A Quest to become a Divine Champion of Clangeddin Silverbeard)
  • Karion_Silverbow

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  Day 48: It seems that the bandits have given up. Good thing too. I've been itching to kill something. These last few days I've taken off from adventuring and spent it praying at, what's left of the temple in Aura Runedar. I still haven't seen Alaghor Thorin. I hope he's alright. Blue, Ramsteg, and I went to pay the giants a visit. Everything was going as well as expected except for one incident. Those damned manticore! I was fighting three or four giants when, before I knew what happened Blue and Rammy both were screaming at me. I looked and I was standing in a pool of blood. At first, I thought it was that of the giants that I was chopping to bits. It wasn't. In fact, I had not felt the spikes that found their way though my armor and had me nearly drained. Blue was fighting a manticore. It was set on killing me and was doing a good job about it. I kept fighting the giants even though I was near death. It wasn't long before we decided it was time to change tactics. She may be no dwarf but she has been a blessing from Clangeddin himself. Many giants would die this day because of her. Blue, my friend, here's to you. May your goddess cherish you as much as I. I thank the Father of Battle for bringing you into my life and hope we remain friends forever.
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  Diary of Three Sisters
  • Inkish

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  To be put into the realm of Dreams is something that I never considered to be useful. Our intent of going there was to see if we could make contact with the Dreamer while in that Realm. What we got instead was something even more dangerous. The task was simple, go to the realm of dreams and touch the stone atop the hill. What we did not anticipate was that insanity would ensue. Looking back we can remember it all very distinctly. First we all started to speak like morons, that was the giant's fear. Odd, but strangely and understandably annoying. Then one by one, our fears became reality. A man made elf, a warrior weak or cowardly, a women scorned. And my dear sister: inconsequential. My sister and I even ignored our youngest sibling. Her... friends, acting as if she were no one. People brushing her off. Her fiery temper got the best of her. She lashed out numerous times at the hated and loathed inquisitor. It could have been worse. More could have been revealed about us. In the end, the Dreamer still sleeps. Our actions can be blamed on the oddity of the realm. What we gained is so much more than the payment the halfling gave: knowledge of the fears and insecurities of two inquisitors and a few soldiers? Pricelessly exploitable.
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  Item Enchantment - Lady Aurora Moonbeam for Blue Sparrow
  • Kerby

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• ?

  The Making of a Home
  • Guest

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  The razor sharp blade was a blur of motion as it chopped through the goblin in one slice, then decapitated another on the return swing. The old dwarf was no stranger to battle with goblins. The vicious little green skins would often ambush the mining dwarfs deep in the tunnels of Ironspur. He and his crew had killed a hundred of the vermin in those tight stone tunnels where goblin numbers meant little, but these surface raiding goblins had cunningly spread their archers behind the few remaining outcrops of the Galena Mountain foothills. Both groups exchanged arrows, bolts, and bitter words of hate while the dwarves formed a shield wall to deflect the missiles and advance towards the goblins. Shiney briefly watched the pattern of the goblins archers taking turns going in and out of cover to loose their arrows and when she called for return fire, the dwarves quickly responded resulting in goblins filled with bolts just as they leaned out of cover. Arrows splintered and bounced off the row of shields and the goblins, suddenly realizing they had missed their chance at an easy victory, started to rally together. The remaining scores of goblin, wearing bits of broken bones or scraps of rusted mail attached to hide, swarmed across the rocky ground screaming and barring their sharp teeth and wicked blades. Shiney and Silver fought side by side. Trusting each other, the dwarves kept their attention solely on the space in front them and cut or smashed anything that stepped into view. After the first goblins to meet the dwarves were left broken and bleeding beneath them, the remaining goblins lost their stomach to face their hated enemy and their charge swiftly turned into a scattered retreat. “Run back to the filthy holes ye crawled from and rot!” There were a few shouts of victory and grunts of acknowledgement between the dwarves, many of them offering a nod or word of respect toward Shiney as she went about wrapping the other dwarves minor wounds from the glancing blades of goblin spears and arrow tips. They traveled unhindered for the rest of the day until the sun began to set and a suitable campsite was found beside a large boulder jutting up from a hill just off the main road. Guards were set and tents were quickly hitched as the campfires were lit and the ale was poured. Stories of particular moments from the last battle were shared over mugs of ale and plates of sausages, cheese, and stone bread. Shiney enjoyed the camaraderie of the dwarves but some were growing too comfortable around her and the attempts at charming her was enough to set her stomach turning, the goblin bits in their matted beards not helping either. She truly wanted to settle down and have children of her own, but she had yet to meet another dwarf that she could bare the idea of bonding so intimately and permanently with. “I’m surrounded by good, courageous dwarves. What is wrong with me?” She thought to herself Marriage and children was not only her nature, but her duty to her kin and home. She imagined tending a home with the patter of young beardlings around the halls and it was a bittersweet feeling. She wished her father could be here to share the trials and joys of the future days ahead. The thoughts were interrupted as Belthor offered her a mug of ale which she gratefully accepted. He sat down on the grass beside her and ran a silver comb through his long gray beard. “Ye did good, Shiney. Ye make me proud, Ye do. Beourn taught ye well, aye?” “Aye, grammi. But also the result o’ many lessons from many other good kin. Vanderkaus Ahot, Silver, Thorin, Master Z, even that wazzock Brumir.” The memories of home and kin lightened her heart. Belthor could see that. She had more family in her life than he knew, a family bonded by more than blood. A feeling of guilt crept into the old dwarf’s mind and in an effort to shake it off, he responded. “Brumir?” “Aye, Brumir is a Sonnlinor o’ the Council o’ Moradin and an old friend of Pa.” “And who do ye think ye are insultin’ o’ Sonnlinor? Ye show some respect, granddaughter.” Shiney could not help but laugh aloud and explained that he would understand when he met him, if he didn’t smell him first, that is. Silver, Belthor, and Shiney slept on bed rolls next to one another and arose at dawn the next day. Narfell was another days march away and the anxious dwarves set off without delay, eager to have some proper stone under their feet and over their heads. All of Shiney’s muscles ached from the battles and traveling, but the sight of Giantspire mountains in the distance renewed her spirit as she journeyed home.