3. Tacticum Vita

Tacticum Vita


  • _As the brown haired woman purchases the book, she makes polite small talk with the shopkeeper, a greying man with a ruddy complexion. He smiles to her, always glad to see the lorekeeper on her rounds. Today though, no unusual tomes to discuss, instead, guarded looks and a request for a red leatherbound journal.

    She pays him too much for the book, but she doesn't mind this… gold long ago lost its value to her. It was only ever a means to an end, a way of counting value in the society of mortals, where people could be bought and sold.

    The empty journal clutched to her chest, she steps out into the rainy afternoon, sidestepping a cart that rolls past the shop, barely missing being run down. The driver doesn't even notice her, so focussed is he on his job.

    Her hair gets wet and sticks to her face, her clothes take longer to soak, but soak they do, as she walks, lost in thoughts, to the south. Eventually she gets to the tower that she sometimes calls home, salutes the guards, and heads up to the top of the tower, watching the sky through the open balcony door.

    Sitting beside her, a magic harp that sheds light, a loaf of bread and some cheese, a canteen of water, and an inkwell with quill. Black ink, for choice... the simple black and white contrast of writing something that amuses her still.

    As the colour is drained from the sky by the passage of time, she picks up the quill and begins to write, occassionally stopping for a bite of bread or cheese._


  • 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


  • The red haired woman practiced with her sword, going through the different forms she knew. Sword kata was something she valued, but it had a special meaning, a special purpose today.

    She faced off against allies; friends of her descendants in the Defenders, those charged with the protection of Peltarch. She sought to learn, and to teach in equal measure, because she knew the time was nigh when she would move on and leave this task to another, but for today, she moved with a sinuous grace.

    Feinting left and right she moved backwards with a rising strike that caught her opponent off-guard, knocking him back. A smile flickered across her face, but today was no day for smiling.

    She had found no-one worthy to wield the sword.

    She had found no-one who was willing to submit to the training required for mastery.

    And so she would depart, and forge her own path, as she ever had done.

    Once an innocent girl, then a Steelfang, then a traitor and a war criminal, then a Legionnaire, then nothing more than a Battle Historian and Healer, then finally a Paladin and Champion of the Red Knight, her life had always been about change and renewal.

    She knew that William would continue her work. She trusted the young man, as green as he was, to do the task in front of him, to serve faithfully, and to hold to to the truth unswervingly. His dedication to the Red Knight had seen him become a priest when she desperately wanted a warrior, but her god's plans were always better than her own.

    With a final flourish, she defeated her last foe, a young man with a shock of blond hair. He fell prostrate, went to curse, then remembered himself and laughed.

    "Lady Kyrie, it's been a pleasure. I'll let John know you're in fine spirits."

    She nodded to him, then threw her practice blade into the ground, leaving it there.

    She would never take it up again. This life was over.


  • Entry 41 - The Passing of a Heroine

    _Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.

    • Haile Selassie_

    Since my return to Narfell, I have been learning much, and reflecting on much. It's been snowing, and I kept seeing a wolf in the snow, or a man I once knew, his scimitar obvious to me… he was searching, seeking for someone, and that someone was not me.

    I sought out the druids to ask what they knew, holding my own concerns close to my chest... but instead I met Lorelai and Leena. Little Leena, all grown up now... and an adventurer to boot. They were almost as confused to see me with my voice restored as I was to see this kitten all grown now, but being stuck outside of time in a pocket dimension will do that to you.

    In any case, they confirmed my fears, and so a mission was charted to return to Praka and aid our old, old friend, the man on the mountain, Jerrick Silverfang.

    Leena and Lorelai, Aoth and Fadia, Rasuil, Theaon, and a new mage named Artemis came along: all of whom I understood why they were there bar the last one.

    We chartered a ship across to Praka, and found a horrific sight: people sick and dying, the dead burning in a pile for the ground was too hard to bury them. A man named Morrison aided us, for he had inherited the role of protector of the mountain from his father. He told us of snow goblins and frost giants uncountable, of arcane rituals occurring on the side of the mountain. Thus armed, we prepared ourselves with spells and steel, and headed up to disrupt as many of the rituals as we could, for we had been told by divine means that the rituals were weakening Jerrick as they attempted to steal control of the balance from him.

    I have never in my life seen as many snow goblins as on this mountain, not even in the battles against the Hungry One and Scythohalingfel. It is almost as if they were being summoned from across the realms to aid in this titanic battle.

    Ten rituals we found, and ten rituals we disrupted, burning through thousands of arrows, tens of thousands of gold worth of scrolls and potions. But ultimately we stood triumphant on top of the mountain, having defeated a spirit of ice and hunger, and there I saw him again.

    Jerrick.

    The man who, along with the foremost heroes of the realm, saved me from death and damnation at the hands of the Shadovar.

    He smiled as he greeted us, and again I met Silvanus.

    What was discussed does not matter, but what does matter, is that Lorelai has chosen to stay with Jerrick, and to battle against the forces of evil that have sought to assail him with arcane magics.

    I will miss my friend, just as I have missed Jerrick.

    But I am glad that they are no longer alone.

    They have stood where others would have fallen back. They have faced evil, and paid the price, willingly, without fear or favour.

    Truly, this is what it means to be a hero.

    I have done what I can to ensure that they are remembered, but I know that I will never forget what they mean to me.

    Goodbye Lorelai. You are, and always will be, my friend.


  • Entry 40 - A return, a shift, a journey untold

    _I can't remember
    Will I ever find myself
    The distance is growing
    My hope has gone away
    A flash of light but nothing changes
    When will it end
    Which part of me remains

    • Journey through the dark, Hans Kursch_

    Seventy two years to the day since I wrote in this book last.

    Seventy. Two. Years.

    Bill is 90 now, well, he will be tomorrow. The guard are throwing a party to celebrate with him, and his wife, children, and grand-children will be there. They've invited me, although they seem as confused as I am about what's happened.

    I'm a… great grandmother. I still can't believe that.

    And I haven't aged a day since I last wrote. If anything, my body is younger than it was. The old scars are gone. My skin is paler, less worn.

    I'm still coming to terms with all the changes that have happened. Rith is gone, so is Shallyah. Maria is an archmage whose can step outside time itself now, apparently. Peltarch has a king in place of the Senate. Jiyyd is finally cleansed.

    Everyone thought me dead, or travelling.

    The truth seems far stranger.

    I... remember appearing through a portal, as if recalled to this realm.

    Where was I before?

    Before what?

    I remember Bill's coming of age celebrations. I remember his induction into the guard. And then...

    Yes.

    There was a voice, it spoke in my head, calling me to the temple.

    I arrived there, not knowing what to expect but nonetheless set for a long journey.

    There was a flash of light, and I was taken from this time and place, stepping beyond the veil, or so it seemed.

    A voice spoke, saying "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    I did not know that voice, although it would become familiar to me over the time that passed, time that felt like an eternity.

    My vision swam, and I saw through a mystic well of light, what could only be described as a battlefield. Two suns rose in the sky, the grass was purple, and the creatures in view were garbed in the most fantastic weaponry and armour. One army bore the mark of the Red Knight, the other bore the mark of Cyric. As they fought, I saw how the pulse of battle ebbed and flowed, with each side taking command, winning and advancing, losing and falling back, the tide shifting to and fro. At the end of the day, both retired from the field, reduced from what they were. The dead were cleared, the injured removed.

    Night passed in an instant, dawn came furiously, alight from the two suns.

    Again, the voice spoke.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    And again the two sides met on the battlefield. But curiously, they seemed unchanged from the previous day's engagements. In fact, the battle occurred exactly as it had.

    I turned to where I heard the voice issue from, and I asked it "Is this what I believe it is? Is this day looping back on itself?"

    The voice spoke, sounding like a bell ringing from within a helmet, saying "Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    As I thought, the day ended the same as it had before, with no clear victor. The dead were cleared, the injured removed.

    Night passed in a flash, dawn came furiously. And the voice spoke.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    And again, the battle raged. Again, no victor. Again, night, day, battle. Night, day, battle.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    So I began to make notes. I named the battalions, the squads, the units. I named each commander, each captain. Created titles and ranks. It mattered not what I named them, only that I did for my own learning. I even imagined histories for each of the souls on that field.

    Night. Day. Battle.

    I learned the timing of each feint and movement.

    Night. Day. Battle.

    I began to foresee, or remember... which is it? But I began to know what would happen. Each surge was matched by the warriors, with victories and losses accrued, yet each day ended with no victor.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    I lost track at first of the number of days I was there, but after I realised that this cycle wasn't ending, I began to scratch mark days in the back of my journal.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    After at least 100 loops (according to the scratch marks), I addressed the voice again.

    "I have learnt. What am I to do?"

    And the voice said something new, ringing out its tones.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, think you that this can be changed?"

    "I do."

    "How?"

    And so I began to explain what I had learnt; that the Red Knight forces had a weakness in the left flank and had insufficient arrows for the battle, that addressing these issues would see the result turn in their favour.

    Amazingly, as I spoke of these things, the battlefield changed, and the voice spoke again.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    This time, the battle was different. The left flank was stronger, the archers did not run through their arrows. But the forces of Cyric responded differently, using new tactics and previously un-utilised forces.

    Again, the battle ended in a stalemate.

    Night. Day. Battle.

    I watched and learnt for another ten-day, before I spoke to the voice again.

    "We need more mounted warriors, with lances and halberds. We also need earthenworks to funnel their forces towards our strongest point."

    The battlefield changed, the forces shifted, and the voice spoke again.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    Even though these changes were good and wise, somehow the forces of Cyric still matched them, and a stalemate was reached again.

    This continued for what felt like two lifetimes.

    I tried every adjustment I could think of. More archers, no archers. More advanced weaponry, no weaponry. Every single combination and option available... all led to a stalemate.

    Twenty five thousand scratch marks passed.

    And as the twin suns rose on loop 25,001, I collapsed and sobbed into my hands.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    "NO! No I will NOT! NO MORE!" I screamed into the darkness.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, will you not face the task before you?"

    "I cannot watch it again. All this death, all this needless fighting, to end without result. Even loss would be more bearable than this. And I have tried everything... everything I can think of."

    Or... had I?

    I looked at my hands, my battle-scarred hands, the hands I had been sobbing into only a moment before... had I ever really seen my hands before this? I looked at the sword on my hip, the shield on my back. The horn on my belt.

    Sudden realisation hit me, and I moved from tears to laughter.

    "Send me out."

    "Herald of the Red Knight, observe and learn."

    "NO! Send ME OUT! I will fight with them."

    "Herald of the Red Knight, will you then accept your fate?"

    "Yes. Death and defeat, or life and victory. Let the outcome of this battle decide my fate."

    "Very well, Herald of the Red Knight. May the Lady of the Lanceboard be with you."

    In an instant, I found myself mounted on a fine steed. The men and women around me nodded as I checked my stirrups. The boy beside me looked expectantly.

    "Your orders, Herald?" he asked me.

    "My orders? Of course."

    And so I laid out my ultimate vision for the battle. Time itself seemed to slow as I gave instructions for each squad and unit, each officer, each legion and battalion. Thrust and counter-thrust, feint and withdrawal. Contingency plans, adjustments to position and structure.

    After what seemed another age, the boy nodded, and the instructions were sent out; how, I know not. But the forces shifted around me, and as I raised and blew my horn, a cry went up such as I have never heard; the faithful of the Lady rose as one, ready to defeat her foes.

    Out we rode, out we raced. Battle was joined!

    And in the melee, I felt a joy I had long forgotten. It was for this that I was made; not just for the recording of history and battles, not just for the writing of songs and tales. Battle was mine against the foes of the Red Knight, and it was only in the midst of the fray that I could bring to bear all I had been gifted.

    I fought until my sword arm was tired, I fought until my vision swam and I became one with the forces around me. Each thrust of the army was my thrust, each wound was my wound. My lips foamed, my hearing dulled, and I fought for the Lady with each breath I took.

    And at the end of the day...

    At the end of the day, we stood triumphant. Our foes defeated, we had won the field.

    "Herald of the Red Knight, what have you learnt?"

    I climbed off my steed, removed my helm, and marched forward.

    "I have learnt that theory is no match for the reality of battle. I have learnt that no plan survives first contact with the enemy, yet plans must be made. I have learnt that victory is not found in steel and strength, but in hearts and minds. And I have learnt that I am made for more than this."

    "Then return, Herald of the Red Knight. Your people have need of you. A champion is at peace; you must take her place and record her tale."

    A flaming portal opened before me, and without concern, I stepped forth.

    I fell, tumbling... for how long I know not. But whispers came to me of a dear friend who gave her life to act as a Watcher. Albryanna.

    Albryanna was gone?

    How long had passed?

    Another flaming portal appeared beneath me, and I hurtled towards it...

    "I hope this is Peltarch and not the Nine Hells..."

    A flash, a moment of disorientation, a sonorous tone...

    ... and I was home.


  • Entry 39 - Coming of Age

    _A life-long blessing for children is to fill them with warm memories of times together. Happy memories become treasures in the heart to pull out on the tough days of adulthood.

    • Charlotte Davis Kasl_

    This entry is written for my son, Bill. He and I have spent ten years together now, and very soon it will be his birthday, his coming of age. He'll be 18 and he's lined up for a position with the Peltarch Guard. I've stepped back from being involved in that process, I know he'll do me proud regardless of the outcome, but like all parents I truly hope that he gets in.

    I'm not going to lie and say that it's been easy, being a parent. It's been the hardest thing I've ever done, but by far the most rewarding. I know that when I pass from this life that Bill will still be here, carrying on in my name and fighting the good fight, in whatever form he chooses to do so.

    Bill, I love you, and you have been the greatest joy in my life. The Red Knight blessed me with you, and blessed us with your good health, may she ever protect you and keep you in her grace.

    May you ever be true to yourself, my son.


  • Entry 38 - Change

    _All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

    • Anatole France_

    It's been more than a year since I last wrote here. Much has changed.

    Norwick is back in the hands of its people, because of the actions of many. Someone (I believe it to be Sirion) approached Fendon and made a deal with him for the undead to attack Norwick whilst under Ostromog's rule. The attacks that followed weakened the bugbears so much that Ostromog negotiated a treaty with me, and left the town to its former inhabitants.

    I now have a goblin… prisoner? Slave? Let's settle on the term "protected enemy combatant". His name is Grobble, and he surrendered to me for protection. His former master, Krashu, died on my blade and I now own his staff of office, a proof of my vow to Grobble to keep him safe. If only I knew what to do with him.

    Grag's request for me to be his advisor seems to be becoming more. I don't know where to go from here, I once left the Legion to focus on my own quest to become a holy knight, and now I've achieved that... does the Red Knight wish me to lead a small force of my own? How will the Order of the Divine Shield see this?

    The Senate is quiet. Nothing seems to be happening there, gods I wish I knew why. There's so much to do, we need elections and we need to sort out what is happening with the orcs and Oscura.

    I also had to drop home, back to N'jast briefly. I had received word that the major domo of my estate was ill and not expected to see out the year... not even divine magic can restore what old age takes. He has passed on now to his eternal rest, and I have instated his eldest son as his replacement. I've given him free reign to work the estates as needed and to invest the income into building it up and to provide for his family.

    When Bill is a little older, I'll take him there so he can see what he'll inherit one day. He's growing up well now, the amulet is working its magic admirably. Within a few more years, he shouldn't need it anymore.

    I titled this entry change, and change is all my life seems to be at the moment. There is some certainty, but much is in flux. It seems that the ways of the bard will forever follow me, even though I am now a Knight with all that that entails. One day I may be free to roam the land without ties or concerns. But that day is not now.

    Duty is heavier than a mountain, death is lighter than a feather.


  • Entry 37 - War

    _You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.

    • Jeannette Rankin_

    Just as I begin my holy quest for the Red Knight, to win a holy war for a distant nation, war comes to my home nation of Narfell. Norwick has fallen to the bugbears and their allies, led by the bugbear king Ostromog. Hundreds have died, and hundreds more will die before this is finished, and as I think of how it has started and is proceeding, I admit it worries me.

    Grag has asked me to become his Advisor, to organise the strategic plans and tactics for the Legion during this war, and I have accepted. Lady Daisy has made me a Knight of the Order of the Divine Shield, and so now I have many different hats to wear, many different roles to consider. The combination is keeping me rushed off my feet, I fear that by the time the war is over Bill will have forgotten what I look like.

    There are several groups working to free Norwick, but whilst all seem to be willing to work together, I fear that it may end up being a situation of too many officers, not enough grunts. There is the Norwick Remnant, led by Havon. The Shesae, led by Ama. The Legion, led by Grag. The Peltarch Defenders, led by the General. The Dwarven Hold Remnants, and I'm not sure who leads them. The Silver Valley Dragoons, led by Junior. And then you have the different adventurers who are involved without any ties to a group.

    Aelthas has offered the use of the Gypsy lands in the pass, and has called a meeting to discuss the plans for their defense. Tomorrow I will attend that meeting on behalf of the Legion, to see what we can do. Afterwards there will be a meeting that I have called at the Legion Tower, to discuss the offence, of what is to be done, and who will be best placed and equipped for each role.

    Beyond these things, I do not know what will happen. I'm still waiting on reports from my scouts, and we do not know what the bugbears intend, beyond holding the town and trading with Oscura. We do know that many civilians who have been captured are being put to work, some treated better than others. We also know that Marty's duplicate, the Gardener of Death, has cultivated several fields of poisonous and noxious plants, and that working those fields is leading to a lot of sickness and death.

    I've never taken such a direct hand in a war before, and it is tiring as well as worrying. I am constantly double guessing myself, checking every decision I make to ensure that it is the wisest choice, that there is nothing I have not foreseen about its possible outcomes. Sometimes I think it would be good to pass such a duty on to another, and then I remember, that there is no other, and that my Lady would have me here and now.

    Perhaps this is the test she's been preparing me for, for my entire life.


  • ~Untitled~

    _However many holy words you read, however many you speak, what good will they do you if you do not act on upon them?

    • Buddha_

    This day, I begin another quest for my goddess, the Lady of the Lanceboard.

    This day, I set aside what remained of my old life, to embrace the new.

    This day is the day I have prepared for, trained for, scrimped and saved for.

    This day, I begin the fight to save a people who have set themselves asides for my Lady.

    Whether by my life or my death I can serve her, I shall.

    We cannot fail; to do so is unthinkable.


  • _The red haired woman stepped boldly through the darkness, stalwart companions just behind her and to her left and right. They had come a long way; she, the devotee of the Red Knight, Celia the Priestess of Torm and Taniko of House Ishikawa, and the red haired woman seemed to know that they were not far from the surface.

    They had begun in the Norwick Crypts, home to a thousand undead forms, and cleared it easily. Onwards and downwards, they passed through the level controlled by Fendon, then onto the old abandoned Svirfneblin city and the equally abandoned Illithid Mines. All was quiet, asides from a scattering of goblins slaves who were hiding after escaping from their bugbear masters.

    Climbing the great stair had taken its toll on their energy, but she knew how to keep a unit moving and had sung a marching rhythm to keep up spirits. And now, they had fought their way through the Formians who kept creeping up to try and attack them, hoping to drag them off to become food for the nest.

    Casting her steady gaze this way and that, the red haired woman motioned for the others to follow her, then suddenly, a flash of movement!

    Quaggoths!

    A hunting party had left the solitude of Arnath, and set out to look for prey. The only question now, was who would be the hunter, and who would be the hunted?_


  • Entry 36 - The Goddesses Gift

    _God, who foresaw your tribulation, has specially armed you to go through it, not without pain but without stain.

    • C.S. Lewis_

    It is done.

    Tonight my son Bill, sleeps the sleep of the healthy. And it is all by the gift of the Red Knight, she who loved me enough to call me from Tempus and reveal my true purpose to me.

    I have recorded what happened, so that when Bill is older, he will know the truth regardless of whether I am still around or not. Some details I have omitted out of a concern for his safety and the safety of those involved, but I have no doubt that if he needs to know more, he will find it.

    Tonight I pray to the Red Knight, thanking her for her loving kindness, and for the many gifts she has bestowed on me; for trustworthy allies, for good health, for insight, for wealth and prosperity. But most of all, for family.

    I am not alone, and I will never need to stand alone against the darkness again.


  • _The red haired women beheld the wonderful amulet as her adopted son slept, watching him as he was at peace. That such a simple thing could have so powerful an effect truly awed her, and she knew now that she would forever be indebted to her goddess. There was nothing she could do that could ever repay this gift, nothing.

    The costs, the pain, the hardship, all paled into insignificance before this one fact; her son would grow up strong, and know a normal life. For that, she would give all that she has, and more… everything for the Red Knight._


  • Entry 35 - The Rules of Engagement

    _He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious.

    • Sun Tzu_

    I have seen combat in most of the realms of this continent, and I have killed more than my share of foes who sought to do the same to me. Kill or be killed is no true measure of success, although it can be a part of it. Rather, success is determined by what you set out to do, and the methods you use to achieve it.

    To that end, I thought it wise to record some of my Rules of Engagement. Perhaps in the future they will aid whoever reads this, and I pray that the Red Knight will use my writings to that end at some point.

    Overall Rules
    1. Never set out without a concrete plan of what you wish to achieve. Make sure you have a backup plan, and an escape plan in case things go poorly. Those who fail to plan, plan to fail.
    2. If you do not know what lies in wait for you, find out before you engage in combat. Forewarned is forearmed.
    3. Ensure that all who are allied with you know their part in what is to happen, and that they have the resources to complete their role. If they do not, then they either should be reassigned, or retreat.
    4. There must be a clear chain of command so that all know who to look to in the event that the leader becomes a casualty. This ensures the greatest chance of survival for all.
    5. Retreat is not failure. Retreat is making a tactical decision to conserve resources, rather than wasting them futilely.

    Combat Rules
    1. When combat cannot be avoided, it is to be completed as quickly as possible. Extending a combat any longer than necessary simply gives the enemy more time to work out what your strengths and weaknesses are, and to exploit that knowledge.
    2. When engaging your enemy, it is to be done by the most efficient and morally upright method. Poison is not to be used, nor are non-combatants to be harmed deliberately or used as a resource.
    3. Engage your enemy in such a manner that his weaknesses are exploited, and your own strengths evident. This is not immoral, it is simply good sense. Tripping your opponent, holding him in place with magic, or striking his limbs to weaken him are all valid tactics.
    4. If a defeated enemy asks for quarter, give it to him. If he later proves deceitful, then he has earnt a swift, merciful death. Note that this does not mean you should be stupid, an enemy who is incapable of redemption should receive no quarter. Specifically, this refers to evil outsiders and undead.
    5. Submission is preferable to death, unless your submission would cause the mission to fail, or sensitive information to be disclosed. The body can endure all manner of hardships, and every man that is employed to keep you prisoner is one less that can face your allies.

    Non-combat Rules
    1. No one person can be an expert in all fields. A commander must listen to his subordinates, and accept their advice when it is warranted.
    2. Likewise, a subordinate must accept the orders of his commander without question while in the field, unless they believe that the commanders orders will undoubtably lead to defeat.
    3. In that circumstance, he is permitted to voice his concerns to his superior with respect and ensuring privacy. If his superior ignores his concerns, then he must speak with the two next most superior officers, and if they agree with his analysis of the situation, they together approach the superior officer. Should he still ignore their concerns, he is to be removed from his position and the next most superior officer is to take command.
    4. There is to be no negotiation with the enemy in the field, regardless of the cost. All combatants are aware of the risks associated with taking part in a mission, and by setting out they are signifying that they accept those risks. Non-combatants may not be what they seem, and by equipping the enemy or allowing them to escape you further their evil.
    5. On a mission, everything that is done is about the objective. If it does not advance the objective, then it is surplus to requirements and can be put to the side.


  • Entry 34 - The Art of Creation

    _Art is magic… But how is it magic? In its metaphysical development? Or does some final transformation culminate in a magic reality? In truth, the latter is impossible without the former. If creation is not magic, the outcome cannot be magic.

    • Hans Hofmann_

    Sometimes I am asked how it is that a musician can create magic with their notes or words. My normal reply, is that there's some music in my magic, and some magic in my music… those who have heard me perform or seen me battle would know the truth of that.

    But there is something more than that to being a minstrel, a bard, a skald... it is that we strive to change the world around us through the gifts that we have. Not just the lives of the great, but the lives of the small as well. An evil bard may use their music to ensnare the minds of the weak and thus create a position of power for themselves, a good bard may use their music to embolden the poor to strive for greatness, but always a bard is an agent of change.

    Do not mistake my words for thinking that I accept the path of the evil minstrel. I find it abhorrent, abominable that anyone would take advantage of a position of power to exploit others. I am not, however, naiive enough to believe that it does not happen. Nor am I narrow minded enough to say that the evil bard does not create change, even if it is for the worse.

    Thus it is that the true art of the bard, is the art of creation. For to change anything, is to create something new and different. The disciplines we have are many and varied; stringed instruments, brass instruments, wind instruments, percussion, singing, story telling, oratory, drama, painting, sculpture, the list goes on and on. Yet they are all part of the art of creation. From the creation of a piece of music, to the creation of mood and the inspiration of the individual listening to the music, a bards art is the ultimate expression of creation.

    I have sought throughout my life to create as much as is possible, to leave the realms a brighter place for having been alive. Weapons, armour, shields, helms... they may be items of warfare, but they can also be items of beauty. Thus, I make them and equip others, allowing them to change the world around them. Songs, poetry, music pieces, I write them and perform them for others, inspiring their moods and encouraging them on to greater deeds. Tomes of lore and history, I record them that the past will not be forgotten and I write them in a way that is palatable for even the novice historian.

    Foremost in all of these things, is the creation of the magical item. For I have found that it is in these things that my song will become eternal. Each ring, sword, belt, or amulet I create is empowered with a portion of my soul, my song rings through them. Even when I am gone, my flesh and bones turned to dust, these talismans and artifacts will remain. Thus I will inspire future generations on to greatness.

    Even though I love the law, I love the change that brings about the light, pushing back the darkness. My art will ensure that both of these things will be upheld long after I go to my eternal rest.

    The art of creation is the ultimate expression of what it is to be a bard, and through this we find eternity.


  • _Another week, another trip. She had to regain what was lost, she had to ensure that her strength returned to her. Slowly but surely she was gaining her edge again, honing her skills at arms to become more than she was.

    Something was different this time… she had a new found confidence in her abilities. Whether it was the trust engendered in her by her companions; the mighty Shallyah or the effervescent Rith, she knew that she could face most opponents without hesitation now. New magics, new tactics, these things had come to her with prayer and introspection.

    This trip though, saw something different for her. A part of the massive sprawling cave system beneath Narfells soil that she had never explored. A massive cavern, big enough to swallow most of Norwick whole. Populated by the small spiny aberrations most refer to as Magic Eaters and their trainers, the frog-like monstrous humanoids whose skin dances as they move, it was dangerous, but not beyond her skill.

    Pushing deeper and deeper still, eventually the cavern narrowed and ended in a gate, guarded by a pair of Drow. They fell easily, but neither of them had a key for the gate, and it was warded against passage.

    What lies beyond that gate? The red haired woman could only guess, but she knew that one day she would find out... every boundary had to be pushed, every limit tested. She had to become all she could be._


  • Entry 33 - A Setback

    _Why do we fall? So we might learn to pick ourselves up.

    • Alfred, in Batman Begins_

    Six months in a coma, eventually passing from the living to the dead, only so that Shallyah could bring me back again. My Faith Sister checked on me daily, fed me, gave me water, cleaned the sheets… she did what she could for me and I am grateful.

    I have learnt much from what happened. I need to be smarter in terms of my magics, I need to train my body to take hits better. I need to find ways to dodge attacks no matter the circumstances. I'm going to search my song for new magics to use, and discard the old ones that have so rarely helped me.

    I need to become the Tactician.


  • _The red haired woman moves about the Peltarch docks, enquiring here and there for a ship. Most reply with curiosity and a no, but she moves on and continues searching anyway. A hundred ships, and a hundred captains, she wanders to and fro looking for the one that her Lady will have prepared for her.

    When she mentions her destination most shake their head immediately, and those who do know the location do so even more firmly. Rumours reach her ears of violence, of racism, and of weapons bared in the night. Still, she searches.

    For her son, it is worth the cost._


  • Entry 32 - Doing the Impossible

    _Because a thing seems difficult for you, do not think it impossible for anyone to accomplish.

    • Marcus Aurelius_

    Much I have accomplished in my life I would have said was difficult, or at worst nigh improbable to complete. But this tenday I have done what I thought was impossible, by the strength of my faith and my trust in my Faith-Sister.

    Shallyah and I have been training as much as is possible with our different commitments. She is now a recruit for the Peltarch Defenders, and I am splitting my time between the Senate and the Order of the Divine Shield, as well as the troubles in Norwick. We know that we can face Skindancers and Magic Eaters together without fear, as long as we are wise and use tactics to do so. And we can now add another accomplishment to our list; we cleared the Cold Caves, from top to bottom, something I would have said was impossible for just the two of us.

    We started poorly, against an Ogre Shaman. He dispelled many magics we had running, and left both Shallyah and I bleeding badly, but we persevered and with fight after fight, our confidence grew. Eventually we reached the bottom level, where I found my first vein of gold to mine, and we were able to clear their temple and loot their shrine. Now, Shallyah has an amulet to protect her from cold, just as she had one to protect her from fire.

    Having completed this, it has proven for me that the Red Knight is with us, she blesses our partnership and she is working within both of us to make us strong together. As time goes on, we will complete more impossible tasks, and when we are dead and long gone, our exploits will be spoken of with awe.

    The Red Knight be honoured by our deeds and thoughts.


  • Entry 31 - Children

    _Of all nature's gifts to the human race, what is sweeter to a man than his children?

    • Marcus Tullius Cicero_

    I have no husband, truly, I haven't thought of finding a partner in decades. And yet, some things are embedded deep in my heart. One of those is the love of children, and now I have my own to care for. I only hope I can prove Moonie right, for she said that I would make a good mother some day.

    Havon has decided in his infinite wisdom, that the dead sun god Amaunator should be restored to life. To that end he has employed the town criers of Norwick to go about praising Amaunator, in the hopes of converting people to his worship and thus resurrect him. The smallest of those was a young homeless boy named Bill. His parents died years ago, and he was living between a stone and a cliff.

    Ten days ago, he was at the South Gate, praising Amaunator when he was struck down by lightning. Shallyah paid for his resurrection, but his little body and mind were affected by his death, for his spirit was too young to take such a burden without being harmed. Now, he has a limp and a speech impediment, his eyes are hollow and he seems to almost have one foot in the afterlife.

    When I saw him at work, I knew I had to do something, I couldn't let him live like that. Cecil, Ardent and I followed him to his "home" where he told us that he was alone and homeless. Cecil and Ardent didn't seem to know what to do for him, but I did.

    Putting him on my shoulders, Bill travelled north with Cecil and I, back to the College. As I write, Bill is curled up asleep in the spare bedroom off my room. He and Waddles (my penguin) seem to get along well, the two of them played together for half an hour after Waddles watched him curiously, trying to work out what to do with him.

    If Bill settles in here and he's happy, I'm going to ask him if he wants me to be his new Mother. I'll adopt him, and give him my family name. I'll give him every opportunity I can. But more than that.

    The Lady of the Lanceboard has given me two blessings, firstly, the blessing of a child, even if he is not of my own body. Secondly, she spoke to me, and she has told me that somewhere there is a talisman that can undo the damage done to Bill, so that he can grow up without his impediments. Now, it is a matter of faith for me to locate and recover this amulet, so that he can be whole. Cecil has sworn to aid me, and I know that others will as well.

    The first time that the Lady has spoken to me… and not because of prowess in battle, or skill in strategy. But because of the love of an innocent child who had no-one to love him.


  • _The red haired woman found herself walking the streets of Peltarch, humming quietly, thinking quiet thoughts that seemed to echo in the back of her head. She knew she was becoming withdrawn, could see that she was pulling back from others, but that as with all things in life, other things were becoming more of a focus.

    Her sword arm was strong, stronger than it had ever been before. Her words held conviction and faith, and there were some who looked to her for direction and support. Shallyah was chief amongst those, someone that she knew she had to work with, not that that was any hardship.

    The Red Knight had altered things somehow, so that Shallyah came into posession of a holy relic of the Red Knight, a pair of beautiful red bracers. They were wonderful, enhancing her defenses and giving her more power within battle, truly a gift worthy of the faithful. Whilst Val did not covet such a thing, no, she was pleased for Shallyah, there was still the little voice at the back of her mind that said to her that perhaps her own faith needed more work.

    Looking around, she realised she had wandered to the Temple of the Triad without even thinking about it. Nodding to herself, she headed inside to spend time in prayer._