3. Tacticum Vita

Tacticum Vita


  • // Just a little OOC note to anyone who reads this journal.

    I've had to go back and alter a few things in Val's past, in order to make it line up with what would have actually happened according to other characters and events (Thanks Lager for the help). If you're interested in Val's past and she's told you of it IC at some point, please read over what is written previously and adjust what she told you to fit it.


  • Entry 13 - Cowardice

    _To see the right and not to do it is cowardice.

    • Confucius_

    Over my years, I have seen many brave actions by scared men. I have seen people do the impossible, and their actions will ensure that they are remembered long after they have been buried. And I have seen people who, when faced between an easy path of cowardice, and a hard path of righteousness, chose the path of least resistance.

    It grieves me that those who I call friend would do such things, that they would take the easy way out. Truly, the path I walk now is a lonely one, that I must stand with so few that will stay with me to the end. No wonder evil is allowed to grow unchecked.

    We travelled to the Lizardman caves beneath the swamp. Squeek wished to go somewhere different, find a new place to jaunt, and so I had suggested it. I knew of the abandoned Smugglers Cove there, and thought it would inspire her interest. I was correct. And so, Daveth, Rhiain, Garviel and I made our way through the swamp and down into the caves.

    Once inside the caves, we discovered dead men, no markings on their bodies as to rank, group, religious alignment, or other such… nothing but a misplaced missive, referring to a wandering tribe of orcs. The Lizardmen were eating their bodies. These we quickly dispatched, and gathered the things of the dead men. Their bodies were too defiled for much to be done with them, so I satisfied myself with gathering and burning them, so that they would not be further defiled.

    We continued on, to the Smugglers Cove. The Lizardmen fell before us without too much difficulty, asides from one strongroom that they had. And so it was in the Cove that Daveth heard voices. I sent him and Rhiain to investigate.

    Long story short? We found a large group of undead, led by a Velsharoonite priest and a Banite. The Velsharoonite was a Blooded of Oscura, which set Rhiain and Daveth on edge, afraid to harm him due to possible repercussions. I wished to destroy the undead and their creators, and managed to get the others to join me to face them.

    It was there that it fell apart. Daveth and Rhiain wished to merely knock out the priest, so that they would not be killed or worse by the authorities. I stepped into the doorway of their room, and called out a battlecry, at which point the priest mocked me, and simply stood his ground. He did not take a single hostile action. Didn't even cast a spell.

    The banter began. The priest made fun of me, and Daveth basically curled up in a ball and began to agree with whatever he said, siding with the foul man. And so I was forced to leave, letting the evil continue to fester and grow due to the cowardice that he showed, and which Rhiain joined him in. Garviel for his part, was indifferent throughout all of it, much like he normally is.

    If I had charged in on my own, and attacked the undead, I know with almost 100% certainty that I would have been killed. Garviel may have aided me, and I daresay that when pushed Daveth and Rhiain would have as well, but it would have been too late, most likely resulting in all of our deaths and then subsequent raising to unlife.

    The Red Knight teaches us to not fight where a battle cannot be won, and to go into a dangerous fight without the full support of your allies is tantamount to suicide. I am not afraid to die, but I will not do so pointlessly, and take others with me.

    Now, I know the nature of Daveth and Rhiain better. Now I know that they cannot be trusted to do what is right.

    I won't make the same mistake again.


  • _She sits in the Dancing Mermaid, a pair of white feathers in her lap. Quietly, the brown haired woman fumes. Evil had been allowed to triumph due to the inaction of a few. As she thinks over what had happened, she knew that there would be another time, another place… she would destroy the undead and the priest who had raised them.

    And yet, she knew she had stayed true to her goddess. Do not fight a pointless battle, do not wage a war you cannot win. Even that was little comfort though, as she thinks of what those foul beasts would do, if left unchecked.

    Her own life was precious though, bought for a dear price by the Red Knight, and she would not throw it away pointlessly. So instead, she thinks on her next plan, deliberates on a path of action. Her thoughts will not pass from what has been, no matter what she does.

    So she writes, to alleviate the anger. Perhaps in time, they will change. For now though, there is the white feather._


  • Entry 12 - The Bardic College

    _I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.

    • John Adams_

    After my admission to the Royal Troff Legion, there was one other organisation that I wished to become a part of, that I had known of long before the Narfell War. The Peltarch Bardic College and Theatre has had a name of renown for generations now, with its students travelling throughout the realms performing and sharing their talents where-ever they go.

    I remember when I was a young girl, that my father took me to see a performance in the local park by a lady called Ocean. She had a full band with her, but it was clear to me that she was the main attraction. Her hair shone beautifully in the sun, and her voice was as intoxicating as the finest wine. I spent the next few days after that wondrous event singing and dancing to the music she gave to us all, that fine lady from the Peltarch Bardic College.

    And so, I began to perform where-ever I could find people in Narfell, hoping to run into a member of the College. It also helped me earn the coin I needed to eat and buy some new clothes and equipment… something I had badly needed. It seems though, that word spread of my performances and eventually I met with an eccentric elf who referred to himself as Professor Elidur.

    A follower of Lliira, he wore the most outrageous colours in his outfits, and walked with a most odd gaite, and yet I could see that he was a skilled performer. We spoke for some time about the art of performance, about Peltarch, ourselves... he spoke with a clear intelligence but obvious signs of detachment from reality. Our conversation finished with a promise from him... that a Master would find me to test me for admission.

    Months passed. I kept running into Elidur, but never a Master. Eventually though, a lovely young lady called Gaerielle found me. She was a Master of the College, and the current caretaker whilst there was no appointed Headmaster in the absence of Jerr. She showed me around the college and theatre, explaining as we went of the purpose of both and some of the history. As she spoke though, she seemed unsure of herself and rather shy, a trait I had not expected in a master.

    I would later find out that she was a N'jastian like me, but had been in the realm for far longer and she had received a lost of mistrust, abuse, and betrayal because of it. It was only natural that I would develop a bond with her, a closeness to help both of us. I performed on the stage of the Theatre for her, to show her my skill, and I was admitted as an apprentice.

    Time passed. I met with other young performers, attended classes, and performed as often as possible. My skills grew, and along with them, my name spread throughout the realm and beyond. And yet, there was still no Headmaster for the College, and only two Masters where we could have five.

    So I met with the Senate. Explained my position within the College to them, what I had seen within the College, and what I wished to see happen. They gave me full approval to make any changes I needed to. And so, Elidur was made Headmaster, and I was made a Master. Gaerielle chose to leave the realm, seeing the changes I had made as a failure on her part, which grieved me greatly.

    I still miss her dearly.

    I recruited seven new apprentices, and worked with them as much as time allowed. Unfortunately, all but two of them have left the realm, the free-spirited nature of the bardic lifestyle calling them away. William de Montez and Talisen Talespinner are still with the College, and I hope in time that they will graduate.

    A few years ago, after the defeat of the Dracolich and the Hungry One, I arrived at the College to check my office and run some classes, to find Elidur had packed up and left without anything more than a brief farewell note. Another one I still miss, and always will. And so it was with a heavy heart that I stepped into his position. The College needs a Headmaster

    Now at the College there is Lycka, Will, and I. Sometimes I see Adrian or Anderian in the corridors or the common room, and I see the odd note from Talisen. But I fear that unless I can find a way to ensure succession, I may be the last Headmaster that the Bardic College sees before it closes its doors.

    For now, I'm working on the library, trying to record all the lore I can find in the collective memories of the people of the realm. I'm also working on a series of books to help others learn when they don't have time for classes.

    May the fates give me the time I need to see this all done.


  • Entry 11 - Allies and Enemies

    _The victor will never be asked if he told the truth.

    • Adolf Hitler_

    There are two things that I have never struggled to find. Allies… those who will fight alongside me, willing to give their life at my command or urging. And enemies... those who would cut me down where I stand if they thought they could get away with it. I believe it is the way of the world, and that those who live life to its fullest see the extremes of it.

    I laugh, love, fight, read, eat, work with all of my being, focussed on the task at hand. Utter devotion is one phrase I have heard used for it, and what else could be the response when we know how short and brutal life is? Some people see this and admire it, or long for it themselves. Others still recognise it for what it is, and wish to share the experience with me. These people become allies.

    I also hate with all of my being. My own prejudices (yes, prejudices. There is no other word for them) are easy to see. I may not act on them out of caution and a wish to not promote unnecessary violence. Followers of Garagos and those who would kill the innocent, those who would defile that which is holy... they bear the brunt of my enmity.

    Do not mistake a lack of violence for a lack of hate. I fight where the situation calls for it, but when a follower of Garagos is living what passes for a normal life in this realm, to attack them without a clearly defined reason beyond their faith would make me no better than them.

    Velena, Sogar, these are the only two I know of at the time of writing this entry. I ignore them generally, refusing to rise to their insults and words. They're trying to bait me, to get a violent response. But to what end? They love the sight of blood, their own or anothers does not matter. So why should I give them that pleasure? But I will not heal them. I will not aid them, and I will not travel with them. Not for any end.

    And if I was lying in the street, dying, and the only one there was a Garagossian, I would refuse his aid. My faith demands nothing less.

    When it comes to my allies though, they are many. Those of good heart within the Circle of Quercatha Terr, I count as allies, especially Jerrick, Fadia, Vash, Belia, and Adriell. The Crafters Union holds many who will fight beside me to the end, including Devlin, Z, Vanderkaus, and Maythor. The Bardic College, well, there's not many of us there nowadays, but Lycka and Will would aid me in any way they can. And now, I have some new allies, amongst the Order of the Divine Shield. Sir Mariston, Lady Rith, Lady Eluriel, and probably others that I have yet to meet.

    Beyond that, there are the allies I've made of my own accord, or those who remain from my Legion days. Benji, Marty, Troff, Pugor, Senria, Celad, Syclya, Alexi, Raila, Rain, Caelisar, Taniko, Maria, Anor, Raul, Ronan, Aelthas, Maero, Daveth, Rhiain, Targohr, Tindra, Chea, Artie, Vick, Kabul, Brendel, Yarah, Ferdinand, Vladimir... the list goes on and on.

    Yes, I have far more named allies than enemies. Don't let that deceive you, for many enemies I have, have no name. And then there are the enemies of the soul, which I fight on a daily basis. Lethargy, self-deception, callousness, selfishness, cowardice, bloodlust. Whether in myself or others, these are the things that I combat whenever possible. And what do all of those sins come down to, at their most basic level? Putting yourself ahead of others, and treating other people like objects, not people.

    To give in to these base emotions, is to become that which has no place in the enlightened society of mortals that I pray will one day come to be. The society I try to encourage every time I wake up and say my prayers to the Red Knight, the one I give a glimpse of when I sing.


  • _More time passed for the brown haired woman. Things turned to another place on the wheel of time as they do, and she found her skills as a historian in need. Some folk were lamenting the lack of new books in the libraries, so she set herself to a mammoth task… recording the history of Narfell. Unsure if she would finish it in her lifetime, it was still a worthy task to undertake, and so she would attempt it.

    The beginning would be easy... events that she had been a part of, stories that were now done but still fresh enough in her mind that she could recall the details. But as she got through those, she would need to turn to others for help with the missing lore... and there it would slow down.

    So far, she had written the stories of Jay and Jaelle, the Lost Temple of the Rawlins, the Evil beneath Norwick, and now she put the finishing touches on the story of the Dracolich and the Hungry One. Each would go into the libraries of the Bardic College, for the knowledge to be passed on to future generations.

    Stretching her writing hand, she stood up and looked over her work, checking it for errors or inconsistencies. Finding none, she nodded to herself and added it to the pile to be catalogued. Some years prior she had completed the study of the Defiler, which had led to three books. And yet she knew there would be scores more to write.

    She went to the kitchen and helped herself to some bread and cheese, and a little wine to soothe her headache. There is only so long one can write via candlelight before it gets to them, and she had been doing it for many, many nights.

    Half an hour later, she went back to writing, but this time to her red leather journal. For the wheel never stops turning._


  • Entry 10 - Men

    _Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other.

    • Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_

    Perhaps the battle that I have fought the most, and with the hardest results, is the battle for my heart. Many men have sought me, without success. As well as a few women, but I'd rather not go into that. In the matter of love, I cleave to kindred spirits as family, but nothing more, for now.

    I think it makes me rather unusual in this realm, amongst adventurers at least, as so many seem to be searching for the next woman or man to share their bed. It's not that my body is not capable of the act, or that my heart has not healed from the pains of the past, but more that I do not need that complication in my life.

    And yet, some men take my rejection as an insult, or a challenge perhaps. Nothing could be further from the truth… and I don't see why they can't accept my words for what they are. Simple, clear, honest. I have no need of the physical affection of another, to hold them twined with my own body.

    Even if I was to retire from this martial life, I would not raise a family in Narfell. The realm itself is too chaotic, too violent. There are far too many risks to people here for me to be willing to risk those that I would care about most. An adult can make their own decisions, they are responsible for their own life. A child is dependant on their parents for these things.

    So many men seem to base their own identity on their skill with women, or their prowess at wooing. And yet, they leave behind them broken hearts, or even worse, anger and resentment. Why can't they be content with finding themselves in other, more worthwhile pursuits? Something that builds up, not cuts down.

    I do not hate men, but nor do I love them. There are too many who I could not trust, to give my heart away so easily.


  • Entry 9 - The Royal Troff Legion

    _Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head.

    • Euripides_

    It seems ironic to me that I'm writing this now, after I've retired from the Legion. I never thought that I would willingly leave a military organisation, but it seems that my fate is full of twists and turns. Many things in this life will come and go, and perhaps I will be one who stands with allies of free will, not at the front of an army.

    In any case. My trip continued north from the Temple of Kelemvor. As I rode slowly up the pass, I saw a large stone tower rising over the trees. The Legion Tower. Their banner flying proudly, their soldiers travelling in small units as they patrolled the pass and practiced their skills at arms and armor in the courtyard of the tower.

    They paid me not attention, asides from a few soldiers who saw me and nodded, then continued with their patrol. Clearly, I wasn't a drooling barbarian with murder on the mind, or a howling gnoll out for blood. Their armor was well looked after, reflecting the light as they moved about. Their weapons were clearly sharp and kept in good condition. The pride that the soldiers had in the colours was evident.

    From here I rode further north, past the entrance to Oscura and the half-completed shrine to Tempus. I could see what was taking shape, but it seemed that work had stopped on it. So I took a few minutes to sit and reflect by the shrine, and put together my own cairn to the Foehammer, asking for his blessing on the battles to come… both those fought with the sword, and those fought with ideas.

    This done, I re-mounted my horse and cantered north, inside the city walls of Peltarch. No guards stopped me, clearly they weren't worried about invaders in a time of peace. I was somewhat surprised, but then again, most threats in this realm are very obvious. The subtle evil is always the most deadly.

    The horse dealer at the gates took an appraising look at my horse, and offered me a hundred gold for him. I simply nodded and handed him the reins, knowing I was getting a decent deal. Some gold in my hand and I'd reached my destination without too many incidents.

    The streets were no longer paved with clear, smooth stones. Instead, there were cobbles where there was anything other than dirt. Many of the buildings looked as if they had either been recently repaired, or hastily built. The Peltarch we had been told about, was no more. This instead was a far more simple city, but there had to be a lot of spirit here to rebuild after a war and a flood had all but wiped it out.

    The merchants called from the market, trying to get as much business as possible, mothers with their children bustling through as they went about their day. Here I could revel in my anonymity, just another face in a crowd.

    I organised a room at the inn for my stay, with no idea how long it would be for. The innkeeper nodded at my words, clearly used to "adventurers" and the like... gods how I hate that word. Being an "adventurer" makes it sound like everything we do is an adventure. It makes the life sound glamorous... a way to ensure that the next generation of heroes will willingly train for that life, without ever telling them the truth of how hard it really is.

    It took several days for me to spot an officer of the Legion, but one eventually turned up. Sergeant Benji, the gnomish hin with his goggles and crossbows and contraptions walked into the commons, looking around. I'm still not sure why he was there when he was, but it seemed that he was there for me.

    So, I introduced myself, told him who I was, and that I wanted to join the Legion. He was somewhat taken back, surprised you might say. So, I told him more. Told him where I was from, why I wanted to join. Told him the truth. I knew that it would be hard for most to get past my history, but to his credit, he simply nodded and agreed to take me on as a Recruit.

    What followed over the next months and years would be a long, hard grind. I was questioned repeatedly by several officers about my intentions, but eventually they accepted my words as truth and I proved myself, making Private. Quickly the promotions came, to Lieutenant, then to Sergeant. Many battles, many men and women serving around me, with me, and eventually under me.

    Every single person I served with, I would fight side by side with again. Some stick out in my mind though... Pugor and Troff first amongst them. Both are utterly selfless, devoted to defending others. They may never be officers, they may never be the almighty heroes that the people of the realm look to, but they were heroes in a way that most who receive that title will never understand.

    In the end though, I had to leave. I know a lot of those I served with would want to know why, or will make up their own mind as to what caused it. If others will think poorly of me for it, so be it. What it all came down to, is that my service to the Red Knight comes ahead of my service to mortals.

    If that means that I must leave the Legion in order to not have other orders come ahead of hers, then that's a decision I will make.


  • _Months pass between her writings. The brown haired woman has done much, but some things she has put off, until now. The cold feeling in her heart told her it had to be done, but she knew that it would change everything. She hoped it would be for the better.

    A series of trips, although short, where what followed. First to the Rats and Bats restaurant, in the Pass. A formal farewell from a group that she had once hoped would help her realise her potential. In a way, they had, but not in the way she had intended. Cold stares from the Chieftain, and disbelief from the others… she made her exit quickly before anything more could be said.

    The next was a little up the pass, to the Legion tower. This would be harder to do, but easier in some ways. She wrote her last note in her report log, and left her keys and her ring behind. The last of her belongings removed from her room, and a final salute to the Private on the door, and she was almost free.

    The last trip, was to the bustling city of Peltarch. Several days and some thousands of gold, her clothing had been recut and died. No more blue, but silver, black, and red. Red for the faith that is, Black for the faith that was, and Silver for the Steel in her heart. On her way to her room in the College, she stopped by Town Hall and signed some paperwork. Her last bond to an uncertain past was gone forever.

    Eowiel didn't say much in the College, she never did. Always had her nose buried in a book. The libraries here were truly marvellous, always something new to find and learn, so it was no wonder to her that they were covetted by others. But today was a day for introspection, not learning.

    She finally got to her room, wrote a note for someone dear, and placed it where it would be found. Before she headed out again, she had to write something for herself. At this time of endings, she thought of the beginning, and so it would be written._


  • Entry 8 - The journey to here

    _All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers.

    • Francois Fenelon_

    I've been asked before, by those closest to me, that if I could go back and change anything, what would it be? My honest response has always been that I would change nothing, because we do not know where our choices will take us, and that what we have done in the past, makes us who we are today. All the hurts, all the pain, it was necessary to mold me into the person I am. These things might be regrettable, but they were necessary.

    Perhaps war should be looked at, in the same way.

    In any case, once I was freed from the prison, I went to the Temple of Tempus in the Capital, where we were once all based. My trip was made in the dark of night, my face hidden from onlookers by a heavy cloak and hood… I dare not show myself, for fear of what would happen should someone recognise me, and then take it upon themself to punish me for my actions.

    The High Priest ushered me into the Temple quickly on my arrival. He had been expecting me and the others. Gave me a meal and some food, fresh clothes, my ring and cloak, and some coin. He also gave me a set of chainmail and a longsword and apologised profusely... the temples resources had not stretched to be able to purchase back our armors, shields, or weapons.

    But still, I was free, and I was in friendly company. Ten long years I had been waiting for that, to know that I was no longer subject to the whims of others. It seems I wasn't the only one... as the others came in slowly, in ones and twos, they were smiling. Weary, but happy to be free.

    We greeted one another as long lost family, there were hugs and handshakes, tears and laughter. We shared stories, and talked of the future. But as I watched the door, too few came. And the stories told why. Our unit of one hundred had been whittled down to fewer than fifty.

    Some were killed and did not return to life, Tempus taking them with him to fight his battles in the afterlife. Others had fallen from the faith, or fallen in with the wrong people, or both. They would not come. And amongst those gathered, I could see that others had fared worse than me. An eye gone, an arm missing, a terrible limp making it impossible to walk far without support. The High Priest could heal some of the wounds, some of it had been done too long ago, or too thoroughly.

    After a few hours of the bittersweet reunion, we spoke of our plans. Some of the men would stay here in the Temple, and become part of the Broken Blades... those who were no longer able to fight but wished to do Tempus' will. Others decided to head to another realm and join up with a unit of Steelfangs there. They would train and work hard, and do everything they could to gain their fighting strength again.

    When I told them of my plans, some of them were shocked. Others simply nodded, or seemed to not hear me. In any case, none would come with me. I was to be alone again. I had expected this, but it was still hard to swallow. As the morning light rolled around, I said my goodbyes to those who were leaving, and went to bed.

    The next night, I saddled up a horse that had been brought around for me... a broken down stallion who would never see battle again, but he would serve well as a mount for a long trip. Perhaps his last trip. I prayed it would not be mine. I said a tearful farewell to the High Priest, and offered a prayer at the Altar for a safe journey, and a new beginning.

    I mounted my horse, and pulled him into a slow trot as we moved through the town. No-one paid me any mind, I looked like another adventurer out to see the world, with my scant few belongings on my back.

    The journey overland was not difficult, asides from flea infested beds in the inns and loud drunks trying to get me to join them in bed. After a few nights of this, I took to buying a weeks worth of supplies and sleeping in the wild. I thought there was nothing worse that the world could throw at me than I had already seen, and at least, on this journey, I was not proved wrong. Tempus did bless my journey, and kept me safe, until I arrived on the outskirts of Jiyyd.

    Ahead, I saw a scene of utter desolation of the land and the soul. Restless dead walked the ruins, their insignia that of the army I once served. Demons commanded their allegiance now, and sent them on endless patrols, jeering at them and mocking their former intentions. I watched from a distance, trying to see a clear path, but none was obvious to me. Suddenly, a Succubus noticed me and flew over, her naked form disgusting to my eyes.

    As she approached she looked over me, and saluted with a mocking grin.

    "Welcome home, traitor"

    "What do you want? What more can you and your ilk possibly take from me?" I asked her, standing strong in the face of a foe I knew I could not defeat.

    "To see you broken, to see your soul as tainted as this land is, to have you join us in celebrating the destruction of all that is good."

    "Never. You'll never have that pleasure, I'll never bow to you or your prince." My fists clenched, my face resolute.

    She laughed, wiggled her hips and waved a hand to indicate that I should continue.

    "Then go on, go to your destination. I'm sure we'll meet again soon, you and I."

    I said nothing further, but quickly did as she suggested. The demons and undead left me alone, they let me pass. I knew then, that my task was mammoth. I would either succeed, or die trying, for by Tempus, I would not let such evil go unchallenged.

    I took rest at the Temple of Kelemvor, the priests there offering kind words to an unknown traveller. The next day, I travelled on to Peltarch, and sought to see what had happened to that city, and how it fared now.


  • _Fight Night rolled around again, as it did once a month. The brown haired woman would turn up as she did most of the time, hoping that this gathering of warriors might catch the attention of a wandering friend from her past life, that perhaps they would be able to talk once again.

    She carried her age well, so well that she wasn't sure they'd recognise her anymore. Even the woman she had been when she was released was nothing like how she looked now… she knew though, that her voice would give her away. So she entered the Team Fights, her longsword at her side. These days she used her flail simply because of the magic within it, but her preference was always for the holy weapon of her lord, even though it was nothing like her old sword was.

    People waved to her, and called her name fondly. She had made a home here amongst the people she had once fought against. She had aided them many, many times now, and was doing all she could to protect the realm and its people from the horrors that were out there. And yet, she could stand in a crowd there, and be alone.

    She smiled to those who welcomed her, and played the part that she had for so many years now. She longed to be truly a part of it all, to feel like she was home. But no matter what she had done, there was only one place where she felt at home, and this was not it.

    The night came and went without incident again... nothing noteworthy for her. A loss in archery, a victory in the teamfights, and another trinket to be put away for another day. Afterwards, everyone wandered off their own seperate ways, seeing to their lives as they felt was fitting. She too, did what was necessary, and after a meal in the inn, sat down by the fire to wait for friends. In the meantime, her journal called._


  • Entry 7 - Death and rebirth

    _The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.

    • Mark Twain_

    I could regale you with tales of the ten years I spent in prison. Tales of horror, tales of pain and suffering, of loneliness, of desperation. Tales of the times that I prayed for a release, of when my spirit almost broke. Sometimes, I relive those times in my dreams, and I awake with a scream.

    The general nature of it? Hell on earth. The specifics? I was killed eight times, and eight times, Tempus did not arrive to collect me, so I returned to the living. Eight times, I sought out my killer, and sent them to the afterlife for their action. They focussed on me, because I was the smallest in my unit, I was the weakest. But I was smart, cunning. I had tactics and strategy.

    After three years, the other prisoners left me alone. I wasn't worth the energy or effort, they couldn't find a way to break me. I only cried when no-one was watching, and I never showed them fear or pain. It was only then, that I could start rebuilding my life from the inside.

    The entire time, the other Steelfangs had done their best to stay in touch with one another. Slowly, they had built up a network by paying the guards off to carry messages between cell blocks. Some guards were even converted to Tempus by the other soldiers, and willingly became our accomplices.

    It was through them, that we were told the outcome of the war, that N'jast had lost and withdrawn after getting all the way to Peltarch and having fought in the streets there. A river was poisoned, Jiyyd was blown up and a portal to the Abyss opened there, the war surged back and forth, but eventually the will behind the attack faltered, and the N'jastians returned home.

    The Chancellor of N'jast had turned up dead one morning around the same time, as had several prominent Peltarch citizens. Those responsible for the assassination of King Golask were never captured, but the evidence pointed towards demonic influences and actions behind everything to do with the war.

    Logically, it made sense. Demons love death and chaos, and war produces both of those. They had even managed to trick the Legion into opening a portal to the Abyss so they could freely come to our world. In addition, somehow they had corrupted Kara Du'Monte, who was once a Paladin of Kelemvor over to their side, and gotten her to defect to N'jast. It was her orders that saw us imprisoned, and she died during the last days of the war.

    And yet, we were still in prison. Still our names were branded as traitors, still we would serve out our sentence. I would wait seven years to be free again, but during that seven years, I learnt all I could about Narfell, and about what had led to the war, from both sides.

    Information wasn't too hard to come by, when you can pay people in magic. The entire jail was warded against magic, but the guards could turn it on or off for a specific cell, so that someone could be healed, or a cell investigated. Repairing clothing and tools, healing wounds, in small ways I would pay for the information I sought.

    I got word out as well, to the Temple of Tempus in the capital. They knew of our plight, and although they could not visit us, they had managed to purchase those goods of ours that had been sold, and would return them to us.

    Yes, I got older in jail. But I also got wiser, more aware. I saw what had happened on both sides, and I knew then what my path would be, on the day of my release.

    Redemption of the wrongs of a nation.


  • Entry 6 - Prison

    It is lamentable, that to be a good patriot one must become the enemy of the rest of mankind. - Voltaire

    Our life is full of little ironies. We see them every day and dismiss them for the most part, without ever thinking on them. The farmer who grows the wheat that will feed the town and yet cannot afford to put food on his own table until the harvest, the student who goes to learn from a master and in doing so teaches the master something new, the need for soldiers trained in the art of war to ensure peace.

    I was now living my own irony. A criminal against the state, because I was pursuing a criminal and would not break the law. It was enough to make me laugh, if it wasn't so serious. A young woman in prison, her name circulated as a traitor to the Crown. I knew the odds of my surviving the ten years untouched were almost zero.

    So, where to from the trial? We were stripped naked, no regard given for rank or gender. Everything we had on us was taken to be sold to aid the war effort… it seems that honourless mercenaries weren't cheap. Then, we were given rough clothes to wear, and chained together in pairs, each pair led to a different wagon for the journey to come.

    Our names were taken, and then, to make sure we wouldn't escape, they broke our fingers one by one. The pain was excruciating, and I'm ashamed to say that I cried out whilst they were doing it, which seemed to give the jailor pleasure. He didn't care who I was, or what I had been... all he knew was what I was. Traitor. Betrayer. Usurper. Criminal.

    Those words stung me to my very soul. I knew they weren't true, that I was only a criminal in a world of evil, but to have my homeland that I had given so much for treat me in that way was heartbreaking. Moreover, I knew now that I could never see my family again, that no matter what I did or said, that they wouldn't understand, and they almost certainly wouldn't believe me. If such evil was being done here, then it was almost certain that the nation was being lied to.

    The trip back to N'jast was slow and painful, chained to the floor of a wagon and to one of my only allies in the world. His name was Liam, he was a Lieutenant and had been with the Steelfangs for two years before I came along. A good man, he had a wife and child back home, and another on the way. We barely spoke as we travelled, treated like cattle. Every day we were given gruel and water, dried fruit, and some bread. Trying to eat with broken fingers is perhaps the most painful thing I have ever done, and the food, although barely enough to survive on, would get us by.

    We knew that the Captain would want us to see this out, to complete our sentence and then start again, somewhere else. And for me, personally, I knew in my heart that Tempus wanted me for some other purpose than to die in a cold cell, or in a wagon chained up like an animal.

    When we got to the prison, they rebroke our fingers and reset them, then used magical healing to finish the process. I was seperated from Liam, and taken into general population, where they announced to all the prisoners who we were, and that we were traitors against the Crown, that we had disobeyed direct orders in a time of war. A sea of faces turned to me, and I knew there and then, that I was going to die.


  • _Another day, another hard memory to work through. Sometimes she would work the forge to let her mind process the past, today though, she decided to focus on her music. There are a few ways to seperate the mind from the body, if you look hard enough, and over the years she had found many ways to ignore the complaints that it raised to her mind. Even better, she could seperate the here and now, from the possible, if she tried hard enough.

    She found a quiet spot in the Druid Glenn, a place that had been made open to her as a guest, and took out her harp. It truly was a marvel, a gift from a dragon for her skill at riddle and rhyme. Oak inlaid with gold and strings of finest silver, it seemed to glow with a life of its own.

    Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh, and gave her fingers the freedom to do as they wished. Slowly, they began to dance along the strings, bringing forth music of such beauty that she scarcely believed that it was really her playing. The pixies in the glenn heard her music, and came to listen to it, enraptured… but she didn't notice their presence.

    All there was, there and then, was a moment of peace, and utter freedom.

    When she came back to her surroundings, the day had passed and it was night. The pixies slept around her, their wings fluttering every now and then. They looked contented, and she could hardly blame them... she felt the same. She knew now, that she could continue her writing. Quietly, she pulled her red journal from her pack, along with her quill and inkwell. The harp glowed for her, providing enough light to write by._


  • Entry 5 - The Great War, treason

    _In modern war… you will die like a dog for no good reason.

    • Ernest Hemingway_

    The mercenaries orders sounded bizarre to my ears, so I tried to ingratiate myself with them… never an issue for a pretty lady. Stripping out of my Steelfangs dress outfit, I pulled on some city wear and pretended to be one of the many who followed the army. They took me for a silly girl looking for some fun with no idea of the real world, and that suited me just fine. It meant they underestimated me just that much more.

    The Sergeant of their unit was sitting there, laughing and drinking with his men, talking about just how easy they had their job. Perhaps to impress me, or maybe they were just that drunk. In any case, he was bragging that all they had to do was sneak into the town during the next attack, and kill as many civilians as possible. How they were doing the job that the Grand Marshall had hand-picked them to do.

    Using the time honoured excuse of needing to attend to nature, I slipped out of their camp and back to my own unit, where I took my Captain aside and told him what I had learned. He shook his head, hardly believing it to be true, but knowing that I had no cause to lie to him. We didn't know who this new "Grand Marshall" was, things from the brass had been quiet of late, but it seemed we had a new commander who was calling the shots. And her orders were not right, honourable, or justifiable. Fighting a war for justice is one thing, using foul and evil tactics like this was totally unacceptable.

    The other Steelfangs spoke their disapproval of the orders, and after some discussion, the Captain asked for us to clarify. Were we saying, as one, that we would fight these orders, no matter the punishment? And we were agreed. We would not allow such horrible things to occur under the flag of an army to which we were attached. Not under any conditions. He nodded, and began to draw up plans.

    It would be very simple. We all pulled on black tabards, to cover our Steelfangs insignia, blacked our faces and weapons a little so as to look more scruffy, and dispensed with our normal disciplined stances and such. Under this guise, our captain approached the leader of the mercenaries and said that he had been sent by the Grand Marshall, to help them with the next days actions. Their Sergeant laughed and didn't even question us, just told us to pull up tents and get ready.

    Dawn came. The first and last action we would take on the Narfell front as a combined unit. We armored up and took out positions, interspersed within the mercenaries ranks. The trumpets sounded, the first wave marched in and assaulted the walls, supported by assault weapons. Catapults, Ballista, Trebuchets, and the like let loose against the wooden defenses with great effect.

    The second wave followed the first half an hour later, trying to make good the purchases gained by the first wave. We would go in on the heels of the third wave, when hopefully the walls were breached. The mercenaries around us were in high spirits, making jokes and lewd comments as they waited. Our moment would come soon... but we had to take it quickly and efficiently.

    The third wave moved in, and we drew our swords and shouted various war cries, keeping up our cover. Then, we charged with my heart pounding, the blood in my veins singing. Arrows flew through the air around us, and I raised my shield to deflect them. Onwards we ran, and when we were within one hundred yards of the walls, I screamed at the top of my lungs. My allies knew to expect it, and had put wool in their ears, but the mercs hadn't. Most of them fell to the ground, clutching their heads in their hands. Those that didn't were quickly subdued by the other Steelfangs, who moved through the prone men and knocked them out, leaving them to be run over by the other waves or shot by the enemy. Our last act of defiance was to throw off our black tabards and show our Steelfangs insignia, then retreat to our own lines in silence.

    One of the Generals approached us, furious... demanding to know what we thought we were doing. Our Captain punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground, and threw a gauntleted glove at him. The General spat some blood out, tossed the glove onto the ground, and ordered some nearby soldiers to take the Captain into custody. That was the last time I saw him alive, his departure leaving us in a very somber mood for the rest of the day.

    The very next dawn, we were all given orders to stand down, to leave our weapons and armor behind, and to attend the Grand Marshall. We were to be put on trial. Knowing that this was likely to happen when we took up arms against the mercenaries, we did as we were ordered, although reluctantly. All I was able to take with me was my Steelfangs dress uniform, my cloak, and ring.

    The Major, the Grand Marshall, and the other high ranking officers were in attendance... our Captain was not. His Signet ring and cloak were handed to our Sergeant, the next in command. The men around me reacted to this with a mix of anger and denial. Our Captain, executed? Something had gone very wrong here, very wrong indeed. Who would dare to anger Tempus by executing one of his elite for simply doing what was right?

    I found out then, that the Grand Marshall, was a traitor to Narfell. A one Kara Du'monte. Later I would find out more about the reasons behind the war, and the major players, and then it would all make sense. But for now, all I could see around me was bitterness and betrayal. And we were asked why we attacked an allied unit, why we went against our orders to stay back and wait. Why would we cause our own side to lose men and resources in such a desperate time as this.

    To a man, we had agreed. Even if they would kill us, we would not allow such evil to go unchallenged. Tempus would have us do no less. And the Sergeant, the gods protect him, stood and denounced the Officers for the evil they were permitting. Some of them became enraged, others laughed. Kara simply nodded, and whispered something to the General next to her... I caught a few words. "Caged lion" and "worse than death" the main bits I heard on the wind.

    Our sentence was passed. Guilty of Treason against the Crown, and against the Sovereign nation of N'jast. Ten years in prison for each of us, twenty for the Sergeant. No more than two of us in any one cell block. No contact with the outside. Word to be sent to every town in N'jast, announcing our sentencing. Our families to be notified, specifically. And our weapons and armor to be taken to serve in the war against Narfell.

    I held my head up, I didn't cry or yell abuse. I simply looked at the Officers, one after the other, fixing their faces in my mind. And they knew what my look was saying. It said "You belong here, not us".


  • Entry 4 - The Great War, the Jiyyd battles

    _Patriots always talk of dying for their country and never of killing for their country.

    • Bertrand Russell_

    With war against Jiyyd declared, we prepared ourselves for the onslaught to come. We would be held in reserve for the most part, unless needed. Word did filter in to us of mercenaries coming in, of wild men, orcs, trolls and the like. It didn't sit well with us, but a soldier doesn't complain, so we followed orders and stayed back.

    We made our advance slowly, with siege weaponry and uniform lines in defense, the mercenaries going ahead of us. The Jiyyd defenders burnt their crops, destroyed our siege weapons, and fought far more valiantly than we had expected. Our losses were high, but most of them were troops that didn't matter so much… mercenaries and young bloods. Every loss is counted dearly, but in war, it becomes a matter of numbers and statistics, not individuals. You mourn after it's all over.

    Eventually we got to the walls of the town, and again we were held in reserve. At this point, the others in my unit were getting frustrated at how we were being kept out of the fight, away from the lines. All we got was the view from a distance, and the words of what happened from the wounded. And it didn't sit well, what they were saying.

    Deception tactics, taking out civilians, and such. We knew that the mercenaries were hard to control, but to think that they would do such things... it seemed like a bad dream. We wanted justice, but not at the cost of such things. And still, we were held back. Perhaps it is just as well that we were, as the Legion mounted a rush deep into our ranks, almost making it to our officers encampment. Many of our men died, but the Legion paid a heavy fee for this attack. They lost some of their own as well, and we were far more numerous than they were. Therefore, every loss of theirs would hurt more.

    Whilst we waited for orders to move forward, I overheard some orders given to a unit of mercenaries. And those orders, they would signal the end of the war for me, and the Steelfangs.


  • Entry 3 - The Great War, the beginning.

    _The first casualty when war comes is truth.

    • Hiram Johnson_

    Words cannot adequately express just how shocked I was, and how shocked the entire nation was, at the news of the death of King Golask the Obese. He was not ailing, nor did we have any obvious threats against us. Moreover, his death was not natural, he was assassinated. The exact details were not released to us, the killers were still on the loose. But word came from Princess Brione who was soon to be Queen, and the Chancellor. Evidence pointed to Narfell, to Peltarch specifically. We would ride to the border, and wait for word.

    I said goodbye to my parents… this was the last time I would ever see them, not that I knew that. I didn't cry, but their faces said it all. Fear, confusion, anger, denial. Part of our universe had just been removed, the continuity of life under a good King. And we all needed answers. We needed to know why, and we needed to bring those responsible to justice.

    I saw this, as my sworn duty as a citizen of N'jast, and servant of the Crown. The Steelfangs were engaged by the Princess to offer aid, and so we would ride with the army of the Realm and follow the orders of the Major General.

    Rather than the normal jovial air before a battle, the men were quiet, thoughtful. The others in the Steelfangs could sense the mood and kept quiet... the N'jastians were out for blood. It wasn't just a war, it was a matter of honour, of pride. You can't just kill a King and get away with it. Someone would be brought to justice.

    I left most of my belongings behind with my parents. I only took my trusted longsword, my steel plate and shield, my cloak, ring, and supplies. That was all I would need, I hoped. With any luck, Peltarch would find and hand over the criminals responsible for the assassination, and we could go home.

    We got to the border, and made camp for a month. Diplomats came and went, their words no matter to a soldier. At the end of that time, we were told that Peltarch would not accede to our demands, and so we would move into Narfell, to bring them to justice ourselves, and those who would defend them. A shout of approval went up from the ranks, although I could see that some were uneasy about this. We would have to go through another town, Jiyyd, on our way to Peltarch, and if they didn't let us through peacefully, we would have to fight them when they had done no other wrong.

    Sleep was hard to find on the march, too many thoughts running through my head. Dying in service to my nation, my homeland, and my god, would not be a hardship... but those I would leave behind would find it hard. A life is valued by the strands that connect it to others, and I knew that there were many who counted mine dear to them, soldiers and friends alike.

    When we got to Jiyyd, again, we made camp. Diplomats went to and fro from the town. This was the first time I encountered the Legion, the very organisation that I am now a Sergeant of. We received intel on their various members, it seemed they were a very small force, but elite. Not unlike the Steelfangs, although far less disciplined. Some of their members seemed almost comical in their attitude to life, but they were certainly not to be underestimated.

    Whilst the orders we received were to stay in camp and only patrol our border, not to attack unless attacked, and so on, some "radicals" took it upon themselves to attack the citizens as they fled Jiyyd, which was before war was declared. Those found guilty who survived, were disciplined, and never seen again.

    The end result of the talks? No, they wouldn't let us pass without a fight. For whatever reason, the rulers of that small town chose to defy us rather than survive, for the only result when a small town takes on a nation, is defeat. Mind you, it took them months to come to this decision, during which time the evidence against Peltarch mounted, and our resolve was strengthened.

    Finally, war was officially declared between the nation of N'jast, and the township of Jiyyd.


  • _Several days passes, the brown haired woman going about her duties as she must. Time spent in Peltarch in the College, leading lessons and speaking with students, watching practices and performances. When these are over, she makes for Norwick to check on the Union Hall, making sure everything is secure and clean. As she moves about the building, she runs a hand gently over the anvils, checks the tools… the call of steel something that is bound to her.

    She picks up a hammer, and some ingots, brass apparently, and sets to work. She can't work steel yet, she can barely mine iron, but she dreams, and she strives. A thousand hammerblows ring in her ears, a hundred helms are made and discarded. The metal is strong, but under her strikes it changes form, becomes what she wishes of it.

    Finally, for practice, she takes some of her precious silver from a pouch in her pack, and heats it up. Silversmithing is delicate work, requiring careful ministrations, and patience. And rather than make a tool, armor, or weapon, she slowly creates a small knight. Every detail is there, albeit small, every line and every mark put in deliberately.

    One last time in the flames, to heat and set it.... and she can tell that it is done. For in the light of the forge, she can see her own reflection on the surface in the silver she holds there. It's an irony to her that she can make objects of beauty with such a fine material, but a weapon of war, that is still beyond her.

    After she cleans up her workstation, she sits down on the floor, leaning against the anvil, and takes out her journal, the silver knight in her lap._


  • Entry 2 - The Steelfangs

    _Everyone's a pacifist between wars. It's like being a vegetarian between meals.

    • Colman McCarthy_

    So my own coming of age had been eventful, and definite. You could draw a line in my history, clearly showing where things changed, and that would be it. Perhaps I should be grateful for this small evil, for it put me on the path I now walk. Nonetheless, without the ability of foresight, I could not see at the time what good it would do, all I knew was pain and betrayal.

    So it was with a heavy and distrustful heart, that I set out to find my own future. And I found it, or rather, it found me. I'd heard of work going in the temple district for scribes, and so I went there, hoping to get something that would put me on my way to a brighter future. Ideally, I wanted work with some kind of travelling historian or scholar, so that I could see more of the realms.

    Instead, all I was greeted with was polite priests with unhelpful words. Said I was too young, or too small, too weak, too this and that. Words that spoke to my own self-esteem at that time, reinforcing how I felt. I was almost ready to give up and try adventuring, when I walked into the breastplate of a shining warrior in steel fullplate.

    Apologising profusely and holding my bleeding nose, I must have looked a sight. The man for his part, waved a gauntleted hand as if to say that it was of no consequence. And then he stopped, and asked me if everything was okay. I don't know what made a soldier of Tempus think to ask a sixteen year old girl that, but it was something more than the blood pouring down my face.

    I told him of my plight, of the scholarly training I had had, and my desire to see the realms. Nothing was mentioned of my betrayal by Kallum, and thankfully, he didn't push for more information. He simply nodded, and asked if I would come with him.

    That day, I started my training with the Steelfangs as an apprentice War Historian.

    Even now, I can't say why or how this happened how it did. Honestly? I think it was divine providence, for the gods have plans beyond the ken of mortals. Raised in a house devoted to Waukeen, I learnt of the ways of Tempus, of the Warriors Code. How to wield a weapon, how to wear amour effectively. The Long Chant, the Death Rites, the Lay of the Honoured, all these were committed to memory. And I found a faith, in a god that asked me to merely fight with honour, and to not fight needlessly.

    After three years, my training was complete, and I was tested. The Steelfangs are the best of the best, the elite amongst those of the faith. And I earnt my place amongst them with song and spell, with herbs, with steel and wit. I would never be the strongest, nor the toughest, but I would hold the line, and I would fight until my last breath.

    Never did I take a man to my bed, nor allow one to take me to his. I closed my heart to all but Tempus, and he gave me a reason to live. He gave me companions who fought proudly, who lived life like a burning flame. Everything was done with gusto, bravado.

    And, you know what? I loved it.

    The next year passed quickly, with our unit moving between realms, working with this army and that. I saw more of the world in that time than I had in six years with my father, although a lot of it was battlefields and medic tents. I killed men who spoke a dozen different languages or more, and saw my allies fall to the same.

    Finally, we were at home again, and I was on leave. My parents weren't sure how to take me now, their daughter, the soldier. My once pristine skin was littered with scars, my hands were rough and callused. I could see pride in their eyes, but I could hear fear in their voices. Fear of loss, of how they would cope if I did not return. Fear of what that would mean for them, perhaps, or fear of what it would mean for me. And that fear, and uncertainty clouded my stay. So, it was with relief that I greeted my superior, Captain Jathark, after five days.

    His words chilled me to the bone.

    "The king is dead. We ride to war."


  • _As she dabs the quill in the inkwell again, she looks out at the sky and sees the clouds clear for a moment, the storm abating. A crescent moon shines out over the Nars Pass, lighting up what was a dreary night. In the distance, the sound of the gnolls celebrating something can be heard on the wind, perhaps a birth, or a death… maybe a coming of age. No matter.

    The gnolls were one of her enemies in this place, this "Narfell". They harrassed travellers, they slaughtered all who came into their lands, and they worshipped foul gods. And yet... there were things she could respect about them. Their strength, their resourcefulness, their seemingly endless energy to protect what was theirs.

    She saw the same strengths in the men and women she served with. Traits that all who survive in this land must have, for it is a hard land, beyond the end of what most would term civilisation. Here, you either get tough, or you die.

    She'd gotten tough again... it had come easily. So many years behind the sword came back to her like a long lost friend. It felt right to grip a weapon, and to face down the foe. And yet... something has changed for her. It shows in little ways, and she knows it.

    She dreads speaking of it to those she knows, and so instead she puts off the inevitable, working through her thoughts, and offering her prayers to the gods. The bread is mostly gone now, the cheese too. The water canteen ran dry some time ago, but water was easy to get here... probably the easiest thing to find here, asides from death.

    Whether it was given or received, it was a daily occurance. And there is something in that which grieves her soul. She lets out a sigh, and runs a hand through her hair, cut short to sit above her armor. Little signs give things away... like the soldier without scars, the change in her battlecries, how she introduces herself.

    Like the distance between her and those she once called kindred.

    She resigned herself to one more entry before bed, knowing that sleep would not come easily this night, nor any other now. Too many thoughts, too many worries._