3. Samson Swarthout: Chronicles of a Gentle Giant

Samson Swarthout: Chronicles of a Gentle Giant


  • It was late at night in the Boarshead Inn. Sam had decided to get an actuall bed to sleep on. It was something of a reward.

    His thoughts did not exactly drift.. they shot here and there back and forth between several recent events. As soon as he set his mind to ponder one, another would shoot into his head.

    First… he hadn't seen Durai and Shalia. No one he spoke to seemed concerned that they were missing. "They are on their honeymoon!" was the common response, typically followed by a "dont worry."

    Hmm... dont worry. Sam shook his head in the bed. He wondered what not worrying felt like. It had to be an empty feeling. If one never worried, then of what did one care about? And without a care, what reason for living at all?

    Only a couple close friends elected to break into the Hightower house for clues. It was a desperate measure, but the only thing they found was a white hound locked in the storage room which exploded when approached, seriously wounding them all.

    Sam was sure Durai would understand about the damage... he had broken down that door once before. It wasnt as if he didnt pay for the last one either. He didnt know what to make of the white hound. But alas, the house was in order. Still no signs or clues as to the couples whereabouts.

    He wondered under what rock they could be hiding... Under what.. UNDER! Sams thoughts changed again.

    Under... the Lost City. He had done what he'd never imagined he'd do. He had followed- of all people- Adam Bromley... UNDER something! As if being UNDER Norwick with him the last time wasnt bad enough... he had gone UNDER of all places the LOST CITY. To do what?

    To look for Thayans, he said.

    And oh, by the way Sam, Can you help carry this 500 pound gnomish device along the way?

    If not for the orders of the Order given to him by Ishar, Sam would have certainly told the fool bard to pound sand. Unfortunately, orders were orders and Sam agreed, carrying the device nearly the whole time with the help of Talgrath, Kael in troll form and Maya. It was an ugly contraption and impossible to fight with, Difficult to grip and painfully slow when it did... well... whatever it did.

    Adam seemed to know how to use it however, and after what seemd like a thousand "pick it up, put it here, pick it up, put it here's" They finally found a hole, having managed a successful entry into the lost wastelands of the city.

    Yes, Adam had found his silly green rock and the bards had foolishly decided to have a conversation in the depths of the chasm's below the-

    Bards... Sam's thoughts spun again... not bards- A bard. One in particular.. Sam's heart fluttered.

    Marry me? she had asked. Marry me! The words flew threw him like ghosts, into and out of his soul, with each passing giving him a bit of a thrill, and he grinned stupidly as he lay in the bed, unable to restrain himself.

    The shock had still not worn off. Though his experiences with Mellia had certainly been as up and down as he could have imagined, he knew they both had hurt each other. They both knew how delicate each was. Mellia, afraid of being treated like a possession to be abused and misused, as her former husband had. And Sam, quite the opposite, deathly afraid to bare his soul so deeply to any that they could smite him with but a word.

    She had nearly done so once. And of course, Sam had pained her just as equally. He was ashamed of it, and had been trying mightily to overcome it. If not for her, then at least for himself.

    Perhaps she had seen his efforts and come to realize that indeed, though Sam was a being of great and terrible violence at times, she would ever be in the eye of the hurricane that was Sam. Protected and immune from whatever might ravage around her.

    He lay in bed, his mind picturing her face, her delicate smile which hadn't quite the strength he expected, nor the joy. Sam didn't know how truly committed to this proposition she was, something was amiss within her.

    She could easily find a better man, and Sam knew it. Sam was afraid of this fact.

    But… if there was one strength in Sam, it was perserverance and loyalty. If she was willing to take this step with him, he would ever and always strive to be worthy of her love. It might be a difficult task at times, but in truth, she asked little of him.

    To be safe? To be unafraid that he would punish her with whips, or burning brands? That he would never strike her? Perhaps she even genuinely wished to be loved back. Sam was pretty sure she didnt know what that would be like. In truth... Sam really didnt either.

    Her proclamation of love to him the first night had triggered something in him that was strong and on fire. Something that left him incredibly vulnerable to her and yet just as forgiving when that vulnerability was struck.

    The cycle of fleeting thoughts was broken. Fatigued from the fighting of the day prior, Sam slipped into dreams. Pleasant dreams filled with a pretty bard... A bard who needed and wanted..... Sam.

  • ?

    innocent look I didn't do it. 😛

  • ?

    Sorry Auntie 'Lanny!

    :oops:

  • ?

    whistles innocently Um… I was all Rick's fault. That's it. Rick.


  • They got married?! Without me?!? AGAIN?!!!

    Dead. Sooooo dead.


  • For the most part- things had been quiet. Sam rather enjoyed the time he had to spend with his friends of late.

    As usual, there were the normal set backs. His dream of retirement was once again shot down, this time by the hins. He knew he placed to much faith in Scutum. Or perhaps he clung too willingly to hope.

    In either case, the fields in the Silver Valley would not be tilled by Sam, nor would he live quietly by the Andryl shrine. He had dearly looked forward to stepping down from the hill, tilling those fields, tending to the maintenance of the shrine, that it should never fall into disrepair. Much regretted not being able to live in the small dwelling near the river. The silver valley was a peaceful place, but… it would seem as though Sam was destined to never know peace.

    At least however, there were small joys in his life. Rick and Aaimie, well more Rick than Aaimie, were fast friends. Friends out of desire for a change and not necessity.... or oath.

    Apparently Durai had gotten into a situation with the troublemaker Juno Everhart. Trouble that had resulted in a duel with the man. A duel which resulted in Durai's defeat. As the rumors floated in on the hill to Sam, his expectant scowl hid his watchful gaze for the day Juno mischose to walk over the hill.

    He didnt have to wait long. Juno strolled up, his cocky demeanor present as usual. Sam stepped down from the hill to meet him on the plains.

    Without so much as a pleasantry, Sam said he'd heard that Juno had spoken ill of a faithful of a rigtheous god, a faithful Sam was sword to protect. Juno's snippy response angered Sam and the finger that was jabbed into Juno's chest cut his words short, and sent him back a step.

    Sam covered the ground again, puffing himself up to his full size and height, peering down at Juno from atop his crossed arms.

    "If'n yuh ev'r says ill o' wunna faithful o Mr Helm, Tyr, Torm, Ilm'ter, Sune, 'er ena oder gud god... Sam's gunna be on yer honor fer it, Mr Juno."

    For once, the man sobered and accepted the terms. Though his face said differently, Sam was forced to accept the words as spoken. To Sam, this was not a matter of pride, or false honor. This was real honor. The honor and reputations of those who had suffered and bled for Narfell were not to be tarnished by the idle jokes of the ungrateful. Should Juno step across the line Sam had just drawn in the sand, Juno would receive the pummeling of his life- and to that Sam was committed.

    He left the hill, out of sorts somewhat, but quickly raised in spirits when he received a letter on the Regal Whore.

    It is time, we have already left for Peltarch. -Durai

    "Shite!" Sam almost forgot his helm in his haste. He arrived in Peltarch, breathless, but in time to witness the wedding of Durai and Shalia. It was a small afair. Only Robyn, Sam and Rick as witnesses.

    As promised, Sam gave Shalia away. He felt a tug on his own heartstrings as he did so. He was older than most of these people combined, had been to many weddings, but never his own. The old half orc felt his age. He didnt let his thoughts wander too far, the ceremony was lovely and Daisy's pleasant voice certainly was music enough to keep their spirits light.

    Rick and Sam each left the wedding in haste to purchase gifts. The small reception was held in the Mermaid in the private room. Gifts were exchanged, a toast and then they began drinking and talking.

    The festivity was cut short by Dwarron and Grag however, as they burst into the private room, hurriedly asking for Sam to head to his hill. Something was wrong.

    Sighing his dissappointment, Rick and Sam left the newlywed couple to see to the hill. What possibly could not be handled by the legion?

    It was a long, but fast run south.

    Something was certainly wrong however, the hill was covered in defenders. As they crested the hill, he could see the problem. Several decapitated heads were thrust onto pikes. As Rick and Sam examined them, they all had something in common.

    They each were missing an ear.

    Sam inspected the first head, the pike jammed exactly between the ruts made by Sam's feet over the years. One in the place Rick commonly stood, and one in the center of the road.

    Defiance? A message? Sam pondered… the ears... his blood chilled.

    "Mr Rick! Runup an tell Mr Durai! Quicklike eh?"

    Rick nodded, he too had no doubts what this message meant.

    Thyrm had returned from Waterdeep.

    A few days passed… and no sign of Durai or Shalia- he hoped it was just their honeymoon to blame.


  • Juggling. Thats exactly what Sam was doing- juggling eggs.

    The objects however, were not truly eggs, they were lives, yet to drop one would be just as disastrous. The eggs were flying faster and faster and Sam was certainly no performer.

    His frequent visits to Shalia and Durai, his two favorite eggs, seemed to go well, but there was always the thought in his mind that his welcome would be worn, his advice unheeded. In truth, the advice part was already happening. Maturity perhaps, but Sam suspected more that it was the couples desire to appear unified no matter the outside influences.

    This could be good… and just as dangerous should Shalia or Durai be separated from the other. Sam hadn't the experience to know.

    Indeed his own efforts at bonding... were miserable efforts causing him much pain and consternation. He was faced with a choice himself, and he found from experience that he was completely inept at juggling two women. He would soon have to make a decision, and quickly try to set one of the delicate eggs down without breaking it..... her.

    Shalia had already begun to meddle in this and Sam had fled the scene, embarrased and afraid of his own ignorance, and lack of wisdom. He knew he had no sense, no experience and was ill equipped to handle her charms. In truth he was ill equipped to handle 'any' woman's charms, but Shalia in her innocence and objectivity parried his gruff porcuipine quills deftly to reach the heart of the matter- his heart.

    He would have to make his own decision soon, before someone made it for him.

    That is.... if he could find time to THINK for 5 minutes!

    Revana was as elusive as a Wolf. Though that didnt prevent him from looking for her to check on her, he did rarely find her. She as always seemed busy, preparing herself diligently, training and expanding her knowledge of the land, learning the people. She was quite independent. Sam prayed nightly that her elusiveness would protect her. If her allies could not find her, perhaps her enemies would be harder pressed to do so as well.

    Shalia's return brought even more information into the mission to save Kanen. He was most surely alive, though the secrets that were revealed confused everyone present. More information was required, and though they had acquired much already, even the edges of the puzzle they sought to put together were as yet undefined. Too many questions went unanswered

    In an effort to speed things along, Sam spoke to Ishar, one of the Order. Though Ishar pledged the support of the Order, saying that they order would always come to the aid of one of their own, when Sam looked around, he could find no one in the Order who was charged to aid him. Even Ishar claimed that with the Elinah missing, the Order was having to reorganize and such decisions might have to wait until the council met again to discuss the future.

    Even so, Sam already knew the Order was much more concerned with the Thayan threat than they were with finding Kanen.

    Sam clumsily swept up the Thayan egg and tried to put it into play.

    This was too much for Sam, and he willingly tossed an egg aside, letting it fall unheeded. The Alliance. Sam had no more time for them. The rumors of the pillaging of the countryside was going to make them an enemy of the druids.

    And worse yet... Bruno. Many of the Orders private records had been made open to him, so he could keep up with the findings of others and contribute his own. As he rummaged through the files, he came upon the sealed reports of Bruno, his one time friend, and ally against the bandits. Bruno was the only being of cursed blood Sam had ever called friend.

    Suddenly Sam realized how wrong he had been for so many years. He had even defied Kanen's and Elinah's judgement on the matter.

    Unconsciously, as he read report after report, his hand lowered to his waist. When he closed the report, the intense scowl on his face matched the tightness of the grip on his sword.

    He left in a hurry, and turned in his symbol of membership to Hendry, the barkeep, a veiled warning in his wake.

    That task completed, he turned north to Peltarch, to seek some company and discuss the future.

    In his mind, the eggs went round and round.


  • At first, it was Durai's dream.. it had to be a woman.

    Sam crossed the names of the males off the list…

    It was much shorter now.

    The name Melhrus came up several times and Sam was eager to circle it... but some things did not add up.

    Upon Shalia's return, she told of a dream...

    Suddenly the list grew very short indeed. Only one name remained.

    An enemy Sam had studied only from heresay and rumor, legend and lore. An enemy Sam had looked in the eyes....

    ... and been found wanting.

    He had hope however. Robyn beleived Kanen alive. Shalia's dream, yet not a dream, Kanen had spoken to her. So he -was- alive! But what kind of life could he have lived for so many years. And what -deal- could have been made.

    The chessboard. Sam knew what the game of chess was all about. The dream he had was reinforced by the testimony of the others... the same dream on a black and white checkered board.

    Who were the players.. and who were the peices. If there was one thing Sam knew, it was his place on the board. A pawn. not a knight, certainly not a bishop. He knew he was no king.

    He was a pawn.

    Mintas beckoned... the 5th rank. Should a pawn cross the 5th rank he knew it became a threat. He knew he threatened to cross onto the 5th rank, Shalia's dream, speaking to Kanen, confirmed this.

    But what kind of pawn was he? The pawn who held his ground? Certainly not- the king's life was at stake!

    The pawn that progresses, with each step becomes more and more dangerous, and at the same time, more vulnerable, separated from the protection of its peices.

    Every step closer to the 8th rank brought Sam closer and closer to vulnerability, yet at the same time, closer to an overwhelming advantage. He wondered how far he should push, if indeed his goal was to reach the 8th rank at all? Should he attempt to become the most powerful peice? Or was his place at the side of the king, to protect him.

    Advance and become the one who determines decisive defeat?
    Hold his ground and hope the others could win, using him as a fulcrum?
    or stay close to the king?

    Though, he thought.. most pawns on the board sacrifice themselves to save the King...

    If Sam knew one thing from his training, it was that the pawn on the field was oft overlooked for its contribution, no matter the one play of the enemy it prevented.

    He looked at the bishops and knights behind him....and saw indecision.

    He chose to advance a rank.

    It was night.

    Under the cover of darkness, hugging the trees Sam moved towards Mintas Rhelgor. The orcs were oblivious to his passing in the night. His tiptoed, slow steps, even muffling the clank of the throwing weapons on his armor.

    His eyes, well adjusted to the moonless night, peirced across the ground, picking out every snapping stick and obstacle. The walls of Mintas were visible in the distance.

    He crouched and moved slowly, and soon reached the wall.

    There was movement within, he could hear footsteps and muffled voices...a language he had no hope to understand. He peered over the wall for a moment to see what he could.

    The creature that greeted his eyes was just a few feet away, he stumbled backwards knowing he'd been spotted!

    The blast of light alone blinded him, and the pain of the magic was dulled as he hit the ground almost twenty feet from where he had stood.

    His ears picked up the chantings of more spells and shouts of alarm and from across the walls of Mintas, the wrath of evil made iteself known upon him.

    Sam fled, unable to approach.

    The pawn advanced, and found itself blocked. He could advance no further without aid.


  • Very nice entry Sam. 🙂


  • Rick and Aaimies wedding was over. He was happy for them, and they had been long time friends. Once again however, he had damaged a relationship. This time with Aaimie. His accusations against her, though well intended, were misinformed and very nearly cost him a friend.

    He knew he was in trouble, but not how much until the day of the wedding when Rick troubledly told Sam he could not come to the wedding. It was a blow. Though Aaimie was a flirt and emotional, to deny Sam to share this day with them… well, it hurt. Suddenly, Sam truly regreted his self-righteous spiel on the hill.

    If it hadn't been for Pete, speaking on his behalf, Sam wouldnt have gone at all. But instead, he petitioned to Aaimie who eventually caved to the young man's charms.

    He could sit in the back.

    So he did. But when Aaimie came out to the ceremony, his guilt overcame him, and he knew he had to apologize, just as he had set out to do earlier. He couldnt have this guilt hanging over his head.

    Sam rarely chose friends poorly, and Aaimie's acceptance of his apology warmed him, reaffirming in his heart why Rick and his fiance were as close as they were. But, beyond her gracious acceptance, though he could see it was hard for her, she then honored him in return. Sam was stunned. It was enough that she conceded to let him sit in the wedding, it was a fine act on her part to accept his apology... but... then she went a step beyond Sam's imagination- she honored him.

    Aaimie wished for Sam to give her away. The task normally reserved for a father....

    Perhaps it was a devilish plan to make him feel worse. If so, it succeeded. Yet the guilt was soon crushed by the knowledge that all would be well between them in the future. Her lovely dress was perhaps wrinkled in the mighty hug of releif and pride that he gave her.

    It was a lovely wedding, conducted by Khaya. Though it rained, well.. it always rained in Narfell. The ceremony was short, pleasant and festivities began. Gifts were exchanged and after several ales to work up his courage, Sam gave a grand toast to the new couple. The effort somewhat exhausted his social reserves and he slipped quietly back amongst his closer friends. Durai and Nico.

    Nico, apparently seeing the twitching, nervous fingers of Sam, offered him a drink to calm his nerves. He accepted graciously, downing it quickly. Only after the bottle was spent, did the familiar tang strike him.

    Dwarven Ale.

    Sam was incapacited in seconds, death a very real possibility.

    Thanks to the timely efforts of Nico, Durai and Vroka, Sam pulled through, though Vroka, spurned for years by Sam, almost took advantage of the prostrate half-orc.

    He shuddered that terrible memory away....

    Things in the Nars had been oddly quiet. Sam didn't mind at all- it gave him more time to study. He had much to learn suddenly.

    The librarian in Peltarch had been more than helpful, though she had little to offer in the way of texts on Sune. Most of them were parodies or blatant published ignorance. Fortunately, she knew of at least one book which provided decent reference material.

    Sam sat, the book open on his knees and read.

    His head filled quickly, and he soon had to put the book down.

    It was time to ponder.

    His list of responsibilities was growing, Sam found himself spending less and less time standing Watch, lifting his sword against foes that threatened the natural order and balance of things. Instead, his time was being nearly completely consumed with a very small population.

    It was more satisfying certainly. And without a doubt a whole lot less lonely than the solitary vigils he was used to on the hill.

    Among his list of 'charges':
    Durai Hightower. So much like his father, yet like a son to him. A son that he never really knew well, and had grown up so quickly. Sam blinked and suddenly the boy was now a young man. His wisdom was quickly surpassing Sam's. Really, the only thing he could offer young Durai was his friendship, perhaps an extra blade. And of course, at the request of Shalia, Sam was trying to find a way to express his love.

    No easy task for the likes of Sam. Sam was a being of deed, not word. In truth, his words had never served him well, being one of his greatest weaknesses. Trying to express himself to Durai was difficult at best.

    Next, he had young Revana- just as old as Durai, but Durai's time in Narfell had already seasoned him well. In keeping with his oath, he worried about Revana much more. She hadn't the close companions Durai had. And the Burden of Paladinhood had already evidenced itself in the tears she had shed in Norwick.

    His heart reached out for her, but he was reluctant to show her nearly as much compassion. Her faith must always lie with Helm, not Sam. Perhaps Sam could love her as deeply as Durai, but could he ever show it?

    Next, there was Shalia. Soon to depart to Aglarond again, they had discussed her request at length. The book on Sune providing not only a guide on how to aid her, but a huge insight into his own thoughts and feelings.

    Sam had no idea how he would manage Watching all three of them at once.

    As if that wasnt enough... Due largely to the strong words of Durai, and even more to Shalia's, Cyrus had caved into Sam's request for acceptance into Kanen's crumbling order. Sam despised how the Order had broken apart with his absense. The Lady Andryl had kept it together well in her time, but with her dissappearance all Sam saw was the splintering of the faithful into their respective groups, separatied by diety, not bound any longer by the conviction to unite for the greater good.

    Suddenly Sam found himself somewhat feal to Cyrus... of all people, Cyrus. Sam scowled. No doubt this was a test from Helm. It would have been easy to follow Roland, Sam respected him greatly. Even Elinah would have been easier, though she reservedly displayed her disdain for Sam.

    But to follow the fat cleric who's actions always seemed to strike one of Sam's nerves.... How in the nine hells would Sam ever be able to work with him?

    Though the cleric's power was great, Sam had no confidence in someone he had never really battled evil with, shared no trust with.

    Sam would be loyal to Kanen's intent when he founded the Order. For the greater good, he mumbled to himself.

    His thoughts drifted some, away from duty and responsibility to his own desires. He had most certainly lost Mellia, fool that he was, lost her from a stupid expression of anger. Tigrelily had come back from her village oddly timed, to catch Sam in the midst of a mope.

    She was a good woman, strong. Strong enough to put up with Sam, and loyal beyond doubt. He remembered the many times she had been behind him, through thick and thin, keeping him standing. Giving him advice. But something about her had always seemed missing. He couldnt pin it down.

    Frustrated, unused to such deep feelings stirring within him, he picked up the book on Sune again.

    He tried to understand.


  • She did it again. Proposed to Durai.

    And if that were not irritating enough, she had somehow managed to drag Sam into the ceremony! He shook his head. Was there no end to the things this girl could convince those around her to do with her sweet, innocent, blue puppy dog eyes?

    Sam glowered from his perch on the Hill.

    Now Durai's every waking moment would be spent in breathless anticipation of her return. He couldn't tell if she was just youthfully, blissfully ignorant, or extremely cunning.

    Sam went north to Peltarch to speak with Daisy, he had business to attend to.

    A day passed.

    By Sam's reckoning, she should be well on her way now. Sam found Durai in the company of Yolande and Natanya on separate occasions. When Durai left for a moment, he grilled each woman thoroughly until he was convinced or she made it clear Durai was not an object of desire.

    Sam also made it equally clear to each, that he was now betrothed.

    If Sam could not prevent the marriage of the two young ones, he was damned if he'd let them screw it up in their youth- or let anyone else try.

    Later in the afternoon however, Sam ran into a woman that seemed to threaten his efforts. Her name was Moira… Auntie Moira she said, and claimed to be the great grandmother of Shalia.

    She was vehemently opposed to the marriage.

    This naturally angered Sam. Wasn't Durai good enough for her? What manner of woman was she that she could issue judgement before even meeting him!? What did she know of his proud lineage?

    She seemed very much a pompous fool to Sam, and very quick to rap him with her staff anytime he said something she didnt like.

    Fortunately Nico Black was there, and his eloquence at first seemed to help. Unfortunately, it was less how he said what he said, but WHAT he was saying that Sam beleived wasn't helping. Khalomey took over, trying to salvage the situation, before Moira put him in his place too.

    The last man standing was Sam, and knowing he couldnt talk his way out of a paper bag, dared her to learn for herself.

    Perhaps she agreed, but Sam could not be for certain. Elord ran by, claiming of activity in the north by the hill. Sam excused himself an ran north.. only to find a full fledged social hour in progress, and no bandits in sight.

    He sighed and tried to find Moira to restart their abruptly interupted discussion, but the woman proved elusive.


  • Sam spent the night in the old Alliance inn. It was nearly vacant now, only a few passers-by. They only permanent resident was the bartender, who was so strapped for business he wouldn't offer even Sam a discount.

    Sam didnt mind and even mentioned to him that it might be time to just… 'let things go.'

    The Legion... was crushed under sociopolitical forces with the absense of its power seeking leader. Then the Alliance came. It flourished only for a short time as the older members were beaten time and again by the bandits, and thus, losing morale, the foundation of the once great institution to protect Narfell from banditry collapsed.

    Still... now and again, Sam would use the old inn as a refuge when the battles in the north were fierce.

    He set out in the morning, entering the Nars. As usual, his mindset of 'take the highest ground and hold it' brought him to a small hill just into the pass. He was spotted and soon an entire platoon mustered against him.

    Sam quickly used what magic he had at his disposal to empower him, and though the battle was long, at times cat and mouse, taking cover from mages and stepping from behind cover to strike at the clerics... he was victorious.

    Nearly twenty bodies lay within a stones throw from him.

    Letting his blood cool, adrenaline slow, he surveyed the carnage and sighed remorsefully. It took him almost half an hour to drag the corspses together, dutifully ensuring they were in a neat, reverent line to be recovered. Only missing from them was their life, and their weapons, that neither would be returned to violence.

    He set off towards the hill next, to see how the activity there was. On his arrival, he spotted a cutpurse sneaking along the base of the hill, blade drawn, her eyes intent on someone above. A volley of arrows put an end to her desires.

    "Sam!" It was Durai and Shalia on the hill. They spoke for a while, and Sam tried to be polite to Shalia, though he was welcome for the distraction as Mingal and Ohtara came up to visit as well. Nonplussed, Shalia, unabashed as usual, would not be brushed aside so easily by Sam.

    She asked him to teach her to cook.

    Sam fought the urge to die laughing before he realized she was serious.

    She described her efforts to him. She had a kitchen, fine crockery, a well stocked pantry, and the comforts of home. Yet she could not cook to save her life.... or anyone elses for that matter. A quick look at Durai proved this- he was looking a little gaunt in the face.

    Knowing that she would soon have to embark on a journey home, Sam decided it best if she at least know how to feed herself. However, certain obstacles presented themselves right away.

    "Hunt?" She asked wide eyed.

    "Yuh. Hunt." Where -else- did you think food came from, he refrained from asking.

    "Less go." And off he went, testing her commitment by seeing if she would keep up. As usual she did, though under the near constant ministerings of Durai that things would be all right.

    During the journey, Shalia asked Sam a question which gave him great pause to consider. A flood of thoughts entered his mind with her question. He elected to discuss her request at another time... If she could not find it in herself to hunt an animal to sustain herself, how would she ever hunt evil to protect another?

    So Sam decided to test the young, eager woman's fortitude in a manner only Sam could have devised. Or perhaps a very evil ranger. 🙂

    The went north looking for hawks, but found only rotten, inedible carcasses. But Sam did stop to fetch some eggs from a nest. This act alone caused her great consternation- the thought of eating 'baby birds' appalled her.

    Sam's retort brought a snicker from the grass nearby, where Ohtara was crouched, hiding as usual.

    Next they entered Atol's cave. If there was no meat in the air, there certainly would be some under the earth. The many bandit guard dogs kept in there would certainly provide a decent fare. Sam felt confident he could hold any attackers off in the narrow hallway while Durai, Ohtara and Mingal skinned the dogs.

    As if Atol had planned their reception, not less than six of his finest animals were there to greet them. They were dispatched quickly along with a couple guards that were alerted by the growls and whines.

    Their retirement was quick, though not quick enough for Shalia.

    Seeing Durai and Sam at work with knives, the sight of the blood, and exposed flesh quickly overwhelmed her and she fled the cave, retching outside. Despite eliciting the reaction from her he desired, he felt neither remorse or compassion. Would she not someday have to do this herself?

    As Durai was growing quickly, so must Shalia. Narfell was a hard land, and her soft upbringing screamed vulnerability to any but the most inexperienced. If her request of him was ever to be granted, she would have to temper her innocence with at least a facade of composure.

    Sam hoped that she wouldnt wind up -quite- like him however. More gruff than steeled.

    Not wishing to give her a break, but lacking the conviction himself to be cruel, he continued with the lighter part of collecting food, digging up some wild potatoes. Though he did barely allow her time to even wipe the spittle from her mouth. Inside, he began to feel the smallest bit of compassion for what he was doing to her, but again, to protect her perhaps he must be hard on her as well.

    He remembered the letter she wrote him in Jiyyd. How she bared her thoughts and feelings to him. Yes, perhaps she was right. Perhaps he should be easier on Durai, and more open, but to help Shalia, he felt he had to do precisely the opposite.

    Having fully shocked her being with the carnage, they retired to the Gypsy camp, where Sam had spotted some Mushrooms.

    Since they were in the camp, they used the fires of the gypsies to cook.
    Sam instructed her to strip the bark from some sticks he collected, to be used as skewers.

    "I dont have a knife" She said.
    "You dont have a knife?" Durai asked.
    "She dun' gutta knife?" Sam asked of Durai as if -he- were to blame.
    "I dont have a knife!" She exclaimed in total innocence, or ignorance. Sam wasnt sure.

    Sighing, he gave her one of his own knives and took a very old one from his boot. Together they stripped the skewers, cut the vegetables, seasoned them and then.... the meat.

    She almost lost her lunch again, or would it have been breakfast now? Lunch was steaming in the Nars still.

    But she collected herself and managed to look at the dark red meat. Durai however, had to cut the meat. Releived that the vile work was done, she proudly announced that she would do it next time.

    Next time arrived very promptly as Sam tossed yet another slab of meat on the leather cutting mat- her rapidly paling face brought a large grin to his face.

    Will you face your conviction, he thought.

    She did. Sam couldnt know how much of her spirit it took to will her fingers to work the soft meat, to touch it, get blood on her fingers, but crudely and slowly with deliberation, she cut the meat into amateurish squares. Sam didnt care- it all ate the same, even if it was cut into pixie shapes.

    She seasoned the meat and then threaded the skewers much more quickly than he expected. Perhaps she was looking forward to getting clean soon. The work was completed just as Sam had made a field stand for the skewers. After a quick lesson on fire heat, and how to judge it, the food was roasting.

    Shalia fairly sprinted to a large puddle under a tree to wash herself.

    In the end, the kabobs, or "stuff ona stick" was given the grand title of 'mmm' by Durai. Indeed, Shalia's cookings could be given color codings, though all in the shade of green for her 'degrees' of success. But this time, the food was rosy red- the color of Durai's face as he ate his first satisfactory meal in days.

    Though Sam was not a wise man, he had spent a good many years helping others, and training them. He knew what worked and what did not on a great deal of people. Not because of insight, but because he had seen it with his own eyes.

    What Sam witnessed in the now proud girls eyes was one who was victorious. Who had battled, in her own small way and won.

    Such victories as this are small, but build into the foundations of great victories of the future.

    Sam planned for her next test…. that is.. if she came back.


  • Thyrm had escaped. It amazed Sam that a ragtag group: a couple hin, a ranger, a dwarf, barbarian, two clerics and Faerun's lousiest paladin could capture him, hold him for weeks, and yet, the mighty Order of Torm could have botched up Thyrm's imprisonment.

    At least the messenger gave one useful peice of information. Sam found it liberating.

    The Order of Torm had sentenced Thyrm to death.

    Who was Sam to argue with a Holy Edict. Events had transpired which revealed that Thyrm had not only murdered his father, kidnapped Durai, killed Uthger with a bolt, but he had also had a hand in the brutal slaying of an entire family.

    Sam had never yet willingly called forth the wrath of Helm in battle, had never channeled divine fury into his weapon. That would soon change. If Sam could find Thyrm, his soul would know the sting of holy power.

    But first- he had to find him.

    The search south of the gypsy camp proved fruitless. After the betrayal the gypsy camp members had handed him, it was unlikely Thyrm would return to those caves. But it was worth a try.

    Sam wandered Narfell for several days, barely resting as he searched every nook and cranny he suspected Thyrm might hide. Nothing.

    Tired and frustrated, he retired to his hill.

    Durai was maturing rapidly, being thrown into the cauldron as he had. He turned to Sam for guidance less and less, and fairly often now, it seemed he didnt need it. Headstrong for sure, they often dissagreed on some matters, but nothing stuck between them as acutely as Shalia.

    Sam could not get over the fact that she had lied to him. Had embarrased him over his concerns and then proved him right. She had defied her instructions from her Order, choosing love over her mission. If there was one thing Sam wouldnt do- it was deliberately quit his task. How could she?

    Sam wondered from atop his hill, how long it would be before she quit Durai altogether.

    Soon she would return to her home to face the penalty for her actions, and she 'pledged' to return swiftly once her penance was done. Durai accepted this readily, and to ease her burden, even brought her into Kanen's house. Sam shuddered to think what might be happening behind those closed doors, and was sure Kanen, if alive would not approve. If he wasn't alive- he would certainly be rolling in his grave. Wouldn't he?

    It seemed to Sam that Kanen's reserved exterior ran deep. Even Sam had learned much of the man he called friend in recent days. How much had he really hidden from Sam? How deep did their bond truly run?

    Though Sam dissapproved of Shalia, and let Durai know he did, he tried not to press the matter much anymore. Durai's headstrong nature defined many boundaries that for Sam to honor his oath, Sam would have to respect.

    At least, Durai was forced to visit Sam fairly often- if only to get a meal that wouldnt kill him. It seemed Shalia was something of a failure over a stove. Though Durai said he wouldnt speak ill of her, when thinking back to his last meal, his face spoke all the ill necessary.

    Sam nearly burned their bridge however, during a heated dissagreement on the Hill concerning Shalia, and Sam's view of 'protecting' Durai. Durai and Shay left angrily, and Sam was left once again, frustrated and bearing the brunt of scorn from the others on the hill.

    Fortunately the next day, they made up. Durai touched the giant deeply when he stated that he viewed Sam as a member of his family.

    Family. Something Sam had desired for years. He was truly a bastard child, cast on the doorstep of a mission, raised by a cleric of Helm. His only 'brother' was a human, who accomplished with ease everything Sam had failed at. Even Kanen's family, Sam always felt like he was on the outside, looking into a snowglobe with the scene of a happy family inside.

    His thoughts turned to his own chances at family. Seemingly ruined- something that should have been in his control. Once again, he blamed the curse of his blood for it.

    Durai had stumbled upon him, locked in an embrace with Mellia. And not an hour later, the heat of passion had turned to a hot burn of anger. Sam commented on how desireable Mellia was, and she dissagreed. Sam mentioned that earlier that same day, Kat'trax the mage had expressed an interest in her, and she playfully decided to 'prove who was right or wrong.'

    She spoke to Kat'trax by the south fire of Norwick, and the mage loudly professed undying love and devotion. His eloquence pricked Sam's self doubt and illustrated his own weakness in communication.

    Suddenly his blood ran hot, fueled by jealousy and protectiveness. He stepped up behind Kat'trax and laid his hands on his shoulders, not realizing the force with which his fingers pressed into the skinny man's flesh. Mellia was instantly angry with him, crying out that it was only a joke!

    She had set him up- once again playing games with his delicate heart. Only this time, the damage was more extreme. Sam left, his wounded spirit dragging behind him, Mellia, feeling betrayed by Sam's use of his size and strength, but most importantly, the trust between them was once again shattered.

    Too soon after their last emotional turmoil, the bond between them snapped under the stress. Sam knew it. Mellia knew it.

    Their parting was sorrowful. Each seeing something good in the other, and seeing that which would destroy them both as well.

    Would his family ever only be those indebted in some way to him? Though he embraced Durai as his own, he wasn't. He was Kanen's son. Shalia probably to become his wife. Soon Durai would have a family of his own- what room would there be for a large half-orc, swift to anger, and precariously hanging onto the grace of Helm.

    The age of 60 fast approaching, Sam resigned himself to the belief that truly, he would die alone.


  • "The Burden."

    That which seemed to crush the life out of the paladins Sam had known in his time. He had always thought be would be different. But even Kanen, Chosen of Helm seemed to always be worn by its presence.

    To follow ones faith was one thing, to worry about the consequences of ones actions entirely another. And though Sam knew he was right, he pondered the consequnces of his actions more and more.

    Shalia had indeed hurt Durai, as he expected. Yet he did not distance himself. How could the boy trust a woman who defied her church? If she could turn her back on a god, what would it take to turn her back on a poor lad who had nothing in life but a dream to find his father?

    Sam found himself alienated by his views. Roland at least agreed with Sam. And though Roland's wisdom was sound, Sams emotions clouded his thoughts like babbling children in a library.

    Despite the more senior paladins of Narfell agreeing with Sam, Durai and Shalia had aligned themselves, seemingly against him. As if he were their oppressor, a person to be scorned, ignored. It hurt. The Burden pressed upon Sam.

    Sam found himself in debt to a woman named Yolande. She was intriging, A follower of Helm herself, and apparently interested in helping sam. Yet… her timely appearance on the hill was startling. Her desire to help, unsettling. In a time when sam could barely trust himself, those who approached him so quickly he shudderd at what motives they might hold.

    She had been the first to touch a nerve in Sam however, and he ponderd it.

    The blood in his veins had held him back, thrwarted his desire to become a paladin. Yet, now he held the grace of helm, albeit barely, and she would have him beleive his blood to be a strength.

    Sam scoffed at the concept. He was afraid of the truth.

    He could not help but recognize the orcish blood's impact on his actions, the passion with which he would protect Durai. A passion which was rejected by Durai and Shalia. A passion which had always coursed through his veins and empowered him. A passion which was unsavory to those it was given towards.

    Sam cursed the curse of Gruumsh in his veins and then thanked Helm for the strength to over come it. In the back fo his mind... Yolande's words echoed.
    It was impossible to think that the curse of Gruumsh was truly his strength… wasnt it?

    And what secrets did she hold that she required him to swear to Helm not to reveal?

    Sam found his moments of peace following the capture of Strider very short indeed.


  • His head nodding a bit, eyes closing as he stood on the hill, Sam finally drifted into a light sleep as he often did while standing on the hill.

    _He found himself standings on a vast plain of marble, checkered black and white in large squares. Far in the distance, something stood above the plain and Sam slowly walked toward it.

    He saw a vast set of scales, made of steel, large enough to hold a man or other large creature. On the scales, a symbol of a large, unwinking eye etched into it's base.

    A giant white tiger approached, roaring a challenge and stepped onto the scales, causing them to pitch downward, the tiger very near the ground. Then he heard another, and a large black panther slid forward, and with blurring speed leaped onto the other end of the scales, causing them to balance, the great white cat suddenly frozen in mid-movment._

    Sam's eyes snapped open, and he searched what he could see quickly of theNars before relaxing into troubled thought.

    In a moment of pondering, he came to one conclusion.

    Something is here…


  • The Hightower boy had been kidnapped! Right out from under Sam’s nose!

    He escorted Durai into the Boarshead to speak with a waitress, and the door closed in his face. In seconds, Sam heard the sizzle and crackle magic being used behind the door. With the regular patronage, the Boarshead could afford thick heavy doors. Doors whose wood was so hard it turned Sam’s blades quite well. Not even Maythor could damage it, so he shouted at Barle to fetch a key.

    Eventually, the waitress came to her senses and opened the door from the inside. Durai was gone, taken.

    Anger did not adequately describe what Sam felt. Rage, perhaps, but it was deep within him, a fire deep within a boiler, contained and building pressure. In times past Sam would have lost all rationality and charged into whatever obstacle lay between him and Durai, but the tempering of Helm’s doctrine over the years allowed him to temper this rage into a driving sense of purpose. If there was a defining trait of Sam, it was tenacity, and this tenacity forced him to rely on Helm for direction, as Sam had no one left to turn to.

    Shalia was on his heels as he raced out the Boarshead, nearly beside herself in angst.

    In the middle of Norwick, life appeared normal, nothing out of place. People moved along the streets casually; there were no turned heads or hushed whispers. Nothing indicated a disturbance, so they circled the inn hoping for a sign. None.

    Grabbing hold of the anger within, Sam used it, like a warrior cutting himself to clear his mind, he used his rage to fuel his focus, to drive it. He knelt down, closed his eyes and… felt. Reaching out with his mind and his soul, his world became black and white. He felt for the shadows. And he found them. Like a swirling fog upon the ground, a grey mist, a trail, led north out of Norwick. Sam could veritably see the passage of evil through the town. Shalia’s panicked words were lost to him in these moments, and when he came back into focus, he sprinted after the trail before realizing that she had indeed been behind him.

    Her eyes were wide, mouth open. Though apparently she had been speaking previously, Sam had obviously ignored her. Uninterested in what she had said, in anything save following the trail, Sam brusquely demanded she keep up. When Sam gave chase, he was not inclined to pause for the weary or inattentive. Her mouth snapped closed and a quick nod was all it took for Sam to slam his shoulder into the Norwick gates, knocking them open as he barreled past. He was dimly aware of Shalia’s pantings behind him, but she admirably did not falter.

    Once in the Nars he paused again on his hill, focusing yet again. From his vantage point, and focusing again on the world of black and white, the plains appeared as a glacier, white and pure. Except for in the distance. Towards Gypsy Pass he could make out a smudge as it faded to white. Whatever took Durai moved fast, and the trail of evil began to grow cold. Sam saw Scutum in the distance and called out to her, but paid no heed if she followed. He was in the hunt.

    Down the hill they raced until they were in the heart of the gypsy camp. Rick met them, and quickly they explained Durai had been taken. He too joined in the search, using his knowledge of the camp to question the Rom.

    Sam however, uncomfortable with the Rom, and knowing his recent failure with Berez’s adopted son, chose to trust in Helm for guidance. He knelt again, clearing his mind and once again his world faded to a simple perspective of good and evil. To him the Romni camp appeared in shades of grey, and nothing could be made out clearly. Scrunching his eyes, furrowing his brow he kept his focus, extending his feelings farther and farther away until the innocence of the forests came into view. Only then could he feel the passage of a taint to the south.

    Just as he rose, a new vigor in his blue eyes, like a hunting dog with prey ahead, Rick shot past him at a run, Shalia and Scutum in tow.

    “This way!” Rick called out. Sam fell into line behind.

    There were spiders. Sam did not remember if they gave him great pause. They were obstacles and dispatched in haste.

    Their pursuit led to a cave, and the party tumbled through. The creatures that lived in the cave were obviously alerted to something and angry with the intruders, though their efforts to drive the rescuers away was paltry. Racing around a corner they found Durai, captive only by a pit from which he could not climb.

    It was a simple matter of using Sam’s rope to pull Durai out, as the others watched Sam’s back. Durai was unharmed and only a little shaken up. He uttered his thanks and moved to Shalia.

    Perhaps Sam might have been hurt, but the naturally curious half-orc was interested in a crate next to the pit. The hells be damned he would know what secrets Shadowstrider kept in it. The chest turned his blade several times, but a blessing proved to be its undoing. Inside was a longsword with the inscription “Cardea.”

    It seemed to Sam that Strider was a smarter criminal than most. He abducted Durai and moved out smartly to accomplish the next phase of his plan. Perhaps to issue demands or prepare for another act of evil. Their retreat from Durai’s prison was uneventful and the posse soon found themselves back in the camp.

    Weary from his roller coaster ride of emotion, Sam slept. Durai and Shalia held each other, while the barbarian chief plucked every source of knowledge he could from the camp members. As Sam slept, the true story of Shadowstrider, Perdix, was told. This and the story of his Cyric brother, Thyrm.

    Durai was resting in the Boarshead, watched by Shalia. Sam took some time to relax, choosing to attend a play in Peltarch. Just after the fat lady sang, a young boy handed Sam a slip of paper.

    I NEED YOU ON YOUR HILL. COME. NOW. There was no signature. Fearing the worst, Sam raced south.

    He arrived breathless. To his intense surprise, Kanen Hightower stood poised, overlooking the plains. Sam raced up to him.

    “Mr. Kanen? Yer alive!?”

    “You have a penchant for stating the obvious don’t you,” Came the dry reply.

    “Whur yuh bin? Alutta folk’s lookin’ fer yuh.” Concerned at the clandestine letter, and Kanen’s choice to reveal himself like this had Sam wary, looking around for intruders.

    Kanen snapped at Sam, telling him he had no time, and demanded to know where something was. Sam scowled at Kanen’s gruff demeanor and questioned him on it. The reply was only that he had been through much and was tired.

    Sam didn’t buy it. No matter the ordeal, even going under the well, Kanen was always considerate and polite. Even on his worst days, Kanen would be silent rather than raise his voice or worse, call someone a name.

    “Tell me where it is, cur!” Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he examined his friend in detail. Things began to stand out in the moonlight. The sword hilt- it was different. The fastening of the plates was different. Suddenly Sam began to suspect, and he reached out to touch his friend, to see into him for what he really was.

    The first lash of the sword cut Sam’s arm as he reached out for Kanen. Surprised Sam stepped back barely in time to dodge the blade. In shock, Sam back pedaled, but the sword flashed again, and Sam felt its bite time and again. He turned to flee, unwilling to fight Kanen, but was tripped from behind. The perfectly swung blow crashed into Sam’s helm. His consciousness slipped into the night.

    When he awoke, Pete and Zythal were hovering over him, asking him if he was alright. Sam looked around him, the contents of his pack were scattered. His bag of notes was opened, mostly in a clump save for the most recent entries, which were laying separate.

    Certainly Kanen would never call Sam a name, attack him for something, steal out of his pack, or read Sam’s journal without permission. No Paladin would. Sam’s heart sunk as he realized it was not Kanen and wondered where the real Kanen was. Just as the thought entered his mind, in horror, he wondered where the false Kanen could have gone. His thoughts turned to Durai….

    Durai did not take the news very well. It took a bit of chasing Durai around, and eventually Sam spent the better part of ten minutes sitting on the lad’s back to restrain him. Sam was reminded of himself in his younger years, and even the mad dash through the Nars trying to rescue Scutum years ago. But Durai was not young Sam, and would die, especially if found by the false Kanen. Fortunately Roland and Ishar, along with Pete helped restrain him and calm him

    Eventually Durai came to understand that Sam’s attacker could not have been the respected paladin of Helm. The imposter was sure to try again however. Sam went to great lengths to advise Durai on ways to protect himself, though, Sam could not tell if the stubborn youth listened. He placed so much faith in Torm. Though Sam respected that, he felt there was a difference between a fool’s faith and a faithful’s faith. Durai trusted blindly, and Sam expected that he would take risks that perhaps his faith blinded him to.

    “Mr Helm dunt pertect da dumb, Mr Durai, an’ aint shur Mr Torm would eeder.” Durai stalked off. Sam frowned a while and followed, where he could keep an eye on Durai should any more imposters attempt to get close to him

    Roland convinced Durai to visit Peltarch, to get his mind off the recent events. Roland, Shalia, Durai and Sam set forth to make the journey when Rick charged up, out of breath, but full of vigor. He demanded Sam come at once to the Gypsy Camp… Thyrm had been found and was moving in a lot of help.

    The group changed course and followed Rick at a run. Once at the GC, one of the Rom explained that Thyrm had returned, this time deeper in the forest and had brought with him a gang. A gang that Rick had already learned was named the Shadowcars. Sam was impressed at Rick’s resourcefulness. He had also had the Cardea sword scryed, but it only showed the same gravestone, though, more clearly, the name Cardea could also be seen there.

    The attack upon Thyrms men was a slaughter. Roland, Zak, Maythor and Sam made for an incredible wall. Cheiro scouted ahead while Durai, Shalia, Jann Moonbow and even little Ginger brought up the rear. Thyrm’s men fought valiantly, but were unorganized and scattered. They fell quickly.

    Thyrm was truly worse than his brother. His demeanor and sexual innuendo’s gushing forth like the waterfall he hid behind. Only Rick, oddly enough, contained himself enough to speak to him productively. Though the insults Thyrm threw at Cheiro and some of the others riled them, Sam was impressed by the barbarian. So confident in himself that Thyrms insults were as arrows fired into a brick wall. They shattered upon the man’s spirit, leaving not a trace of indignity.

    Durai’s warnings caused them to tie Thyrm up and Sam, with great pleasure, got to carry the smart mouth out of the forest, He took great pleasure in the task, ensuring Thyrm’s ride was not a comfortable one. The mouth on the man only ceased its profane gutterings when Sam ‘accidently’ carried the man’s head into a tree or ‘shifted’ Thyrm on his shoulder such that it knocked the wind out of him.

    Sometimes being an oaf had its advantages.

    Maythor volunteered the Troff jail cell to contain Thyrm. There they obtained an admission of guilt, that Thyrm and skinned his father, a Tormite knight, alive, and taken the green sash and the sword bearing their last name… Cardea. The murder was solved.

    Sam asked Durai to write to Waterdeep, so the Order of Torm could come for Thyrm and take him away. Thyrm’s belongings were sold and Durai sent this money to the order to be given to the family.

    All in all, Sam felt as though he had finally done something right…. For a change.


  • Rick and Pete had been busy trying to figure out the mystery of Shadowstrider… or... whatever made itself to look like Strider.

    This meant that neither the Hill's founder, nor its Keeper were able to spend watches north of Norwick. Pete Rione, the hopeful next Keeper of the hill seized the guidon admirably. Even as Sam crossed the hill like any other wayward traveller, he saw the fire burning in the distance. He could make out the forms in the distance that Pete had marshalled, a small group to stand with him.

    Sam was proud of the lad. Proud that the hill still had life, proud that there were those that could and would protect the vital crossroads.

    Meanwhile however, Durai was challenging Sam. Physically, the young man's youth and vigor kept Sam routinely out of breath trying to keep up with him. Socially, Durai's charm challenged Sam to keep up. Though Kanen's old friends were trusted and known to Sam, the people young Durai chose as his own were all potential threats to Sam. Each had to be evaluated in turn, and pass the large paladin's scrutiny.

    A scrutiny which many found quite distasteful.

    The most troubling of these new friends was a lady named Shailia, who Sam, in his effort to find a name his tortured tongue could pronounce merely called Ms Shay.

    She was a Sunite of all things, and in Sams eyes, the LAST thing a young aspiring priest needed in his life right now. Especially a priest with so many enemies hiding in every corner and shadow.

    It was obvious to Sam that Durai dissapproved of Sam's methods of ensuring his safety. Always watched like a hawk, Sam knew at some point the boy was going to tell him off. Especially in the matter of the girl!

    Robyn took Durai on a tour of Jiyyd finally, and Shailia and Sam had a moment to 'have it out.' Sam's opinion of the flirtatious and adorable Sunite was quite clear.

    She was a distraction to be gotten rid off, as quickly as possible, so Durai could focus on his studies, the powers of his faith and the mastering of his weapon.

    His thoughts drifted back to how Brother John had begun instructing him, almost fifty years ago.

    _"Today's lesson Sam, shall be on Planning. This is a fundamental…" John would often pause to see if Sam was paying attention, but all too often Sam would just begin reading the textbook instead of paying attention to John's wisdom.

    smack! The rap of Johns staff across the back of Sam's hand never failed to fetch Sam's attention.

    "OW!!" He'd howl and hold whatever part of his anatomy John chose to assault.

    "Pay attention, boy! There is more to study that what is found within the book!" John would tap his temple, to illustrate his experience. "There is wisdom to be found in a book yes, but there is more to be found in experience!"

    John would then relate a story, one where a decision had to be made, and force Sam to choose. Then he would allow Sam to open his book and read the day's lesson. Then Sam would have to choose again._

    But Brother John's methods could not be Sam's. Firstly, he was not a priest of Torm, and could not hope to lecture Durai on something he knew far too little about. And secondly, Sam knew that it was only his place to care and watch over the boy, despite his urges to 'keep Durai's nose to the grindstone'

    No… the young Hightower had it in his blood. His mother was a fine Priest of Torm, and his father a Chosen of Helm. How could Sam hope to suppose he could teach the boy anything.

    Nevertheless, every moment Durai spent ogling Lady Shailia was a moment of irritation to Sam. Durai was too young and inexperienced in Sam's opinion, to not only begin a search for his father, and whatever ills befel him, but to even consider a relationship with a Sunite!

    Sam knew that in time, Durai would become frumpy, like all of the faith did. His disillusionments would fade, the reality of the harshness of Narfell would come. The Sunite would find him... unsuitable. The boyish charm would fade into maturity and Sam was worried that when the Sunite left, the pain the boy would soon feel would cause him to falter.

    To let Durai falter in his faith... Sam felt would be just as bad as letting him die- forfeiting his oath to Kanen. Sam could not let the Hightower name be tarnished by the alure of some girl. Yet, he could not push Shailia away from Durai completely, for he found great joy in her, and would blame Sam if he drove her away. Thus, he would most likely seek her out too, spending even LESS time at his studies.

    What a quandary! Sam grumbled nearly incessantly whenever she crossed Sam's thoughts. She was fine for a Sunite, and perhaps a wonderful person.

    But did she have to smile so much? And that hug! GAH! Sam couldnt bring himself to chew her butt any longer after that and fled, looking for Durai and Robyn.


  • Jubei? Who else could it be? Was he being paranoid? Sam shook his head no, that could not be the case. His paranoia he felt was simple caution.

    Sam felt deep in his heart that the false Shadowstrider had -meant- to hear Durai's secret. Sam wished he knew who Jubei worshipped. Perhaps that could shed a clue or two on his enemy.

    Rick had proposed that the culprit could be an as yet unamed Cyrist from the Gypsy Camp. But Sam did not feel that the Cyrist posed a great threat… yet. Something for another, less stressful time perhaps.

    He'd been unable to spend much time on the hill lately, instead, his travells around Narfell had been wearing him a bit thin. Once upon a time he could walk and run forever it seemed. But now... having to spread himself between Peltarch and Norwick, and be in both places at once, was pushing him to his limit.

    Kharbeh had mentioned the Dark Weaver. This struck Sam as a terrible possibility. Hadnt Kanen made an enemy out of her? She surely would revel in the chaos and confusion this mess was creating in Norwick. And Sam knew, from a long time ago, that her magic could easily reach his damaged mind, cause him to do things he would not wish to do.

    He feared suddenly to be near Durai, in case Sam became the weapon of her choosing.

    However, this thought became a more remote possibility when Sam encountered Shadowstrider outside of Norwick, and the events that followed.

    The tension between the two was great, but Strider was confident in his innocence, and Rick's reports from the Nars were beginning to point less and less at the militiaman, and more at something much more sinister.

    Nevertheless, Strider refused to provide Sam any information which might have helped him find out who would want to use Strider as the fall guy. Their conversation ended civilly, if unfruitful.

    Giving up, he wandered south a bit to think and clear his mind. Encountering Durai, and blundering an introduction with a lady friend of his, Sam managed to begin explaining the days activities.

    Suddenly Rick ran up, breathless and panicked, claiming Strider had just shot Uthger in the back with a crossbow, killing him instantly. Though Sam and Uthger had never been the closest, for the mighty barbarian to be felled in such a manner was a frightening manifestation of their foe's power.

    Rick ran back to check on Uthger in Jiyyd, where preparations were being made to tend to his still warm body, and Sam ran back to check on Strider. Strider was comfortably sitting, just as Sam had found him minutes before, seated by the old rotted tree south of Norwick. Two women had been talking to him for the entire time the 'supposed' attack on Uthger had taken place.

    Sam nodded, his suspicions ultimately confirmed. Even Sam could now vouch for certainty that the militiaman Strider was not to blame, and even more surprising, was not even under the control of another being. Did this mean the Dark Enchantress was not involved?

    Returning once again to Durai and Kharbeh, another possibility presented itself. Kharbeh mentioned dopplegangers and raksasha's. Sam had battled a doppleganger many, many years ago, knowing them quite dangerous, and had encountered one of the feline shapechangers before in Peltarch. He know those to be very deadly, stealthy and cruel opponents. Perhaps one masqueraded as Shadowstrider. It would explain much perhaps. The taking of the ears? The one Sam had met in Peltarch tended to maim its prey, taking the face away. Perhaps the sash was its trophy?

    For a moment, Sam smiled at Helm's plan, as if Helm had known Sam might soon face a shapechanger, he had allowed Sam to come into the possession of a Silver Sword from Krig.

    Their discussion degraded into a series of what if this's and what if that's. Durai tired of it quickly, not allowing himself to worry, trusting that Torm would protect him.

    It appeared the lad suffered from that most heinous of maladies: Puberty. His female companion which Sam had nearly scared to death and offended not twice but three times had obviously taken the young lad's attention off such pressing matters as his safety.

    They departed, leaving Sam alone in the woods to ponder. Even Kharbeh snuck away. Jus as Sam returned to the south gate he found the whole of Norwick in chaos. People were running around in random circles, blades were drawn, and most people could not tell what was going on but shouted incessantly as if they did!

    Suddenly Sam saw Uthger, axe drawn, a touch of blood upon it. Shadowstrider was making a hasty retreat and Uthger was chasing Adriana down with blood lust in his eyes.

    It made perfect sense. The barbarian immediately upon returning to his senses would seek revenge. No doubt he had found Strider and set upon him, and Adriana, seeing only an attempted murder in progress had attempted to stop it. After Strider slipped back into his shadows, Uthger had turned his rage to Adriana.

    Sam cried out, hoping the rage had not affected Uthgers brain. "Stup! Durs two Strid'rs!" Few heard him in the commotion. Adriana fell, and Uthger stood poised to finish her before the crowd closed in around him. Desperately Sam and Rick tried to explain to them what had happened.

    Once again the Norwick militia arrived, the heckling began and a very tense, though not obviously violent truce was acheived.

    Uthger vowed he would slay anything or anyone that looked like Strider if it would help. Strider vowed his innocence yet would not surrender himself to jail to be placed in protective custody. Surely he could see that if these attacks continued while he was safe in a cell, he would instantly be proven innocent- the theory of two Striders proven.

    Nevertheless, he refused, instead returning to shadow and sneaking away amongst the crowd. At least perhaps they would remove him from milita duty. One small victory... perhaps.

    Sam and Rick suffered the flaming insults and assaults on their character as usual. It seemed Norwick's memory was long only in the deeds which would tarnish ones character, regardless of the deeds of worthy note.

    At least, the Norwick Militia, for once, was beginning to come around. Though they and Sam and Rick had an uneasy peace for different reasons, for the moment they were tolerated and listened to as Rick explained the differences he'd seen in the two Striders.

    They sought the Strider with a jagged blade and a crossbow.

    As soon as Sam was convinced that at least a few of the citizens had heard and understood the difference, he left. Hanging around crowds never put him at ease, and a crowd of strangers this riled up was only going to cause him trouble.

    Sam and Rick searched for Durai, to ensure the madness was not a diversion to leave him vulnerable. They ran themselves nearly to death before Sam returned to the Norwick inn on a hunch. Sure enough, Durai was sitting in blissful ignorance of the violence that had raged outside.

    Sam collapsed into a chair, feeling very much the fool, that the lad's chasing of a skirt had kept him so far out of harms way.

    After recanting the events to Durai, Sam left to meet Rick by the north gate, but instead saw him running towards the Norwick Graveyard. following him, he found that two hin had led Rick to the site of an odd slaying.

    Knights in red and black armor had killed a hin in the Rawlins, blue fire apparently scorching the ground. Rick was stunned that the loyal to the Red Wizards could somehow be involved in this too.

    As much of a threat as they posed, Sam still beleived their fight was with the druids... but what if it wasnt?

    Sam and Rick pondered the long list of enemies in quiet discussion on Sam's Hill.

    Red Wizards? But why? and how to stop them? Had Kanen ever dealt with them so much to make him or Durai a target of their revenge had he? And why kill the hin? or Uthger? Sam ruled them out, but not fully. Never fully.

    The Dark Enchantress? Whoever she was... she had a bone to pick with Kanen, and his son would be easy prey. Sam knew if she was the enemy, it would be a simple spell and Sam would most likely kill Durai for her. But only after she had toyed with them some. But... what being was the faux Strider? A hireling? Sam doubted it. She was a weaver, and Sam believed her to prideful too resort to such means. Her power was her magic, her underlings did her bidding unpaid and unwittingly.

    Dopplegangers, or Raksasha remained. And though everything seemed to fit with their methods, what were their motives? Why create this chaos in Norwick by masquerading as Strider? If they could take Uthger down so quickly, surely Durai would already be dead. Sam felt of the silver sword, confident that if he could survive the first attack, Helm's providence with the blade would end them swiftly.

    No.. Sam still most feared Jubei. Feared the way he had struck down Kanen so quickly while deftly dodging the powerful slashes of Sam's weapons. He surely had the motive, of anyone. Yet... Jubei's trademark signature was not present, the methods were different. The darkness he brought with him and the undead that followed.

    It was all a diversion Sam thought. Too much chaos, to many 'perhaps' enemies. If the friends of the Hightower family ran amok every which way chasing every foe they could find... where would they be when the real enemy revealed itself?

    Sam prayed to Helm that night and read a passage from one of the books he had purchased in Peltarch to help Arielle read. The book was about the ways of Helm. Helm the Watcher.

    The Hill be damned, he thought. If the citizens of Norwick were bold enough to enter the caves of the Bandits and attack them in their homes, then they could be bold enough to defend their own when the bandits came in reprisal. He would tell Rick to be wary, since he spent so much time there.

    Instead, Sam's vigil would be on Durai. And he prayed once more that he would be quick enough, and able enough, to save the young man's life before it was cut short.

    He would uphold his oath. He would Watch over the family of his mentor, his ally, his friend. Kanen.


  • More musings from the hill:

    Sam was at his wit's end.

    He knelt on the hill and began to pray for guidance. Strength, never seemd to be lacking- he always seemed to have the strength to rise, "just one more time."

    But guidance. This was something he needed. He knew now, and had nearly always suspected, that Helm had denied him his grace because Sam was always approaching a problem the wrong way. Thus, Helm had forced him to work for so many years under the guidance of another paladin.

    With Kanen's lack of presence, not a single paladin had appeared that Sam felt comfortable working for. Even after Helm had granted Sam a small measure of his power, Sam could not help but look for a wiser man to follow.

    It was not that Sam was lacking for ideas. No, he could come up with ideas all day long- each perhaps just as good as the other in the right hands. In Sam's hands however, he could not predict the outcome. His indecision left him falling back on his only strength: His strength. His strength of body, and his strength of conviction.

    Sam pleaded with Helm for guidance, for the his divine light to shine on one of his ideas more than another.

    His answer came fairly soon, though it was no less disturbing. It was a comfortable peace that things would work themselves out. But this for Sam was not enough. Even in Helm's wisdom, knowing things would work out did not appease the giant's heart. He wanted to know the HOW. HOW would it work out? WHAT should he do to ensure that it did? Such questions Helm did not answer.

    Unanswered, Sam fell back to that which he was most comfortable with- the direct approach.

    It had been a week now since he sat at the south fire of Norwick, a fresh batch of hound kabobs cooling by the fire. He stepped back a ways to let the younger, hungry warriors in constant struggle against the goblins fetch some food to keep themselves strong.

    A paladin of Tyr, Alexander Thromas as there, and a young man Sam didnt know. They sat next to him, kabobs in hand and began to speak to him. The paladin was pleasant, to Sam, a mere child, yet a child who had found his diety's grace and was entrusted now to bear a blade of justice for Tyr.

    The other young man, very young it seemed, but also a tad familiar to him wished to speak with him privately. He introduced himself as Durron Hawkins, and desired to speak in private.

    Unbeknownst to Sam, the matter to be discussed was of incredible importance. Yet, Sam's wisdom once again failed him. The two men retired to the upper level of the Phoenix house and began speaking. Sam's general mistrust of others caused him to disregard the potential importance of the conversation. How could this man, who he had never seen, who appeared so young, have any information that might be so sensitive?

    Sam failed to properly check the house for any 'additional' ears. A decision he would swiftly come to regret.

    The young lad before him began speaking, of trust and trouble. Sam folded his arms, wary of such a conversation. How could someone he never met speak to him of trusting him implicitly, having no where else to turn. Sam's scrutiny of the lad was harsh, though the boy's sincerity was without question.

    Sam's eyebrows raised when the lad mentioned that he was "a long time friend of the family," and suddenly, Sam understood.

    Durai Hightower had returned from Waterdeep.

    Even more disconcerting was the boy's next statement

    Kanen Hightower had never arrived to meet his family in Waterdeep.

    Sam was quickly overwhelmed, to see the young lad again after so many years of hiding, he hugged him and squeezed him, as if to ensure he was really alive and in front of him.

    Suddenly, a movement caught his eye, and Sam would forever swear upon the name of Helm that he saw Shadowstrider bolt for the door, barely visible by some magic. He was gone before either of them could react. Even peeking out the door, Sam knew Shadowstrider was gone, the secret stolen the very second it was revealed. Sam also knew he had no way to find Strider unless Strider chose to reveal himself. He would have to watch carefully in the future if he hoped to accost the information theif.

    Durai's eyes were nearly filled with panic, he feared for his father's life and had come to find him, but now he had to fear for his own life. Kanen Hightower's enemies were many. And the son of Kanen Hightower had no fewer. Indeed- those that might never have opposed Durai's father, might be swift to enact vengeance on his young, inexperienced son.

    Sam knew this, and was afraid.

    Afraid because he had sworn an oath to Kanen, to protect his wife and children in the event of his death. Kanen had survived the sickness that would have claimed him, and perhaps thought Sam relieved of his commitment, but in the mind of the half-orc, his word, once given would live until Sam lived no more.

    Durai and Sam quickly finished their conversation. Sam gave Durai gold to tie up a debt, and assessed the lad's inventory. Like his father, he resisted taking anything, but Sam had a way of being very insistent. Durai begged to repay Sam, but not knowing the oath Sam was under could not easily understand Sam's position.

    If it was a matter of gold, or equipment that would mean the difference between the life or death of Kanen Hightower's son, Sam would pay it untill he had nothing left to pay but his own blood, and that would be paid out as quickly as the gold.

    They parted hastily, Sam eager to begin the hunt for Strider. Durai returned to the fire to train his swordarm.

    In the back of Sam's mind, the threat facing him began to form.

    Who could possibly have stopped the mightly Lord Hightower from reaching Waterdeep safely?

    There was only one answer for Sam. Jubei.

    Only Jubei had defeated Kanen, even as Sam had been at his side, fighting him off. Sam knew that Durai was right to hide himself, but now that Strider knew… it was only a matter of time before Jubei would find out himself. The value of the stolen secret was enourmous, but Sam beleived Strider would sell it for a copper if it were offered.

    A short time later, Rick the Swift acquired a green sash, belonging to a priest of Torm that had fallen from Strider in the Nars. Strider was seen taking the ear of a Marauder Faithful. Sam at once believed the sash was connected to Durai.

    He took it straightaway to Durai, but the lad's reaction was neutral. He had no idea of any signifigance the sash had. Sam was mildy relieved, but his suspicions still raged in his mind.

    Though Sam kept an eye on the young cleric often, he was relieved that he had formed a bond with young Alexander, the two were nearly inseparable. This releived Sam of constant watch, trusting that the paladin could keep tabs on him.

    Sam continued his hunt for information.

    He continued his worry. The secret had been stolen, and it was only a matter of time before Durai became a target. The lad continued to insist on secrecy, and Sam found himself unable to search for information without revealing the truth.

    He pleaded for him to come out of shadow, knowing full well that their enemy's strength was in the shadows of anonymity. Kanen had many friend as well as enemies, and Sam did not feel comfortable being the sole protector of this boy. He knew that if Jubei found them both, alone, that is how they would die.

    Durai acquiesced into informing Robyn Jahnsdotter, and shortly thereafter Rick appeared. As they discussed the sash, and Strider's recent activity, Strider appeared for a moment and ducked away in the grass. It seemed that every one that would know of Durai's return was haunted by the elusive secret stealer.

    Strider vanished again; not even Robyn could track him down.

    One evening later, returning from a patrol in the Rawlins, Sam saw Strider sitting by the old tree just outside the Norwick south gate. At the same time, Rick and Cheiro saw Strider.

    The three surrounded him suddenly. Sam accused him of spying from the Pheonix house, Cheiro accusing him of slaying deer wontonly in the forest, and Rick demanding to know about the sash.

    A crowd formed and Cheiro and Strider grapped a bit, before Sam drew his blade and demanded that Strider hold himself accountable to the accusations. Suddenly the Norwick Militia surrounded them trying to control the conflict.

    Many words were exchanged, and eventually, the weapons were sheathed in exchange for Strider's allowing Krig to cast a spell upon him that would force him to tell the truth.

    Each in turn asked Strider questions. To each accusation, Strider pleaded innocence. Krig confirmed Strider's honesty each time.

    Frustrated and confused, now the object of scorn from Norwick's militia and citizens, Sam and Rick were obligated to leave.

    Neither could understand how Strider could have told the truth, yet, Krig was sure he had. Yet... both Rick and Sam had seen things with their own eyes that Strider had denied! Even Cheiro had seen Strider kill forest animals for sport, yet he had truthfully denied the accusation.

    At their wits end, Sam and Rick, with Elinah Nailow in tow, went to Daisy in Peltarch to ask her to scry the sash for any clues.

    Even that ended in futility. The only image that came from Daisy's scrying attempt was a long forgotten gravestone. Whoever the sash belonged to would not be giving up any secrets.

    The only link between Strider and the sash was Striders admission that he had not seen or touched such a sash in 8 years. Daisy could only presume that the gravestone was more than 5 years old.

    How could they determine the link between Strider and the sash?

    Sam returned to Norwick, trailing the Norwick Militia as they returned from an expedition to the Bandit caves in the Nars.
    Strider was without warning stricken with an odd sickness, which nearly killed him before the miners and militia could get him to Freds.

    They managed to keep him alive, barely until whatever strange effects beset him had passed.

    The only good to come of the days frustrating events was Durai's decision to readily announce his identity. While Sam could not understand how Alannia Diams could convince Durai to do so when Sam could not, he was greatful that the decision had been made.

    At least now, the friends of the Hightower family could quickly mustered to act against whatever evil might lay in wait for the son of Kanen.

    In part, Sam was relieved of his watch over the boy, as others could step in. Sam waited on the hill for Strider to reveal himself. And Sam and Rick could test their newest theory.


  • The blizzard had passed and Sam slept fitfully, the morning dew makin him wet and the chill left in the air by the cold weather made him realize just how old he was getting.

    He pushed himself up, feeling heavier than he used to. His body ached from the cold. His butt was numb from having spent a night of partial sleep sitting up, wrapped in a cloak, watching the plains between nods of sleep.

    As he built the morning fire, watching the flicker of light build to its normal height, he thought about how he had progressed.

    Spending so many hours on the hill, he had had much time to reflect on himself, read on his notes, pray to Helm and even read a book or two on the elven language, though he couldnt even pronounce his own name or its meanings.

    His faith was stronger, he knew that now. It had to be. Lord Kanen had been seen less than even the rumors of his greatness. Lady Nailow desperately tried to keep the Order of paladins strong, yet the temple had been defiled and the grace of Helm had fled. She worked daily with the younger paladins, striving to educate them, mentor them, but just recently had he discovered how much yet they had to learn.

    The Black Hand had once again reared its ugly head. Sam finally understood that his journey to Damara had not been to save a Banite from her faith, but to spend enough time with a Banite to truly understand his enemy. They had defiled the temple he had cleaned on hand and knee alongside others of Kanen's reign. The temple in which Helm had stood and graced Kanen with a touch was now a place where evil came and went without so much as a blink of an eye.

    Sam came in one day to discuss his entry into the Order, to subjugate himself to the new guidance of Elinah Nailow, and found the place empty, the door to the crypts left open. Drawing his sword he charged into the depths to find what ever looters might have broken in. Instead he found Elinah, Cyrus, Cecil and Arielle. They had their hands full in the crypts he found out quickly and was quick to lend his blade, but it wasnt until the Black Hand showed their face that Sam realized to what extend the Order had collapsed, how much work the Lady Nailow faced.

    The inexperience of the faithful in her charge was cruel evidence of the decay of Helm in Narfell. Arielle, though faithful, was uneducated, even to the point of being unable to read or write. She had faith, desire, but lacked Training. Cecil was just young, yet Sam had watched him mature rapidly, becoming less a boy with divine grace and more a man of Helm.

    Cyrus on the other hand angered Sam almost to the point of violence, disregarding Sam's wishes to tend to the wounds of a captive cultist that was to be interrogated. This action cost the Order a mighty boon of intelligence.

    Sam was disgusted. He believed that to belong to the Order was to remain loyal to it, to support the Order in its efforts. The Lady Nailow had directed the capture of the cult member. To everyone's surprise, the captive was not killed by the cult's assassin, but by one of the faithful in Elinah's charge.

    He despised Cyrus's view that he would not aid evil even to the point of protecting one who had surrendered. The cultist was defenseless and was cut down… not by the Black Hand assassin... but by Arielle.

    Sam found himself alone in his views. Alienated by the Order. It seemed so many in this country felt that their own personal beleifs should supersede their loyalty to the Order and those who guided it.

    The wind stirred and the broad shoulders of the Nars Watcher rose above the hill, eyes seeking the morning Marauder patrols as they passed.

    There had been some good news of late. Rick and Aaimie's engagment. He was happy for Rick, wary of Aaimies flirts. Cecil and Arielle had even become engaged. Sam felt consternation over such a young, inexperienced paladin becoming engaged. The recent rending of his own heart made him ever more cautious when his thoughts drifted to Mellia, Nadia or even Frolly. The temptation they presented made him withdraw into himself for protection.

    Though Sam had found faith in Helm, he still lacked much faith in himself.

    He knew that as a blade in service to Helm, he could hardly be more competent. But time and time again, under the tutelage of Darian Stalwart and then Kanen Hightower, he had learned that the time for a blade was far less than the time for words.

    Words were not Sam's strength. Passion, perhaps, and passion drove a blade deep into the flesh of a foe. But that same passion, upon reaching his tongue spewed forth into ineffectiveness.

    Sam battled with the prospect a fate where he could never progress greatness. Not that he desired to be great for greatness' sake, but to be great for the things he could accomplish, the lives he could save or change for the better. He had taken a thousand notes on Darian and Kanen, he knew so much and could easily teach the younger paladins.

    Yet, when it came time for Sam to DO such deeds as he wished them done, he found himself lacking.

    Just recently, a man by the name of Berez had come to the hill, seeking Sam personally. He requested Sam's skill as a healer which surprised Sam. More than his skill, Berez explained, he wanted his presence.

    A young boy, half orcish, had grown up in the gypsy camp hearing rumors of the Nars Watcher. Perhaps one too many bards had visited the camp, spinning their tall tales of stretched truth's and outright lies. Nevertheless, having exhausted all magic and herbal remedies, Berez came to Sam's Hill, one last hope to save his adopted son's life.

    Sam, Rick, Cotton, Theon Thorn Pete Rione and a few others accompanied Berez to save his dying boy. Upon arriving, the look in the boy's eyes reminded Sam sadly of Frolly- a form of worship, misconstrued and ill-placed.

    The boy, so weak as nearly unable to situp or speak, found strength to tell Sam he was his hero and wanted to be just like him.

    With heavy heart, Sam asked him to be better. He hoped that this young lad would pull through, and perhaps Sam could indeed live up to a silly boy's expectations. That perhaps he could impart all of his own failings to the boy, that he would have a better chance to over come the orc blood that would hold him back from success in life.

    Though he had hope to save the boy, the sickness in his lungs was nearly done, the life nearly choked out of him. Despite Sam's own healing touch, weak though it was, and Thorn's powerful restorative magics… he passed away as Sam supported the boy's gaunt, sickly frame.

    Sam's hope, and the hope of all those that were witness, passed into the night with the last escaping breath from the dead boy's body.

    Berez wept. Cotton shed tears and even the young Pete could be seen trying to control himself.

    Though the boy died happy, happy to meet, see and touch Sam before his passing, Sam could not help but feel insignifigant and incompetent.

    What sort of Hero was he, that young boys should die in his arms as they placed their every hope in him?