3. The Secret Life of Shalia Decauteur

The Secret Life of Shalia Decauteur

  • ?

    The Compass Rose

    Shalia smiled at Durai, who was busily, and nervously, doing his best to unlock the door to their suite. She was sure it would go much quicker if he would stop pausing to smile at her, and concentrate on the lock, but who was she to complain? She couldn’t help but smile in the most besotted manner at him as well. She was still stunned by what they had done that evening, excitement still thrumming through her bones.

    Something creaked down the hall, sounding curiously like footsteps, yet Shalia shrugged it off. This was an inn after all, and she was fairly sure there was at least one other room on this level. Shalia returned her attention to Durai, who was now quickly growing frustrated with the lock. Reaching to help him with the key, Shalia’s hands froze in mid movement, looking past Durai’s shoulder. A figure dressed in a long dark cloak swung down his hand on the top of Durai’s head, causing the young priest to crumple to the floor unconscious.

    From behind the man a woman appeared, dressed in a red velvet gown, her face framed by shiny thick raven tresses that only added to the intensity of her startling violet eyes.

    The beautiful face formed into a smile of amusement that lacked any sort of true emotion behind it. “Simply lovely to see you again Shalia. By the way, you have my congratulations, he’s quite a catch. Too bad really.”

    The woman snapped her fingers, and another set of arms came around Shalia from behind, covering her mouth and nose with a cloth wetted with sickening sweetness. Struggling weakly as the odor took over her mind, Shalia dug in her nails to the arm, gripping it as best she could. The owner of the arms cried out in pain, growling before he sent the girl flying into the wall head first with a crack.

    “Now was that really necessary? That’s what the potion was for, so you wouldn’t have to do that!” Shalia could hear the woman sighing in frustration, just as her lids became too heavy to lift once more. “Well, pick her up. Let’s get her gone before that boy wakes.”

    The arms attempted to pick Shalia up, dropping her once to land on the hem of the woman’s exquisite red velvet gown. A ripping sound echoed through the air, followed by a smack, and a series of heated words. Shalia thought they were the woman’s but she couldn’t quite make it out anymore. She was so dreadfully sleepy.

    The arms lifted her in the air once again, though she wasn’t dropped this time. Shalia felt a faint disappointment in that, but passed it off as she drifted into sleep.

    Durai was going to be so disappointed.

  • ?

    Journal Entry III

    I find myself happy to have returned to the land of Narfell, and in my journey home, I feel I have grown, and matured un-expectantly.

    Where as my journey to my church had been calm for the most part, the journey home was filled with a danger that I had not foreseen, but now looking back, I should have been more prepared.

    It seems that whoever has taken Durai’s father from him and his sister has decided that I am a threat, merely through my connection to the son. Such a threat that she had arranged to have me taken from the very boat I was sailing home on, rendered unconscious, and placed in a village. When I awoke in the village, it was quite apparent there was something wrong with my new surroundings, but I could not quite see what it was, as though the missing piece was just out of my reach. However, I was lucky to have been the recipient of a dream, in which I had … In which I was given the aid of someone… that is all I can say, as I am afraid to say more for all of our safety. The clarity of the words of this unexpected visitor allowed me to see the village as it truly was. A village of the damned- rotting corpses who had fooled my eyes into believing they were but normal folk. The words of my benefactor guided my way out of that hell, and I fear that I would have been lost without his aid.

    I was overjoyed to return home to Durai’s arms once again, though I find that as close as we are to each other, we are still learning about each other more every day. Our similarities, and more so- our differences. While I am used to speaking more freely, I often forget Durai’s subdued nature when we are with others, and his need for privacy in odd matters. More than once I have spoken of something that I see as a small matter, to have him become quite upset with me, asking that we first discuss these “small issues” alone before it is discussed with others. I don’t quite understand why it upsets him so, but I suppose it has something to do with being a Tormite.

    One particularly nasty argument erupted when I had initially agreed to perform a binding ceremony under Sune for a couple who wished to be married in the traditional Sunite fashion- nude. Durai did not take this at all well, and upon him hearing of my agreement to perform the ceremony, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the gates of Jiyyd. He made me so angry! I am a follower of Sune, and as such, I have done things in the fashion as appropriate and traditional to my faith. He returned, still angry, practically demanding that I not perform such ceremonies that might require me to be unclothed again. At first, I wanted to appease him, then the feeling over came me that I must stand for my faith, even against those I love. He was less than pleased with my show of courage, to say the least.

    Finally, we agreed that I would refrain from enacting or participating in any such ceremonies that would be exposed to the public eye, until a time in which he and I could travel to one of the larger Sunite Temples, where he might observe some of the ceremonies himself. Perhaps Durai would like to visit his mother soon? I think I’ve been told they may be celebrating the Night of Revels there soon enough.

    What was most amazing about this particular argument was how it ended. Durai, once he had calmed, made one more impassioned statement as to why he had been so opposed to my performing the ceremony. He claimed that the groom, Chiero had been a bit too enthusiastic about the idea of having me perform the ceremony unclothed, and that he had been leering at me, almost salivating. I did not see any such reaction, but perhaps it is like when women can tell when other women fancy a particular man. Either way… Durai’s statement ended with:

    “If anyone ever looks at you like that again, or lays a hand on you, I’ll shove my sword up thier ass!”

    I don’t think I’ve ever heard Durai curse before. I think it was the first time he had ever done so, and for some odd reason, I can’t help but feel a little pleased that he was so jealous.

    Sune bless and guard the bonds I make and the hearts of those who have found a place in mine.

  • E

    A few hours before Shalia is to leave for her journey back to Narfell, an acolyte delivers the following letter.

    Dear Shalia,

    I do hope this letter reaches you before you leave again. It’s been quite some time since we have gotten to exchange words, and I hope you have been well. Life has been kind to me. Last month, I have become squired to Sir Darren Bierbaum, whom you should know is a fine Knight of our church. He has been a wonderful mentor in both knightly conduct and duties of our faith.

    It seems that all my friends cannot help but talk about you after the events of yesterday. You’ve caused quite a commotion! Now, my dear cousin, don’t start blushing and fretting over what’s happened. You followed your heart, which is exactly what Lady Firehair would wish of us. Getting what you wanted in the end didn’t hurt either. Obviously, you’ve impressed Lady Catherine, and it seems that Sir Darren is equally awed by what he’s been told of yesterday’s proceedings. So awed, in fact, that he has informed me that he wishes to travel to Narfell and assist in both your training and in creating a niche for Sune in the barbaric land.

    Yes, this means that I, too, will be traveling to Narfell. I’m looking forward to spending some time with you again. We shall not be leaving Silverleaf as of yet; Sir Darren has yet to clear his request and also has some tasks to finish before he can make such a journey.

    I wish you best of luck in your journey back to the land of Narfell. I shall write again before we are to leave.

    May Sune bless you,
    Michael Engelhart


  • ::A sealed letter sent to the village of Silverleaf, in Aglarond, addressed to Shalia Decauteur::

    _My dearest Shay,

    Let me begin with I love you. I say this every morning as I wake and are the last words I speak after my prayers for us both, before sleeping. Your absence only shows how much you mean to me, how much I’ve come to love you in these months we’ve spent together, and how much a part of me you truly are.

    Each day seems a bit grey and bland without you here to brighten it with your smile and your beauty. I returned to Narfell in search of my lost father, and found the woman of my dreams and the one I want to share my life with, as a very unexpected, precious gift.

    I must admit that I found writing this letter somewhat difficult. It is difficult as it reminds again that you aren’t here. I suppose it may sound silly or perhaps strange but I keep thinking that you’re just in the next room, or just out few a few hours, or when I wake in the morning I’ll find you by my side. Of course the reality is that you’re many miles far away, and I have to face the fact that you aren’t even sure when you’ll be free to return.

    I will be here waiting for you, whenever you are able to return. Revanna has moved into what was our room as children. She is often gone, helping the citizens of Norwick, even apparently helping the druids prune trees, I suppose to help in the growth of the forest. I spend most of my days since you left in quiet meditation, prayer and study. Your face and your laughter are never far from my thoughts, even while I study to learn to grow ever closer to Torm.

    I pray and hope that you are safe and are able to return soon, and I know you will return as soon as you are able. Your side of the bed will be waiting for you, and you will always be wanted in my home, not as a guest, but as my partner, lover, friend, and the woman I will one day call wife.

    May Torm guide your path back to me, and may Sune bless your every wish.

    With all my love,
    Durai_

  • ?

    The Road Home: Part II

    Lady Priestess Cathrine sat draped over her chair, watching the proceedings in complete amusement. Shalia’s eyes flickered to her, wide and questioning, almost feel Lady Cathrine’s reply in her head.

    ‘Well? What do you have to say to that Shalia?’

    Clearing her throat, Shalia straightened her back, doing her best to look adult and unafraid. She wondered if everyone could see her shaking nervously.

    “Firstly, if I remember correctly, the other wasn’t a betrothal until I agreed to it and gave it my seal. And if I found someone who I wished to marry and I loved, then the deal was off then too.”

    The Matron tossed her fan to the floor, raising her eyes heavenward. “So now you love this one you’ve chosen, do you?” Matron Chelseah gritted her teeth, sending a glare over at Lady Cathrine. “This is your entire fault you know! You and that old witch Moira’s.”

    Lady Cathrine sighed deeply, moving into a proper sitting position in her chair. “May I remind you Lady Chelseah that we serve the Lady Firehair? And as such, we would –never- prevent Miss Decauteur from marrying the man she chooses as her love.”

    “While I do agree, Lady Cathrine, but this situation is a bit more complex, now isn’t it? We have raised her, educated her – all at our own expense, which was great – for her to become a priestess, which she now will not, that is quite apparent. And the agreement was hinged upon the fact that she would complete her training, and enter into the clergy! Not go traipsing about some land of barbarians. Not to mention that if she doesn’t…” the Matron Chelseah’s voice faltered and sputtered. She could even see that she was losing the argument, but then a light flickered behind her eyes. “The clause of her being allowed to pursue her own love was based on that she would honor her word to us, and we would honor our word to her. She has broken her word, and even under her own admission, betrayed us. I therefore say, we can no longer protect her or negotiate for her in the matter of this contract, and she should deal with it herself, as she is not to become a protected member of our church.” Matron Chelseah grinned broadly, watching as the color and bravado drained out of Shalia and Lady Cathrine both.

    Narrowing her eyes like daggers at Matron Chelseah, Lady Cathrine looked anything but her usual warm and relaxed self. Taking a deep breath, she turned to look at Shalia, her eyes becoming sad and sympathetic all at once. “What do you say Miss Decauteur? The Matron is right, we have no reason to protect or negotiate for you in this matter anymore, due to your own admitted actions. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

    Shalia felt her heart beating in her ears. They couldn’t do this… this was against Sune, but… they… Damn the Matron, dried up old hag! Shalia’s mind rapidly jumped from possibility to possibility, then finally, came to a halt on what might be a very far fetched option. “L… Lady Cathrine! I don’t wish to leave Sune’s service at all actually!” Shalia shouted with a weak, mousy voice. “I wish to served Sune another way, and if you accept, my training to do so will demand I remain in Narfell!” a smile slowly spread across her face, taking more heart in the idea.

    All of the priestesses in the circle sat forward with interest, including Lady Cathrine and the matron. “Is that so Miss Decauteur?” asked Lady Cathrine, her smile of good natured amusement returning. “You’ve been denied ranking as a priestess within our church, do you wish to be an acolyte for the rest of your days? You know we don’t let acolytes leave the grounds for months or years at a time.” Cathrine wanted badly to see Shalia carry this off, and her growing smile betrayed that notion to all in the room, but yet they were not paying any attention, as they were all awaiting Shalia’s reply.

    “I want to become a Knight, Lady Cathrine. And I believe you were given a copy of a letter from Sam, Paladin of Helm, stating his agreement to train me.” Lady Cathrine stared at Shalia, smiling brightly as the room filled with murmured voices, and the sound of Matron Chelseah slapping her face and groaning.

    Laughing softly, Lady Cathrine reached behind her back, and pulled out what appeared to be a somewhat beaten and folded piece of parchment. “I have received a letter from this ‘Sam’, and it is quite flattering and well written, though I do have to slightly object to the manner in which is was written…” Lady Cathrine grinned again. “Allow me to read what he has written about our Shalia…”

    _Warmest Greetings,

    My name is Samson Swarthout, Paladin to Helm, Knighted in the Tyrran Order….._

    Lady Cathrine recited Sam’s letter for everyone to hear, and as Shalia listened, she couldn’t help but feel touched by what he had said about her. By the end of the letter, a few of the priestesses were sniffling, and wiping away each other’s tears.

    “Such impressive and heartfelt words this man has written. And it does seem there is a desperate need for the beauty that Sune’s touch can bring in this land. Tell me Shalia, how do you find these barbarian lands? Are they in need of the light of beauty?”

    Shalia nodded, speaking softly, “They are rough, hard won lands My Lady Cathrine, and people die there every day, and as such, their spirits are worn down.”

    Lady Cathrine tapped her chin thoughtfully. “So, these are harsh, unforgiving lands, and difficult to get around in, and survive there?”

    Shalia nodded again in the affirmative.

    “Very well then…” Lady Cathrine looked around at the other faces in the room. “Miss Shalia Decauteur, Acolyte of Sune, shows great desire to serve our Lady Firehair. But!” the Lady paused dramatically, “Her youth and willfulness cause her to make many a mistake. We have tried to correct these things here, and I think we all can agree that we’ve been unsuccessful. Perhaps this is because she has been sheltered here, and has not felt the real effects of her actions.”

    Shalia continued to watch Lady Cathrine speak, bowing her head lower and lower in shame with each word.

    “Shalia shows promise. But, her promise will amount to nothing if she cannot learn these lessons. If we cannot teach her, I say we give this Sam a chance to.”

    She couldn’t help it, a grin broke out on her face, causing Shalia to bow her head practically to her chest so that none would see it.

    “Shalia Decauteur, as my decision as Priestess of Sune in the temple which you were raised, I administer this punishment: You will return to Narfell, a harsh, UGLY, unforgiving land, and be submitted to training in a manner of service in which you might better be of use to Sune. In addition, I expect this Sam will administer a variety of punishments depending on the level of competence you complete the tasks he sets before you, which will most certainly over time make up for your grievance against us. Finally, I bid you to create a niche in the land, by which Sune may also gain footing, and others may spread the word of her light of love and beauty in all things. Have I made myself –perfectly- clear?”

    Shalia nodded vigorously, doing her best to still hide her smile of satisfaction.

    Lady Cathrine sighed over dramatically, she too trying to hide a smile. “Very well then. Go pack all of your things, and wait in your quarters. Be ready to leave very shortly. I am eager to see you begin your dreadful, but well earned punishment.”

    Shalia curtsied in haste, and all but ran out of the chambers, eager to do as she was told. She knew that she had always liked Lady Cathrine for some reason, and if she ever got the chance, she would have to ask why she made the decision she did.

    As the doors to the great room closed behind her, she could hear Matron Chelseah screeching in protest of Shalia’s “punishment”.

  • ?

    The Road Home: Part I

    Shalia had finally arrived in Silverleaf, the village in which she had grown up in. Tentatively, she approached the gates of her church, which was modest, but covered with beautiful vines of ivy and wild roses. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked over the all too familiar surroundings. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed this place, and how much it was apart of her. The skip in her heart soon became an ache, as she remembered why she was here.

    Walking through the courtyard, she skimmed her fingers over the pool that occupied the center of the lawn. Beautiful oak trees framed the yard, swings hanging lazily from the tree limbs covered aesthetically with hanging ferns. Shalia remembered swinging from the trees when she was a child. She remembered how she had always thought she would live all of her life here. It was funny… how things could change in the blink of an eye.

    She had always loved this place. But it was no longer apart of her and that feeling alone made everything around her feel so alien. Lost in thought, Shalia failed to hear the foot steps approach behind her, and leapt in the air as the hand belonging to the maker of those steps tapped her on the shoulder.

    “Shalia…” said a soft and lilting voice, “You’re home. And a bit late if I do say so…” Lady Priestess Cathrine smiled warmly at Shalia, pulling her into an embrace. “You look more like your mother every day, don’t you?” Shalia squeezed Cathrine happily, resting her head on her shoulder. “I missed everyone here very much… I did,” said Shalia, in a manner that almost seemed as if she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. Bursting into a sudden rain of tears, Shalia clung to the priestess, crying for reasons that she herself couldn’t put her mind on. Lady Cathrine stood there in the courtyard, holding the weeping girl, stroking her hair and murmuring in a soft voice, “I know… Go rest now. We’ll talk later.”

    Sometime later, Shalia awoke in her old room, calling for one of the lesser acolytes to take Sam’s letter and the others to Lady Cathrine. Then… she sat, awaiting her sentence, and thought of Narfell.

    Of a place that she once thought of as home, but wasn’t. She had just hoped that it could have been.

    A knock came at the door, another acolyte telling her that it was time, and she would be escorted to the Chambers.

    The time for judgment had come.

    Entering the large room with a passive face, Shalia stopped and bowed to the other elder priestesses. Lady Cathrine gave a nod, gesturing to where Shalia was to place herself, knees down on a pillow in the center of the council. Taking her place, she bowed her head before them, eyes downcast.

    One of the older priestesses arose, speaking in a still clear and lovely voice, “Shalia Decauteur… acolyte in the service of Sune, junior member of our Church in Silverleaf… you have notified us of a grievance you committed, as well as –requested- punishment for your grievance. You do realize of course that we as a church do not usually punish such a minor infraction such as this?” Shalia nodded, eyes remaining fixed on the floor. The matron bunched her mouth up, seemingly having difficulty processing this information. “And you are sure you still wish to be reprimanded?” Shalia nodded again, this time turning her eyes to face the others. “May I speak?”

    Exasperated, the priestess tossed her hands up into the air as she flopped into her over stuffed chair. “Of course you may. This is your punishment after all… not ours.”

    Shalia pushed herself to her feat, placing her hands in front of her, clearing her throat.

    “I… I wish to leave Silverleaf. And Aglarond.”

    “Of course you do. And so you shall… in a few years you’ll be sent to…” Began the matron.

    “No. I don’t think you quite understand. I want to leave Aglarond… and return to Narfell.”

    “WHAT?!” screamed the matron, red fury filling the color of her face and neck. Shalia glided her eyes to look at Lady Cathrine, who was sitting in her chair, lounging really, calm and seeming quite amused. “You cannot go back there! I don’t care if you think it’s a charming and lovely place, and we certainly do not need servants of Sune traipsing about barbarian lands waiting to get their heads chopped off! You have OTHER responsibilities.”

    “Lady Chelseah, perhaps we should allow Miss Decauteur to explain?” Lady Cathrine’s smooth voice came from behind the Matron. Harrumphing loudly, the Matron pressed her lips together, gesturing to for Shalia to speak. “Go on… Explain.” Lady Chelseah said with a severe frown.

    “I… I… I feel that I belong in Narfell. I think that I could best serve Sune’s purpose in the land. There is… a need for Sune there. I think I could help that.”

    “So?” said the Matron Chelseah, rolling her eyes. “We’ll send another priestess there in your place if it will make you feel any better.

    Shalia drew her brows together, wringing her hands. “You could… But I think it would be best if I go. And… well… I’ve become betrothed to a man there.” Closing her eyes tightly, she waited for the explosion. She didn’t have to wait long.

    “Betrothed?! You can’t become betrothed to any man there. You’re already given to another man!”
    Shalia winced, hearing those words. She had tried to block that knowledge out of her mind for months now.

    She had never planned to fall in love with Durai.


  • Sam pondered at length what he must write. Several drafts lay scattered on the floor of the Regal Whore Inn, all written in his typical amatuerish, unskilled manner.

    Finally, sighing, he acknowledged to himself that he must accept two things. That he could only find the skill to express himself by resorting to the cursed tongue. And in order to retain his credibility before a Priestess of any Order, he must rely on the crutch of his commended titles.

    Written boldy, with heavy hand, thick dark marks of Orcish script.

    **Warmest Greetings,

    My name is Samson Swarthout, Paladin to Helm, Knighted in the Tyrran Order.

    I must humbly apologize for the use of this cursed script, however it is the only means left to me by which I can communicate to you what I must. I am unable to use another language with any greater skill than this.

    This letter should find you, sealed and in the care of one Lady Shalia Decateur, Priestess of your Order of Sune. I pray that she finds you in good health.

    She will no doubt recant to you a story which may have grave consequences upon her. I ask for leniency just once on her behalf. She is young and inexperienced, yet follows her heart and beliefs. It was not Sune's will she defied, but those of your Order. Ultimately, one must follow the will and teachings of their god.

    I know that this fact will not be lost upon your hearts and minds when her time of reckoning comes.

    Lady Shalia has become entwined in matters which affect the whole of this country of Narfell. Our greatest Paladin of Helm is missing, presumed dead. His son and daughter are now the mark for forces of evil which as yet elude our best trackers and dodge the careful eye of those who might scry for them.

    I suspect that these two are merely pawns in the pursuit of a much greater sinister plan.

    Lady Shalia's presense is vital to the success of our efforts to search for our paladin and the prevention of evil's triumph over our meager forces. She has become the backbone and principle support to the one, a Priest of Torm, charged with locating our missing paladin.

    She will no doubt tell you of her love for this young man, Durai Hightower. Indeed, she loves him, and of this fact I have no doubt. It is this fact, this bond, for which I plead for leniency and her swift return to Narfell. She is needed.

    She is needed not only to strengthen the will of the Seeker, but there is a terrible lack of apparent beauty in Narfell. If anyone could find it, it is she.

    Knowing that the time ahead will bring great tribulations to the inhabitants, she understands that in a land where beauty is scarce, what can be found must be protected and cherished. As a Priestess, she may find the beauty of this land and aid others in its discovery, but she cannot protect it.

    She desires to take a Paladin's Oath of servitude to Sune.

    It would be my honor to aid her in any way. There is no nobler calling.

    Though we are of different religions, in a short time she has taught me much of Sune's teachings, and though I have much yet to learn, the ways of a paladin are not foreign to me. Indeed, there is no Order of Sune here to call upon.

    In Narfell, we must cling together to survive. Our forces are splintered and divided by philosophy, faction and theology. I have come to believe that the presense of the Sune way may help heal some of the rifts that exist between the various faithful.

    As a Watcher I can only guard and protect against what I know is good already. I have not the skill, aptitude or training to heal and strengthen what few goodly kind we have. Who else but a Sunite could bind us closer together.

    I request that she receive leniency.

    I request that she return soonest.

    I also request that your clergy aid her in composing her Oath, as I would do my best, but as you may know, a poor oath is as much a hindrance as a well sworn oath is empowering.

    There are a great many details I have not, and cannot share with you. Only know that it is not in my nature to ask for something as great as this if I did not beleive it was necessary.

    I beleive in her. I beleive she must be returned to Narfell, for without her we at best will suffer greatly. At worst, a dark shadow shall over Narfell.

    The scales already tip and favor the side of Darkness. Please return the Lady Decateur to us, lest they tip irrecoverably. Against this event I must guard.

    I ask all this in quiet, faithful service to Helm.

    Humbly,
    -Sam**

    Sighing, he read the letter, despising both the look and feel of the language, hating that his words might carry no weight because of it. He pondered rewriting his titles at the bottom in some desperate act to give credibility to his words, but his abhorrance of them stopped him. He decided on something he heard Uthger say once that summed up how he felt.

    Deeds not titles. (in common)

    He took a candle from the table and dripped wax onto the now folded paper. His seal was his thumb, which he whimpered once and sucked on as the hot candle wax burned it.

    He set off to give Shalia her letter as she requested

  • ?

    Introductions

    Dear … Durai’s mother… Mrs. Hightower… Lady Hightower…Priestess…

    Shalia blinked at the page she was scribing on, once again finding herself on another caravan to take her to Aglarond. This time, she wouldn’t be heading for Uthmere, but instead skimming the edges of Thay, Thesk and the Great Dale to find her way through the mountains that bordered her home country. And to fill up her time of travel… she decided to compose a letter…

    Your daughter Revanna suggested that I write this le- No no… that doesn’t sound very good. As if I’d only write her because it was suggested. Shalia scribbled that line out.

    As I am sure you know by now, I am engaged to your son - Definitely not.

    I would like to begin by introducing myself. My name is Shalia Decauteur, and I am an acolyte of Sune, the Lady Firehair. Yes, this sounded much better. I was raised in Aglarond, outside of a village named Silverleaf, in most part by my adoptive Grandmother Moira, as well as the priestesses of Sune’s church that my mother once served. My parents were Lady Priestess Zythea August, and Sir Phillip Decauteur, both of whom passed away to unforeseen circumstances shortly after my birth. I was also well educated in moral, spiritual, as well as scholarly pursuits through the good will of the Sunite Priestesses, up until I had arrived in Narfell. I hope to continue my education and training in this land, as I have fallen in love with it, and your son.

    Hrm… so far, so good.

    I am pleased to find myself to one day marry a man who is very honorable, noble, trustworthy, and so many other things that I cannot possibly list or describe. The affections that we share with each other are a gift, to be treasured and protected. I love your son beyond measure, and promise to you that I will never hurt him, not if I can do something to help it.

    Shalia sighed, reading over the last paragraph. She prayed that she could keep the promise she had just written, even though it made her nervous, thinking of all the ways it would be too easy to hurt Durai. But promises this important were never easy to keep. Hopefully Durai's mother wouldn't be able to see the uncertainty with which that was written.

    I would also tell you that I will shortly be making an oath of my intent to squire one Sam…

    Hrm… What was Sam’s surname? She would have to ask him soon.

    Sam, Paladin of Helm, who I am told by many once served your husband, and Durai’s father. I know that I am young, but I am also eager to learn and serve my goddess in the best capacity that I am able. Maybe hearing this would reassure her… then again…

    In final, while I know that we do not know each other at all, and I am sure that my relationship with your son must make you much more than just a little nervous, I would ask you that perhaps we could continue correspondence, so that we can better know each other.

    Shalia paused a moment before writing the last few lines, brow furrowed in thought.

    I pray that we soon find your husband, and Durai and Revanna’s father’s fate soon, and I will do no less than my best to help them discover what they can.

    And she would…

    _Sune Bless You.

    -Shalia Decauteur_

    Shalia took one last look at the letter, folding it over neatly, before sealing it with wax and stamp before she sent it off with the other letters at the next depot. Hanging her head in between her knees, she did her best not to begin gasping for air in nervousness, praying desperately to Sune that Durai’s mother wouldn’t hate her.

  • ?

    Spectrum

    Tossing and turning in the bed, Shalia slept fitfully next to Durai. The same thing haunted her over and over again. Six swords. All arranged to form a star, two larger ones pointing to the center to be each other’s opposite. Shalia could feel there were others looking at the swords with her, and that these weapons… were much more than just weapons. They represented people.

    The first was shining and bright, filled with promise and ambition, but impulsive.
    The second was simple, but true, never to be swayed from its duty of protection.
    The third was old, worn, but filled with faith and an inner beauty.
    The fourth was delicate, but possessed an inner strength, though it sometimes feared it.

    They pointed at each other, each one knowing it was part of a bigger whole. But as impressive as each sword was, it was the largest two that caught her attention, drawing her focus to them again and again.

    A large gleaming great sword, unlike she had ever seen before, cast shadows over the smaller four, threatening to engulf them.

    While the one opposite of it, was of the shadows, dark and menacing, hiding a light behind it, as though it was trying to hide it and press it back.

    Suddenly, the swords began to spin, like a gambling table that Shalia had once seen. And just as suddenly, they stopped. Six hands reached out to the blades, taking them in hand. The roles had now been set.

    Shalia felt that one of them had been waiting. As if all of them had been expected, and had been biding time until they arrived.

    In her heart, Shalia knew them all. And she knew, somehow… that one of them was the hunter, and the rest were to be hunted.

    But yet… Shalia stepped back in the room. There were more, many more. What seemed like hundreds of blades, all pointed to the center of the room. And the room kept spinning, stopping, waiting for more hands to pick up the blades that happened to stop before them, like a game of chance. And each time, the hunter was hiding in a new place, and became someone’s new purpose. And every face looked the same, for they were the same… and most startling of all, they were faces that belonged to us, yet somehow, the hunter could take it for their own.

    One down, more to go.

    The room spun once again, and Shalia found one of the six blades in her hand, as though she had no choice if she wanted to play in this game. No matter how much she tried, the blade wouldn’t leave her hand. Panicking, she looked around her, finding nothing but more hands and more blades, and behind them, blackness. Except for the center, which stood a set of scales…

    Everything had its opposite. Everything its equal.

    Shalia cowered down, covering her head with one hand, rubbing her injured shoulder with the other, crying. She knew there was no place to hide.

  • ?

    Intercepted

    _To my love Durai,

    I am already half way to Uthmere, the caravan nearly out of the Rawlinswood. The deepest sections of the woods that border the Great Dale are most disturbing, and the Caravan leader has advised me and the other travelers not to stray from the group whatsoever. It’s all too easy to believe that this forest holds something evil within it, for I’ve felt almost as though there has been something watching me the length of our trip thus far. However, I’m sure there is little to worry about, for the caravan is well guarded by a number of hired soldiers, who will escort us all the way to Uthmere.

    On a brighter note, I have had the sincere pleasure of acquiring a new friend on the trip, a little girl by the name of Bridgette. Bridgette and her parents are traveling to Uthmere as well, intent on paying a visit to relatives there. The little girl is most delightful, and is always running back to the wagon I ride in to talk with me, or to try to teach me songs, or sometimes play a game with her of sorts. Her parents don’t seem to mind so much, merely happy that Bridgette isn’t being a bother.

    The parents have agreed to help me find a reputable shipping company to book passage on so that I can sail to Aglarond in safety. You need not have any worry that I’ll make it to Velprintalar and on to my church in quick time. And thus, even more quickly back to you and our home.

    I think of you every day, and pray for your heart and your safety.

    With all my love,

    Shalia._

    Shalia finished the letter and sent it off on its way, watching it leave on the caravan passing the other direction back towards the encampment. It took nearly all of her will not to leave with them, and return to Norwick.

    The Caravan leader announced shortly thereafter that they would soon be stopping for the night, and would break onto the Great Road by morning. Once on the road, he promised the trip would only take a day or two at most to reach Uthmere, for the road lay on flat plains, and Shandukal willing, the wind would be blowing in the right direction.

    As the wagons found a small clearing, they gathered together, making a small pocket in the center where the travelers made a campfire and the evening meal. Shalia grinned as she watched Bridgette running around to each of the travelers in turn, asking their names and reintroducing herself in proper manner, just as Shalia had taught her. She was a most darling little girl. Flinching momentarily, Shay had sworn that she had just now seen something shift in the back of the forest. Staring at the spot for some time, she waited. But nothing moved. Well, it was a forest after all. It was most likely an animal of some sort.

    Closing her eyes lazily, Shalia smiled besotted as she drifted off to sleep, wondering if maybe one day far into the future, she and Durai would have a little girl like Bridgette too.

    The sounds of the forest lulled the travelers to sleep easily. It was such a calm and beautiful night that even the guards hired to protect the group had let their guard down, failing to notice the blackened vines that slowly curled their way into camp. In fact, no one would have noticed at all, if it had not been that Bridgette, as many children did, often failed to go to sleep when their parents told them to.

    The little girl’s scream had alerted the entire camp of the intruders, just prior to a flurry of whips, lashings, screams and swinging of swords. The vines whistled and screamed as they shot through the air, one vine piercing one of the guards through the leg. Seeing that Bridgette had been separated from the rest, Shalia ran to her, just as one vine began to snake its way to the little girl, ready to wrap itself around her. Just within reach of Bridgette, the vine changed direction suddenly, smacking itself hard against Shalia’s shoulder, tossing her back and far away from offering any aid to the scared child. Her head cracking against a tree, Shay blinked once, twice… three times, her vision becoming blurry. She saw Bridgette, screaming, and crying for someone to help her, vines approaching the girl threateningly once again. But Shalia could not move, though as hard as she tried. Her head felt awful, and she felt as though some animal was gnawing at her shoulder, teeth piercing the skin.

    Shalia’s head fell to the side, briefly catching the scent of something burning.

    Groaning, Shalia touched a hand to her shoulder, then to her forehead. Gods, she wished she was dead right now, for surely it would be a lot less painful. Looking up through squinted eyes, she saw Bridgette’s parents, with Bridgette sitting on her mother’s lap, sucking her thumb. All three seemed unscathed, but how? Surely she didn’t just dream the attack.

    Seeing the question in Shay’s eyes, the father began to explain. The attack had happened, and Shay had been thrown into a tree by one of the possessed vines. Three had died in the fray, and more casualties had been averted by some man who had ordered that everyone light torches and try to set the vines afire. No one knew who the man was, for he hadn’t been with the caravan, and he had left as soon as he saw the group on their way back to Norwick.

    Shalia rubbed her shoulder again, pushing away her clothing from it to take a look. But as much as it hurt, only a welt remained, and a few black thorns imbedded into the skin of her shoulder. Doing her best to pick out the majority of the thistles, Shalia thought to herself that all things considered, she had been lucky. She was far from being ready to have survived something that horrible, and soon, she would be on her way home, to rest and wait for the new caravan to set out in a different, slower -but safer- direction.

    Shalia wondered if she would beat her letter back to Durai with a tired smile on her face.


  • Cloaked from sight by infernal magic, he sat there in the twilight of the forest. The caravan wagons were arrayed in a circle beneath him, his yellow eyes flicking over each one in turn. With careful deliberation, his eyes locked onto the sleeping form of Shalia. He noticed curiously how she twitched and moved in the periphery of her slumber.

    He was far beyond the reach of his mistress now, and the absence of her presence brought loneliness, the kind born to servitude found difficult to bear. His mistress had left instructions that Shalia was to be untouched. Observation was sufficient she had said before sending him to his task. Pity he thought, for he had anticipated sinking his talons into her warm flesh.

    Finally, the weight of the loneliness became an oppressive burden. With a whoosh of imploding air, he planeshifted back to his mistress.

    Ja’err looked up, lines of concern etching his worn features.


  • How could one watch over what was too far away to see?

    That was Sam’s quandary.

    It never occurred to him if he –should- watch over her, only that he felt in his heart that it was something that had to be done. Perhaps it was his mistrust of sailors. His first voyage on a ship, he had lost his paladin, and been hauled from his bunk in the night and cast overboard. The next voyage, he had been forced into the fish hold and only let out for basic necessities; the captain claiming he did not need the distraction of an unclean breed on his vessel. This third voyage… two weeks hanging over the railing. And his last voyage was spent nearly comatose before arriving in Narfell.

    Ships were not nice places.

    Sam doubted he could hold off an entire crew if one turned on him because of his blood. And Sam surely knew that Shalia could not withstand the advances of a determined crew, if they should decide to use attractive woman as lonely men would.

    Somehow he would have to watch over her. And since he couldn’t, someone else would have to do it in his stead. He dearly wished for an Order of Helm anywhere in Narfell where he could take his request. But he was forced to appeal to the Order of Tyr for help.

    “The task you ask of us would require a most trusted and capable man, Sir Sam,” Daisy cooed. He winced at the title. “It would mean that I would have to entrust many lesser tasks to others, to keep our work here ongoing. And I lack the funds to pay the additional hands for this time.”

    Sam nodded solemnly, what price was ensuring someone remained safe?

    “How much?” with mild anxiety he asked.

    “Twelve hundred, Sir Sam,” Her face was almost apologetic, but it was as if she really did not want to send her ‘trusted man’ to the task.

    Sam sighed, and pondered. Was Sam over reacting, overly suspicious, or even paranoid? Would the enemies of the Hightower family seek her out? And what if he was right, and did nothing? What would happen?

    In the end, Sam was not prepared to take the risk.

    “Done,” and with a grimace, he counted out the coins, feeling his own coffers seem to dwindle.

    “It shall be done as you ask,” Daisy smiled and motioned to an acolyte. She handed the bag to her and whispered some instructions to her. The acolyte skipped away, not to return.

    Daisy begged for a moment to tend to some others, and bid Sam to wait for her, as their conversation was not finished. Sam leaned on a wall by the door, arms folded, waiting. The look on his face conveyed volumes of his impatience.

    Eventually a man in thick, studded leather armor walked in. He had obviously been around the block, and had the earthy look of a ranger to him. His thick, wavy black hair was long behind his back, dark piercing eyes, aquiline nose and strong, set jaw that showed strong muscles of one who held is tongue often. His smooth walk across the floor was pantherlike.

    Daisy saw him, smiled and motioned him to come over to her and Sam.

    “This is Ja’err Glondin.” The two nodded suspiciously at each other as Daisy continued. “He is a Knight in our order, come in from Heliogabalis searching for a halfling accused of crimes in that state. But, this culprit is presumed dead, and while the other trackers are still out, he may be able to help you.”

    She smiled and bid them well, returning to the duties of running her temple.

    Sam discussed the now paid for mission with Ja’err. The man was nearly silent, when he spoke at all; his voice was low and quiet, only audible within a couple of feet. His stance was light and ready, and his eyes darted cautiously to every moving shadow, almost as if he could see behind him.

    Sam summarized the man’s mission to ensure he understood it, counting off on his fingers as he did.

    “Jus’ watch ‘ER. Dun’ let ‘ER know enabudy sint yuh… an fer durn shur, make shur she gits back safe eh?”

    Without a smile, only a curt nod, and not even a nod of respect, merely understanding, he replied, “Done.”

  • ?

    Shadows

    Breath in, breath out.

    It hurt…

    Shalia stared up at the sky, feeling the life bleed out of her little by little. She wanted to look to her sides, but she was too afraid. Besides, she could feel what she couldn’t see. And she felt herself laying in a warm, almost comforting pool of blood. Despite the warmth coming from around her, her inner core became colder and colder as each minute passed. She began to feel numb and sleepy.

    Don’t sleep. Gotta stay awake.

    Her eyes drooped, and visions danced in her mind. Shalia tried to shake her head a little to wake herself, but doing so only pulled at her wounds even more, speeding the process of her death. Finally she stilled, becoming entranced with one image in particular. She could see herself and Durai in front of the fire of his home. He was running his hands down her bare back as they made love in one of the chairs sitting before the fireplace. Shalia grinned faintly for a moment as she thought about that. She didn’t think it was possible to find one’s height of passion in a chair, but it was great fun finding out.

    So tired.

    Closing her eyes slowly, she let herself begin to drift off, becoming enraptured by visions of herself and Durai. Shalia’s breathing slowed, became shallower. Then in her dream, Durai started to press his hands into her side. Then her arm. Not at all in the way of a lover. Then… he started to yell at her. Why was Durai yelling at her?

    Trying her best to open her eyes, she vaguely saw a strange shadow above her. That’s not Durai, she thought to herself. The shadow was hurting her. Then the shadow yelled at her again.

    “Wake up!”

    “Lass! Wake up!” shouted the wagon driver.

    Shalia jerked out of her position, sleeping between a few bags of grain, and something that she didn’t care to identify. Rubbing her hand on the bridge of her nose, she flicked out the crusty sleep of her eyes, blinking her eyes rapidly. Staring at the wagon driver in question, he simply nodded to her, telling her they were going to soon stop for the night, and they’d be wanting to make some dinner soon. Did she think she’d mind fetching some firewood when they did?

    “Yes, that’s fine.” Shalia smiled subtly, the dream still in the back of her mind, not able to bring the smile to full brightness. Then she felt it again. Something was surely watching her, and it had been since she left the elven encampment.

    A cold shiver ran down her back, making her wonder if it was too late to begin to walking back to Norwick.

  • ?

    Love Letter

    Shalia stared out of the window, face serene, but a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Try as she could, she was certain there was no way she would be able to memorize everything she could about this place. Not even enough to last her long enough for what was to be hopefully, a short trip. She would be leaving for Aglarond the very next morning, by caravan to the coast, and a ship to Ventriplitar from there. However, the closer the time came to go, the harder it was becoming to even think about leaving. Just thinking about all that she was leaving behind her threatened to overtake her in tears.

    Taking many deep breaths, Shalia pulled herself away from the window and the morning light, walking down the hall to the study. Finding a spare sheet of parchment, ink pot and quill pen, she sat down at the desk to write a letter.

    _To my love, Durai-

    Shortly I’ll be leaving for Aglarond, leaving you here behind me, for what I hope to be only a small amount of time. Please trust that I will return soon, and when I do, I won’t leave you again for quite some time. While I am gone, be safe, be happy, and try not to let Sam be gruff too often. He really needs to learn how to smile more.

    While I prepare to leave, I think about our first meeting, which was only just a few months ago. I still smile every time I think about how you asked my permission for you to kiss me that first night. It may have been then that I fell in love with you, but it is difficult for me to say, as I have difficulty remembering what life was like without you. It seems like we’ve known each other much longer, and I don’t think I could tell you how difficult it will be to leave you now.

    I had never, never planned to meet anyone like you, or hoped that I would. I had not known that people like you existed outside of the books of romantic and chivalrous tales I’ve read, and I wonder many times if you are real. While you are not precisely the heroes from many of those stories, I think it’s the qualities you share with them that stun me. Duty, honor, compassion, and true caring for others, despite the fact that they are spoken of so often, sometimes seems so very rare. You have all of those things in the most genuine capacity. Things that, perhaps yes- you inherited from your father, and also your mother I am sure. But these qualities, are given to shine by your uniqueness, and one day will become so vibrant and spectacular that no other will be able to deny that they have formed you into a great man in your own right.

    I know that is it is you alone that I love. Not the individual traits you share with your father, or the ones you share with your mother. I love the whole of you, as no one could ever take away any part of you. All of the small things that make you, who you are, blend together, composing a man who fills my dreams and hopes for the future.

    While writing a letter such as this might seem a bit trite, or fake, I cannot help that. I suppose thoughts, feelings and emotions like these are so often vaulted in song and poetry that even when the intent behind them is genuine, it’s difficult to believe that they are. Such things are very rare, and should be treasured and protected. I think we have found ourselves lucky.

    I love you, in more ways than I can say, and for longer than I will live. It would be too painful to do anything else.

    -Shalia_
    Sighing deeply, Shalia ran her fingers through her hair. She was never much of a writer anyways, and the impulse of writing a letter to leave for Durai had been a bit silly she supposed. Reading over the letter once more, she blanched. It was truly awful. This must be why so many people hid their love letters…

    Rubbing her eyes, she began to feel the weight of the sleep that she had missed out that night with her restlessness. Wandering back down the hallway, she entered the room she shared with Durai, who was still spread out on his side of the bed. ‘I’ll just rest a few minutes,’ Shalia thought to herself. ‘Just a few minutes… and then I’ll go clean up the study and throw away that letter.’ Sliding into the bed, she curled into Durai’s side, sleep quickly claiming her, dreaming of happier things than leaving her love.

    In her dream she was coming home.

  • ?

    Cooking…..... with Chef Sam of Helm

    Shalia approached her foe, feeling it’s hatred for her emanating from it. Wielding her weapon in her right hand, she reminded herself again, ‘be prepared for anything…’ While her opponent bubbled and gurgled, drooling out refuse all over the ground, Shalia once again hoped that Durai knew how much she loved him, for this action could be her very last.

    Now was the time!

    Leaping at her target, she reached for the handle, swinging open the door. The foul stench took her breath away, and filled the room with thick black smoke. This battle was already turning sour. Sighing deeply, Shalia calculated the current score in her head.

    Kitchen Stove- 31, Shalia- 1 ½

    Things were certainly not looking well on the baking front.

    Running out of the kitchen, she ran to the windows and doors, opening each one with hopes that the horrible burnt smell wouldn’t permeate everything in the house. It was a wonder that Durai was still tolerating her futile efforts to cook, but thankfully, he had been patient and understanding. That- and he had evaded so far being forced into taste testing any of the some what edible experiments, which if had been otherwise, most likely would have made him much less patient and understanding.

    Walking outside to breath in the sweet fresh air, Shalia looked back to the house, watching as the smoke billowed out of the windows. There was no other choice. It was time to ask for help.

    Shalia remembered Durai telling her that Sam was an excellent cook, and did so just about anywhere, as he spent so much time either on the hill, or traveling about tending to his duties. Caught up in her wondering, Shalia failed to notice Durai approaching with a pained look on his face as he glanced at his family’s home. Shaking it off, he came up behind Shalia, kissing her on the cheek, and startling her as he said hello.

    Shalia looked back at Durai, sighing deeply. “It’s not going too well. If anything, it’s getting worse. If I continue on, I’m afraid that your kitchen is going to demand to you that I go, or it will leave,” said Shay, a weak smile on her face.

    Trying his best to give her an encouraging smile, Durai nodded towards the house. “Why don’t you get your equipment, and we’ll go take a walk, or maybe patrol the roads while the house airs out?”

    Nodding, Shalia took a deep breath, and ran into the house quickly, squinting as she looked around for her armor, pack, and Rosethorn. Grabbing them with haste, she rushed back out the door, shutting it behind her. “Um… ready to go when you are.”
    Some time later, they had arrived on Sam’s Hill. There were a few watchers there, scanning the pass with their eyes for the fierce bandits, or perhaps a traveler in need of help. The sun shined down brightly from over head, making things seem rather pleasant, and almost pastoral like, except when interrupted by the cry of a bandit being hit by a flying arrow. Looking around the hill, Shalia spotted Sam just over one of the rises, and gathered her courage.

    “Sam…. Um… I have a question that I’d like to ask you.”

    “Uh huh… Whut?”

    “Well, I was hoping you’d teach me how to cook. Durai said that you’re rather good at it, and seeing that I’m rather terrible at it… It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

    The large paladin looked over Shalia, seeming as though he was assessing her and deciding something. “You wunna lern how ta cook?” Shalia nodded vigorously, eyes hopeful that Sam would accept. Durai, standing behind Shalia, tried his best to keep his face impassive, though a smile crept up on the corners of his mouth as he watched the exchange. “Yuh know whur the spices ar at in the kitchen?” Shalia nodded. “And yuh know whur all the pots ‘n pans ar, and the spuns?” Shalia nodded again. “Gud! Cuz that’s not how wur gunna teach yus! Yuh gunna learn how to ruff it. Dat way, when yuz finally cook in the kitchen, it be like heavun. Lez go,” Shalia blinked at Sam, a bit confused. Where did one cook if not in a kitchen she wondered. Apparently seeing Shalia’s confusion, Sam sighed deeply, shaking his head in resignation. Whether it be that he was going to teach the young Sunite to cook, or something else he had resigned himself to, he wasn’t going to say. “Wez gutta get the things to cook furst. Wez goin’ huntin’.”

    Shalia felt the blood run out of her face. Hunting? But…

    Sunites don’t hunt…

    Durai and Sam gave Shalia no time to argue, as they had already set out down the road. Stopping briefly, Durai turned around and motioned for Shay to hurry forward, having even more difficulty hiding the grin on his face as he saw Shalia’s look of shock and horror.

    Finally snapping out of her fear, Shalia rushed down the road, barely catching up to the men as they scanned the pass for hawks that might make a good addition to a meal. All the while, Shalia kept wondering something, finally voicing her opinion once they had reached the top of a hill where Sam was collecting bird eggs. “I don’t know if Sune would approve of this… those are … they’re…” Shalia whimpered. Durai and Sam both turned to stare at her as though she had grown an extra head. “Where did you think eggs came from Shay?” Durai asked, clearly enjoying her discomfort over this more than he should. Sam merely shook his head, stopping to stare at his young charge. “Yuh got yourself a winner in this one Mr. Durai.” Shalia blinked, swinging her head to try and alternately glare at the two.

    The group moved on, Sam mentioning something about that they needed to find some hound. Nearly questioning why they would need hound for cooking, Shalia pushed the question out of her mind. She was fairly sure she didn’t want to know the answer.

    Descending into a series of caverns, the party was beset by large and gruesome dogs, resembling small horses or huge wolves more than dogs. Sam and Durai made quick work of the creatures, whatever they were, and once the fray was over, they set themselves to skinning and cutting away portions of meat from each one. They were clearly disgusting, destructive mindless creatures, so Shalia did not object to their demise, but as she watched the two slice meat away from the bodies, she felt bile rise up in her throat. Shalia swallowed it down, doing her best not to concentrate on all the blood, muscle and skin that was being torn away. Sam made his way to the entrance of the cavern, holding up a large flank of thigh meat, juices dripping and running to the ground. “Dis here’s whut we’re gonna cook.”

    Shalia ran as fast as her legs could carry her to the outside, falling to her knees as she expelled her previous meal off the side of the cliff. Somehow, Shalia was certain that Sam had meant to do that, and he was enacting some small portion of revenge on her.

    Later, after Shalia had recovered, put herself in order again, and they had collected some spices and vegetables from the pass, they found themselves in the Gypsies’ camp. Finding a free campfire, the three settled around the fire, Sam setting out all of the gathered supplies. Patiently, Sam showed Shalia how to construct a spit, chop the vegetables… and… cube the meat. The latter of the tasks became most difficult for Shalia, Durai having to sit next to her and instruct her to breath, and remain calm. He reminded her that there was plenty of water near by to wash herself and make a prayer to Sune, so she need not feel compelled to feel completely awful.

    Finally, the food was anchored on the spit to cook over the fire, and Shalia felt a small dose of satisfaction. She might actually cook something that would not cause physical harm to anyone! That in itself seemed like a large achievement, which only became compounded at the moment Durai tasted the cooked food. Chewing on a small bite of the meat, the corners slowly turned up on his mouth, nodding in approval of the finished meal.

    “Mmmm…!”

    Hungrily, almost ravenously, he began to wolf down the food, a smile of approval and of relief that Shalia could now cook. And not just cook, but cook food that was edible!

    Durai wrapped his arm around Shalia, kissing her nose, and smiled down at her. “I had faith in you.”

    If one taken the chance to glance over at Sam, they might have caught a tiny grin of pride on his face. But of course, as soon as he’d notice someone was looking, it would be gone, replaced by his usual scowl.

    Chef Sam of Helm had taught Shalia how to cook. Wonders certainly will never cease.

    (( I'd like to give a big thanks to Sam, who provided the material for this story, as his detailed and wonderfully entertaining RP is what this entire story was based off of. I'm still very amazed at how much effort he put into every aspect of trying to teach Shay how to cook. Thanks Sam!))

  • ?

    Journal Entry II

    It’s been sometime since I’ve written in my journal, but I thought it best to write in it again, what with all the changes my life has been experiencing lately. Though Durai and I were nearly split apart by my lie, we have made it through very well, and if nothing have strengthened our bond to each other. We now share his family home, I having had moved in with him to live after I had suggested he take up his residence, as it is much safer and easier to secure than a room at the inn. The house, seeming at one time to have been cursed with some unseen shroud, now seems to have a calming, and almost blessed feeling over it. It has been that way ever since the day that light appeared in the main living quarters, in the exact spot that Durai tells me Torm once appeared to his mother. Be that as it may, I think I shall ask one of the elder priests or priestesses to perform a few additional blessings on the house before I leave, as well as to ask them to place a few glyphs, to ward it against ill intentions.

    Durai seems to becoming more and more enthralled with the Sunite text I’ve loaned him. He’s always asking me questions about the more “physical” sections of the texts, and I find myself constantly reminding him that I only know as much as he does, and what we’ve experienced together. I’m starting to wonder if I should be a bit worried about his interest in my book, and the ideas it’s given him. However, seeing that I am the benefactor of his love and curiosity about the beauty of the reinforcement of the bond of love, I have very little to complain about. He’s also mentioned that he’s begun to read the philosophical and aesthetic passages now, and it seems he’s enjoyed them as much as the other sections, but perhaps not as much.

    I have also begun to read through some of his prayer books and texts on Torm, the god he follows, and I must admit that I admire this god, who was once a man. I appreciate, and hold to myself, some of the ideals that his philosophy reinforces, and marvel at how such a righteous man could have ever been mortal. Too often, it seems we mortals are susceptible to greed, temptations, and of course… hurting others, even when we believe we are trying to do what is right in our perceptions. The values of honor, loyalty, duty, and chivalry appeal to me, for they also seem so reminiscent of the knights I have so loved to study in the romantic texts, as well as the image of what I think my father must have been like. Though my faith in Sune is complete, I think I shall again refer to some of these texts of Torm’s.

    Another lady has seemed to have developed affection for Durai, and though I was merely suspicious before, I think my suspicions have been confirmed. I initially began to wonder about her, when one day I approached the south fire in Norwick, where I saw Durai an this woman sitting together. Though others, including Durai, did not notice her poise of body, and how this perhaps exposed her intent, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. Instinct I think it’s called. I mentioned this suspicion to Durai later, and he seemed surprised, and told me that he would rid this woman of any ideas of trying to gain his affections if she had any designs on him. With his typical boyish way of smiling, which I never think he’ll be rid of even into his old age, he told me that there could be no one else for him but me. Though I know this, and as good as it felt to have this confirmed again, I do have to admit that I find myself a little jealous.

    When Durai and I saw this woman again later, he whispered to me in a hushed tone if I was sure of my thoughts on this. Being it was only the three of us on Sam’s hill, and there was nothing to be feared, I simply turned and asked her. The phrasing of her reply confirmed solidly, at least for myself, that she does indeed hold affections for him, as it held no confirmations in such existence of affections (which would have caused her embarrassment I would suppose to admit), or denials or falsities, and seemed fitting for a devout follower of Helm as she has told us that she is. From what little I am told of followers of Helm, Torm, Tyr and the like, they would not attempt to lie if at all possible, and the lack of denial would confirm such feelings but without allowing her to lose face. However, I don’t know what quite to make of this, for I had assumed she would freely admit her feelings, as that is what I am used to. Even if they are to be rebuffed, there is some relief in sharing one’s emotions, and it serves to free their heart. Or so I have always learned, though many here seem not to follow such sound ways of thinking sadly enough. Her evasion stunned me, and confuses me as to how things should proceed.

    Aside from the aforementioned, I should report that I continue to wage my war against the kitchen. I have lost to my count, nearly twenty three battles with it, and have won two. The merchant of the general store assures me that my biscuits are wonderful, and has actually suggested that I add more salt to the recipe, but be sure to bring those particular batches of biscuits to him. The man certainly has a taste for biscuits.

    (Though I believe he is actually using my failed experiments to supplement his long over due shipment of sling bullets. We shall have to speak on this.)

    I hope to soon contain my memories on my family history in this journal, as well as Rosethorn’s story, as I remember Moira telling it to me when I was a child. Hopefully, I shall get it right, and if not, I can merely ask her to help me revise it when I revisit the church for my penance. I am beginning to grow curious as to why I am being called back as well. The reply to my letter did not seem as though it would be fitting for the Priestesses normal attitude or response to such things, but I suppose I will find out once I return.

    It will be my last trip to Aglarond as my home, and I will ask to be released of my bonds there so I may transfer them here. I am sure that my request will be granted, as there are so few followers of Sune here, and I think my Priestess will be most encouraged by the idea of me adding to the number with hopes that I may bring others. When I return to Narfell, I shall claim this place as my new home, in hopes and pursuit of the life I was meant for, whatever life that may be. It is certainly a most enjoyable mystery so far, and I cannot wait to find out how it shall proceed from here.

    Sune bless and guard the bonds I make, and the hearts of those who have found a place in mine.

  • ?

    The Price of a Promise III

    Shalia woke the next day, worn, and wrung out. It felt as though every emotion in her and in her heart had been fighting one another. At this time, she wasn’t quite sure which one was winning, only that they had all surely beaten each other to what felt like a bruised and unrecognizable pulp.

    Making her way through the town square, she trudged down to the south fire. If breaking her promise to the church had not upset the priestess, if they had seen her in the state she was now, she surely would be in much much more serious trouble. Seeing Nico, she brushed a lank strand of hair out of her face, and asked if he had seen Durai. Though he smiled at her initially, his face fell as he saw the state of her appearance, and gave his answer. “Errr… yes, I think he was in Fred’s with that Adam…. Are you… Alright Shalia?” Merely nodding, she turned out on her heel to drag herself back to the Friar’s cottage.

    Stepping inside the home, she glanced around, and saw that it was empty, but for one of the Friar’s “assistants”. Suddenly, she felt a breath on her ear, and a whisper, “Come to the Boarshead immediately.” Blinking, she tried to place the voice. It did sound vaguely familiar, but she was sure it couldn’t have been that man Thyrm again. The whisper simply didn’t have that cold feeling to it, and if she were to guess… it sounded like an old man. Tipping her head in curiosity, she turned herself around once again, exiting the cottage, and nearly running into Durai’s chest.

    “Oh! Shalia!” shouted Durai, the words almost instantly bringing a severe frown to her face. He hadn’t called her Shalia in days now unless it was for an introduction. Other times, he had always referred to her as ‘Shay’, a nick name that had seemed to be coined for her. Pasting on a faint, but insincere smile, she nodded to Durai merely saying, “Hello.”

    Not quite being able to decide if she wanted to kiss him thoroughly, for the time they had been apart, or perhaps shove him into a nearby mud puddle, for the fact that it was him and that he had decided to revoke his forgiveness that kept them apart, Shalia opted instead to stand there staring back at Durai saying nothing more. “Um… Shalia, I need to talk to you…” Durai began, making her heart lighten a bit. If he wanted to talk to her, then it must be a good thing, yes? “Adam, Alannia and I need to check the room that you and I slept in the other night. I think someone was in there and attacked me while we slept. And we need your key and permission to get in now.”

    Never before had she come so close to contemplating choking someone, anyone, let alone someone she loved dearly.

    “My key?! That’s all you want to talk about is my key?!?!” Shalia shouted, triggering a deep blush to rise in Durai’s cheeks.

    Just as Shalia was about to verbally attack him, Durai turned to see a woman with gray hair and an eye patch approach. It was this woman, who beat Shalia to the proverbial and literal punch. Smacking Durai on the back of the head, the lady began to yell at him, “What the hells are you thinking boy? How dare you come out here without letting us know, or at least where you would be?! HUH?” The lady Shalia was to find out later, was Alannia Diams, paladin of Helm, and friend of the Hightower family, though- it did not appear she was feeling particularly friendly at this moment, as she continued to argue with Durai, who was also attempting to hold his own against her. “I am not a boy! I will not hide in a cave! Stop treating me that way!” yelled out Durai, a litany that had been heard many times lately. Shalia looked at Durai sympathetically, for she too believed that they were underestimating him. The look caught Alannia’s attention, turning to Durai again, “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?!” spat out Alannia. Looking ready to shoot back another ‘I am not a boy’ reply, Durai instead turned to Shalia and stared at her a moment. She could see that he had even forgotten she was there, and this was just enough to trigger their argument once again.

    “I thought you said you forgave me!”

    “I have to think about it!”

    “Of course, it’s fine for you to keep something as important as SOMEONE being in our room, but yet I am to be flayed for trying to keep a promise to my faith.”

    “I was trying to find the right time to tell you, but then things… happened.”

    “Oh? And you don’t think I was trying to find the right time to tell you?!?!”

    The new argument raged on, with the lady Alannia standing on in watch, not even considering trying to get her thoughts in on her upset with Durai.

    “What does it matter?! You’re leaving in a month anyways!”

    “NO I’m NOT!” shouted Shalia.

    “…… you’re not?”

    “No. I wrote to my Priestess, and I’m asking to stay here and receive my penance in Narfell.”

    “Oh.”

    Durai and Shalia stared at each other a moment before Alannia’s soft voice, filled with patience came from the behind Durai. “I’m very sorry for interrupting all of this, but perhaps Young Master Hightower should remember the issue at hand?”

    Durai and Shalia both woke out of the shock of their argument, blinking at each other and turning to Alannia. “Yes…um…Let’s go search the room then…” Shalia whispered softly.

    Something seemed to have eased between all three. What it was specifically, none of them could say, and they would not have the time to examine it right now as they had already been delayed too long.

    The group hurried back to the Boarshead, intent on searching the room for clues as to who, or what had attacked Durai.

  • ?

    The Price of a Promise II

    Shalia waited for Durai to return to the Room, wringing her hands nervously and fidgeting. She had already seen that her back pack was put in order, and all of her things were inside, so that she would be ready to leave when he returned. She was not long in her wait, as he entered the room a few short minutes later.

    Nodding to Shalia politely, Durai muttered in question if she was ready to return to Norwick. Indicating she was, they both grabbed their things and set out. Waiting at the gates for them was an elderly man driving an ox driven wagon. The man, seeing the faces of the two, drawn and depressed, merely asked if they were ready to be on their way, then pointed to the back of the wagon, where they would ride with a few kegs of ale that he was to deliver to Barle at the Boarshead Tavern.

    Riding in silence, Shalia wondered where the feelings of love and passion they had shared the previous night had gone. Were they to be furthermore replaced by these cold feelings of betrayal and distrust? Turning to Durai, Shalia opened her mouth to speak with him, but quickly closed it once again as she saw the hard set of his mouth and how his eyes pierced out onto the road that followed behind them. Fear rapidly welled up in her chest, and panic pushed around thoughts in her head that they may never be as they were, and if it was so, it was surely all of her fault.

    In due time, they arrived in Norwick, hopping off of the back of the wagon to give their thanks and a small payment to the driver of the wagon. Looking between the faces of Durai and Shalia once more, the driver spoke up, “Ye know… Young’ens like yerself oft’n get yerselv’s inta all sorts of silly quarr’ls that you thinkin’ be oh so vere serious at de time. But dey always make up ‘n de end, yes they do.” Durai froze in his steps toward the tavern, balling his fists once, releasing, and then balling them again so tight that his knuckles turned white. Muttering an angry thanks to the driver once again, he pushed open the door to the tavern, letting it slam behind him.

    Running after Durai, she found him in the common room, running both hands through his hair as the patrons and waitresses rushed around him. Hurrying up to him, she fell into step beside him as he turned to go up to the Inn quarters. “Durai… I…” Shalia said as she took hold of his hand between hers, looking into his eyes. “I think…” she began again, faltering in her words as Durai slipped his hand out of her grip. “Yes, I agree. We’ll sleep in separate rooms tonight. I need to think and catch up on my studies and prayers. I’ve fallen behind.” Watching Durai turn and leave to go down the hall to his own room, Shalia choked on a cry.

    Holding her breath tautly as she entered her own room, slowly turning behind her to lock the door, and set the key on top of her chest. Sitting down on her bed, she stared out the window for a moment, noticing that it was ajar, just an inch or so. Closing it, she went back to her bed, curling up and hugged her arms to her chest. She couldn’t cry this time. Some things were even too sad for tears.

    Breathing in forced deep even breaths, she prayed that Sune would see that her letter would be delivered as quickly as possible to Aglarond, and that the reply would come just as quickly. It was a small prayer, and most likely not worth her goddess’ notice, but it meant everything to her right now.


  • (( you keep using that word, but I do no think it means what you think it means 😄 ))

  • ?

    The Price of a Promise I

    Shalia sat for hours in the room, thinking, contemplating what she had done after she had cried out all the tears she could. She couldn’t let this stand as it was. She had to put things right and back in their proper place. But how? She had already broken her word in so many ways.

    Oddly, she remembered the time that Moira tried to teach her to play a yarting. Oh how had Shalia hated learning the instrument, for it had seemed she would never quite understand how the finger placements or chords worked. And her fingers were so long…they always seemed as though they were getting tangled together. She continued to practice, every day, getting worse and worse it seemed, until the day she threw down the instrument onto the floor in frustration.

    “I’m never going to learn how to play this thing Moira! Never! I hate it!” said the little ten year old girl, crossing her arms in stubbornness.

    Moira sighed, putting down her own instrument, and picking up the one that had been thrown to the floor. “Are you always going to give up so easily?” Moira asked. The elderly woman took the child’s hands, and brought her to stand before her. “Just calm yourself my dear. Things aren’t as bad as you think.” Giving Shalia a reassuring smile, she gestured for her to sit on a nearby stool. Moira placed the instrument in Shalia’s hands, and moved the girl’s fingers to a more comfortable position. Guiding them in their movement across the strings, Moira then changing their placement producing a soft melody. The notes were beautiful and clear, resonating off of the cottage walls. “If you fail in one way my dear, then just find another,” said Moira, mussing Shalia’s hair.

    Shalia bounced her head on the back of the wall, deep in thought and frustration. Was she giving up too easily? She hadn’t thought so, but… Maybe there was something else she could do. Bounding off of the bed, she scanned the room, locating her pack. Finding a small sheet of parchment, a quill, and inkpot, she gathered the items in her arms, and sat on the floor, writing furiously. Stopping once or twice to reconsider the phrasing of a particular passage, she chewed on the bottom of her lip thoughtfully. Shaking her head in resignation, she wrote down the entire truth of the matter. Lies had gotten her into this terrible mess, and Sune help her she would avoid doing so again if it was possible. Completing the letter, she gathered her things into her pack, slinging it over her shoulder. Hurrying out of the Inn, she made her way through Peltarch in the direction of the Temple.

    If Priestess Daisy could some how send word to Durai’s mother within short time, then perhaps she could send a message to Aglarond in a quick manner as well, couldn’t she?

    Shalia carried her message into the temple, and asked the Priestess there for a favor.

    She hoped she would be able to keep her promise. If not this way, she would find another.