3. Into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war.

Into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war.


  • The Call

    _To Captain Charissa SeKore of the Lantanese Chapter,
    To Captain Dorn Telstaerr of the Cormyran Chapter,
    To Captain Morn Greyhide of the Waterdavian Chapter,
    To Captain Xandos Corynian of the Chessentan Chapter,
    To Captain So-Kehur Anskuld of the Mulhorandi Chapter,
    To Captain Aravilar Laelithar of the Battledalen Chapter,

    Brother-Captains,

    for more than a decade now, the shadow of the Fall of the Valley Forge has laid across our shoulders. Its loss is a constant reminder of the need for the utmost vigil, faith and determination. Yet every day the Valley Forge remains out of our hands, the cancer that has taken hold there grows, and further corrupts the history of our Brotherhood. The time has come to purge this stain off our banner, and to return this Hallowed House of Our Lord to His Glory.

    I say this, because in recent days and weeks, I have been sent visions of the state of the fortress. Its purpose corrupted from a stalwart bastion against the influence of Hated Talos, and a vault of Gifts, to a breeding pool of heresy and madness. Unspeakable horrors walk its corridors, and stride forth to bring darkness. Symbols of Purity and Progress lie shattered in blood-stained hallways, and bodies of the Elders before us lie broken and defiled. This, I have seen trough His eyes.

    I have spoken with the soul of Master Elias, Martyr of the Forge, who achieved Undying Glory in his valiant stand. His soul, and the souls of those who fell to the horde of monsters, cultists and traitors, are held from the Gates of Our Lord's House by the vile influence of the Abyss, that seeps into this world from the wound it has cut that day.

    This cannot be allowed to continue. We must bring all Flame to bear to Purge these vile creatures, and bring justice to those traitors. I call on you to join, that we may bring all Brothers and Sisters together, and cleanse the Valley Forge of the taint. This is our duty by Oath, which we cannot betray.

    To retreat from this battle, is to betray Our Lord.
    The Valley Forge MUST be cleansed, or we must die in the attempt.
    There can be only victory or death.

    In Service of The Lord,

    Dentin Strauss,
    Captain,
    Narfellan Chapter._


  • Why We Fight

    _Standing on the highest hill in the area, Dentin looks out across the crossroads. Watching the traders and adventurers below make their way, scurrying about from one errand to another.

    I have served my Lord for more than fourty years now. Without rest, peace or relieve. I have given myself completely to His divine cause and His church, forsaking marriage, children and a simple life of hard work during day, and peaceful joy at night. A life of farming, or blacksmithing perhaps. Without the burden of responsibility I carry now.
    If given the chance to redo my life, with what I know now, would I make the same choice? Would I choose again for a life of sacrifice?

    Snow begins to fall, renewing the already abundant white carpet that covers the pass. Aside from the muffled whisper of the northern wind, all is peaceful. The refugees have moved back into Norwick to rebuild, to prepare for the next challenge. There is always another challenge… another foe.. another deviant bent on destruction and mayhem.

    I could have found hapiness in those simple things. The feel of the sun, the touch of the wind and rain, the love of a good wife.. children..
    The simple satisfaction of cheese, roast and bread after a day of working the anvil, or the fields. Of sitting by the fireside and drinking to old and new friends. An uncomplicated life of peace. A life without orcs, goblins, marauders, demons and .. A better life. A life that does not need Sentinels, or other defenders.

    He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as the wind picked up, and something stirred. The sun was slowly setting, giving way to the night and the evils therein. The land seems to have an endless supply of them.

    And now I am preparing to set out.. to return to the Valley Forge…to face my destiny, and fulfill my Purpose. I pray that my Lord Gond will grant me the Strength to succeed. It will be the culmination of everything I have strived to accomplish.
    Personal strength, to better serve my Lord.
    The recruitment of more Brothers and Sisters, to better serve my Lord.
    Greater Knowledge and Insight, to better serve my Lord.
    All these things, will lead to this. One final battle, to restore light and hope to a desecrated place. To strike a blow to evil that will echo troughout the realms.
    After that day, death is no longer the obstacle it was. It will be the conclusion of a harsh life of service, and retirement, my works completed.

    A voice carried on the wind. A distant scream and the muffle of steel against steel. He took his warhammer and shield, and set down the slopes of the hill in its direction.

    Into the flames of battle once more, then. To ensure others will have the life I want. That they know what they have, and give thanks that they do.
    One day, there will be no more need for Sentinels. But this is not that day._


  • War

    _To Xandos Corynian, Captain of the Chessentan Chapter of the Sentinus Gondar.

    Brother-Captain,

    Once again I must express my gratitude at the Brothers and Sisters, and the equipment, you placed at my disposal. As you well know, the Narfellan Chapter is currently still undermanned, though new Initiates are steadily joining. The local population is too small to support a normal rate of recruitment though, and so I am forced to call on the reserves of other Chapters in times of great need.

    A time such as this, with an alliance of orcs, bugbears and giants having taken control of much of the south, and threatening the way further north. Though the general grouping of defenders has beaten back several offenses from the beastmen alliance since the begin of the war, the loss of Norwick has been a harsh one. Fortunately, one of the major powers of the alliance, the white dragon Sharn, has recently been slain, and we can expect the enemy command structure to at least suffer from this considerable loss. The projected outcome of the war has now shifted favorably, and the joined Troff Legion - Norwick Militia - Peltarch Defenders - Sentinels and various others are making final preparations to retake Norwick and push the orcs back out of the plains, and likely out of the land entirely.

    What this war does provide us with, is the experience that many of our Brothers and Sisters sorely need. Recently I have experienced a number of disturbingly clear visions regarding the Valley Forge, and my own relation to that holy place, that lead me to believe that the great battle the Sentinus as a whole has been preparing for ever since that cursed day, may be sooner than we think. Though I am not one for unsupported conjecture, I cannot deny the clarity of these visions. Perhaps Our Lord Gond deems the time right to begin our preparations.. much sooner than any of us had expected. If this is the case, than it must take priority over all. The Forge must be retaken, and the traitors therein must be Purged from very existence, for the Sentinels in the north to ever expand and succeed again.

    In Our Lord's Service,

    Captain Dentin Strauss
    Narfellan Chapter._


  • Inner Fire

    _"I ask you this then, Initiates.. who of you can grasp the fire and not be burned? Who of you understand the flame and knows it for what it is? Who of you can feel its heat and not fear?
    The Purging Flame must burn bright and hot within you, or you will find the rawest form of energy and life rejects you and consumes you."

    "Yes, life. What else is fire but a living thing? It breathes.. it feeds.. it grows.. it dies. Of all the elements, it is the one most living. It is the one that will most greatly affect its surroundings in the shortest amount of time. A fire's path may only be a short flicker in the life of a river, as it carves a way trough a mountain.. but is this not the very essence of our being.. of our humanity? The bright and short flare?

    Allow me to clarify by revealing to you the striking comparison between the Five Races of Creation, and the Five Elements.
    Dwarves, with their sturdy build, affinity for caverns and stone, and earthly demeanors and concern.. blessed by the Lord of Craft with metalwork, mining and stonecarving. Upon them, the element of Earth, has been bestowed.
    Elves, with their ancient and vast knowledge, the drive to ever wander and ever search for the hidden and lost, frail and flightly creatures, and masters of the bow. Blessed by the Lord of Craft with woodworking, bowyering and the other Crafts of the Woods. They remain true to the element of Wind.
    Gnomes. Rustic and peaceful, though swirling and ever-changing, they seek new paths and new things wherever they travel, and for this they are truly a favored people. Undisturbed by lesser offences, gnomes simply bear what they must and find a new path. The element of Water is theirs.
    The ancient and powerful Dragons, exist in many forms, colours, sizes and ideals. They fill beholders with both awe and terror, and legends are told as they become legends in their own right. They hold the element of Magic.
    And finally, the Humans. Short-lived, but we are more than a match for the others. Fire is our element and our blessing, and our Inner Fire burns bright and hot with ambition and drive. Some fires dull as they age, others grow to consume their hosts. Yet there are those who master their Inner Fire, and draw from it a strength unseen by the other races, and even other humans. These few will have their Inner Fire become a white-hot blaze of rightious fury, strength and devotion, and its heat burns outward, strong enough to enforce the obedience of lesser flames.

    So learn this lesson well. Fire an uncompromising force, that has no tolerance for the fearful or the hesitant. But to those who master their Inner Fire, and with it augment their radiant Faith, the Fire becomes an honoured ally, and the final custodian of one's mortal remains."_


  • The Hall of Giants

    _The wind was cold and harsh, blowing snow down the mountainside in a neverending torrent of shattering frost. So cold, it goes straight trough armor and flesh and into bones. Every breath taken is a breath of cold poison, freezing one's lungs more every time, exhaling less warmth every time. So intense, it flows trough your veigns.. your skin crumbles with frostbite.

    He loved this place. Near the summit of the coldstone mountains, now. Not even the frost giants left their caves during the frequent storms, yet he would not think the same of the mountains if the storms were less harsh. He took slow steps forward as the winds lashed at him, ever onwards towards the summit, ever further north, ever deeper into the storm. He was alone. He would not have any others on this.
    All need to replenish their soul once and again. Some feast, some read, some sit by the fire in thought. To him, it was wading into what may yet be the most vicious blizzard that could be found, even this far north. If he died here, non would ever find him.. he would die away from the very towns he was supposed to protect.. there was nothing out here but a windswept wasteland, filled with edges that led to razorsharp, frostcleft rocks. And he loved this place.
    He loved the city as well, as he did most cities and towns. Testiments to the people's determination to build, regardless of the conditions. But to be here now and again, was a challenge of his own will. To stand in the direst of conditions against anything the furies could throw at him.. a landbound Valkur.

    Valkur. An example to many, in his eyes. A mere mortal, he had challenged the fury of the Bitch Queen.. and won. Divinity was his reward. A god of sailors, though this was not why he felt a great respect for Valkur. It was the fact that Valkur spoke of rebellion against the Furies, of steely determination and defiance of their primordial might. Not to tremble in fear at their coming, but to stand tall and laugh in their face.. to challenge those dark gods. Where Gond opposes their Destruction with Creation, Valkur opposes their Fear with Courage.

    He turned to face the winds, staring into the heart of the storm and raised his voice, shouting defiance…
    Is that all, Frostmaiden?! Is this all you can bring to bear?! Are you truly this pitiful?! A godess of cold drafts?! Have you come to see the Truth?! Come for me!!
    The winds roared. The worst storm the mountains had seen in years grew greater still, shards of ice tearing apart trees and rocks and bearing down on the lone man with all the twisted fury of the godess._


  • Lesser Gods

    _Initiates gained. A few new potentials that may yet become Oathsworn Brothers one day. Though they still have a long way to go towards becoming true Sentinels, it is good to know that there are some on this frontier that see the necessity for the Sentinels, and that see the Glory of Gond. For too long I have stood alone in His service, and I would welcome new Brothers.

    Allies lost. Seperated from the Shield and from the Guardians, over a damnable scroll. There was nothing left but action. Words had failed. I sacrificed allies and friendship in one bold step. I do not regret my actions, as it would be pointless. I only regret the fact that Zoma and Ragnhild did not make the correct decision as soon as it was necessary to make it, and forced my hand. Both groups mostly ignore my presence now, which may be a fortunate circumstance. Last I need now is to have minions of lesser gods watching my every step, let alone act against me, or the Chapter. Let them the illusion that they are the right and just ones.
    Let them continue to hide behind their thin and ill-defined code. Let them make their claims of glory and victory.
    Gond knows the Truth. Trough Him, the Sentinus knows the Truth. Trough Him, I know the Truth.

    And the Truth is that they ultimately fail.
    Evil rises because Kelemnvorans command burial, not the cleansing flame.
    Evil festers because Tyrans allow it to hide behind evil-set laws.
    Evil acts because because Helmites stand, watch and do nothing.
    Evil prevails because Tormtar are united in a knighthood of incompetence, and duty to ignorance.

    Evil is laid low when common folk unite against their influence. Evil is Purged when His Sentinels, the People's Keepers, bring all their might to bear and Cleanse its taint, once and for all. No sword can be forged of rusted metal. No city can rise on rotten foundations. No man can grow when he is deseased. Burn out the rot, and right will prevail. Nothing but a complete Purge suffices, for even a single seed will spawn a forest of evil.

    Heed these words well, Brothers. I would rather stand with a dozen blessed of the Keeper than a thousand warriors of the lesser gods. The Others cannot be trusted, in person, words and actions. Steel your soul against their honeyed tongues that speak of all they do, and how necessary they are, and see in Truth what little they accomplish, and how trivial they are. For too long we have stood and tolerated their lies and incompetence, and it is time to rise up and take our fates in our own hands, for the sake of those we love, and the sake of those who come after us._


  • Corruption

    _The Sentinus is crumbling beneath the weight of its duties, the deaths of Brothers and Sisters, and internal strive. What was once an initiative filled with hope and promise has rusted into a standstill, desperately clinging to old ways that have proven faulty. Every moon another report of failures and conflicting orders arrives, only to deteriorate into yet another, worse, situation by the next moon.
    Though it shames me as well, I feel fortunate to be away from the main body of the Sentinus, on this eastern frontier, as I would only have been drawn into the petty politics and rantings that have replaced the Sentinel's calling. At least here, I can perform my duties in relative ease, staying true to the ideology and goals of the Sentinus, even if I do stand alone in doing so. Perhaps this, is why I have chosen to be squired, and ultimately knighted, into the Order of the Divine Shield. The title of Knighthood is meaningless to me, though it symbolises an accomplishment. I will have proven that Gond has a place amongst the Preserving Deities yet, and personally it will be a goal to accomplish, to Forge myself into yet a better servant of His Glory.

    Paladins. Their oath is both their strength and their weakness. It gives them easy guidelines, and they have learned to adhere to it without a fault, or fail in their Purpose. But it also blinds them. It seems almost Pride whenever one decides against working with others, because they have the impression their would-be allies are tainted by evil.

    Evil. Can they even define it? Half of who they claim to be evil are hardly so. Often eccentric and possibly a minor threat, they seem to fall more into a grey area. Yet paladins seem to see only in absolutes of light and darkness. If a person does not adhere strictly and completely to their morals, they are declared evil.. to be avoided, watched and if necessary, slain. How does this render them different from Banites, who would impose their will upon all free men and women, yet do so much more overtly? I have seen Banites fight as hard as any paladin to preserve their homes. Ultimately, what makes Banites more likely to be Evil by the True Definition, is their methods. The raising of undead and the ritual slaying of innocents for power. Aside from these crimes, they pose a relatively minor threat, aside from a few truly deviant members. Rulers rise and fall, yet ultimately our civilisation must be preserved, regardless of who rules it._


  • The Flood

    _"Stormcaller".
    Dentin gritted his teeth, bracing himself for another wave. He stood on the docks, as the wind roared about him and the waves crashed onto the docks, into the houses. Already, the water was sweeping into the streets. He heaved and pulled, calling to Gond for strength as he pulled the ship back against the dock. Some of the workers called back from the stone, calling him to the relative safety of the streets.. calling of what a fool he was.. was he really going to stand against what was likely the worst storm ever to come to Peltarch?
    Of course. He could do no less. He could not be everywhere, and already some ships had been lost, some sailors pulled out into the open waters. But this ship, would not be one of them. He braced and heaved, finally managing to pull the ship back against the dock, tying it down. Just in time before the next wave -the worst one yet- crashed into the docks, and smashed side of the very ship he had risked his life to save. Failure.
    He cursed Talos. He cursed Umberlee. And he cursed whatever deviant was chanting over the wind.

    The streets were flooding. Crates and goods were floating about everywhere, as the water flowed into the houses, and people made their way to high places. Defenders and guards scurried about, bringing sandbags to places not yet completely flooded. An almost meaningless struggle as the water continued to rise, the wind soared about the buildings and lightning flashed across the sky. He found a small raft, and dragged it back to the main street of the docks, to the line of men and women bringing in the sandbags. The sandbags were loaded onto the raft, and then Dentin dragged the loaded raft back, across the district. At this time, it was no longer a matter of wading. Several dwarves were swimming, desperately trying to find the nearest place that offered footing. Dentin managed to get a hold of one, dragging the raft with his left arm.. and holding the dwarf above water with the other. His aging muscles burned, crying out for mercy.
    "Gond.. meit Masplie splehn ish "
    He called for strength in the tongue of the Holy Land, yet knew that he would have to accomplish this by himself. He would have it no other way. Stormcallers may expect their deity to do their dark deeds for them.. but he was not as arrogant and lazy to assume this. Gond would not simply erect a great wall to stop the waves. He would not simply dispel the weather.
    As so many situations, this was another test of his faith. Would he abandon his duty, or would he carry on and work against the storm, until his legs would carry him no more, and the waters would swallow him…
    Finally, as dawn came.. the storm ended, and the waters slowly withdrew, leaving streets covered in mud. The city had endured. Though some had been lost to the storm, the people had united against the careless destruction. The buildings still stood strong, and damage was minimal. It filled him with pride, to be allowed to serve Gond. He, who had granted the people the knowledge of construction. Who had given the people strength, to stand against the storm.
    It will take more than mere water and wind, to bring down the Glory that is Gond.

    Not soon after, angry shouts. An umberlant priestess had dared to wander into the docks, proclaiming this to be the wrath of her goddess. Claiming that the only way to end the storm was to drown sacrifices to appease her. In response, a variety of vegetables had been thrown at her.
    Know your place, stormcaller. Those who bring Destruction invite it upon themselves.
    Oh, how he had wished to use his remaining strength to drown this woman in an act of pure irony. To show her the truth about the uncaring and spiteful deity she claimed to serve. Yet, he shook of those thoughts.
    The city stands, yet the people have suffered. To abandon them in favor of a quest of vengeance, is to abandon duty.. to betray Gond.

    He set out to bring supplies.. food, bandages, clothes, tents.. from the market to the docks. An aid station had been set up near the bridge. Many people were homeless, their houses flooded. It would take weeks before everything was restored to normal. And he would be there, every step of the way.
    "We have suffered a setback, yet we have done so before. It could be far worse, yet the city will endure and carry on. For being allowed to walk the streets freely, the Umberlants have attacked the city nontheless. Whatever happens now, is, as usual, for the Senate to decide. In the meantime, let us not cower in fear of the Bitch Queen. You have all accomplished too much to simply give it away now."_


  • On Magic and Invention: II

    _It has been noted that great use of magic power stresses the Weave, and can lead to fluctuations and disturbances known as Wild Magic. In areas where the abuse is extreme, the Weave may cease to function entirely, creating Dead Magic areas.

    The Weave does not only serve as a conduit to access raw arcane magic, yet is also used by the divines to channel their blessings and power into the mortal realms. Also, in Dead Magic areas, magical powersources of Invention cease to function, their power quickly drained by the surrounding null magic, in a process similar to the principle of connected bodies of water.

    Dead Magic areas can be disturbing for those focused on the use of the Weave, yet they are areas that give us a view of the future. With Existence no longer dependant on magic to sustain itself, the decline and ultimate dissapearance of magic, and the Weave, is a slow yet sure process.

    Life will still flourish in these areas as it can, and Invention and Knowledge will provide any and all solutions necessary to any problems that may arise. This change, however, should not occur over the course of a mere days, for an instant and complete loss of all magic would currently lead to cataclysmic results. Rather, a slow change will ease this change, and give us time to adapt to the change.

    Many can envision the non-presence of arcane magic, yet many consider what the result would be on the divines. Without the Weave, they would be unable to channel their blessings and power to their priests and servants, and most assume this would mean the end of the gods.
    This, however, could not be further from the truth.
    Firstly, a god's power is determined by the faith of its followers. Trough a process currently unknown, a god's power increases as the number of followers, and the strength of those follower's faith, increases. This process, however, does not include the access to the Weave, since the Weave can only be accessed trough a conscious effort. If the Weave would fail, the gods would still be able to exist, provided their followers hold true to their faith. However, the results would vary from deity to deity, and it is likely that deities focused on magic, such as Mystra, Azuth and Velsharoon would suffer greatly from the absence of magic, and would likely dissapear.

    Secondly, a deities power decreases whenever he or she channels her power, trough the Weave, into the mortal realms and onto her servants. It is for this reason that most priests should exercice an amount of restraint when requesting blessings, for doing so is requesting a deity to lessen the absolute existing power it has. Of course, a wise priest will ensure that the investment of power is not wasted, and will ultimately result in an advance of the deity's goals and power.
    If the Weave would dissapear, this would mean that deities could no longer channel their power into their priests, provided they do not discover another way of doing so. This would lead deities to posess only an "income" of power (trough faith), and no "expense" of power (trough their priests). The exact consequences of this are up to debate, and at this time too distant and vague to truly describe.

    The Conclusion would be, that the loss of the Weave would acceptable and not quite as disastrous as some devotees of magic would have one believe, provided the change is gradual, to allow for an adaptation of the mortal races to this change, and for Invention and Knowledge to provide suitable solutions or alternatives for problems which are currently solved by purely magical means._


  • A Question of Faith

    _To have come this far.. only to fail now?
    No.. it cannot end this way.. it -will- not end this way.
    The acid flowed into his armor, his flesh being devoured away, his body crippled.. yet he would not die. He would not die as long as he did not accept to die.

    What should have been an easy venture - a routine search for hidden knowledge or craft - turned to disaster. He and the paladin Elenwyd had punched trough the fortress' outer defenses with ease, yet at the inner sanctum, they were countered. A massive hobgoblin of obvious authority bore down on the two and cleaved trough armor and flesh with ease. Retreat was the only option. Dying in this battle would be pointless. Elenwyd ran away, out of sight.. he dragged himself back towards the entrance.. blood pouring out of the breaches in his armor, his vision blurred.. and then the sudden shift of gravity. He fell down into maze below, shattering his left arm.
    Bite down the pain.. there will be time for it later.. on your feet!
    He managed to rise to his feet, leaning against the wall of the dark corridor.. he could only see ahead for a short distance -too short-.. and already he could hear the closing snarls of the hunting cats closing. His blessings had already been spent..
    Damn that paladin.. And all their worthless kin.. Gond's blessings kept you alive, woman.. yet where is Torm to aid me, now?
    He shook off the thought, reaching for a potion on his belt.. spider blood. Ignoring its rank taste, he poured it into his throat, feeling it mix with the blood from his lungs, coughing and gurgling, yet managing to swallow most of it. He felt what little strength he had left doubled.. and set off to find his way home..
    Focus.. Stay alert.. that way… this turn now.
    Three cats appeared from the darkness ahead.. he gritted his teeth, clasping the handle of his warhammer. He may be crippled, but he was far from defenseless yet.. the first cat learned this, as it fell in one blow, its skull crushed. The second clawed for his leg, its claws leaving the tell-tale mark of a rake, yet took a fatal blow to the shoulder, and it limped off.
    The third one considered its position, before deciding to let his prey wear itself out in the tunnels, and retreating into the darkness.

    Finally, he managed to reach the end of the maze.. opening the door. He had been here before.. he remembered the way.. vaguely.
    The tunnels were empty.. fortunate… he advanced slowly, keeping his mind focused on the task ahead.
    Focus.. Stay alert.. that way… this turn now. Gond.. almost there now..

    He sped up his pace.. became careles… his mind was already outside.. he reached for the last door, hearing the tell-tale click only vaguely.. before realising he had made a mistake..
    To have come this far.. only to fail now?
    No.. it cannot end this way.. it -will- not end this way.
    The acid flowed into his armor, his flesh being devoured away, his body crippled.. yet he would not die. He would not die as long as he did not accept to die.
    I will not die here. My faith is stronger than that.. I am stronger than that.

    Am I?_


  • The Design

    _It should have been my battle. My victory.
    Yet apparantly, it was not to be, in The Design.

    The talassan priest, which had been raiding the village of Jiyyd for several weeks, sending storms and worgs to assault the villagers and those who would stand in his path. And every time he had escaped the Purge.
    This time he had come to the Sisterhood house.. sent his hounds, coming from the orc lands. I sought him out, alone.. left the care of the House to others.. left the main battle for others to fight. It would have been my fight.. and I would gain victory alone, for His Glory. Yet there was nothing to be found with the orcs. And when I returned to the Sisterhood House, the Stormcaller had already been slain. Nothing remained but a pile of ash, and an enchanted cloak, which one of the Sisters was all too eager to claim as her own. I remain wary, as this victory seems almost too easily gained, yet it seems that this Destroyer has indeed been Purged.
    It should have been my battle.
    –-
    There was the Creation of Master Wonderworker Fitzbingle Fernfernil, which was completed with the aid of Genevieve and myself, resulting in a soaring flight of counts, yet counts that shall be in my memory forever, Gond willing. Genevieve, insecure and youthful though she may be, is proving to be a greatly talented and skilled Technician, as she refers to herself. If not for her, our flight may have proven to be disastrous. Perhaps this is what Sir Elias meant when he told me "Youth would pass me by".

    The Chapel will soon be completed.
    I am a Sentinel. A priest -battlepriest-, yes. But I am a Sentinel. If Gond wills it, I will retire my Knighthood to serve Him, His faithful and The People as a temple priest.. yet the thought of leaving the Hammer for such a life, holding daily services to the masses, and spending the other hours of the day, tinkering and reading away in the library.. is almost unimaginable. I am a warrior of a holy cause, destined to fall on the field of battle, not to waste away in bed.
    Yet, ultimately the choice will be that of Gond, and His Design._


  • Shadow

    _There is a woman in this land, Linah I would believe she is called. Usually silent and unnoticable, she could stand dressed in black in a snow-covered plains at noon, and one would still not notice her. It is as if the shadows themselves warp and change to conceal her. It leaves me with a great mixture of thoughts. On one hand, she moves with undeniable grace, her blades a whirlwind of steel cleaving trough exposed flesh, striking swiftly and certainly, and then fading away again to leave only wonder. On the other hand, it is the stuff of nightmares, of shadows come to live to strike down the living, of an existence that lies around every corner and waits patiently for that one mistaken step.

    It is good to know that I have not yet faced her in battle, for to face her would not be a straight-forward battle of faith and strength. It would require guile, perception, deception and insight. I am not trained to fight such things, and the ways of shadows are forever foreign to me.
    And yet she has proven herself to be a capable, if enigmatic, aid. It was in the most recent attack on Norwick, as vast amounts of goblins and bugbears assaulted the town. As they scaled the walls, I ventured out, followed by Mark to dispose of the ladders, yet found myself quickly outnumbered by a great amount of bugbear warriors. Though I had no problem in dealing with one of their kind at a time, their sheer numbers battering away at my armor and shield was enough to give me pause and consider retreat. That is, had it not been for the timely intervention of this Linah, the woman of shadows. She seemed to step from one bugbears shadow into the next, fading in and out of the light and she cut and whirled her way trough the mass of Destroyer flesh. Those bugbears that attempted to face this new attack, found nothing but air, her form having already departed and reappeared on another flank. With my own strenght, durability and faith, and her shadowy skills and precise strikes, what had seemed an overwhelming mass of bugbears was reduced to nothing but decaying flesh within counts.

    I can do nothing but respect one of such prowess, and such exotic skill. Though I doubt I will ever master her shadowstep, and every experience of her leaves me with a certain hesitation, it is for the first in what is likely the entirety of my life that I feel a certain wonder, and indeed dread, at something that is not Craft, nor Creation._


  • On Magic and Invention: I

    _Magic is a raw force, that lays across the worlds of the many different planes, connecting them together. This force can be tapped trough a conduit known as The Weave. Merely trough an effort of will, any with talent or skill can use the Weave to create a variety of effects. To create a particular effect, one must focus on creating the desired effect, and doing so is aided by gestures and spoken words. Though often considered to be the foundations of any spell, they merely serve to focus the mind for the task at hand.

    Let us also be clear on the wording of the created effects. Fire created by spell is not magical fire, but is magically created fire. For all intents and purposes, it shares the exact same properties as a fire created trough non-magical means. Magically created lightning has the same properties as that which appears naturally. It is true, however, that at this moment magic still allows for many effects, such as instantanious healing, raising dead and planar traval, which are as yet not capable trough non-magical means. Though magic is an integral part of all of Creation, every magically created effect, even minor ones, disturb the natural course of things. And thus, use of magic should be limited, and should be accessed with care.

    Invention is using Knowledge and Understanding to create tools that allow certain effects to be created without the use of magic, or with limited use of magic, usually in the form of a power source. Where Magic is a stagnant force that has not evolved since its birth, Invention has been under constant change and evolution, providing solutions to problems. One must look further than the great gnomish creations to understand Invention.
    Even mere clothing is nothing but a basic Invention. Everything created by mortals has been an Invention. As new Knowledge is gathered, Invention follows in its wake, providing solutions to ever more complex problems, and reducing the need for purely magical solutions. Where magic was once a dominant force, it has dwindled to a position where it is usually responsible for more problems than solutions.
    Also, as Invention rises above the level of Magic in status, the balance of power will shift. Where once those gifted with magical skill were considered fit to rule, for the sole reason of the power they wielded, those of magic focus in these days have found themselves at odds with the wielders of Invention. Many examples of this can be quoted, and can be found in every single aspect of existence._


  • Dawn of the Metal Age

    _Much is happening lately. Almost too much to keep track of it all. First there was the adventure that Zoma, Ragnhild and others had had.. they had been chosen to pilot great machines into battle. Oh, how I had wanted to have been there. To become one and guide such an engine, to be safe in its metal womb, and lay waste to His enemies. It would have been glorious. Alas, it was not meant to be.

    Then the coming of the Machinist. A man, driven mad by grief. Dangerous yet to be respected, for his knowledge. The Machinist has given me a metal leg - adamantine even, it seems - to find a way to make his children immortal. I could not help wondering whether what the Machinist said was true and just. We have always depended on tools to elevate ourselves and overcome our natural flaws. If such a tool would aid us to overcome disease and death, would such not be a natural evolution?

    And then the Mechanists.. another faction, and of such great advances. Committed to destroying arcana and the divine alike. There may have been something to their actions against the arcane, yet their exact actions are what makes them a threat. The arcane is an aging and declining tool, and this will not change as more and more shifts to Invention. I was certainly impressed by their ability to fly. An old dream, realised only by magic. There had been a few Inventions, yet they did not provide the stability for any meaningful flight. Perhaps he would be able to salvage one of the devices and learn its secrets.

    And then there is still the progress with the Chapel, and the search for the crystal for the Amulet.

    Yes, things are indeed busy._


  • Mercy
    _He hesitated. It should have been clear enough, and yet it wasn't.
    The demonkin was in front of him. Cornered. The hammer lay firmly in his hand, and a single strike would end her presence on this plane.
    And yet he hesitated.

    Behind, Zoma and Ragnhild were fighting the three hunters. They threw in their lot with the girl that had nearly destroyed their bond.
    The hunters' intentions had been clear, and reasonable.
    She was demonkin.
    She had to be destroyed.
    Their kind will not be tolerated.

    It was in the oath he took as a Knight of the Sentinus.
    "Oppose and Slay the Harbingers of Destruction".
    It was clear enough a tenent, and definitly applicable to demonkin. And here was one before him, her existence about to end.

    And yet he could not bring himself to it.
    She was a young girl. A half-fiend. She cowered before him, eyes full of fear as she looked up at her executioner.
    Gond, it should have been so easy. Why that look? Why that pleading stare, begging him for mercy?
    Behind him, Ragnhild and Zoma finished the hunters. If he was to slay her, he would have to do it now. And it would likely result in having to fight two close friends.

    He lowered his hammer. Letting her live. Risking her escape. Risking her evil ways.
    If he was wrong, he would have betrayed his oath.
    If he was right, he would have showed mercy. Forsaking mercy, the first step towards evil.
    He stepped back, let her go, tending to the wounds of Ragnhild and Zoma. If she betrayed this act of mercy.. he would find her. The girl quickly stood up and ran away. Perhaps for the best, because he doubted his choice still.

    And he would not stop asking himself, searching for an answer in prayer, if he had made the right choice.
    Not for many days._


  • Uncaring Reprise
    "It feels better now. It is not Gond that holds me back, that does not care. It is myself. Gond does not control the man I am, as I am to forge myself, and not be arrogant in my expectation of Gond making of my self and my life of whatever I wish it to be, merely because I serve Him. The things I do, no matter how small, matter. It is with some chagrin, yet amusement, that after all my prayer and searching, it was young Gaerielle's improvised song which made me realise such.
    The losses which the world suffers, are reminders of the necessity of hard work. Though it is currently flawed, one day the whole of existence will have been perfected as Gond wishes it to be."
    And that is a comforting thought.


  • Uncaring
    _"I thought it was different. All my life I have served Gond. I believed that what I did was good, true and necessary. Almost fourty years I worked to attain Knighthood, and yet it means nothing. It does not make me a better man. The Order has been almost completely destroyed, and the title of Knight of the Faithful Hammer means nothing to those not in the Sentinus, of which there are non other here.
    Have I fallen short? Have I failed to attend my duties, my prayers, my protection of craft? Have I become a soldier of the city, falling in wrong focus?
    No matter what I do, no matter how hard I fight, no matter how strong my faith is, it never seems enough. People die only feet away from me, despite being a supposed healer. Destruction comes to the places I step, despite my actions to guard them from such.
    I have so many questions and yet Gond does not answer. I have given my entire life to His cause, just and true. At least, I belief it to be so. And yet now I lack guidance. I died to an animal. If my faith, my dedication is not strong enough to even stand against such a base creature…
    In the last moment as it tore me apart, I realised that I have nothing in this life.
    My mother and father are dead. I was on my pilgrimage to Lantan when they died. I did not turn back. I choose Gond.
    I have no wife nor children. I travelled from city to city in His service, and considered such things distractions. I choose Gond.
    I have no true friends but travel companions and battle brothers, relationships of utility. I am focused on my duties, and smalltalk is a meaningless distraction. I choose Gond.

    And so I am left with nothing but a stay in a foreign city and crumbling faith. Not even in death was I worthy of his attention. Only Selune and Torm offered to return me, which I accepted.
    I search my Derigae, I pray and I plead, and yet there is no guidance.

    I stand alone in service of a distant, uncaring god."_


  • The Fall of the Valley Forge: Chapter V: Seperation

    _The local temple of Chauntea, little more than a shrine, did its best to treat the many wounded as best as possible. Four days passed, and there was no sign or word of any stray survivors of the Forge. There was also no sighting of the ravaging horde, which was welcome news. The enemy force had likely disbanded, having taken their prize and sated their bloodlust. Dentin had recovered from his fatigue, and minor wounds. The local blacksmith had tended to his armor as best as he could, despite his limited skill.

    The peaceful town reminded Dentin much of his old home, and he thanked Gond that it was spared of the same destruction that had come to the Valley Forge. His mind was filled with questions, and for the first time he doubted Gond. Why had Gond not intervened? Why had so many good men and women been lost, and for what purpose? Why was all the marvel and craft of the Forge swept aside in a matter of days? He thought and prayed, yet was given no answers. Things are hardly ever that simple.

    There was the scream of a woman, and the soft thuds of an approaching creature, that broughta shimmer of hope to the broken remains of the Order. The Faithful One had survived, dented and damaged as it may have been. The horde had indeed dispersed, and scattered into woods and valleys. The cultists, however, remained. They had claimed the Forge as their own, and had begun converting it into something else. A dark temple, or worse.

    The following evening, Dentin met with Lady Alenatha, the sole remaining Master of the Faithful Hammer, and the other Sentinels. It was a strange gathering. Several humans, an elven scout, a dwarven smith, a gnomish tinker and the Faithful One. There was great sorrow amongst them, yet there was little time and place for it. The craftsmen had begun returning to their homes. Although the Sentinels did not wish to see them off unguarded, they were too many to protect, and a large group might have attracted further unwanted attention. It was finally decided, that the Order would travel to Cormyr, and seek out their kin of the Purging Flame, gathering allies and new members on the way. Then, when they were ready, and not before, they would return to retake the Valley Forge. Perhaps not in this generation, but the Forge would be retaken.

    Dentin, however, was given a different assignement. Lady Alenatha asked him to return to Narfell. He was to return to the city of Peltarch, and represent Gond there, and the surrounding land. Despite their loss, they could not forget their duty. As long as even one of them endured, the Order of the Hammer would continue to serve Gond, and defend Creation as best as it could. Narfell was also relatively near to Damarra, and so an agent there would be in an ideal position, to gather allies with similiar beliefs of the Order, and to prepare for the day that Gond would return to the Valley Forge. Dentin was reluctant to abandon the already battered group, yet he accepted the wisdom of the Lady, and he understood that his purpose lay in Narfell. And so the following morning he gathered a few supplies, not willing to drain the village any further, and set off once more towards Narfell. Two days along the way, he managed to join with a caravan, and with them arrived at the eastern border only a week later._


  • The Fall of the Valley Forge: Chapter IV: Hall to Hall

    _The Sentinels retreated into the fortress, many groups finding themselves cut off from the others as they made a stand inside the halls and corridors. Several groups were never heard from again, their position overrun and the survivors carved up under maniacal laughter, while other of the monsters bickered about who earned what piece of loot.

    It was a battle of barricading, holding, retreating and barricading once more. Although the plan was succesful to an extent, sooner or later the enemy always overran the set positions, either by sheer numbers or by the destructive power of mages. Dentin was in the same group as Sir Elias and Lady Alenatha. Two of the other Masters were nowhere to be found,
    and the remaining one was fighting on another end of the fortress. The Faithful One was with them, and despite having some trouble navigating the corridors, he proved invaluable in holding ground. Days went on, and almost a week had passed since the initial attack. The Order's men and women were exhausted, food and supplies were scarce, and wounded and dying were everywhere. Yet something continued to drive the savage
    horde on. As another hall was abandoned, and a retreat called, Dentin caught a glimpse of a strange man, seeming out of place in the enemy forces. Tall, wearing an elaborate dark robe with the same symbols as the other cultists, he may have been a high priest, or powerful mage. He stood silently, watching the onslaught. A commander, perhaps.

    Few halls remained between the enemy horde and the Grand Hall of the Valley Forge. The remaining Masters pulled back from the battle briefly, conversing for a moment, before nodding grimly. They then called the nearest Knights, including Dentin, to them.
    "This is a losing battle. Our priority is to ensure the civilians are given the time they need not escape out the hidden passage, that leads from the Grand Hall to the hinterland. We need to hold the Grand Hall long enough for all to escape, and then collapse the passage behind us. Dentin, you are the most capable demolitionist here, your task is to collapse the passage in time. We must hold the Hall long enough for all to escape. This is a dark day for the Order, but we shall return to retake this place, in time. Now go."
    All nodded to Lady Alenatha's words, and then rushed off to proceed with the plan."

    Supplies and weapons, including some new and experimental designs, were salvaged from the storages and armory bordering the Grand Hall. Kegs of explosive powder were carefully rolled out and into the hall.
    Lady Alenatha pulled a few conceiled levers in a specific order, and the machine that had been working for years connected with the final parts, as it slowly opened the doorway to a hidden passage at the back of the Grand Hall. Dentin and a few others rolled the kegs into corridor. The hidden passageway lead to a series of caves, which would ultimately lead to the other side of the mountain, and freedom.

    As the Sentinels struggled to maintain the barricades, the simple peasants and crafters were hurried in and trough the passage. Only a few remained when one of two barricades leading to the Grand Hall was blasted aside by a magic discharge. The evil creatures started pouring into the hall like water, only to be brushed aside by the Faithful One. The mighty construct strode into the corridor and beyond, crushing anything in his path, and was soon out of sight. No more came from that direction, yet it would not be long before the other barricade would be destroyed as well.

    The wounded were still being sent into the passageway when it finally collapsed, and this time there was no grand machine standing in the path of swirling mass of blades, flesh, blood and howls. The men and women unfortunate enough to be close to the entrance were cut down as the horde advanced into the Grand Hall.

    The enemy was close behind, and the Sentinels were slowed by fatigue and wounded, as they travelled trough the passageway. They would be overrrun, without the time to collapse the passageway. And so Sir Elias ordered his men on, and turned to face the enemy. Dentin saw his plan, and rushed to his side, but was shoved back by the aging man.

    "It's my time, lad. I'm old. This'll be a good death, a Knight's death. Make it matter."
    There was only a brief moment of silence, before Dentin rushed off with the remaining Knights, into the darkness of the caves. As he turned the first corner of the passageway corner, he could see his mentor fighting the enemy horde, proud and strong as he had always been, the last bastion of defense amongst a hall tainted with blood and pain. A true Knight of the Faithful Hammer, he would be remembered for many years to come.

    With only seconds to spare, the kegs were lit. A rumbling was heard far as the passage collapsed on top of the first of the cultists to charge into the passageway to finish their slaughter. There was a brief sigh of relief amongst those standing in the first of the caves, as the howls and screams had gone silent for the first time in days.
    Most of the common folk had survived the onslaught, yet only a dozen Sentinels survived. Lady Alenatha, Dentin, two other knights and a handful of Disciples and Acolytes. All wore the tattered remains of the armor, stained in blood and dirt. For the next three days, the group of survivors slowly advanced trough the caves. Some of the wounded did
    not live to see the other side. Some wandered off to dissapear in the darkness. Finally, they saw sunlight once more. The village of Trinal lay at the base of the mountain.
    And finally, there was some rest. The villagers welcomed the battered group, and provided what they could, yet they were disturbed to hear of the fall of the Valley Forge, a bastion of safety and light against a savage, dark world not so long ago.
    After all had been given a place, and supplies had been distributed, Dentin finally laid to rest in simple bed, provided by a kindly old man. His muscles had screamed for rest for days, no longer able to bear the weight of his armor, and it had been only discipline and iron will keeping him upright. His sleep was filled with the horrors of the past battle, the past days having been a wound which would take long to heal, and the scar would never fade._


  • The Fall of the Valley Forge: Chapter III: Overrun

    When he entered the courtyard once more, he came upon chaos. The first wave of the enemy had already reached the fortress and was pouring into the courtyard. The Knights and Disciples had formed ranks and were fighting a desperate struggle to keep the vile orcs, goblins, trolls, human cultists and many more at bay, as the common craftsmen, peasants, many women and children, were rushed to the relative safety of the
    Grand Hall, the strongest structure of the entire fortress, dug deep into the mountain side. Dentin hurried trough the line, meeting the Master Elias, who was busy shouting orders and directing
    the defense.
    "Master, the gate mechanism has been damaged in an act of sabotage. Dark cultists infiltrated and murdered the sentries, along with any who travelled in… I alone survived."
    "Damn this act of betrayal. Dentin, I need you to activate the warmachines, and seek The Faithful One. We need their strength to hold back this onslaught. Now hurry!"
    And with that, Dentin rushed off into the armory. He found the heavily armored warmachines, lined up neatly in their bays. A half-orb on the warmachines' chest responded to a matching half-orb on his left armplate as he touched each machine in time. Power started flowing trough the constructs,and one by one they came alive.
    "Machines. The courtyard has been invaded. Defend the Valley Forge. Destroy the Invaders."
    Responding as one, the machines strode out of their bays and into the courtyard, where they joined the battle. Their massive strength sent many of the vile creatures flying about, and the line held for now. He then rushed trough the different corridors of the fortress, passing Sentinels and civilians alike, each trying to make sense of the attack and do what they could. Wounded were lined up outside a small chapel, and dedicated healers were hard at work. Finally, he reached another hall. And there stood The Faithful One. A strange construct, he had arrived at the Valley Forge some years ago, and displayed a strange amount of intelligence
    and perception for a construct. Research had been conducted on his origins, but had turned up little, and the Faithful One remained silent on the matter. The accepted theory was that he was an ancient Netherese construct, who had somehow survived the fall and wandered about the shadows of the world ever since. This seemed to be the only reasonable situation, as even the most knowledgeable could not explain his incredible complicated build, and basic personality. His voice was deep and metal, as a machine would sound.
    "Dentin of Strauss. I greet you. Long have you left my sight."
    "It has been long, Faithful One. The Valley Forge is being invaded. We need your strength."
    "Direct me."
    "The courtyard. Report to Master Elias"
    "I shall."
    And with that, the massive construct strode off, followed closely by Dentin, as they headed back into the courtyard.

    Once there, things seemed even more grim. Two of the machines had already been destroyed. Mages were casting powerful magic, obliterating entire clusters of Sentinels at once. Demons were summoned, rending trough solid plate with ease. Two of the mighty warmachines had already been disabled, laying on the cobble of the courtyard as helpless as the next heap of metal. The screams of those dying were evident over the roar of battle. The line had advanced further into the courtyard, crossing it by two thirds, and yet there seemed to be no end to the amount of enemies pouring in trough the gates. Dentin fought to sir Elias, granting healing to those he passed and needed it, killing those who stood in his way. The Faithful One followed, and as he entered the battle, for a moment it almost seemed his mere presence was enough to convince the enemy to flee, yet that moment quickly passed despite the ancient construct crushing all in his path with chilling ease. Wherever he walked, the tide of the battle was turned, yet he could not be everywhere at once.
    When he left a place, it was soon overrun by the enemy once more.
    Finally, after hours of continues fighting over the courtyard, losing ground slowly, it was decided to abandon the courtyard, and retreat into the endless corridors of the fortress, believing the hallways would somewhat limit the advantage of numbers the enemy had.