3. Celia StClair

Celia StClair


  • Visions or memories

    The temple of the Triad has a comforting calmness to it as I attend to my morning prayers. I close my eyes and chant the litany of faith that brings me closer to the blessing of my Lord Torm. Torm is my father, and the church is my Mother. The vision comes to me, part dream, part reality. It has a strange familiarity to it, like something long forgotten. I feel like it’s the future written in the past…

    …A ship sailing the Moonshaes. It carries me at the beginning of my pilgrimage of Torm’s will… Fog… Doldrums… Three days stuck on a sea as smooth as glass and still as death… A crew scared and on edge, my faith their only comfort… They think us spellbound…

    …The Captain’s order of boats in the water, the crew pulls the ship for all three days… Exhaustion… A parting of the veil of fog… A cry of land where there is no land… The blessings of a port of safe harbour… Whispers of awe from the crew, they call it the Isle of Legends…

    …I explore while the crew rests… Morian, sparkling city of hope and civilization… The halls of the Castle of Valor… Torm has strength here, his servants are many… This place could have been home, but my duties will carry me onward in time… Faces… Kylie DeWinter, the haughty commander, in conference with the mighty half orc Hepper Braag…

    The vision slows in its headlong rush, the memories of the day flooding back to my consciousness. There is fear in their eyes. One of their own has betrayed them to a dark alliance. The Black Knight of Bane, now commands the forces of El Ninevah. War is on the horizon and, and the council of Morian prevents Valor from acting. A treaty they claim. El Ninevah’s spies and agents are scattered across the countryside, deadly, cunning, and ruthless in their efficiency.

    They speak of an elven assassin, skilled in potions and blades, a son of the dreaded Free Fires, who walked into their prison on his own accord, for the love of a good woman the rumour has it. He’ll hang for his crimes, except he has information and skills. He brings word the Guardians of Morian’s weapons have been made on the blood anvils of the Forge of the Void. They will not work against the hordes of darkness soon to come. The city is effectively defenceless, save for the officers of Valor, who own their own weapons. Dread hangs in the room like some rank odor.

    …Stone walls of the fortress… Echoing hallways… Strong and impenetrable… Voices… A man and a woman in hushed conversation…

    I turn the corner as the vision slows again. There is something here Torm wants me to see, something I missed the first time. A knight dressed in the colours of Valor rouge et d’argent, I’m surprised to find this time I know him, where originally I did not. It is Sir Pherdur Kelm, whom I’ve come to know in Peltarch. The woman remains unfamiliar. She’s dressed in soft blue silks and long golden locks hang about her shoulders, bright but wary eyes. They make a striking couple.

    When they see me, he loses his casual stance and she pulls away from him, sliding a vial from her hand into a pocket of her outfit. I find myself wondering what was in it. I continue past, down the hall.

    “Excuser moi, monsieur et mademoiselle.” I said.

    Perhaps I should have stopped. It wasn’t my business at the time. I would hear years later that Morian had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of the Black Knight and the forces of El Ninevah, but that the castle of Valor was intact and for some reason still standing. I never got the details of what happened.

    I hear footsteps close by, and they bring me back from the vision of my memories to the reality of the temple. This new land and this church seem well kept indeed, and I have met a great many followers of Torm, but they don’t seem as united as they could be. There is a Divine Order of the Sheild, I have heard of but not seen. I have met Sir Rath Ashald-Jorinsen, a follower of Siamorphe, a jouster Reynauld Du Luc, another named Ivor and some siblings of the family Teroldys. There is a young man Ky Wefneran, who needs some guidance as his language is not appropriate and his manners a bit…vivid for my tastes, but I guess there is not only Torm’s followers that make this land. There are others here with great powers, divine, arcane or martial that guard this region well. All have my admiration and I raise my prayers and thanks to Torm for every one of them.


  • Birds chirped in the branches overhead giving the simple outdoor shrine a rustic feel that was further enhanced by the patches of brown and green moss growing on the small boulder they decided to make use as an alter. A pair of stout candles and a sparkling silver plate sat on the finely woven cloth of blue and gold that adorned it, as Reynauld and Celia kneeled before it, their heads tipped down in meditation and quiet prayer.

    Celia’s left hand brushed Rey’s lightly and the both stood as one. Sideways glances were exchanged along with a soft smile and the slightest of nods. Time to begin. It had been a long time since Celia had done the Rites of Sanctification, but she knew them well enough to do them in her sleep if the need should arise.

    “Dearest Torm, we beseech you to bless and consecrate these rings that the may protect and hold steadfast your servants as they make their lives together in your grace.”

    They turned towards each other and Celia held her left hand out to Rey. He took it in his right while his left hand paused on the warm gold band with the stones of yellow and blue that adorned Celia’s ring finger.

    “My Lord Torm, I present to you the ring of my wife Celia Du Luc, that you might bless it and keep her safe in your holy service.” He gently removed the ring and took a step towards the alter before setting the ring on the silver plate. He bowed and stepped back, holding his left hand out to Celia.

    “My Lord Torm, I present to you the ring of my husband Reynauld Du Luc, that you might bless it and keep him safe in your holy service.” She mirrored what Rey had done moments earlier, setting the ring next to her own. This time however she remained by the alter and Rey came to join her.

    “As water brings life, it also cleans and makes pure that which is not.” She nodded to Rey, and he unstoppered the vial of holy water, pouring it on the rings, being careful not to overflow the plate. “Cleanse these ring that they may be pure in your sight oh Lord”

    Formal prayers followed. The Prayer of Resistance, the Prayer of Virtue, the Prayer of Blessing, and the Prayer of Shielding for the Faithful, each brought their own specific energies to the chamber. A swirling wind made the candle flames dance and burn brighter, filling the shrine with the scents of melted wax and old incense. Rey could feel a presence at his shoulder, warm and reassuring, but also stern and demanding of faith and service. Celia cast diamond powder into the air as she started the Great Prayer. It seemed to hang in the air, twinkling like so many stars on a dark clear night, before finally settling upon Celia, the alter, and himself.

    He closed eyes and the world turned dark save for a point of light that appeared in the distance. He move towards it and it turned to a misty glen full of lush green vegetation. Celia stood there waiting, a soft white glow coming from her pure white robes. He held out his hand to her, seeing his own arm clad in the same. She took it and they turned towards a being so radiant it was hard to look at, The brightness was overwhelming…

    Rey opened his eyes to see all the candles had been blown out, leaving the glen darkened, save for the dull glow left by the setting sun. He held Celia’s hands in his, warm and firm. They were kneeling again, and he noticed the rings were on their fingers again although he had no recollection of putting them on. Celia’s eyes were still closed, and she had a peaceful look on her face the likes of which he had never seen before.

    The rings sparkled briefly as Celia opened her eyes. Was that a reflection of the setting orb off the Sunstones? Or something else…


  • A letter arrive to Celia and Rey , stamped with the green seal of House Teroldys:

    @db154080cc:

    Dear Celia,

    First of all, congratulations on your marriage! I wish you and Reynauld all the best in your continued life together, though I fear I must disappoint you regarding the Order's enchantment facilities. Sir Galin put it quite plainly when I asked him - only knights may use the Order's facilites, and you and Reynauld have by your own free will left our ranks.

    However, there might be a middle way that yet suits your needs! I then spoke with Lady Val, who informed me that the Bardic College has enchantment facilities also, and that these may be rented out at her discretion. She would be willing to allow you to bless your rings there, in exchange for a small fee to the arts. Speak to Val to arrange the details.

    I have one final suggestion that may in some small way compensate the location not being near the shrine of Torm, and that is to let you use the sacred chalice of Torm for the blessing of your wedding rings. It seems most fitting, in that it was brought to Narfell for the purpose of marriage. Also, given the loss that followed in its travels here, I find it only right that it is now used to give you something of joy in return. Seek me out when you are ready, and I will provide the chalice for you.

    In faith,

    Lady Ashena Teroldys

    Finishing reading the letter she turns to Rey and hands it to him

    "Alors..mon amour, ze response iz as we anticiapted.. things never change do zey. 'owever, we are still faithful to Torm and within ze Peltarch congregation. I believe Torm will be gracious enough to let us perform ze blessings somewhere else. Ve already got acceptance from ze druids to 'ave ze wedding by ze waterfalls south per'aps zat vill be ze best place after all. It 'urtz though zat she speaks of ze chalice as a possession of ze Order ven in fact it iz a relic from ze StClair convent."


  • A letter is left with the temple guard of the Temple of the Triad, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat and precise handwriting to Lady Ashena Teroldys:

    @49f589dbbc:

    Dear Lady Teroldys

    Reynauld and I are now united as a couple. The wedding itself took place at Reynauld parents home town in Caledon. We have now returned, and I would very much like to have the beautiful elven made wedding rings blessed and enchanted within the community of the Triads, here in Peltarch. With your permission ofcourse, and this is the reason I am writing to you, I wonder if there is a possibility to make use of the knight's quarter enchanting facility.

    I believe Reynauld still has the key to the quarters as he formally in person has not resigned.

    It would mean a lot to me if the blessing of the rings could be performed in the sanctity of the shrines.

    Yours in Faith

    Celia du Luc


  • Fall colors splashed the wooded glen in a kaleidoscope of colors, from bright orange through crimson rouge and on into a deep brooding burnt umber. The late morning sun had chased off the dew but the air still retained the crisp chill that hinted at an approaching frost. The calls of bluejays and crows echoing in the distance mixed with the sounds of small animals scurrying about in the fallen leaves to the sides of the old cobblestone pathway. A nearby stream gurgled the promise of cold refreshing water as it made it’s way to the sea.

    Sir Reginald Du Luc was at my arm, guiding me along the path to our destination. Rey’s father was subdued this morning, his few words carried in a soft solemn whisper. I could see he was deep in his thoughts, as I was with mine. It wasn’t hard to see where Rey got his quiet and reserved strength from. Father and son had a lot in common. I found my mind drifting over thoughts of family. I wondered what my own father had been like. How many traits did we mutually share? I had never met the man, and probably never would. The Abbey was my family, and they were gone now too. Rey would be my family now. What would life be like? Visions of a rose covered cottage with children running about in play leapt into my mind. Husband and wife becoming father and mother. My head spun and I stumbled, but monsieur Du Luc was there for support. He stopped and turned to me, a handkerchief appearing suddenly in his hand and he softly dabbed a tear running down my face that I didn’t know I shed.

    “Take care Milady, or you’ll have me doing the same.” He whispered with a reassuring smile.

    “Iz not what you think,” was my reply. I didn’t know myself. So many emotions pressed for my attention that it was hard to keep them straight.

    “They call this the Path of Reflection… Tears are no stranger here. Joy or sorrow, no one walks this road who’s life isn’t changed.”

    We continued on.

    The glen opened into a natural amphitheatre at the base of a cliff. Three small waterfalls plunged a hundred feet to the ground, leaving fine feathery trails of white like the falling feathers of a giant bird, sometimes drifting on the faintest of zephyrs that swirled about the place. Centuries of falling water had carved out a deep and broad plunge pool that rippled gently with the fine spray disturbing its surface. In the center, rising up forty feet from the water with shallow broad steps that wrapped around it as they climbed, was the Chapel of the Mists, where Rey, Lady Kathryn, and one of the Priests of Torm would be waiting for us.

    The awkward steps, too deep to take with single step, focused our attention. Sir Reginald and I matched each other’s pace as we ascended. I was happy I had kept my dress practical, as well as fashionable. In accordance with Caledon tradition, Rey had not seen it yet, and the little girl in me was waiting to surprise him. It was tailored in cream colored satin, it’s smooth silkiness broken only by the lilac embroidery that focused on the bodice and the long sleeves that ended in points over the back of my hands. While the bottom flowed smoothly, hovering just above the ground, the top was tight enough to occasionally take away my breath, which in a way left me feeling more reassured, as the tightness reminded me of the rigidity of the armor I wore so much more frequently than dresses. A ring of a collar encircled my neck, but left an open panel below, that dipped dangerously into the bust line. At first I had objected. Modesty has been a way of life, but the tailor had been insistent.

    “A wedding dress should speak of purity, but it should also whisper a few intimate promises.” he had said. In the end, he convinced me, and the final result was nothing less then stunning.

    There was a small train with the dress as well, and it was buttoned up at the moment for ease of travel, and to add volume. It would be lowered for the ceremony, and could be removed entirely for dancing. The dress had taken months to make, and at times I wondered if it wasn’t a bit of an extravagance. Love isn’t found in fancy clothes, it’s found in the heart and spirit.

    We crested the top of the stairs to the arched entrance of the chapel. It was simple, a large flat expanse with stone benches and a plain stone alter. Late season roses added color, and took away the hard edges. Three obelisks of dark granite stood behind the alter and mirrored the waterfalls behind them. They represented faith, honor, and courage. Despite the eddying mists that gave the chapel it’s name, it was remarkably dry. “Divine providence” Rey had said when he had first shown it to me. The Knights of Caledon had been coming here for decades for weddings and knighting ceremonies. It was also used for funerals on occasion.

    Lady Kathryn stood in the front row, on what could be termed my side of the aisle, watching for our entrance. Rey was standing by the alter, turned from me. His armor sparkled in the morning light, and his formal cloak flickered when the capricious breeze chose to play with it. His beard was trimmed shorter then usual and it had the effect of making his strawberry blonde hair seem longer by comparison. A fleeting thought passed over me. I wondered what color hair our children would have. Rey was wearing his father’s blade for the ceremony, a family tradition dating back generations. The priest waited next to Rey, facing back down the aisle towards me. He wore formal robes of deep azure and held a book of sacred texts

    My heart fluttered as Sir Reginald escorted me down the aisle, bringing me to stand next to his son, before joining his wife. I watched them long enough to see them hold hands and exchange glances. All those years together had not dulled their affections.

    “We are gathered here together in the sight of Torm…”

    Rey and I turned towards each other on cue, and I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when he saw me. Pride, love, admiration, surprise, respect, desire, relief, happiness… They were all enjoined together in an instant. He mouthed the words “I love you“ with a wink and his smile left me feeling warm and safe.

    The ceremony itself was a blur. I know the litanies well, but they were lost in my feelings and Rey’s eyes, which never left mine. Everything was surreal. Like some lost dream come back to memory. At last the priest fell silent and it was our turn. I trembled as the words came out.

    “Reynauld, I’m a believer,
    You came out of nowhere,
    When everyone else was passing by.”

    Rey’s eyes welled with emotion, his hands squeezing mine as we took turns with metered pauses. We had practiced the lines over and over, yet at that moment, it was like we were saying them for the very first time.

    “Celia, I am humbled,
    Your friendship is uplifting,
    And your love a blessing unexpected.”

    “Reynauld, I am faithful
    My heart is taking over
    I will hold your hand and never let go”

    “Celia, I am loyal,
    Your warmth has touched my heart,
    And I will always be at your side.”

    “Reynauld I am convinced that our love
    Is as strong as our beliefs and faith
    And we shall share that from now on and forever”

    “Celia, in each other we discover ourselves,
    Through love and faith we become whole,
    Together we will stand, from now on and forever.”

    The ring made by the elves felt warm and solid as he slid it onto my finger. We held each other close and the ceremony ended as I kissed my husband for the first time. It was a lingering kiss that held the promise of so many things to come.


  • Nothing brings with it the sense of home like the smells of baking. The aroma of ginger snaps and apple pies, or in this case lemon cake, mixed with wood smoke is the scent of family and friendship. My father and I sat at the dining room table polishing my armor with jeweler’s rouge, working extra hard to bring out the sparkle in the steel, and especially the silver inlays. It was long and tiresome work, but kept us busy while Celia and my mother were away.

    “Nervous yet?”

    I paused a moment to consider my father’s question. “No. I thought maybe I would be, but I’m not. I‘ve waited all my life to find Celia. I have no doubts”

    “Marriage has it’s challenges. It isn’t all rose petals and candlelight dinners.”

    “I know that.”

    Dad’s smile was a little disarming. “Not yet you don’t. But you’ll learn quickly. Let me give you my advice. Be there.”

    I blinked. Honestly, I had hoped for a little more. After years of listening to his little bits of wisdom and altruisms, two words seemed kind of thin for standing on the threshold of one of the most important moments of my life.

    “Be there?”

    He nodded. His inner sage would not be denied. “Be there when she needs you. Be there when she wants you. Most importantly, be there, because there is no where else you would rather be.”

    “Where you nervous before your wedding?”

    “I barely slept all week.”

    “Why’s that?”

    He stopped polishing for a moment to stare into the embers of the fireplace. “I was younger then you are back then… Didn’t have a lot of prospective on the world. I wondered how I’d support a family as a young cavalry officer.”

    “That isn’t going to be a problem for us.”

    “Well, yes, but there’s something about your Mother you should know.”

    “What’s that?”

    He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “She can be kind of scary at times.”

    My mother, of course, took that exact moment to burst in the door carrying a sack of finely powdered sugar. She dropped it on the butcher’s block in a small cloud of white. “Who can be kind of scary?”

    Dad did not miss a beat. “Your cousin Gertrude when she’s been drinking.”

    “Oh, well, when isn’t she?” Mom said matter of factly. “Rey, be a dear and get the milk cans out of the wagon, I need you to churn butter if I’m ever going to get this cake done.”

    I got up and headed for the door as my father asked the question that was apparently on both our minds. “Did you lose Lady Celia?”

    “She’s still at Lyonson’s having final alterations done on her dress… Reginald! How many times have I told you about putting armor on my table!”

    “You turned my workroom into a spare bedroom.”

    “We needed one, and there was plenty of room for that ratty workbench in your sanctuary. Now be gone with you.”

    Dad flashed me a wink and mouthed the words “rose petals” then tapped one of the candles on the table.”

    I think I heard my mother giggle.


  • @758184ec9b:

    Dear Celia,

    Gnarl has found a place where blue orchids grow in the Kuo Toa Cavern. He and I went there today and found the plant. It is whithered and contained no blooms, but perhaps more will come from time to time. I will take you and Reynauld there when I see you next. This is the item needed for the healer's dream that might help us find a cure for the pestilence.

    Romulus

    A letter left on the top of the stairs of the Legion Tower, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Romulus:

    @758184ec9b:

    Dear Romulus

    Tis' be good news. Lets us meet as soon as possible perhaps tomorrow and you can tell me all about it.

    Yours in faith

    Celia StClair


  • Celia walks silent and with great respect into the Glenn, she carefully looks about and spots Siril. She moves across the cold spring and bows her head as she leaves a letter with him.

    "Monsieur tiz letter is to ze one responsible over ze woodland pass. I 'ave a question."

    Then she takes her leave.

    @51909a6f8b:

    To whom it may concern
    Celia StClair and Reynauld du Luc both faithful of Torm seek the permisson to hold a wedding at the top of the waterfall in the woodland pass.

    We hope that this will be accepted as we see it be "the place" of serenity from which love can set root and grow.

    It will be a small wedding with only the closest of our friends.

    Please contact Celia StClair
    Mermaid Inn
    Peltarch


    • upon arriving back in Narfell, Arthur would smile to her promising to catch up with her soon and heads off to make his report back in to the members of the Order and to the Union. *

  • After a good rest Celia, Reynauld, Romulus and Arthur give their thanks and gratitude to the members of the Silver Chalice. Given the necessary provisions for the ship from coast of Cormyr, they were on their way back north again, strongly renewed in spirit, and sharing the bond of determination to see an end to this spirit of pestilence.


    • Arthur would smile to her when she wakes, his features calm and collected though his eyes would easily betray his worry for her *

    My dear, I told you in my letter if anything happened I would not hesitate to be here, the moment I knew you were seriously ill I headed out. I believe if we are to learn anything we need to contact a Temple to Kelemvor, the god of the dead. Explain to them what has occurred and perhaps have them come up and investigate the matters. You owe me nothing, nor do I deserve any profound gratitude for coming to the side of a soul sister in need of me. I have no doubt you would have done the same for me if the circumstances were reversed.

    • he would move a bowl of warm soup and wine over, helping her eat then drink, using a cloth he wipes the sweat from her face before making sure she is wrapped back under the blankets *

    Now you rest up, we will be right here when you wake, I promise you that.


  • Still reeling from weakness and vertigo, Celia tries to make sense of what’s befallen her in the last several days. Strange dreams and bouts of delusion have made it hard to differentiate between what was reality and what was… something else. Faces of the past and present seems to pass from day to day finally to settle on the three men keeping vigil by her bedside. While Reynauld’s presence is a given, she finds it almost overwhelming to see that Romulus and her new friend Arthur have also made the long journey to be by her side. Every fiber of her body aches from the fever’s grip, and her head pounds at the slightest of noises, yet her color seems to miraculously change to a normal hue, and her eyes regain their brightness and ice blue conviction. Her words come slowly, and the three men have to strain to hear them.

    "Messieurs, 'ow can I ever show gratitude enough? I am truly blezzed viz such companionship and friendship for my letter to bring you all zis far. I am forever in your debt. Torm 'as shown me mercy."

    She looks to each and everyone of them, noting the looks of concern etched on their faces. Clarity comes with the moment, things taking their proper place in her mind.

    "I vaz recovering, zen zis thing took a'old of me again, and itz been a battle for several dayz. Zis disease is unnatural, embodied and spread through a spirit of a zort. I believe before ve can do anything ve must underztand vat ve are up against. Vat it iz, why, and more importantly 'ow to destroy it. Ze priests 'ere have yet not found any remedy or prayer ztrong enough to banish it for good."

    A spasm wracks her body, painfully reminding her of her condition. Exhaustion, she knows, will soon overtake her again.

    "Lets us rest a few dayz and gather provision for our return. Back 'ome in ze north ve can per'apz find information and resources to come back and deztroy vat ever evil zis iz."

    A warm smile crosses her face in stark contrast to her hollow features.

    "You are my dear brothers, if not all in faith, zen by 'eart!"

    Sleep brings with it needed rest and recovery


    • smiles warmly to Romulus as he enters *

    Well then my lady Celia, its up to you, do we fight, or do we retreat? No matter your decision, we are all here to aid you.

  • A

    A few days later, Romulus appears as if out of nowhere. He greets the watching Arthur and then moves first to Celia's side, and then to Reynauld's.

    "Sorry I'm late. I didn't have a horse and had to do much of the journey on foot. I travel better that way because I use invisibility most of the time. Luckily, your map was good Rey, and I was able to hire a boat for part of the trip." He speaks lightly, and cheerfully as ever.

    "The priest told me what happened. I guess we need to either flee, or take on a demon. It sounds like you were attacked by some kind of Spirit of Pestelence. Whatever you decide, I want to help!"


    • having watched Sir Reynauld walk in Arthur silently follows behind him, standing guard as they pray together, his eyes watching over them as he waves away her keepers assuring them that Torm and now Helm watches over Celia, as things finally seems to calm he slowly walks to her bedside allowing his presence to be noticed as he smiles to them both *

    Lady Celia, so long as you keep your Faith and your Friends close, you will always have the strength to overcome this darkness.

    • Arthur would appear worn and tired from his travels though more then ready to press out when she is ready, he takes a chair on the opposite side of her bed from Reynauld minding them tiredly *

    When your ready to head home, Thunder can help…but until then, rest and if your serious to combat this darkness.....* pats the silver sword at his side * then expect my blade at your disposal.


  • Empty streets…

    Empty streets are never a good sign in a city, and neither are shuttered windows. Damorra looked like it was haunted. No children playing. No dogs barking. Not a soul to be seen anywhere, save myself, hobbling down a cobbled street, my saddle tucked under my left arm. The five day journey had been something I didn’t want to remember, even if I could have. There were people around. I could feel their eyes on my as I passed. The whole place reeked of fear.

    The building was right where the ship’s first mate said it would be. A squat little two story ugliness that one of my old instructors would have called “architecturally devoid.” It had the one door in the whole town that was open. I give them full credits for courage.

    My boots landed heavy on their stone floor, echoed by the jingle of one spur. I had lost the other somewhere along the way. Silver and a family heirloom of four generations… It was unimportant.

    A thin man in robes intercepted me. Good. I needed directions.

    “I am Sir Reynauld Du Luc, Knight Errant of Peltarch. I’ve come for Lady Celia StClair, my betrothed.”

    “I’m sorry you can’t…”

    I stepped around him.

    He was quick, I’ll give him that. In two steps he was back in front of me again.

    “… you can’t see her, she’s under quarantine.”

    This time I went to the other side and he caught my arm as I went by.

    “…it’s undead sickness Milord.”

    I lost a lot of things along the way, patience was one of the first. This was not one of my more knightly moments. So be it.

    “I swear, with Torm as my witness, if you get in my way one more time I will cut you in half! Now take me to her!”

    A second man in an elaborate robe and spectacles appeared down the hall as the first stepped off to the side. I took the occasion to continue on by.

    “Can I help you Sir?” His voice registered the kind of indignity one only gets from someone who is overly organized and thinks they’re in charge. I’m not in the mood.

    “Oh good, the porter.” I dumped my saddle into his arms and he took a step backwards from the weight of it. “Go put that somewhere.”

    I grabbed the man trailing me by the front of the robe, pulling him along with me.

    “Where?”

    “Upstairs, to the left, second door.”

    My pause at the stout oaken door let a few of the robed men catch up to me. The man carrying my saddle gave a slight nod and one of the brothers produced a key for the door, twisting it in the lock. As I pushed it open he spoke.

    “She’s stable now, but her improvement is very slow.”

    I stepped through the doorway into a very Spartan room. Cold stone walls, a single window, a small pine writing desk with a meager chair, and a bed that was little more then a pine box with a thin straw mattress. A shriveled little ghoul was wrapped up in a thin blanket laying on the bed, with barely a pillow to rest on. If it wasn’t for the hair, I’d have never guessed it was her.

    I fished some coins out of my pocket and handed them to the brother who unlocked the door. “I want pillows… good ones, and some blankets too. Make sure they’re… fluffy. Get some flowers too, this place needs some color.”

    The small raspy voice sent a spike of cold down my back. “Mon Rey.”

    “Celia…”

    I was at her side in a instant, holding her hand in mine. It felt cold and skeletal. Where was the strong and vibrant woman I’d come to know and love? Could this really be her? Torm has taught me to control my fear, and in doing so, bring calm and understanding to those around me. This takes every ounce of control I have. As my emotions calm I can feel it. Something malevolent. A vile wickedness in the room. I can’t help but think of all the lessons given to me by Lady Ashena that I failed at miserably. The ones where she could look and a person and know…

    I am not the most gifted of Torm’s servants. I’m not blessed with faith healing, or the ability to disrupt undead. I’m not strong enough for those things. My gift is the treating of disease, and I am truly blessed for it.

    “Lord Torm, cast out this pestilence, that your faithful servant Celia might recover fully in your grace…

    The thing consuming Celia leapt at me.

    Some moments become forever etched in the sandstone that time becomes when we look back at it in our later years. I’ve often believed that the mind will bend the things we see into that which we can better comprehend. Parts of what followed I remember vividly, while some moments seem surreal and out of context with anything other then flashes of my life up until then.

    I can see that exact second. The wispy dark fury leaving Celia, its claws and teeth biting into me. The look of pain and desperation from Celia’s shrunken face. The saddle falling half way to the floor while the high priest started his spell. Myself tumbling backwards under the sudden assault. Gasps of surprise and horror from the growing crowd at the door. A quill, blown off the desk, fluttering like gossamer wings to the floor, landing in darkness…

    _The barrows of Peltarch, dank and moldering. Celia chanting “Torm iz my father and ze Church is my Mother” over and over. She’s facing the wall, bound by smoky chains. Her back is bare save for the bleeding marks of the lash. A wraith on a flaming horse plies the whip, reveling in torment. He taunts her between strikes. His head turns as he sees me.

    “I have your love now as well my sweet.” It hisses. Cherry red hot chains shoot from the floor and wrap my wrists and ankles, they sizzle as they burn into my flesh. My scream is involuntary. “When I destroy him, you will break.”

    A voice in my head. Whispered hope. “Keep it busy son, I can prevent it from going back into Celia.” I don’t place it at first, but it’s the man with the saddle.

    I struggle against my bindings as the whip turns into a lance leveled at my heart. My armor and shield are hundreds of miles away. My horse is dead. I have to joust with my hands and feet anchored to the ground. If I don’t win, this creature takes us both. The Wraith starts its charge.

    Hoofbeats pounding the field of honor in time with the beat of my heart. The blackened lace of eternal death is leveled at my chest, its tip has become a venomous snake. The aim is true.

    A flash of light seers my eyes and I hear a chain fall from Celia. Her words carry over the thunder of hooves.

    “Torm’z compassion iz my armor!”

    The breastplate appears on me with a shimmer. I twist in my chains hoping for a glancing blow. The lance bites through the beastplate, ripping a furrow across my chest. I feel the burn as the poison enters my veins.

    Horse and rider turn for another pass. The Wraith cackles. “Resist if you must. Your fate is sealed all ready.”

    It charges.

    The rest of the chains fall from Celia. She has become radiant in her armor, glowing like a celestial being. “Torm’z righteousness iz my sword!”

    The blade appears in my hand. The chains keep me from swinging it, but I can move it enough to take the lance off target. I deflect the killing shot and take the hammer’s blow off my shoulder instead.

    The Wraith cries out in frustration. A glowing door appears, and I know it’s the way out.

    “Go Celia!” She shakes her head no. Her stubbornness is one of the things I love about her.

    “Torm’z love iz my Shield!”

    A shield appears on my arm and hers. I can’t bring it to bear. The lance comes straight for my heart. Celia dives, her shield extended to ward it off. Her shield meets mine and they become one. The lance shatters upon it. The rider howls.

    “You should have gone.” I whisper. “You’d have been safe.”

    “Safer zen by your side?” Her kiss catches me by surprise. “Ve are two ‘alves of ze same soul, you and I.”

    I’ve known it for a long time. I just never dared to say it.

    A hand landed on my shoulder, firm and reassuring. Spirits of knights long passed surrounded us. My fathers words echoed in my ears.

    “As long as you remember them for who they were, then they live on in your heart and spirit.”

    I recognized many. Grail knights. A multitude of others wore the colors of the Abby of St Clair. They took up positions as Celia sundered my chains.

    The Wraith snarled. “Another time then.” It vanished in a fit of manic laughter.

    Together, Celia and I crossed the glowing threshold._

    I lay on the floor bleeding profusely. Celia was sitting upright in bed, her ashen color slowly fading to a more normal hue. The glass window was shattered from the inside.

    “That thing needs to be stopped.” I grumbled.

    “Do ve ‘ave ze strength?” Celia answered. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before asking, “Why are you smiling?”

    “I didn’t come alone.”

  • A

    Romulus sits on the edge of the bed shaking the sleep from his eyes.

    "It's like 3 AM?" He looks at the map that Reynauld handed him.

    "I promised to help him find Celia. I said I would do anything. But I meant to go with him, not follow alone. I've never been to Damorra and I don't even have a horse." He gets up and starts packing.

    "Oh well. I've always liked exploring new places."

    He remembered going with Celia, Reynauld, Cecil and Ashena to find the sacred chalice of St Clair. That was so long ago. There had been many undead. Luckily, he was prepared for undead. He had gone to the Temple of Kelemvore yesterday to purchase divine bullets and eternal rest arrows. Hopefully, it would be enough.

    Leaving a note for Gnarl and another for Mystic, silently he left the inn.

    Login: AubreyMaturin
    Character: Romulus Grey


  • Vigilant eyes on the door for days… Nothing… A letter half written… A pile of dirty glasses… Questions, so many questions… A lone figure leaves the night behind the door. A tired druid with a message… Four days by the crow… One answer… Regret. Time wasted waiting. Why? Because honor has meaning… A map with a course all ready plotted. For another… A sorceress pulled from the inn…

    “Your Lady?”

    He nods. “I need those spells you promised. Now.” He heads for the door.

    “Wait.” She starts to cast but he stops her hands.

    “Not for me, for my horse.”

    She follows to the stable, barely keeping with his determined pace.

    “How far do you have to travel?”

    “Four hundred miles, and I have to be there in a day and a half to catch the boat.”

    “You’ll kill him.”

    “You don‘t think I know that?”

    The smell of horses and leather. Worn wooden stalls… Ghosts in the moonlight… One horse, half ready… A saddle strapped down… Sacks of grain… Barding left unused… Spell crystals…

    “I can leave these unfinished. The magic will bleed out over time, it will not make him stronger or faster, but it will keep him sustained. For a while.”

    “How long?”

    “I don’t know. A day at best.”

    “It will do.”

    “There is a price to be paid when they wear off…”

    He’s gone into the darkness before she says it, leaving her alone with the horse.

    Misty souls wander the heath… A tower challenges the moon… Limestone steps… A chirp of crickets… Determined footfalls… Silence shattered by a fist on a door. Impatience… A man in blue. Surprise creasing his face… A map. The druids letter…

    “You offered your help.”

    “I did.”

    “This is the route I’m taking. Avoid the circled areas.”

    He turns and leaves. The man in blue stands in the doorway as the night returns to normal.

    “Good luck.”

    Cold foreboding walls… Dripping water… A stable in the darkness… She still waits… A horse lead out… Spurs jingle… A soft knicker in the night… A foot in a stirrup… The creak of leather… A pat on the neck… Whispers to twitching ears…

    “I’m sorry old friend. It’s time to walk in the fire.”

    The sorceress’s hand brushes his arm. “You aren’t taking your armor?”

    “It will only slow me down.”

    _Raw power in the horse’s flanks… Acceleration through the gates… A curse of guards diving for safety… Iron shod hooves on cobblestone… The rush of wind… Branches whipping by in the darkness… Night vanishing into the distance… Wolves chase but are out run… The sky opens to rain… A road unused, choked with brambles and mud… The splash of a stream forded… Sunlight beating down… Foam flying from drawn back lips… Thundering hooves on the plain… Miles passed at a gallop… Down a muddy slope… Wheezing… A stop at the edge of a swamp. Water, oats… Fresh piles of troll dung… A fleeting path through the swamp… The smell of swamp cabbage and pitcher plants… Slimy mud thrown in all directions… Snakes in the water. A splash in the distance… Safety needs speed, speed causes missteps… The horse disappears in the hole. The rider claws his way to firmer ground with a rope. Frantic pulling… Troll hunger… Narrow escape… old ruins… A road bridge in disrepair… The red glow of the setting sun. Flickering lights in the darkness. Scattered trees… Foothills… A rocky trail, slippery with running water… Narrows… A thousand foot drop waiting. Lungs burning for lack of air… bitter cold… The cry of a huge bird… A hanging valley… Pools of water… A stop for food… Ridge after ridge… Orcs in furs… hunting worgs released… Miles traveled to evade… Bruises from the saddle… A woods with low branches… A smoking village… Fog… A river with a burned out ferry… the ford… Alligators slowed by the chill of the night… Dusty road… Moonlight on water… Sand on an ocean beach giving way to rocky coast… A road… The wheezing gets worse… Travelers in the night sailed past… A town approaching… Arguments at the gate… A shaft of light from the rising sun… Ten more steps at a hobble, then collapse… Tears as a friend dies… More when he is left in the street… Gold pieces… Another doomed horse picks up the pace… Four hours later, another… Boats in a port… a gangplank too steep to walk… The roll of the open ocean…

    Tormented sleep.

    OOC: Rey’s horse Northstar has always been a homage to my favorite writer, Roger Zelazny, who passed a few years back. I credit his work with being a strong influence in my own. This one is for you Roger. Thanks for all the stories and characters…_


  • Sitting at the pine desk, her hand holding a quill for a moment as her eyes stare at the almost transparent claw that marks what remains of her left hand. She coughs violently, a horrid rustling noise erupting from her chest as she struggles to regain her breath. Lights dance before her eyes as the world spins hard to the left…

    Awaking from her bed, she doggedly returns to the desk and the quill, her weak trembling hand slowly putting words to paper.

    @050f03bc14:

    My dearest Rey,

    I hope the squire Arthur has let you know by now that I am indeed in Damorra with the Order of the Silver Chalice. They treat me well. I have been told I’ve been close to death a number of times, and the clerics here have been watching over me with their prayers. Knights brought me here, I slep for about two days then I was fine. I thought. I have been running a fever, and were you to look at me you would not recognize me. There are only bones left to me, and dark veins cover my body like the webs of a spider. They tell me that it is an undead sickness that they do not know how to cure. Some have survived it where others have perished. I’ve heard them whisper that a few have walked forever in a rotten body as undead.

    The Knights found me as they patrolled the southwest part of the river, as they have, ever since the mist settled on the ruins of the Abbey. They found me on the river bank with the old steed I purchased standing guard over me. They’ve tried to save those that they can, so they took me into Damorra.

    I did not understand at first their silent unwillingness to talk, but now I see why they did, not knowing if I would live through this. They have kept me in quarantine, behind a locked door. Apparently some of the stages of this disease can be quite violent.

    All I can say for now is as soon as I have the strength to move, I will begin my journey back home. I will confer with the clerics here to find out what kind of prayers and herbal remedies they use to ease the pain and to rid the evil that consumes the innocent bodies of the stricken.

    I miss you, and I am sorry I left you alone to deal with the Order and the confusion of not knowing if our commitment was as truly welcomed as we had hoped. I should have stayed by your side. Now it will probably be two weeks before I have the strength to move about enough to mount a horse, but I can read and talk now, so I will try to go into depth about this foul cloud of disease hovering over the StClair area. Hopefully I can provide some insights that the others who have not suffered through this may have overlooked.

    I grow weary now, and as much as I would like to continue this letter, I think I should stop here and get some rest. Please do not worry too much for me. I will see you again when I can.

    Yours truly,

    Celia

    Knowing that the letter will take several days to reach him, and that her fate will have been decided by then, she drops the quill and clasps her hands in prayer:

    I thank you Father Torm, I worship you in all your splendor,
    for you are great and worthy of all praise.
    I remember all of your benefits,
    you have forgiven me for all my iniquities,
    and you healed me from disease.
    You redeemed my life from destruction,
    and you crowned me with loving kindness and tender mercies.
    I will always walk in your presence with thanksgiving,
    honor, praise and a loving heart.
    I love you with all that’s within me.


  • A letter left with Sir Galin, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precisehandwriting to Reynauld du Luc:

    @31f76a4698:

    Dearest Rey,

    You are at the moment on longer patrol route and I have not had the opportunity to speak with you. First I will say do not worry!

    I have decided, after a long and honest conversation with Sir Arthur Forge, to journey home to visit with what is left of convent StClair. I would like to visit with my sisters in faith. To know that the retrival of the sacred chalice did not destroy the whole of the congregation. With hope Mère D'Avignon is still alive.

    On this journey there will be time for me to think things through not only about the matters regarding the Order, which I find less of an issue to me, but also whats ahead for me in terms of you and I and a union.

    Please do not despair. It is certainly not fair to leave you like this, you have every right to feel abandoned and angry. If you wish, any correspondence can be sent to the region of Tethyr, city of Darromar, convent StClair.

    My love for you is as great as my love for father Torm

    Yours in faith

    Celia StClair.