Journal of Shane Andryl

[shadevar]

Helm’s Finest – Part 1

“Words mean nothing, if one does not look into what they mean, what they stand for…”

They keep with me. “Helm’s Finest” Two words, a name… but the question remains whether they are used in truth, mockery, or delusion. They cannot be what they claim. They cannot be the Finest, the greatest of His servants. I refuse to believe their words when their actions speak louder and darker. I refuse to believe that such would really be resemblent of Helm… portrayed in His best as they claim to be. Yet words we must share, again, however difficult it may be to keep myself calm against their torment of calm deliberate deception.

Why…? Simply, I must know. I must know who they really are, why they do what they do, why they say what they say… But most of all, I must know how to put an end to their motions. Knowledge at times can be dangerous, but blind action is all the more, and this we can no longer afford. We can fight them with cold steel, but they will only return again, and another innocent will become their victim. Well, innocent… this I cannot honestly say, and perhaps this is what troubles me the most when dealing with them. Their victims have none been all innocent up to now. Each up to now have had skeletons in their closets, and I’m sure that once investigated, their last, a man named Marlon, will prove no exception.

The first was the esteemed Lord Vaster Ashald. At least, if not him, it was his party at the Seafarer’s they crashed. A banquet of worth held for Lord Ashald’s esteemed guests of Tethyr, old friends of the Lord. It leaves to wonder why Tethyreans would venture so far to be entertained by an old Lord in a city as remote from them as Peltarch would be, but well, such are their business, not mine. Coin will have been involved with it I am sure, Lord Ashald does not spend if he has nothing to gain, and I find it hard to believe that any friend of the Lord would come all the way from Tethyr for merely a friendly visit just as well. Not when such nobles, who’ve usually yet have to see a single day of real hardship, trade the moderate climates and open skies of Tethyr for a harsh trip through barbarian lands into the cold winds of the Icelace. Then again, it’s not my place to question motives, nor to judge an old Lord in his personal affairs. As it was, it was a party, and these Finest chose to attend just as well.

The Gods be thanked that atleast the senator Bravickus had the common sense to request the presence of the Order to aid them. If not, I wonder if we would have ever known, or if we would have learned of them only when it was too late. His summons implied urgent necessity, and when we arrived to the scene and found that the basements of the Seafarer’s were infested with dretches and worse, there was little need to still question this necessity. Get the needed information as to what occurred as swiftly as possible so we could prepare as well as we could, and set forth to slay the beasts, cleanse the areas, and ensure that whatever brought the incursions there was gone. That was the first we met them… Helm’s Finest. I wish I had known then what I do now.

We stopped them there, or so we thought. The dretches, glabrezu and other fiends we encountered before we crossed paths with them were dispensed with, with no mild efforts I must add. Foul beast, demons… chaos was everywhere and all around, it’s taint sickening to the very core. I don’t know what I really expected to find when we opened the heavy doors that sealed off the main lower hall of the Seafarer’s, but certainly it was not what we saw at that moment. Judging from the reactions of those with us, I quite believe they shared the same sentiment. One long table, 3 heavy thrones behind it, and them… 2 women, one man. “Helm’s Finest”.

”Our presence is always tolerated. In the minds of the weak. The willing. And the greedy.” No matter what they say now, this stays with me. They were there for a reason. He claimed they had made good use of their time there, an opportunity not left unwasted until we came. I still wonder to this day: were they really summoned as we thought then, or did they come of their own accord, drawn to corruption that I’m sure was more than abundant in the assembly of esteemed guest…? Everything now points to the latter. They wanted us to kill them then, or atleast to make the attempt, taunting us. We stopped them before they could reach the portals they opened, stopped the fiends they called forth to bar our way, and with no mild efforts closed the gates again, returning the situation within Peltarch to normal. Formalities left aside, what had to be done was done, and the City could set forth on their own investigations as to the hows and whys of the whole matter. End balance: 3 guests missing and presumed dead: Lord Ashley Whitt, his wife Beth, and their daughter Dorothy.

Perhaps I should have stayed my curiosity at that point and left final matters in the hands of the City. Yet it kept nagging and tugging lightly at my mind. They’d called themselves Helm’s Finest. Yet they commanded fiends from the very pits of the Nine Hells, and their mere presence left a sickening stench of corruption around. They were powerful, that much was for certain. I feared there was more to this than we thought. If someone had summoned them, then whom? Why? If truly they were fiends, outsiders from the dark of the Abyss, then all we had done surely was halt them. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a hundred years, they’d be back. If so, then we should know our enemy. That was my main reason, or so I told myself. But just as well, I could not leave the name they gave to themselves alone. Was it taunt? Blasphemy? Or was there much more to this than could be expected? To know this enemy thoroughly, I knew I must learn more of them, know their true reasons, their intents, why they are here and what they really seek. I knew there was much more to it when I found ancient mention of their used name in lost records of the City, dating far back to the times of the Fisher King. We were dealing with much more than we could possibly assert.

“Helm’s Finest” … it’s not uncommon for adventuring bands to take names of the Gods as their banner. Perhaps once these fiends were mortals. Perhaps they went under this name then. Perhaps indeed they followed the true path… then. Peppy believes they may have been fallen, now following their former ideals in a twisted perversion. Rith believes them to be devils, rather than demons. I admit I am considering the same. Yet I still doubt whether these are truelly lost souls, seeking a redemption they cannot attain, or if they have ulterior, and graver motives. I fear the latter no matter what.

Our second encounter enhanced this particular concern. Their second chosen victim was no less innocent than the first: a hobgoblin shaman. Rith and I had ventured into their warrens, trying to curb their strengths again in a hope that they would remain less able to strike against hapless travellers. Perhaps our attack would weaken them enough to make them leave this time just as well, though we strongly doubted that. None the less, the effort must be made. If luck would grant us to defeat their chiefs, they would most likely disperse into roaming bands again, and be a threat no longer.

It was misfortune, or perhaps not at all, that guided us into that accursed maze. When I reflect upon it now, the events right there remain obscure, delusional. We had set forth to find our way back out, when we saw them… A throne set behind one of the mazes walls at first, flames surrounding it, the shadow of a man being seated upon it, immobile. It was the flicker of the flames through cracks in the walls that alerted us to it. I warned Rith. That throne was all too familiar.

Several steps, another corner to round, and behold, another throne, barred as well by flames that no blessed waters could quench. My armor, scorched and forged in the battle I fought so long ago in Helm’s name, is hardened enough to withstand dire heat, yet still I could not find myself to bear the licks of flames enough to pass. The throne was held by a woman this time, clearly visible. I expected to find one of both women we’d seen at the Seafarer’s. I wasn’t prepared however to see what truelly was, nor was Rith: a perfect reflection of myself, silent, immobile, expressionless… jailed behind unpassable flames. I felt both enraged by this trickery, as curious to it’s reasons. Yet Rith allowed me no time. We had to move on and ignore it, lest we would end up trapped ourselves by whatever trickery they had in mind. I know she was right.

It didn’t take much longer. We had just barely rounded the next corner, or there they were: the searing flames that not even Helm’s might, nor Lathander’s, could quench. They rose up almost instantly both behind us, and in front. We were trapped. The shaman, one of the more talkative and wisened of that wretched hobgoblin kind, sneered at us, clearly gloating in “his” capture. That, atleast, was what it claimed, that it had captured us just like it had captured the “other three”. I didn’t need to ask to know what Rith thought. We both understood all too well who was really in charge here, rather than trapped themselves. Yet still, hobgoblins are not the smartest of creatures, no matter what feats they are capable of. Perhaps it’s mind was too weak or stupid to be controlled with full decency, since it did make it’s mistakes. It told us that it wanted the mark upon my armor, Helm’s mark, that “they” sought it and wanted it. It would set us free then, if only we would deliver it.

Right…

I will die and cast my own soul into the torment of eternal Oblivion, before I lay down this armor. To do so, would be to give up all that I am, all that I was and all that I may still be. It would be no more than giving up myself, cast away both will and faith in one motion. It’s a symbol, and so much more than that. I wonder why it asked for that, still. It clearly pointed out my armor, Helm’s Eye upon it, there’s little doubt in that. But did it mean that they merely sought the symbol – or what it stands for – or really the armor itself? Questions raising even more, since every option holds other possibilities.

If they seek the symbol, do they do so then for good or for ill? Are they seeking redemption, or do they seek harm upon the faith and will that is Helm? If they asked the armor… did they then have other reason, or did they wish to see me comply and fail my Lord…? Deception and lie within lie. They spin a weave of lies riddled with questions, and blind us all. And with it, I blame myself for those selfish thoughts, yet I cannot the defy the wills my Lord has placed upon me so long ago. Until I know the true reasons, so I can judge clearly the right course of action, they will not have it.

The hobgoblin was kind enough to listen to our warnings, though it did not give a single further explanation as to exactly what mark they wanted – the armor, or otherwise. Certainly, it didn’t exactly apreciate the mention that it was being toyed with, controlled by those it claimed to have captured, but well… it’s sudden outburst of rage did break a path open through those flame, allowing us to pass. Sadly, it was able to vanish through the use of magic before we could learn much more from it, or put our blades against its throat. Queue our escape, and the end of this "jolly good show", as Mariston would probably have said.

The Three did not seem to wish to toy with us further. I feel, as I did then, that they had reached their goal: I was in doubt, atleast over their motives. Even worse, now I knew both that they were back, and that they truly have further business with Helm. Two warnings cast in one, and more questions left unanswered. I felt myself beginning to strain for patience as no further word came, not even when sir Mariston himself inquired, about the results of the city’s own investigations.

(continued)

[shadevar]

A Bard’s Tale

”Is there not a Jordaini proverb, that memory can weigh heavier on the soul than any other curse? If not, there should be.” – Councellors & Kings, The Wizardwar.

There are times when we must stop and take a good look into a mirror. Times when we must judge ourselves, look beyond the surface, see who we really are. Accept what we see, understand it, then carry on with the effort to improve where we are at fault. Then, there are times when we fail to see the truth, and keep blinding ourselves with white lies, covering for that which we do not wish to see. This is perhaps the worst kind of untruths… self delusion.

”You can hardly dispatch the thought of it from your mind anymore, Lady Shane.”

She was right, that I know. I can not stop to think about it, especially not now that it was thrown in my face so bluntly. Perhaps all this time I’ve been deluding myself, buying precious time with forced joy while I try to find closure to the past. Perhaps not. But still she was right. It is strange though to hear such words from one I do not even know.

Shemaright…

Something about her is not right, though I fail to grasp what it is. It’s quite disturbing, to say the least. I’ve usually been quite able to look into people’s characters, determine their pretenses from the way they look, move, speak… Most people have enough trouble keeping themselves calm when lies are on the tip of their tongues. One’s eyes are the mirror to one’s self, and they easily betray to someone who knows what signs to look for. Someone like me.

Sometimes I’ve been wrong, Johan was the proof there that no one is infallible. That was my fault… I failed to see behind the joyous façade of that hin, failed to look for a deeper intent. There was little reason to, I thought then. But I’ve learned from that mistake the moment he betrayed me and sought my death with his spells. There’s always reason to look for that hidden twitch of the eye, that sudden change of breathing, that one question too many, too direct. Very few are truly able to hide their real intents, and if there is anything I’ve learned in all these years since these hands dug the grave of that hin, it’s to watch for the signs of betrayal.

And yet, I fail to grasp this one. She seemed genuine in her words, but still I find myself alarmed. Why? Perhaps because she was more direct than I’m accustomed to these days? For if anything, that she was… up to the point of being most unsettling. Well, she did get my attention, that much is for sure.

I do not know… In the end there should have been little reason for suspicion at all. It’s hardly uncommon for commoners, strangers, or other travellers passing by to come and watch the proceedings through which one is knighted into the Order. Such is all by all not an every day event, and as far as I’m aware, we’ve never barred entry for this to anyone yet, providing they do not disturb the sacred rituals. She was just like so many others, a stranger coming to witness the admission of a new Knight into the Divine Shield.

Still… perhaps it was the way she walked, or the way she looked at Sywyn, that idle stroke over the hilt of her weapon… all by all not by itself alarming, but still quite uncommon when one comes only to watch a show. Perhaps it was how it seemed that, for little apparent reason, many of my brothers each seemed compelled to look at her atleast once. Perhaps there was something in their eyes, that now keeps lingering, arousing my suspicions.

Most likely I would not have given it further thought, had she not so abruptedly stopped me in my pace afterwards. We’d exchanged names just after all of us were done congratulating Sywyn, a cordial “hello” and “goodbye” given, a slight show of appreciation towards someone stranger to the Order coming to bear witness. Perhaps she was a friend to our new brother, perhaps not, but hardly would it benefit us to not atleast acknowledge her presence. I’d thought little more of it, and had just turned back to follow my brothers into the lower quarters of the Order, when she stopped me.

“Shane…hm…revenant…?”

She might just as well have smacked my face straight into a mirror, shattering the glass with it for all I care. It would have been less painfull than that single word, so blunt and direct, straighter to the point than a dagger in the dark. All I am thankful for is that she had waited until my brothers had already passed into the hallway. My blood froze, right there and then. If she wanted my attention, well… she had it. Undivided.

I can only imagine how I must have looked at this woman, but it must have been harsh indeed, for within a matter of seconds Daisy was standing just that little bit too close for comfort, watching us. Perhaps she’d noticed that slight twitch, that small contraction of muscle while I efforted to resist that almost feral urge to feel the hilt of my sword in my hand. The sentiment surprised me just as well I admit, and I steadied myself just as quickly, reminding myself that the fact was not unknown alltogether, and that we were still sharing the hospitality of Tyr’s halls. I acknowledged her question, after all there’s little use in denying that which has been, however much I’d sometimes love to think otherwise.

I found myself relaxing, apologizing for my harsh reaction. I asked her who she really was, what her reasons were for bringing this up. A simple bard, she said, merely wishing to confirm if the tale was true. I should have left it at that. She asked if that Cult was really destroyed, if I was sure of that. There was little I could respond to that other than what I’d already been told before… Yes, they were defeated, all too many years ago now. No, they’d not been heard of since. But her question was already gnawing at me. Already, I was wondering if they really were… and why she’d ask. Mistrust is a dangerous thing, sown all too quickly.

She must have noticed my aprehension. I doubt she hardly couldn’t have. And now I am left to wonder whether her questions and her own words were genuine, if they were merely all too direct questions from one accustomed to be blunt to get an answer, or if there is more to it. She claimed to know certain factions quite well, to have worked for the enemy before, an informant. She said that there is reason to suspect that fractions of the Cult still exist, funded even… Yet she avoids to confirm it, if she knows. From the way she spoke, I think she does… and if she does, then right now, I know what it would feel like to be a fish. Hook, line and sinker.

If she came with bait on her mind, then I took it, that much is for sure. She said she wants to help, redeem a little on the other side. Information is priceless in these times. If she’s right and even one of this Cult still breathes and continues it’s purpose, then I will gladly already pay any cost to know of it, just for that. There is too much at stake to even consider ignoring it. She said that I could hardly keep the thought of my mind now anymore and ignore the possibility. Perhaps this is what unsettles me the most, she’s all too right. How can I even presume to not atleast consider it when I know the stakes? How can I even think to ignore it, when even the mere thought makes my blood boil with just one burning desire? I was content with the knowledge that they are gone, that it was over, but now…

I will see. She said she’ll come to Jiyyd once she has more news. Perhaps she’s genuine, and I will be left with only a need for apology again for my mistrust. Perhaps she’s not, and I will find myself baited on. There is only one way to find out, and that is to play the game along. I may have accepted that which has been out of my control, that which I can never change, but forget it I cannot. Something tells me that she does know more, and if she does, I have to know the truth atleast. I have to know why.

Tonight, I will pray more than ever for strength. Even if all of this was none but a twisted lie, I will need it to face my dreams, and hope that that’s where it all remains.

[shadevar]

It’s a silly thing…

Nervousness… it’s a quaint feeling, I admit. Curious.

I haven’t felt like this for years. I was always the rock, the strong. Always thinking, always acting. Cold at times… Perhaps too cold. It’s funny, come to think of it.

Look at me now. I sit here half chuckling, half grinning like a child, as I try to put the words to paper that will soon be expected of me. An hour has passed, and all I have is discarded scraps. Nothing substantial… I’m sure any single acolyte would already do better than that, and if I keep at this much longer I may just need to call upon a little of Helm's sternness to wipe those smirks off their faces as they pass.

Then again, they are trained for this, they know what to expect, what to do or say. Not that I don’t at this moment, but well, it’s different… Just thinking about it fills me with joy for two I’ve come to call dear friends, but more over, I feel nervous. Me… the same person that has faced more challenges than most would wish to know… now my breathing is unsteady enough that it makes my hand tremble, and whatever comes to mind is quite exactly not the words I need.

It’s funny…

I’ve had my share of emotions, my share of occasions to see them through. But most of the times, I was in control. When we stood before those three in Peltarch, "Helm's Finest", I was calm, even if they did bring sour distaste, to say the least, to the name of my Lord. I did not feel insecure when I was called to face up to the rabble that called themselves the Black Hand. Never did my voice waver in all the countless hours spent in talks of peace and war. I did not tremble in fear, as rightly perhaps I should have, facing up to those demons, nor did my legs fail me when I was tasked by my Lord. With the Drow, my mind was clear, no matter how hard my heart screamed. When my husband was murdered, I was enraged, unstoppable, but still in charge of my emotions, still thinking.

Always strong, in control of myself. Disciplined. As it should be.

I can only hope that this feeling subsides swiftly. It wouldn’t do too well to end up before a crowd, stuttering or rambling. I can just imagine it: the morning sun playing bright amongst the trees, a horde of merry faces gathered, and…

::chuckle::

It will be fine, I’m sure. It’s not like I haven’t spoken in public before, it is not the end of the world. It’s not that I don’t want to do this either. Rightly, I am honored and humbled at the same time – again, this seems to happen quite often off late - if only for having been asked to do this. I wouldn’t have wished to miss it for the death of me, but well.

Perhaps I just want to be certain it will all go well a little bit too much. I'm not so much nervous for how I would do, but all the more for them. I'd hate to be the ruin of it. After all, it should be a day to be remembered by them for the joy of the occasion, not for the ramblings of a simple knight. It’s not like I’ve not seen or heard these kind of things before, one gets to go around in public affairs in a lifetime. It shouldn’t be too hard to do so now myself, now should it.

Still, it’s a quaint feeling, to truly be lost for words right now.

[shadevar]

For whom the bell tolls

”Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still.”

The knight’s heavy paces, the soft rattle of the scabard against her armor, and the silent rustle of her cloak as it shifted with the disturbance of every firm step taken, faded away in the temple halls. Behind her, the heavy oaken doors slowly fell into place, sealing her off from the proceeding inside. She remained standing there, alone upon the hill with the closed doors behind her. She kept her hand resting firmly on her sword’s grip, listening as the single bell toll resounded over Jiyyd, to the message it bore. A new guardian had been sworn into service to the Vigilant.

Perhaps she should have stayed inside, she thought, with the others. After all it had been her own pupil for whom the bell resounded. Protocol alone should demand she remained present until the last spectator had left. Still, she knew he would understand, and that was all that mattered.

A soft smile crept up as she considered the proceedings. It had only been heartfelt pride that she’d known, as she’d witnessed how Draihken had been led before the Allseeing Eye of Helm. Not pride for her own, but for him. This time, he did not walk the path towards the altar in shame or fear. This time, he’d walked it proudly himself, willing, ready for what was to be. She’d heard Sigmund explain to him again what the expectations were of one that would swear fealty before the Vigilant. Mere protocol… she knew the words well enough by now, and so did he. She’d stood firm as his determination was acknowledged, and had listened as, before all those gathered, he was invited to affirm his vocation.

”…I make this vow knowing fully the burden it carries, I accept it whole heartedly in body, mind and soul.”

Both an end to what had been, and a new beginning…

As his words were met with aproval, and as he rose to meet all gathered no more as one who would be lost, but as the new man he had become, the knight could not help but consider how much he had changed. Two years were nothing, they were over before one could have time to even think about them. But two years had changed this man for a lifetime. All she could see was determination, hope, and pride. Free…. Standing there, he looked to her like a man that would still make a difference.

”…Walk with Helm, brother.”

The knight cast a sideways glance to the doors that barred herself away from those within the Temple’s halls. The bell toll slowly ebbed away as the rays of the morning sun climbed to meet the rooftops. She shrugged off the doubts on returning back indoors, heading for the Silver Valley in a solid pace. There was little left to say to either of them at this time, little need to remain there. All the words that had needed to be spoken, she’d already said when she’d informed Draihken the day before of her thoughts about him, and had dismissed him from the bonds that had kept him into her service. Or atleast, all those that he should hear.

Some words, she knew, were better left unspoken. It would do him no good to tell him how she truly felt. Proud, aye, of course… He’d earned every bit of that ever since they’d first met. Truly, she felt honored herself to have known him as he was, and even more to be able to welcome him now as a true brother, and as a friend. He knew that much, and that knowledge could only strengthen his resolve further. But little would it serve him to know about the emptyness she now felt within.

Alone, she stood and watched as the hins went about their business near the lake, safely at a distance upon the hill that overlooked the valley. Silently, she kept there until the sun started to set again, hand rested upon the hilt of her family’s sword. It was not right to feel this way, she knew. It was even less right to show it, lest they would all mistake it for something it was not. She wondered if it was selfish, if only partly, to feel sorrow in this moment when there should only be joy. She had to admit herself, albeit grudgingly, that she’d come to enjoy the times they’d shared, when she’d speak to him more of what would be expected, or merely listen to his own concerns. There would be none of such anymore from now on. Certainly, they’d still meet, that much stood for granted. But it would not be the same.

The knight glanced down upon Helm’s Eye, emblazoned as brightly upon the chest of her armor as it was the day she’d worn it first. It had been right, and she knew it all too well. Her task was done. She’d guided him as had been asked and expected of her, in the way that she’d thought best. He had not failed her, and through him, she had not failed herself. Helm’s will was done… Perhaps, she thought, this was what made her feel so empty even more. What else could the Vigilant wish for? Would she still see tomorrow’s sun rise again, another day into the service of the Protector? Or would death come again now, returning her to the darkness of Oblivion? She found herself wishing that if such would be Helm’s desire, to make it swift, while she was alone.

Upon the hilltop, the knight watched as the last rays of the sun faded, making way for the dark of the night. She remained standing while the moon climbed higher. As clouds passed to block it’s fickle light, she stood and watched how the raindrops made tiny splashes upon the surface of the lake. Her hand still rested upon the hilt, as she finally lowered her head into submission, closing her eyes as the soft words of prayer left her lips in murmured whisper.

”Thank you, my Lord, for chances given… for showing me the way.”

When she finally opened her eyes again, looking back down the valley in the dead of night, she wondered if he’d ever know the wounds he’d helped heal within her own. Teaching him had not merely been a matter of mercy or necessity. Just as much, it had strengthened her own resolve again, it had given her a goal when she’d thought there would be none more. It had been her own journey into the reasons for her own existence, and it had again affirmed to herself just as much why she’d set her life the way she had before. It had been something, she realized, that she had forgotten for far too long.

Perhaps this had been Helm’s message… She’d stood still herself for far too long.

[shadevar]

A Code of Honor

My friend,

In your absence, I have come to put this to writing, my last lesson for you to reflect upon before you return. A year you have been in my service, another year is almost spent. The time has proven well enough that any man can change, as long as he commits himself to it fully. I am both honored, and humbled, to have been able to see this change within your own. On that faithful night, when you came to Helm’s halls, you asked of me to guide you along His way. You accepted my terms then, and have since heard my words without complaint, acted out the tasks set upon you with the dilligence that I would expect of any. I pray that your absence has not made you forget them, but rather strengthened your resolve along Helm’s way.

There is little left now for me to teach you any more. The Protector’s strictures are known to you as well as to any other acolyte or squire, of that I have no doubts. Sigmund is most thorough in such matters. Whatever remains now, is what we spoke of before: you control your own destiny, and it is you who has to forge the remains of your own path within Helm’s service. In this, I cannot guide you any further than I have up up to now.

Still, one question still remains unanswered, of that I am acutely aware. I’ve avoided to give you response or solution ever since you have asked of me, I know. My words on it have been vague, unfulfilling I am sure. I said it encompassed something that perhaps cannot be taught at all, that one must feel within and know beyond doubt is right. This was not because I do not deem you capable to understand, or because I am unwilling. Rather, I wished first of all to see your progress in Helm’s steps, without adding to confusion.

This, I will tell you now, so that you can reflect on this on your way back. Consider these words how you wish it, and weigh them to what you already know. Then, all I ask is that you find your own truth between these, and what I have already taught you. Even as I write this, I would rather wish to speak on this with you instead, though perhaps this way is the best. Some words should not be just heard, but seen and taken in at one’s own pace, lest they be misunderstood.

Each of us must live our lives how we set it out to be. Some follow an ideal, words written or spoken, or visions of how we endeavour this. Others do not consider themselves on such trivialities, considering them more a burden than guidance. My own path was an easy choice, I pledged my life to servitude, not merely to Helm, but to a knowledge that there are things worth fighting for. However, swearing one’s own to an ideal that we may think is just, and measuring up to it, are two completely different issues alltogether.

Perhaps to understand, one should look closer to what is commonly accepted as an ideal. Sages have it written, that an ideal means the embodiment of perfection, an ultimate standard of excellence which we can only hope to attain. Often, ideals are set into words to explain them, and out of these words, stricture follows, a code to which we commit ourselves to follow in the one hope that some day, this ideal can be reached. Many before me have bowed their heads to the same thoughts, surrendered their lives to the same desires, and spoken the words that would bind them to a certain path. Many of them succeeded, but many as well have failed to measure up, either unable to comprehend, or unable to live up to them. And many still will.

My own ideals were easy enough to accept when I made my own choice so long ago now. I did not, unlike so many others, stand inside hallowed halls or before men that would serve or be kings. I did not speak my oaths for all to hear, so they could be measured by brothers against my deeds in time. Still, their weight remains the same, it does not matter how many heard me speak them. Their value must be kept inside one’s heart and mind, reflected through word and action, for that alone is what will be judged in the end. My own vows were simple, heard only by good old Garran, that clouded night within the old keep of my home, Imnesvale.

”Lathemin N’coya”

Two words, nothing more. One could argue that such is little, how could two mere words describe all that one would strive to live for? I will argue with the same words that my mentor has told myself, when I was still foolish and young enough to doubt the same. Words mean nothing, if one does not look into what they mean, what they stand for. But if one does exactly that, it is easily discovered that words can bear an awesome power. Men have through the ages killed and prospered for the mere meaning of a word. My words may mean little to the unwary, but yet they stand as the rock upon which I have built my life. To me, as they did to Garran - may he rest in peace - they reflect the very embodiment of what I have aspired myself to be measured with: ”To be without honor, is to whither and die.” Through two mere words, I swore without hesitation to honor my own mentor’s teachings in service to the Protector.

Still, an oath means nothing if one does not strive to keep it. Words must be locked inside one’s self and acted upon, until they take on a life of their own. Then, and only then, when every breath taken is filled by their power, every action taken reflecting of their meaning, then is when they become more than words or vows, but a way of life… an ideal. This can only be accomplished by devoting one’s self fully to this purpose. Oaths must not only be spoken, but felt deep within. And one must strive to continuously measure up to them. You will come to understand this yourself when the day comes that you will be ready to take up your own vows before Helm almighty.

My oath reflects my own measure: the old code that Garran has inspired me to live by, a simple set of rules to attain the embodiment of my vow. It is the measure I still apply to Helm’s teachings, to keep my path clear and straight. Through these, I judge myself as others would judge me, until the time comes that the Gods will judge in our stead. Then I will once again know whether I was right or wrong. Until then, I will continue to strive and live up to them.

Seven more words build my measure, Garran’s Code. One of them I have spoken to you about already, if you still remember. Seven words that more than anyone could perhaps explain fully, describing the rules through which to uphold the oath. The first, Esthel, is perhaps the purest of all. In it’s own tongue this word means faith, or trust. Esthel is the first rule, the one that cannot be broken lest the oath is in vain. It embodies both one’s faith in the Gods, as well as in the good of all mortals. It dictates to serve to one’s faith truelly, for such alone is a mark of honor already. A mortal’s word to one’s Lord is binding, and faith alone is what can guide one’s own to pledge service. It’s the trust we place in our Lords that Their ways are right, and the trust that we ask in pledging ourselves to Their cause, that we will not stray from Them. Esthel is the rock upon which the whole code stands. Without it, it will crumble into nothingness. Without faith in the Gods or trust in others, you cannot command trust upon yourself either, and everything you will do is for naught. Lord Helm dictates that one should never betray their trust. Therefor, one should not break Esthel. Have faith, give and earn trust, and never fail it through breaking a word, once given. Especially not your word to Helm.

Meleth is the second word, it’s power certainly equal to the first. Meleth means honor, or rather valor and nobility. Meleth reflects through Helm’s teachings: He demands that we demonstrate excellence and pure loyalty in serving the Protector. Meleth dictates that we should allow nothing to tarnish our honor, because without it one can never be fully trusted by others. All of this embodies Meleth: the valor to meet a challenge, the nobility to meet it fairly, the ability to show respect to all, be they friend or foe. Through this, a measure of honor can be achieved, through which others can accept us. Through this, we can bring hope, and through hope, we can serve the Everwatchful and protect those that are placed within our charge. Without this, you derive them of this hope, and thus you will not be able to inspire others to follow in your steps, nor will you ever be able to understand nor teach others to understand the true value of both mercy, and sacrifice. Without it, I believe you can not fully live up to the Protector’s demands, since those you seek to protect will not accept you.

The third is Fael, the word of Justice. A knight that knows no justice can have no honor. Likewise, one that would allow injustice to continue upon others cannot be true. To be able to discern which is just and and which is not, one must ever strive for truth, for it is truth which divides us from the wicked and helps us to see beyond the chaos that is the world. In serving the Protector, we are commanded to protect the innocents from harm. Injustice leads to tyranny and oppression, and these are the greatest harm that can be placed upon anyone. As well, He commands to obey an order given, providing this order is within the spirit that is Helm. Therefor, one must ever strive that a command followed upon is just and can bring no harm to those that one protects. If one is to be subject of law, then one should seek to adhere to them and uphold them, as long as they as well are just and bring no oppression. When in doubt, let Fael be your guide, but never fail it.

Tirith is the fourth, and marks the virtues of patience, prudence and vigilance. Patience is inner calmth, the ability to control one’s own, allowing for prudence. Prudence is the insight that allows for vigilance, through which we learn of evil’s ways, bringing us one step closer to victory. Be patient and vigilant. Never let your guard down, or allow others to take away your focus, and make sure your mind is clear at all times. Through this, Tirith, the Vigilant is honored, for His own words dictate it’s virtues: To remain vigilant, to stand, wait and watch carefully. Patience allows for reflection, through which we can know our enemies. ”Careful planning always defeats rushed action.” Never were words more true than these.

The fifth is Idhren, the virtue of temperance and modesty. It is the ruler of all wisdom. Avoid all excesses, in everything. Do not act poorly, but neither overdo yourself. Know your own measure, and remain fair and diligent at all times.

Gwanath is the noblest of the Seven, the word of protection, of sacrifice. It is the word of the Guardian. Protect the innocent and the weak, the poor, the injured, the young and the wronged with your own life. Do not allow their lives to be wasted for your benefit or for the gain others. Through Gwanath, one takes understanding of this solemn duty to protect them from those that would work to tyrant and destroy. Gwanath serves Meleth in the highest way, since one’s own sacrifice in service to protect those that cannot do so themselves, is the noblest of all causes. Choose dishonor, before allowing Gwanath to be wronged.

Lyuth is the last, the gift of mercy, charity and generosity. In Lyuth, we recognize the good that a simple act can bring to one that will accept it. Care for the sick and the distressed, aid the helpless, and do so without asking or expecting reward in return. A knight that knows no charity is cruel and evil. It commands compassion, which in it’s turn serves hope. Allow for mercy to be extended to those that will surrender, for through it, even the lost can find redemption, as you have come to know yourself.

These, my friend, are the standards through which I’ve efforted up to now to uphold the same ideals I’ve come to believe as right. Seven words to speak for two, an oath that speaks it’s own tale. Through these, I have found my peace when the way ahead seemed unclear. Through these, I find my peace within the Watcher’s teachings just as well. You, my friend, have once asked of me how one could aspire to be a paladin. Now that you know this, I will tell you what I believe, that perhaps through these words, this code, aspiring to live up to the ideals for which it stands… that perhaps that could one day make one worthy of such a title. Perhaps one day, I will be. The effort alone is a noble enough cause.

I wish you well, and will be expecting your return amongst us, though I am certain that someone else is all the more eager to see you back safe and sound. She is well, slowly but surely she is starting to read your letters herself, which will please you I am sure. She sends you her best wishes.

Until we meet again, may Helm watch over you.

[shadevar]

An eary business

Beauty, one's physical presence… it is a concept I’ve never really stood still at to consider it, atleast not for myself. When I look in the mirror, I do not see anything exceptional. Merely myself, kempt of course, it would do no one well to not take care of one’s self. A healthy body benefits a healthy soul after all. While perhaps not obvious, I bear my own scars, fruits of the long years of battle. I would not consider myself hideous or misformed, though I would not think of myself as extremely desirable either. Not that I would care for such at this time, without my husband, I much rather prefer solutide as my companion. Atleast, solitude will remain honest at all times, and won’t leave the pains of departing.

Still, were I to look for companionship, what would it be that would bring a man’s desire? Were I to bear the misfortune of being visibly deformed, would a man still wish to look upon me and consider me desirable? Or would they turn away their eyes and look elsewhere? If my husband would still be here, would he look upon me with the same gentleness, not caring for what he saw, rather knowing me for who I am? Or would he as well cringe upon seeing the affliction, and come to loathe it?

I cannot really find myself to worry on such. Such concerns would only divert me from what I’ve been set out to do. I believe I would find myself little affected had the same occurred to myself. Certainly, it would remain a difference to look upon, but in the end, it would be just another scar to add to the others. Most likely I’d adapt a change in how I wear my own hairs, and cover the misfortune for the sake of others, but that would be it. Perhaps I’d seek out a priest to see what could be done, aye, but well. The stares of others wouldn’t trouble me. I do not care for them now, so why would I then? Losing a hand, or a leg… that would be worse, it would force me to adapt to a new way I am not accustomed to. But it would be a practical issue, hardly an aesthetical one.

Still, seeing Raver like this, I feel her pain, and it saddens me. She keeps hiding behind a dark cowl ever since that woeful day, when that Drow mageling took her ear. I’ve tried to reason with her, but she will not hear it, and I cannot even attempt to blame her for this, even if she makes me feel powerless. She fears for rejection… and in this fear she protects herself, by hiding herself away from the world. All I can do right now is to be there for her when she does come, and hope that when he returns home, loathing won’t be what she’d find in his own eyes. It would devastate her, of that I am sure.

She is driven now by one desire. I’ve agreed to help, of course… How could I not? Where at first I had set out with the consideration to keep an eye on her while he’s away, see that she remains from harm, I’ve come to apreciate her more and more again. She’s a strong woman, hardened and wisened by years in the fields, practiced in the sword like so many in these parts have been forced to. She has her pride, she knows what she can do, and she can boast a keen mind that is willing enough to stop and reflect on how to act, rather than charging forth on a chosen path like so many others do. I see much of myself reflected in her own, even if she is so completely different, which is perhaps why I am more willing to consider her a friend than I would do of many others.

Yet there is so much more to her than only that. It’s a shame to have to see her in the state she keeps herself now, unwilling to see anything else but this disfigurement. She hides herself away, even if she is too proud to admit it, from a world that is not worth hiding from. I’m afraid that this will not change, until her score on this is settled. Yet this moment I dread beyond any other, much to my own surprise. She knows my concerns as well - atleast this I hope she has come to understand - we’ve spoken about it more than once since. She claims them unjust, claims that it is not hatred that drives her to this desire, nor a wish for vengeance. Her own words say that all she wants is to settle the score, to get her ear back…

Still, I cannot bring myself to believe it. She’s driven beyond avail to return to those tunnels and seek this Drow out. Vengeance is a woeful master, one of which I fear she is a slave right now. She denies it, tells me not to worry, but I fear that when the moment comes, if ever we do find his trail again - something I strongly doubt knowing the cunning of the Drow - , and if ever we do manage to succeed in overcoming his ploys… I fear she will not be able to control herself then, and this desire for vengeance will blind her. All I can do right now, is to be there for her and make sure that such will not lead to her death.

Still, already time has passed, and time is a marvelous healer of any ailment. Perhaps time as well will be in her favor and calm her senses when this confrontation does come… if it does at all. Until then I will place my trust in her, and hope that her reasoning remains as calm as she claims it to be… much against my own concerns. Pity is the last thing she needs right now, and it would not be becoming of myself to force her further into her own shadows by showing such any further. Perhaps her lessons in reading will for a while distract her from all of this, and build her confidence again on another level. Perhaps this will prove enough for her to overcome this conflict she struggles with, whether or not she admits it. In the least, she’ll come to see again for herself that no challenge is unsurpassable if you set your mind to it. Perhaps then by the time he does return, she’ll be strong enough again for herself to face herself up to him without needing to feel shame for what occurred, and be herself once again.

If this is to be my gift to one like Raver, then so be it. Actions do speak louder than words at times. All I care for regarding herself right now, is to see her remove that cowl again, and walk once again with her own pride, instead of emprisoning herself within those shadows of remorse. As long as she does not feel forced, this is something I must remain careful off. Perhaps then, I will feel less of the guilt on her loss myself.

[shadevar]

Trails of the past

“He who conquers the past, controls the future.”

Imnesvale… I had prepared myself for whatever feeling or sensation could occur upon seeing it again, but still it is more than overwhelming. How much I do understand now, how sorely I have missed to see it’s lush forrests, the meadows upon which the farmers graze their cows and sheep, the deep green of the grass, so unlike Narfell. How I have yearned to breathe it’s air, not full of winter’s cold, but gentle and moderate. Proud Cormyrean Imnesvale, the home and grave of my forefathers, my home.

Arriving by itself was already well worth the trip. I’ve been fortunate enough to find a mage within Damara able to speed my voyage tremendously, though I admit that once again the coin was all too well given in return. Everything has it’s price, and such magic does not befall every able master of the Art. Still, I would gladly have parted with the double, I’ve felt myself grow too anxious to still spend weeks on the river trail and over the Sea of Fallen Stars.

A traveller once said, that time never seems to pass in Cormyr. That one may leave a score of years, and return only to see everything still as it was before. Right now, I do believe he was right. Old Jegrub’s roof still has the same old patching, the sign out front of the Drunken Mule still carries that scar of when Jake and Milow tried to best each other in a dagger’s game, just a bit more weathered now than I remember it. The old oak tree still stands in the midst of town, and the folk still cover it with their messages to each and every one, covered from the rain by a thick patch of leaves. Only the folk themselves have changed.

I have tried to look in people’s faces and find a recollection of the past. So many years have gone by since last I was here, that I am once again a stranger to my home. The little boys I’ve used to know have grown into old men, and I feel their eyes upon my back. They do not recognize me, and I can scarcely hold it against them. Still, the pain gnaws more when considering that unlike Jiyyd, this is truly my home. The land where I was born, where my father and those before him looked after the wellfare of these good folk, where everyone knew their face, their name, and mine.

I did not wish to bring forth questions, so I set forth for the Keep at once, leaving my armor unworn until I arrived. It would do no good to bring thoughts or doubt to their minds. Most likely they have considered me lost, and perhaps that is how it should it remain, if they remember at all. Seeing the colors of the current Lord, and the vacancy of my family’s banners upon the walls, I knew already that my previous thoughts had been correct. Garran, whom I had appointed as overseer in my stead, was no more, and thus the lands have fallen to the mercy of the Crown in failure of another heir. The guards at the gate were only a minor trouble, they do their work. My name, my sword sealed by it’s strings, the offers of peace, and my father’s seal that I still bear upon this day, were enough to atleast see me through and attented, as custom demands. With only the gift of my tale, I prepared myself to meet the new Lord in the least offense.

Lord Brynn, I must admit, seems a righteous man. He was shocked at first, of course, but soon enough he saw I spoke in truth, and offered me the hospitality of my former home. He claims a comely wife, and 2 fit and strong sons whom both seem equally measured to follow in their father’s steps. We spoke by the fire until deep in the night, both of the past and the present. The next morning, he lead me to my family’s tomb, where finally I could pay my proper respects to the 2 men that have influenced my life beyond their own comprehension. I should have come sooner, I know this now, but well. Regrets have no use when the Gods lay our paths in different directions.

Tomorrow, I will set forth once again. The Brynns are kind enough to allow me to stay, it would only be wrong to impose on them any further. I have seen and heard all that I needed to. Imnesvale is in good hands, my debts to this past are paid. They have offered me the use of a mare, for which I thank them. I will leave it to be returned to them when I leave again for Narfell. For now, it will be useful, I should be able now to reach the Hockstrom estate within a day or two at most. There, I will speak to them of Gunnar Hockstrom, and they will know of their son, brother, relative… I will speak to them of his kind but bold heart, of how a simple man found courage in service to sir Stalwart, of his strength in the final hour, and of his persistance. I will tell them of his death and the “bridge” he would now be “guarding”, and of his dream to continue his family’s business in Jiyyd. Perhaps, if they take my words kindly, I will leave them with a rank of their vines. Helm knows I am no farmer, and likely it will merely wither and die before the next spring breaks, but atleast I can try to honor a fallen brother’s dreams. One never knows.

After that, I will ride for the Helm’s Hold, my final destination. If I could, I would avoid it, I have little to no desire to set foot within it’s halls and answer questions they may or may not have. But there are questions of my own that remain without answer, ones that I sorely need to know, the least of them being the matter of sir Trent Blake’s arrival in Jiyyd… .

[shadevar]

The Journey

“Not the cry, but the flight of the wild duck, leads the flock to fly and follow.” – Kara-Tur Proverb

The cold wind rustled through the knight’s hair, left loose and untied for a change. The simple travelling cloak she wore waved behind her, playing a solemn dance upon the breeze. With one hand, she pulled it tighter, lightly shivering as the cold bit through the common garb she’d chosen to wear. Still, it was good to be away from the heavy weight of her armor for once.

The sailors minded their own business, uncaring for the silent wench. It was just how she preferred it. An unknown name on a runaway boat… probably they’d think she was just another poor woman, running away from a failed marriage perhaps. It did not matter, her coin had been spent well enough for this small right of anonimity. No one needed to know who she was, and least of all that she had left.

No one, except Draihken of course. To him atleast she’d felt the need to explain, and even then… seeing the distraught look on his face had been enough to not get into further details. It did not matter in the end, one did not step in horsedung to wipe their feet on friends’ carpets, and the least of all did he need to be burdened now with her own affairs. Shannon knew as well, he’d been kind enough to see her to the Dockmaster, but as was Shannon, he had not pried to any reason. Nor had Dentin for that matter.

At peace, she watched as wave after wave crashed against the ship’s hull. More often than not, a plack of ice would crack as the hardened wood sailed against it. Soon, they would reach the crossing point where the Long Road would take her further through the mountains, and into Damara. A decent horse should be easy enough to acquire there to speed her way, and if magic allowed it, the trip from Damara would be a short one indeed. Expensive, but short… there was little time to waste already. Still, even if the trip would prove to be a quick one, she was decided to cherish every moment of it. It was something she could not have explained to the man she’d promised to guide. She needed the time alone to set her thoughts straight again.

Forget she would never, that much she knew. Already, the wind brought back the faint whispers, words she’d thought long passed, thoughts that had returned with such a violence right there in those swamps, that she feared they would bring her to knees again. She had not listened to them there, nor cared for the visions before her eyes, knowing them to be false. But late at night, in the sollitude of her rest, she would hear them again. She would feel the silent throbbing again on her hand, the faint burn of a taint removed, and hear the faint luring whispers in the dark, the promise made and broken. The knight closed her eyes, knowing that was all they were, mere memories, forgotten corners of the past that she now placed upon herself in burden. Just another cross to carry.

A faint smile crossed her lips as she thought back on Zoma and Ragnhild, and Ragnhild for sure. They’d been brave enough to deal with it their own way, just as the others that had come with them to see a demon’s taint removed. Quietly, she hoped that they atleast were at peace now. Their love for eachother had kept them true to their path, and Nyda’s strength in Selune had brought back hope when the demon had taken it in 1 fatal blow. The paladin had stood beside them, against all prior odds they had asked her to come and leave Jiyyd’s defense to others, and she’d fought with them until their goal had been reached. She hoped her own strength had helped them to reach the final end. She had tried to ignore the voices, steeled her will for their sake, and swallowed failure as Elridith’s cries had drowned to silence merely a second before she had been able to reach her. A second too late… If not for Nyda’s prayers, they would have failed in the Elf’s loss, she knew. The paladin had not heard the call for aid, or perhaps not wanted to hear, had raised her sword just one more time against the demon’s minions, before fate had struck. A duty failed, for if anyone had to remain unharmed, it had been Elridith. She was the only one that knew the rites to break the demon’s grasp.

The knight shook her head, turning away from the deck towards the cabin that was hers for the voyage. Such were only thoughts to fuel the demon’s fire. In her heart, she knew them to be untrue. There was nothing she could have done. ”Demons feed off negative emotions “, Sigmund had said before. ”They live off fear, hatred, cowardice…”. The paladin was thankful for the strong will that was hers, even if it meant crumbling afterwards. She’d not allowed the demon it’s moment of spite, even when faced with such failure. She’d stood as calm as she could muster, facing every vision that proclaimed the failures of the past, hearing every whisper and judging them untrue. She’d told Raghnild to sing, and the proud lass had gathered all her strength, and she had sung. Her song had carried across the void, speaking of care and love for a born child, keeping the demons at bay while Nyda prayed for their salvation… for Elridith.

”Remember those you love, and do not fear what comes or that they may be taken away.” Laerlilly had spoken to the paladin as she kept standing silently, watching the torment. The knight had smiled, her own words once spoken now being returned to herself, but she had replied her thoughts, and they were true. “Those I have loved, and the fear of losing them, I have lost a long time ago already. There’s nothing left to fear.” Perhaps that had been the reason why she’d gone along when asked. For her, there was nothing left to lose.

No. There was still hope, that much had been proven already. The woman named Sara had spoken to her of zealotry, of how they’d wish no paladin to join them in their effort to see this demon gone. A paladin was single minded, too focussed on their faith, their mandates… they could not see the grey that divided black and white. They would only endanger them. The knight had heard the words, had felt their sting and the pain of wondering what had happened in the prior years to know such thoughts to be spoken. She'd spoken her own thoughts, assented to their wish, and ensured them that even without her or any other, they would not go alone. She would remain where she was needed most. They would leave with the knowledge that Jiyyd would remain safe from the demon’s retalliations while they sealed the gate. That trust would be their rock to hold onto, Helm’s way to guard them where they would not allow His presence. And in the end, against her own better knowledge, she’d been asked to come. Perhaps, she thought, such trust could one day be restored again fully.

The paladin closed the door of the cabin behind her, returning to her sollitude. She regretted suddenly for not having explained Draihken more on the reason for her leaving. Aye, she had told him she would return home, to Cormyr, and she’d assured him that she would return as soon as would be possible. ”Your home is here now.” he’d replied. And she knew all too well he was right. Still… perhaps later she would explain, and perhaps he would understand. It did not really matter.

With a wistfull smile, she took hold of the aged bottle of wine lying safely upon the cot. “Hockstrom Vineyards”. Damian had been most kind to hand it to her, a last farewell of a fallen friend and fellow countryman. In the very least, Gunnar’s family had a right to know what had happened to him, to remember him with the pride that he deserved, and hers was still the duty to tell them. Perhaps now was indeed a good time, not only for thought and solace, but for setting the records straight.

[shadevar]

**The Old Code

“The Right can never die, if a man still remembers them. Words are not forgotten, if a voice pronounce them clearly. The Code always shines, if a heart preserves it brightly.”

@e58ee8c0e6:

_”50 years… more or less.

How could I ever forget your words, old friend? You have always been there, my mentor, always ready to explain what my father could not. Ready to teach, and to serve. Truly I do wonder how the last 30 years have treated you. Are you still alive? Did you manage to keep Imnesvale Andryl lands? I doubt it.

Surely with my passing, and no one left to continue the name, it must have passed to the King. You were already old, my friend. I still remember the day I saw you last, your hairs already weathered and gray. If only you could know what I’ve become… I merely wish I could see your steely grey eyes once more, and know whether they would be filled with pride, or shame.

But, I have changed much. I may still look younger than I should, I may still be in perfect health, but my heart has grown old. Helm is a harsh and unforbidding master, but a master I still serve gladly none the less. Age brings wisdom they say, and often I now find myself questioning. But when I consider all the rest, I still find that His way is the only one that is truly right. All the times that I have been in doubt, often it have been your words of old that pulled me through, as they do now. For that, old friend, if only you could hear me, I thank you. You have given me the greatest gift that one could ever receive.. the will to question, and the wisdom to know the right answers.

Good Garran, no, I have not forgotten you, nor your words… And now, finally, the time is coming for me to pass them on. I believe I have found my final goal, old friend. Now I pray that I may pass them with as much wisdom as you did when you taught me. I still remember how you tried to explain the values by which my ancestors have lived for so long, the thoughts and actions through which our lands were gained. It still brings small warmth to my heart, remembering the excitement you’d stir, the passion in a young girl’s heart… and my father’s ire when he would discover. Truly, my friend. If not for you, I do not think I would have come this far.

The Old Code… Alas, how my father would rage upon learning of what you had spoken. “Time moves on” he would say. “It is no use speaking of old tales when such morals no longer apply, and a world is filled only with blood.” I realize now that you must have known already, that he was, even then, already lost, even if I never did. And yet you still spoke of it to me, and all your tales would keep me warm in the long dark months, when my father in a fit of rage would forbid your teaching. I have tried, old friend. For all these years, I have tried to honor your words and live by them. I still do. But it is a lonely path.

I now stand at a new crossroads. When I look back upon my life, both past and present, I can feel neither regret nor shame. My deeds have been weighed and judged, and if the result proves anything, it is that you were right. The Code –is- more than just words either spoken by aged men or in bard’s songs. I have done as you asked up to now, and stayed free from established church to not taint it’s message. Perhaps not entirely, I have found a home again within the halls of the Vigilant right here, but I have still, after all this time, not sworn myself to the Hold. Up to now, the priests here have accepted this, none have questioned yet, and I am accepted as much as any other. Helm is served by many, in many ways. Over the years, I have studied much on the current doctrines and weighed them to what you taught me. For a long time I have doubted if it would still be possible to pass on the code to someone else still, but as you said, as long as even one man can speak, it will never die. As long as the one being taught is worthy, willing, and eager to learn. I believe that now, finally, I have found such a man…

I pray now, old friend. I pray my words may be as guiding to him, as yours once have been to me. May He watch over you, until the end of times._

Quietly, the knight watched as the flames licked at the parchment, eager, hungry. Unwavering she watched as every bit slowly turned to blackened ash, the smoke rising steadily up into the air. Silent, she prayed that perhaps it might reach his ears still. Perhaps, even in death, he would know that she still thought about it. Perhaps it would bring him peace…

”Estel, Meleth, Fael, Tirith, Idhren, Gwanath, Lyuth…”

The 7 ancient words still sounded as clearly to her as the day she’d first heard them. 7 words with forgotten roots, each representing, upon themselves, a part of the Code. She wondered somehow, if there were still others that knew these words, and lived by them. There had to be… but Garran had not called it the Old Code for nothing. It was a dying creed, one once spoken by proud men, men who would now speak similar, but still different vows before their lords and lieges. ”The Free Knight’s Creed” No wonder her father had not wanted Garran to speak more of it, he’d already decided that if his daughter was to not to be persuaded, he’d see her into the Purple Dragons of Cormyr instead. There was no need to make her mind go wild with ancient tales, he’d said.

”Estel… Faith,Trust and Respect. The First Rule of the Old Code”

For a small moment, she wondered if Garran’s “Code” really was as ancient. Perhaps it had been exactly as her father had implied, stories. The flames flickered, reflecting upon her armor in a silent dance. In thought, her eyes lingered upon the mark of the upright gauntlet, Helm’s eye brandished proudly in the center. Stories or not, the creed had helped her in every step of the way, had served her well to stay on a clear course in service to both Helm, and mankind. It had helped her to understand, she realized now, what the true meaning was of His path, His burden. Perhaps indeed, it was now time to pass it on. Perhaps this was her purpose after all, perhaps the Vigilant had not seen to her return for some obscure evil that needed to be vanquished, or for any other reason that she had yet not seen signs off… Narfell would always be a land in turmoil after all, and there were many others that could see to it’s safety just as well. No, she thought. Perhaps all this time, this was what lay in store for her. To guide this one man upon His own path. One lost soul as a symbol to many. And symbols could be very powerful indeed.

”Meleth… Honor, Valor and Nobility. The second rule.”

She found herself still stunned by the last events. There he had been, a man tainted by the dark lord’s grasp for years, standing in the middle of Helm’s halls, asking both for sanctuary, and redemption. One of the same men that she had set out to investigate on. One of the same men that would have likely died if they had crossed paths. And yet, she had listened to him. She had heard of tale of what had occured, of his past and a lifetime of forced service to Bane. And she had remained at calmth, listening as he had told her of how he had seen his chance, and defied those he served. In his eyes, she’d seen nothing but shame, and a passion as he spoke of how he wished to redeem himself. In that, the knight considered, even this man could know honor.

“Fael… Justice, Truth and Law. The third rule of the Code”.

She needed to be certain, however. All too many a time had she already learned the painful truth, that the Black Hand’s motions could be very tricky indeed. What if this man was a spy, shielded from insights? Bane’s taint was all over him, she did not even need to focus to know it. What if he was sent by them to lower her guard, betrayal again? ”Yet, his eyes…” The truth was always in a man’s eyes, the mirror to one’s soul. And if anything she had seen there… it was truth.

“Tirith… Patience, Prudence and Vigilance. The fourth.”

The knight lifted her eyes away from the flames, wondering if she would be able to really teach this man. Words were only that, words, unless a true heart makes them real. He had asked her to show him the way, to teach him not only how to serve Helm as He should be served, but as well how to redeem himself in such a way, that every taint, every blame and every error of his past would be erased with deeds of good and vigilance. For a moment, she feared he wished too much. “Step by step will already get you a long way, “ she had answered. “What you ask me to teach, the way I have lived my own life… it is something that you must feel deep inside and know is right. It cannot be taught, only shown. Your heart must find the way.” He would need a lot of inner strength, and patience, that much she knew. She would have to teach him first of all, about the true virtue. Tirith.

“Idhren… Temperance, Fairness and Modesty, The fifth rule.”

Given the circumstances, she’d been fair with him. She had not asked too much, nor too little. She had allowed him to keep his peace, not questioning him about the secrets that he would probably know. She knew that in time, she’d find out what she needed to know just as well, with or without him. All she had asked for, was a solemn vow, to refrain from agression. A warrior without arms, unless the cause was just enough. In that, she hoped, he would need to see other ways. He would need to temper an urge for battle, bred in for countless years. He would need to learn control.

”Gwanath… Protection and Sacrifice. The sixth rule.”

The knight thought back a moment, on his words. He wished to help. He wished to help protect those that he would otherwise most likely have caused harm. She’d seen the pressure he was under, the massive burden weighing on his shoulders at this very moment, knowing that he was not out of danger yet himself. He did not wish to bring further harm. He’d said he’d rather die, than return back to what he had now left behind, for even death would be have been more merciful. A slight pang hit her, remembering the events of so long ago, when she’d fought back corruption herself. Death could sometimes still be worse, she mused. It was a fate she could not wish upon him.

“Lyuth… Mercy, Charity and Generosity. The seventh rule, and last, of the Code.”

The fire was all but gone now, the last ashes spreading as the wind picked them up. Her hand moved idly toward her shoulder, where he had placed a comforting hand before after hearing her own tale, her own reasons for both mistrusting the dark lord’s followers, and why she would make the decision that had been asked of her. It had been a simple act, yet so much more than any had offered up to now, since her return. An act of kindness, of compassion, without any reason behind it. Right at that moment, so close to the place where she had fallen 30 years before… right then, for the first time, the Silver Valley seemed peaceful again. Right then, she knew, she would train this man, the fallen Banite Draihken. She would teach him. She would not only show him the path of Helm, but she would teach him the Code. She would try and explain it’s meaning, and then, if he understood, she would try and explain him what clerics could not… the true meaning of being a Guardian.

”Perhaps…” she thought, ”Perhaps he does have a chance after all.”**

[shadevar]

Musings

“You will need to find the path to the Vigilant One yourself, in your heart. And you will need to learn to not only know the tennets, but as well to understand them. Question them…”

Weary, the knight placed the dark and heavy heavy tomes she had been labouring over to the side. For days and days without end, every brief respite there had been she had spent over these, reading through texts that some of which she could barely bring herself to understand. Still, she could not help but wonder if the man she had spoken the words to, would understand. “Question them…”

It was one thing to head into holy halls and proclaim “faith”, she mused. It was another thing to accept the doctrines of such a faith, the tennets to which that church, the physical embodiment of the faith on this world, as truth. However, it was an entirely different thing to understand it. For a moment, her thoughts raced back to the note left at the Halls a few days before. “In edicts of helm bok that is hand out in timple of Helm is wrong informaton.” She shrugged, quietly. Too many people were blinded by tennets and rules, unable to see the truth beyond them.

She glanced aside to one of the tomes, a volume that presented a treatise on the mystical web commonly referred to as The Weave. One of the few remainders she still possessed of her husband’s collection, she cherished it with a peculiarity. Mystra’s greatest work, an invisible web of magic that was said to connect everything, be it living or dead, flesh or stone. It was through this weave that mages gained their power. They somehow felt it’s presence better than others, shaping the raw power that flows through it into visible, tangible results. Some felt it more than others, some shaped intricate patterns and words around it, to focus themselves and give it shape, others let it loose with nothing more than a blink. Magic…

“How was it then, that those of faith gained their powers?” The knight realized that she had never even stopped to consider this herself. She had always just known what to do when the time came, known the words, the thoughts. Always she had assumed that it was Helm guiding her mind to the correct phrasings, that it was Helm seeing her desires at that moment, and empowering them through spell. It was how priests worked their magic, not? ”Perhaps…”, she thought, ”Perhaps it is not.”

Once again she considered the previous conversation. Faith had always guided her actions. She’d held the tennets of Helm as true to her heart as the old codes of knighthood, and both had shaped her into who she was now. What did this make her be different than any other? What did this make her any bit different than the Banite…? Nothing, she realized. They were both alike, if tennets were all they would care for and follow. Machines following a code written down by old men, long ago. The words were different, certainly. The rules, the doctrines, every custom was shaped and altered to reflect that aspect of the Gods that they had both chosen, by will or by force, to serve. But in it’s basics, they were the same. The knight shrugged a moment, glancing aside to a soldier that stirred in his sleep.

She closed her eyes, the voices of old returning as clearly as the day she had heard them. Once, long ago, she had been just like that. Young, full of hopes and will, she had spoken the words out loud until it was all she could still remember. “Be Vigilant. Protect the weak, the poor, the injured. Stand, wait, and watch carefully.” She had taken every word to the letter and forged it into the shield that protected her, into the weapon that crossed the enemy’s blade. She would not have been able to understand even the slightest defraction of these rules, she realized now. She would have been just like the man, that had tacked the note to the temple’s doors, unwilling to understand.

“We do not serve just one God, even if we dare lay claim to such.” The thought hit her like a rock, the truth in it as clear as water. It was there, cradling, and somewhere deep inside, and with it she realized that she had always known. The Gods were many, but one thing above all others could define them more than anything else. Each and everyone one of them represented a facet of mortality, of nature, of emotion… Life. And with every step, mere mortals like herself, or the farmer in his fields… every action fed their power, nourished them. Did not sailors give praise to Umberlee, if only to avoid disaster? Did not the poor and injured look upon Ilmater for aid? Did not the careful whispers at night, the fear that a man could feel by refusing to speak his name, not bring mirth to Bane? Did not all these questions, all this reading and pondering, bring silent hommage to Oghma? The knight couldn’t resist a slight chuckle. Her thoughts had taken the form of wild horses, racing freely over the plains.

Her eyes went over the old tome again. The weave… it could not be that only magelings would find use for it. “The Art” they called it. The art of shaping nothing, into something. The art, empowered by the weave. This perception seemed oddly wrong to her. If the Weave was all existing, if it was everywhere and touched everything… Druids tapped on the strengths of nature and shaped it further, just as well. The knight considered this a moment.

What if the Gods did not merely “grant” their powers to devout followers? Was it not already selfish pride to assume yourself worthy enough of such benefit? What if people like herself, the priests in the temples or the slavemines, the warriors on the battlefield, all those that had found their “calling”… what if they too were just more focussed? What if they as well merely tapped from this Weave, noticing the magic coursing through muscle and vein, and unknowingly shaped it into use? What if the tennets, the doctrines, the training… what if they were meant for nothing else than to shape one’s soul into a given direction, giving course to the shape and power of these spells?

The knight sat silent for several minutes, listening to the breathing of the soldier. ”The difference between the Banite and myself, is what we believe. And what we believe gives shape to thoughts, actions…” It sounded reasonable. Where the Banite was consumed by desires that stained his soul to the core, the magic he would work was dark, the prayers and whispers painful to the bone. Perhaps it was not Helm denying her such magic… perhaps she was merely just free of such desires. It would never cross her mind to give praise to spells that would bring such pains. Neither would the Banite consider it worthy to save a life through his magic, unless it would be of use to him.

“But then… the sages speak of the Arcane versus the Divine. Where then lies the difference?” There was none. In it’s very root, there could be none. The “Weave” as mages called it, the very force that binds it all, it was all just the same. It was easy enough to come to this, seeing how the wild magic affected everything, priest and mage alike. If it was not, if both were different… then how could it be that even priests, devout and true, were not able to work their spells without fear of failure, or worse? No… it had to be the same. Perhaps, she mused, the distinction lay more in how this magical web was approached.

Mages empowered their spells with strict rituals, precise movements, exact words, the right component at the right time. Perhaps this affected the manner in which they used this magic. In shaping it, perhaps their manner altered the patterns of this magic thoroughly enough to become distinct. While herself, for instance… she needed none of such. Every time, she had prayed to Helm to guide her. If her strength faltered, she’d pray that He would aid her and guide her through. If her mind wavered, she steeled herself, and prayed that He would allow her to overcome. If a man lay bleeding, she prayed for His mercy. And everytime, she had felt the familiar surge as the magic worked it’s ways. Perhaps such could be defined as the Divine: inner strength. Emotion… Natural feelings, opposed to analytic measurement. Divine versus Arcane.

The knight nodded to herself a few times, thinking back on the note. Perhaps this was exactly what she needed to explain to it’s writer, the kind, albeit perhaps a bit slow of mind, half Orc Vervain. That tennets and dogmas of the clergy were not just rules cast in stone, but more guidelines towards higher achievement. His gripe had been on a matter of undeath. She still wondered what he had meant, exactly. The Vigilant did not welcome undeath, and neither did his clergy appreciate it’s use. Many books forbade it, Helm did not allow it they said. But books are written by men, not Gods, and men tend to divert everything to it’s most strict meaning.

What if someone, who followed the path that inevitably lead to Helm, with all his heart, was of unpure morals? There had been cases before, she knew. Rando’s words and the gleeful look upon his face sprung to mind again at once. She did not doubt that he was devoted to the Vigilant’s path, nor did she doubt that tennets meant nothing to him. But his soul was stained to the core with acts that she would never find herself able of commiting. What if such a man, his mind set to Helm, praying for strength and guidance like she would… what if such a man shaped the weave of magic? His emotions would surely taint the effects, much like Banites, Cyricists, and all the likes would. Was it then impossible to, for instance in this case, create exactly that what priests, earthly men, preached not to, and still be true to his own faith, his own beliefs? Was this what made the common folk define some as “paladin”, while others walked a much darker path? Nothing but a term defining personal morals, personal beliefs, guided by a common faith?

The knight took a deep breath at this. It had to be… it was the only explanation she could find. The tennets, strictures, masses, prayers of the priests… they served to nothing else but to create a path for the soul to walk upon. A path to achievement, a path to control one emotion over another. Learning to follow these, was learning to follow a set of emotions, visions, in the hope of casting aside the rest that would condemn one to the darkness. Anger, fear, hatred… all were primal emotions that each and every one possessed, instinct. And these were what the darker Gods fed upon, what empowered them. Some paths, like Helm’s, are less explicit in primal emotions, allowing for more layway. Allowing for men like Rando.

Again, she glanced at the soldier, and suddenly wondered why he was here. Did he, like so many others, took the doctrines for literal truth? She found herself hoping not, hoping that this young man would one day look up at the altar, and question every word, until he could be at peace with himself in Helm’s shadow. “Yes…” she thought to herself. This was exactly what she would have to explain to the half Orc, if he would care to listen. And this was exactly what the Banite that had stood before her in these very halls had to learn.

They were perhaps not so different after all…

[shadevar]

Remembrance

_Deep is the chasm, the morbid ravine,
Drowned in the darkness, unable to scream.

I sit and I wait, for someone to come,
But no one can save me from what I've become.

The shadows are dense, foreboding and black,
And I know in my heart that there's no going back.

I try to draw comfort, but bleak is my mind,
I'm trapped in a prison that no light can find.

Soaked are my eyes from merciless tears,
To have been so alone all these torturous years…_

With an eerie feeling crawling within, the knight closed the book. For a moment, her fingers traced the soft, cheap leather that held it together, slightly worn from use, dark from dust. It was showing small cracks here and there, as certain as the pages that had been wrinkled to the sides due to handling by over-eager students. “A Collection of poems from the Realm of Cormyr, As Recounted by Lizana”

The knight did not know what she’d hoped to find within it’s pages. Recollections perhaps? A link to a past long gone, ties long broken that somehow she still tried to maintain? Solace perhaps? She did not know, nor did it matter much. All it had served for was to once again feel the emptiness that haunted her whenever she dared to let her mind wander away from the safety that was Helm’s home.

“Shane! Get here at once!” Lord Bern Andryl bellowed through the halls, his voice seething with anger. It was not enough already that he was solely responsible for her, after his wife, may she be peaceful in the heavens, had passed away at childbirth. No, it seemed the little brat had to sidestep his commands every time he turned his back. “Girls should behave like is expected, and become decent women…. “ he grumbled. “The Gods know I’ll need no dowry if this keeps up! No man will ever wish for such a wild hen!”

He knew the whispers all too well. While he held a decent amount of prestige with his neighbours and fellow knights, it had happened once too many a time already that a caring friend or neighbour would offer aid in some manner. Perhaps the poor child could go there on vacation for a while? Perhaps some other company would do her good? And what of a handmaid? Bern had always politely declined, always declared that in his household all was well and as should be. Now, he strongly began to doubt himself… Perhaps they were right. After all, the home of a knight alone was no home for child, and even less for a daughter. Then again, did Helm not command to care for the children first of all? Especially your own. No, he, Bern Andryl, sworn knight to the Purple Dragon, and liege to the lands of Imnesvale, could neither disgrace himself or the memory of his wife in such a way.

“A handmaid…” he sighed at the thought.

There she was, in the courtyard, near to the stables where Frederick was busy stacking the hay. 13 winters old, he had to admit she was quite practiced with the sword for even a boy of her age. The thought struck him as quickly as his anger flared again, and with large strides he headed straight for the “battle master”, Jernan, his trusted guard captain.

“But… but father!” Bern tried to remain stern as he saw the look of anguish on his daughter’s face, the hearth’s fire reflecting in her eyes and on her skin. “So much like her mother…” he mused. She was looking terrified at his words of before. He would hire a handmaiden to keep her in check, would send her off to a temple if needs be to teach her some decent manners. Perhaps Sunites would do her some good! Bern almost had to laugh seeing that face now, and hearing the words in his mind again. Sunites.. what was he even thinking? The rumors had really gotten to him.

With a deep sigh, he leaned forward. “Shane… what do you want of me then? I am an old man, in service to the king. I know I am not nearly as much present as I should, and then when I do return home, I find you…” He stopped, looking his daughter in the eyes.

“I want to be like you father. “ Her look was convinced, too much to his liking. For a moment, the grumbles returned. Surely he would seriously have to scold Jernan for one. And not just him.

“Child. Such a life is not for you. It’s hard, and dangerous. It’s not romance, or anything the bards will tell you. It’s real battles, real blood, real pain. I cannot let you… I don’t want…” Shane’s voice cut him off. “You don’t want to lose me like you did mother.” He knew it to be true. Right then and there, he knew he would do anything, break any vow, do whatever it took to ensure it. He had once lost his wife already, he would not lose his daughter too.

The knight raised herself from the chair lightly, placing the small book to a side while a faint smile crept around her lips. She’d won that night alright. It had taken a lot to convince her father of who she really was, and a lot more afterwards to convince him to train as a full knight. But in the years after she had persevered, and shown him time and again that she could not only manage her trainers quite well, but often even outsmarted them. When she was not at riding or swordplay, she learned and read about Helm, questioning every letter until she found for herself where her own truth lay.

Now, she realized, she had tried too much. She had tried so hard to prove to her father how well she could manage, that she’d not seen or understood his own demise until it was too late. Her father saw her perseverance, and while showing pride, it tore at him. Slowly but surely it nagged at him to see her so enthralled with all of it, to be so absorbed with Helm’s teachings, to be training from dawn till dusk while women of her age should be out courting future husbands. He began to blame himself for his failing, his own faith and beliefs he began to hate, as seeing to what they had rooted.

The knight still vividly remembered that fatal evening, when the King’s riders had come with message of war. All the King’s most able knights were to be summoned to hold back an assault of the Zhentarim on neighbouring Dalelands. Cormyr could not deny a call for aid in times like these. Her father had, like many others, been summoned to leave at once. The riders could not have come at a better time, she had thought back then, foolishly. She had just endured yet another heated conversation with her father. He had denied her to join at the Helm’s Hold as Knight Errant, instead urging her that if such was truelly what she desired, to enlist as a Purple Dragon instead. His name would surely offer her both rank and a good reception, and above all, safety. She had wanted to know nothing of it. She did not wish to defy her father, but she had grown furious herself as she seemed incapable of making him see. When the riders came and the heavy banging resounded in the halls, she’d just been fearing he would cast her out of his home and life. It had been the last decent conversation she’d ever had with father.

It had not come to that, eventually, though now she wished that perhaps it would have been better. The night was still a cause of regret to her. When he was returned to his home by comrades, he was nothing more than a wreck, broken in body, mind and faith. The war had destroyed him, and with it, Shane’s hopes and dreams of the future. Now, she was in charge of the house hold of Imnesvale. Neither Purple Dragon, nor Knight Errant, nor mercenary… nothing. Not even worthy of a husband, unworthy as a daughter. It was then, when the call of aid had come, when she had made the final choice that would destine her life forever…

Wrapping her mantle closer, she smiled again, stroking her finger a last time over the leather. Now she knew what she’d been looking for in the first place. It was not solace, nor peace of mind. For far too long she had questioned every step she had made in the past, whether she had been right or wrong, whether things could not have turned out differently if only she had chosen different. Whether, if only she had listened to her father’s wishes more, perhaps his end, their end, could have been different. But such was a lie, she now realized. It was nothing but selfish pride to take credit in another’s downfall, when his errors were of his own making. A man’s choices were his own to make, and his own to face when pennance was due. She had made her own choices just as well, and faced them all.
Quietly, she took the book and placed it back where it belonged. It had served it’s purpose, answered her own final question.

Now, it was time to question reality and focus once again. “Know your enemy.” The knight looked out the open door into the temple halls. In her mind’s eye, she wandered out into Jiyyd and into the open lands. The woods of the Minthas, the Nars… With a loud stern voice, she summoned one of the acolytes. “Bring me all you can find, every bit, as little as it may seem, on the gods of dark.” She said, her voice eager and full of sudden lust for battle. “I want to know all there is to know about the Black Hand, and any that would ally with Him. And then I want to know the rest!”

The acolyte scurried of quickly to his task. For a moment she felt a pang as she knew all too well that she could just as easily have done so herself. But no, now she could not waste more time in searching. She had other matters to attend to. Khaya had spoken of a Helmite cleric, Amana, who had been there with her on the Shadow Plane, when… Quickly, she banished that thought again. If this man was who Khaya had said he was, he had to be near. He’d been missing, but apparently he was back now. And if anything else she knew, she definately had to speak to him. There were still too many questions unanswered, after all.

[shadevar]

**Doubt

I still have them, the symbols that Rando entrusted me with. “Take these, bring them to the temple….” I do not know what intrigues me more about them. They are nothing more than worthless trinkets, cheap medaillons, the Black Lord’s mark engraves within them. They had belonged to living Banites once. The flecks of crusted blood vividly spoke of the fact that their owners were now quite dead. They mean nothing to me, merely cheap trinkets that should be molten down in the forges and cast away. They should mean nothing else. But still…

I am worried. I should be beyond such feelings, they hold no grasp over me any longer. I should be able to just look at these and feel nothing, but I cannot. Too much has happened…

Even when now I know I am at peace with myself, at peace with my heart and my mind, at peace with the path that I tread in the Vigilant’s service, even then these trinkets return too many memories. The Black Lord’s grasp has been in my way far too many times, I’ve faced too many of his minions to remain emotionless, I’ve felt their sharp tongues and painful blades too many times to forget. Their hand has caused my defeat, my betrayal. Tyranny, destruction, hatred… it is their way. It was that black cult’s way, lead forth by a deranged lunatic, and it is Bane’s way. It’s all that I can feel when I look upon these mere… trinkets. Hatred.

Or is it? No… I have not grown so cold. I’ve tried to imagine what I would have done, would it have been my hand that had taken these trinkets. Rando’s trophies… I might have shown mercy, I have done so in the past. In the least their deaths would have been swift. Judging from the stains, the torn chains, the lack of emotion in Rando's eyes, I somehow doubt this was the case now with their current executor. I would have offered mercy, perhaps, but in the least, I would have felt pitty. Pitty for what path had lead these men to their doom, what delusions had poisoned their minds to further the goals of one as black as night itself.

Pitty. Aye, perhaps that is exactly what I feel for those that once wore these trinkets with the same pride as I call the Watcher my Lord. If only they had chosen another path in life, their destiny could have been different. Had they chosen to abandon the dark path that can only lead to destruction, their symbols would now not be lying here before me. They would still be alive. Aye, perhaps I do hate their illusions, I despise the word they try to preach, with all my heart I abhor what terrors they wish to bring forth, all for the mere sake to be feared, to know their master is feared like none other. But more than else, I pitty them, for they have lost their souls already. They are merely dead men walking, nothing else.

But moreover, I pitty Rando. The look in his eyes when he handed me these trinkets, it worries me. He was not merely handing them as matter of fact, he could have easily taken them to where he wanted to himself. Instead, he wanted to gloat. He wanted to see the look on my face, know my reaction. He wanted to force it upon me that even he could walk in Helm’s name, and that nothing had changed. Rando, the twice-betrayer, the one I had given a final chance to redeem himself within the confinements of the Order. The same man that called himself a friend and ally, yet all he could do was enrage me in every step, call upon my pride beyond measures, draw the blood from under my nails until my fist slammed so hard on that oak table that I would have feared it would have broken. Worse than Juno, atleast Juno was honest enough to admit his allegiances and defiance.

I admit I can still but barely believe it. Aye, truth be told, a lot of years have passed, and age brings wisdom. Perhaps indeed his words are true, perhaps indeed he has finally realised his errors of the past, and found his true path. If such a path is taken in Helm’s name, then I can do none but salute him, and wish him well. In the end, Rith is right. I am no judge, no jury, no executioner. I am the spectator, the silent guardian. When the time comes, Rando, like all others, will face his judgement, and if he has really accepted Helm to guide his way, then it is Helm who shall be his judge, as He was mine, and will be once again.

Norwick seems calmer now, that much I do admit, it is well defended, and by far less prone to the terrors that nearly caused it’s end at the hands of the Drow. From what I have seen so far, the people can atleast once again feel safe. That is what matters. Nothing else.

Still, it remains hard to come to terms with. For the first time in many years, I wish I could just walk up that hill and into Helm’s temple, and speak with Eram. I wish I could hear his voice once again, confer with him on this matter, and I know his answers would have been true, and wise. “Ask the people of Metica” Rando had said. I don’t know.. Somehow, I do not wish to know. Helm’s name has been furthered by blood in those far reaches, from what I am told, the people either called out His name in fear of death, or died in not too kind ways. The mere thought brings a sour taste to my mouth that makes me want to reach for my blade and cut that smirk away from his face. Helm should not be feared, but respected.

I am Shane Andryl, no more, no less. I have lived my life in the way that I have deemed most right, most honorable. I have thrust my blade countless times into the hearts of those that would threaten the helpless, the poor. I have shown mercy to even the most wicked, and unleashed my wrath upon those who would not succumb. My heart has bled with loss, and has been rejoicefull for the sight of a smile on a young child’s face. I have championed Helm’s cause in the best way that I have deemed fit – I have stood in guard against the tides of darkness in these blasted lands, my armor was the shield of the weak, my sword their weapon, my faith their hope. I was the rock, and I carried their burden when times were dire, I took the blames when others would have been hurt more. I have felt torn, more than once I have felt the doubts that, just like my father, I was not strong enough to walk in Helm’s footsteps, too weakhearted, too clouded by what is called just and good to keep the balance. There have been times that I thought my heart would break and bring swift death to me, when all I could do was as He commands: stand in the distance and watch… guard. But with all my heart, with every fiber of my soul, I know it was right. I was right.

I have offered Rando my words of truce. The past is in the past, and only time will tell what the future brings. He is not the reason why I am here. Perhaps he has really turned into a true man, even if it is in his own way. He follows the same path I have walked, the path of Helm, and for now, I only pray he walks it true, and not in mockery. Until time decides otherwise and unveils the truth, I will remain at a distance, and watch, ever vigilant.

Still, it remains hard to come to terms with… I am not sure if I really can.**

[shadevar]

Memories of the past

Quietly, the knight stared over the hilltop, looking out over the town that had been her home for so long before. She let go of a deep breath. It was hard to feel at home once again in a place that seemed so strange and distant from what she'd known before. Especially, knowing that in the catacombs of the very temple behind her, awaited the coffin, now empty, bearing her name.

The truth had been hard to grasp…

It all still seemed so unreal. Somewhere, she quietly hoped some demon would appear, some vile puppeteer to prove that all she saw, experienced, felt, was nothing else but a maddening dream. But she knew there would be none.
Brothers of old had been most kind, even those she'd never known, but that clearly knew her. They had told her what had come to pass: she'd fallen against the Banites, and her soul had remained restless as a final wish had not been granted, a proper burial not given, since the Banites had stolen away her corpse, her armor, and sword. They had told her of the corruption, the terror that her revenant form had caused, as the Banites held the key to her own rest. The eternal peace promised in the realms of Kelemvor, the call to return to the halls of the Ever Watchful could not be fulfilled through the treachery. With no where to go, her soul had taken the only course that it could, and dread had come in it's wake.

The knight felt the pain, the awful piercing that tore hearts apart, deep within herself. She'd always expected Bane's treachery to come for her life one day, never had she forgotten the curse that had been made to her, when she'd been called to prove herself worthy of the Vigilant's embrace. Never, not even in the darkest corners of her mind, could she have ever thought that the vengeance would have been so terrible indeed. To be snatched away from eternal peace so much longed for, to be taken in such a manner through her greatest weakness... It was too much for the knight to come to terms with just like that.

Her downfall had been caused by her own. Her own words had been the fuel, her own pride the tool to her demise. The pains of the loss of her husband had been too much to bear. Too much had she longed for her defenses to fail, for a blade to strike too true and draw the last breath away. Too eagerly, and with too much pride, had she accepted the call for her sacrifice, that her life be ended to return to Helm, so that others may follow the path she'd started on now. And in her pride, she had offered her one and only wish, as custom grew too deep in her heart, to be burried the way she'd aspired to live: a knight. The desire had been too strong, the bond to loyalty, the need for order too great. Through her own pride and stubborness, Bane had fulfilled his promise, that a gruesome fate would still befall her sometime, and he'd not let death cheat vengeance away from Him. It had only been through the valiancy and compasion of her brothers in faith and arms, that salvation had in the end still come, and with it the peace of the Eternal Watch.

"No more." The knight thought. His reasons remained mysterious, but it was more than clear. It was only through Helm's will that she walked the lands of the living again, again champion to His cause. This time, there was nothing left: no bonds to still restrain her, no emotions of love and loss to still cloud her perceptions. This time, all that still remained was her duty.

She would not let her pride, nor selfish wants, take hold of her own again. Then again, she thought, she was still human… It might all not be as easy as she thought.

Quietly, she considered the rest of the news that had come to her: undead rising, demons and devils bringing their Blood War to the lands, and much, much more. Perhaps Roland was right. Perhaps the fact that Helm had sent her back just now, was an omen.

An omen of darkness yet to come...

[shadevar]

The Ghost Reborn

The faint crackle of the fire awoke the knight from her slumbers. Dazed from the obvious sleep, she tried to focus on her surroundings. She’d fallen asleep in her chair, the book, a treatise on aspects of magic, lay on her lap. The fire was still warm, though it only glowed dimly as the last of the wood was being burnt. Hours must have passed since she’d fallen asleep. Slowly, she turned to throw another log on the fire. The wood was old and dry, and quietly she wondered how long it had been again since her husband had brought it in. Yet she didn’t complain, the wood caught fire swiftly, bringing a gentle warmth with it. She could not help but wonder why the room felt so cold…

It was still dark outside, though from the crowing of the roosters in the distance, she could tell it would soon be morning. Just enough time to prepare herself, head to the Temple for her morning prayers, and be ready to meet the Knights of the Divine Shield for the scheduled training. They’d been lacking in combat lately, and she feared that soon they would meet their death if they did not learn to hold a proper defense… A sudden chill passed through her as the thoughts took hold, and the knight stared at the pile of weathered and dry logs of woods. Of course it had been a while since her husband had arranged for any fresh wood… He was dead. Mystra had taken his life a few nights before, when they had joined Adam in his search for a relic from the Lost City…

She felt cold, numb in her heart, half dazed with thoughts. She knew that it was true, and yet, it all felt so wrong… The training, the Lost City… it all seemed so long ago. And yet, today was the day of agreed meeting, and not even a 10-day ago she’d seen her husband to rest. The knight shook her head, muttered a small beseachment to Helm for strength, and blamed herself for the weariness. The loss had taken too much of a toll on her for sure. She would have to pull herself together if she was to continue on. Her eyes drifted off to the book. “A Treatise on the Schools of Magic”. It had been one of her husband’s books. Eventhough she did not quite grasp the obsession of others to manipulate the energies around into devasting effects, she had through the years grown to respect the users of the Arts, her husband having been quite a scholar in them himself. She’d been reading through the tomes, even if she only half understood them, not just out of curiosity, but as well to understand how it worked, what it’s dangers were… and because of what her husband had died. The knight felt out of place suddenly, alone and empty. She shrugged away the memories, and prepared to dress in her armor and leave for the temple. A breath of air would do her well.

She halted at the doorway, when realization struck her that something was very wrong. The knight turned to look where her shield was supposed to be, but the place was empty. It was not there. Neither was her cloak, her pack. Nothing. She turned around and looked into the room once again, when a feeling of dread came over her. “Light!”. She dreaded to speak the word, hated usually to use the words of command her husband had enchanted for ease, but now she felt like never before that she –had- to see. And as she saw, she shivered… The room seemed old, unkept. Cobwebs adorned the ceiling like ancient trophies, and dust was all around, thick enough to even show her own bootprints on the floor. The crests of her family looked dull, and on the table remained a bowl of what may have once been fruit, all dried out and rotten away. The claws of time were visible everywhere. “In Helm’s name… what is going on?” She did not, could not, would not understand. Bent on discovering the truth of this mindgame, she opened the door behind her and stepped outside, as if to awake from a grizzly dream.

The paladin stared into the fire in the townsquare of Jiyyd, confused and dazed, not understanding. So much had changed… She barely recognized her own town, and Norwick had been even worse. The knights had not come for the scheduled training, and somehow she had not expected them to either, not anymore. It was as if time had passed for years and years while she’d been asleep. She only barely heard the woman sitting beside her. ”Belade Geladon, Paladin of Sune,” she had introduced herself. The knight had courtially offered her own name as reply, but it seemed strange, distant, unreal. Focussed in thought, she only barely noticed the newcomers entering the gates, the ruckus caused by magic, the discussions they were holding.

“I hear the folk speak of ghosts in the old house next to Kert’s store…” The paladin looked up at the words, wondering if she’d heard them well. There was only 1 house next to the store… hers. Did she hear this well? She looked up, wished asked for an explanation, however the words did not come clearly. She was too confused. The ones sitting with her at the fire left her to her thoughts as they continued their conversations, dismissing the mention of her house as drunkard’s tales. The knight did not ask any further, wondering instead what demons had brought her to a place that was so much her home, and yet so strange, so different, that she barely recognized it. She contented to remain silent, to merely listen, and learn…

“Ye lads are too blind to see the truth I tell ya! There’s your ghost, right in front of you, and you don’t even see it.” The knight looked behind her at the old man that had come to join the fire. Clearly the man was confused, he had the look of one who had just seen death before him, and rushed off. Only when she noticed that all gathered were looking right at her, did she realize the man had been speaking about her. Vaguely, shocked, she heard his mention of the statues in the Valley, and that the ghosts of the statues had come to life. She stood up, wanting to stop the man and ask him what he meant, but he was already gone. She crossed the eyes of the others at the fire, yet all of them looked just as unknowing as she did, and soon enough they shrugged the talks away. Some departed to the Valley to see what could have upset the man so much, but soon returned without news. All seemed fine.

But all was not fine, and the paladin knew it. Something was terribly wrong, and she had to know what it was. The man had been speaking about her, had pointed her out as a ghost of the past, and she had to know what he meant. For a moment she thought to ask the others gathered with her for an explanation, but she decided against it. In such a strange land as her home had become, with so many new faces, she would have to be careful. With a silent nod, she parted herself from the company, and headed for the Silver Valley, bent on seeing with her own eyes what the man had meant. Perhaps she’d find a clue there.

“… the Andryl shrine?” The paladin looked at the hin in clear shock, not believing the words. She’d asked the hin for directions, asked if she knew anything about statues in the area, and where to find them, but the answer seemed so unreal, it could not be. The hin nodded, telling her about the shrine, that it had been erected for a fallen paladin, Shane Andryl, who had died on the lands of the Valley, in memory of her deeds. The hin rambled on about how not so many came to visit it anymore these days, but that the older folk still remembered, as well as the hins, and that they would never forget… The knight barely heard it, her mind in turmoil as never before. The shrine to Shane Andryl, Paladin of Helm… A shrine to herself. With a sense of urgency she stepped forth, wanting to see with her own eyes what mockery this was.

“Are… are you alright, miss?” the hin looked upon the knight worried as she stumbled to the ground, seeing the inscription upon the plate. The knight grasped her side in pain, breathless as the images flashed before her eyes. They had come, the knights of the Divine Shield… they had come for their training, and along with her, they had fallen into the Banite trap. Pain blurred her eyes as once again, she felt the sharp sting of the mercenary’s blade into her side, the merciless stab that had breached her defenses and sent her away to death. Trying to grasp for air, the knight remembered the offer made by Kelemvor’s servant, the price she paid to see her allies amongst the living again, the passage to eternity. And as the hin came to her, worried for what the knight had suddenly befallen, she understood why all seemed so strange now. She had fallen, died in Helm’s service on the field of battle, the threat of Bane made truth. And now, here she was, alive again!

The paladin stood once more, realizing the hin’s words of worry, and offered the hin a small smile. Quickly she wiped away the tears, and tried to compose herself. Wonder crept into her mind. What was this now? Had Helm really called her back into the realms of the living, did He have another task for her laid ahead? Or was this just another trick of the demons that always lurked in the mist, a trick to break her will finally? Was this all truth, or merely a lie to see her succumb? The knight did not know, but she knew she had to find out at all costs. She ended the conversation with the hin after setting her mind at ease. At first she wanted to explain, tell her her name, that she was alive, but quickly enough it dawned to her that such words would only serve to confuse the hin even more, and thus she let it rest. With a dazed word of goodbye the knight left the scene, returning to the fires of Jiyyd, and hopefully, to more answers…

She returned to Jiyyd just in time to find the town disarrayed in battle. Orcs were assaulting! Quickly she drew her blade, ancient instinct driving her hand to it, her legs already moving to aid in defense and strike true at the threat. For a while she fought, unconscious of the surroundings, until she felt the pains of new wounds and magic being cast to hold her at bay. Dazed she stood in the middle of the town, watching how the others continued to hack into the lines of the Orcs to keep them at bay. The wounds told her this was not a dream, that all was real enough, yet all of it seemed so unreal. The sword in her hands as well, it was not right. Trivaenstel, her father’s sword, rightfully hers by heritage, she’d never used it. She’d never wanted to bring the memory of her father, fallen in faith and mind in his final hour, into the field of battle.

Again, the memories surged over her, distant and yet so real. She felt the darkness all around, the cold of death, her heart burning only with 1 desire: vengeance, and rest. She felt the hatred for her enslavers, as her soul was bound by a darkness greater than she’d ever known, she felt the lust for blood until that burning desire was quenched. And as the Orcs fell around her, as a young cleric passed, noticing her and uttering a prayer of healing for her cause, as she felt the warmth of the divine once again strengthening and closing her wounds, as well she felt the warmth of salvation, the peace of final rest. "Bury what is left of me under Helm's grace, Ishar…leave to my remains my armour and sword. Let me have those in my death. " her own words resounded in her mind, words of times long ago. The words that had caused her torment, the words that had brought delivery. And as she saw her own armor, and the sword she held in hand, she understood. It was all she had left now, the only things that had been taken to her final grave.

Oblivious to the rest of the battle, she turned to the only place that she knew would give her consolation now, and perhaps answers. Gathering herself together, the paladin known as Shane Andryl, the ghost reborn, returned home, to the temple of Helm.

[shadevar]

- THE END -

[shadevar]

The final breath

The sun was shining brightly as the knight emerged from the cold and darkness of her home, the winter snow held at bay for a change in the colds of Jiyyd. Only this night had she spent there, and feeling none for it, she had not even bothered to light the fire. The road beyond had been her home for the last few days, as she had aimlessly wandered the countryside, seeking both a warmth in missing, and a reason for both what had been, and what was still to be. Yet she had found none, only the emptiness within her heart with the loss of her husband's life, taken by the hand of Mystra. The thought alone made emotions twirl up inside. Many friends were servant to Her cause, yet how could she ever attempt to respect them again? How could she, one that had championed Helm's cause for so many years, one now so blatantly defied by the Lady of Mystery, how could she still respect Her?

Calmly, she set her pack next to one of the benches near the well. They were near to empty, her coin was near to spent on the souls of hapless travellers along the way, once again having served a better cause than remaining in her pockets. She'd need to see to new incomes soon though, for the Order was in desperate need of it. Calmly, she cast one look behind her to the home that was hers. "Perhaps I should sell it…". She'd thought about it several times. Now with her husband gone, there was no more need to remain there. A bunk at the temple would serve her just as well, the only goal remaining to see her life through as Helm would command it. The modesty would once again do her well.

_"Ah… there she is!"_A familiar voice sounded from not too far away, a woman's voice she struggled to remember. Ishar was speaking with her, a smile showing as he noted the knight. _"Hello sister Shane."_The knight tried her best to offer at least a faint smile to both of them, nodding her head to both in the same proud and courteous manner as she had always been accustomed to. Pondering, the knight tried to place the woman's appearance, until it suddenly struck her. "Natasha…", she thought, a soft smile appearing at the recollection. It had been years since she had seen her in the town. "I'm still wondering.. what's about that training?" Ishar looked puzzled at the knight, doing his best to hide feelings of shame at his earlier ill fortunes, hoping the response would not point out the knight's displeasure because of it. Yet such she did not wish to uncomfort him with. Aye, it had been true that several knights to the Order had been lacking in skill of battle lately, and she had thought it wise to at least share some of her own knowledge with them, as Helm would expect of her to do. But there was no need in hurting the pride of brothers, where all were able to fail at times, even herself. "A bit of training at your skills in battle never hurts, Ishar. Even I can still learn at times" The words were carefully chosen, none meant to be harmful or in showing of disrespect.

"I've never been here…" Ishar looked over the valley, clear wonder showing at such a peaceful place, so near the town of Jiyyd. From the murmurs and looks of the others, the knight knew they shared his thought. Gunnar, Natasha… they had not been there either. Only the Tormite cleric Cyrus, whom she had allowed to join as a prospect for the Order, seemed knowledgeable of the place. With a smile, she looked over the valley, over the water, content for a moment at just watching the light of the sun reflect over it. "When I feel like trouble will crush me, just a few breaths and a look over this already make me feel better…" It had been Equinox his words the night before, when she had stood with him at the waterfront near his farm. How true they were to her own, for already she felt content, even if it was for but a fleeting moment.

"Tell me…what is key to survival in a fight?" The paladin was serious to the matter again, as they all stood next to the waterfront, looking upon the Knights that had gathered. "Strategy?", "Not being dead!", "That they don't notice you are there killing them?", "My faith in Torm…". The knight smiled faint for a moment at the replies given, then shook her head. She'd been right, much work was still to be done here. "Faith must always remain, the faith that you may live another day, or turn to His halls… but faith alone does not make you living Ishar." Her words were calm, serious. For a moment, she had to suppress a chuckle, as she herself was reminded of her own mentor all those years ago. Now the student herself was the master, passing on knowledge gained through training and hardship herself. "He provides the tools, but you must use them. Know first who you deal with, how do they strike? Watch and learn their moves… anticipate. Look for a breach in defense, and then strike true." Their attention was caught, as each listened and saw the reason behind it. Perhaps some vigilance could be taught after all. "The key to winning a fight, is knowing when not to…"

The knight paused a moment, as the cheerful appearance of Nyblas drew near. She greeted him with a warm smile. The cheerful, proud hin had always been able to warm her heart with his presence, and her respect with his bold and honorful nature. Truly, Arvoreen could do none other then smile upon him. "Let me see how you handle a weapon… hold it out front." Immediately, the knights gathered responded, drawing their blades. Intensely, she studied the manner in which they held them, knowing all too well that even the slightest wrong grip could cause severe pain in arm and wrist upon a flawed strike, more then likely resulting in defeat the moment after. Calmly, she placed Ishar hand slightly askew from his hold. Men that were accustomed to learning swordplay directly in the field often made such mistakes, and only practice could unlearn such, thus again improving their skills. She could not help but look upon Gunnar with light pride, as at least that far, his grip and balance were flawless. The young man had indeed been listening well, and Darian's examples showed well through the man's efforts, now squire to her own. "So far so good" she thought. It was time to pair them against one another for a moment, and look into their defense.

"We have visitors." Natasha's warning brought the paladin to attention, the lesson halted for a moment. A man in dark clothings drew near, alone, though the sneering grin on his face and the burning hatred spoke enough. The others turned towards him, cautious as to the man's attention. The paladin's face hardened at once as she noted the man's face, her hand instantly reaching for the hilt of her blade. It was him, the Banite that had taken her life in Minthas, the one Kanen had allowed to walk away…"I have returned from a long journey, and this time no petty paladins will stand in my way. Your master has a sword that does not belong to him!" The paladin glared at him coldly, knowing all too well what he meant. The sword of Helm, Kanen's sword, Ever Vigilant.

"There is no sword of yours and you know it… and neither is he my master. They will always be in your way here. You should not have come back!" Her hand clenched around the hilt of her blade tightly, mustering every ounce of will to still keep it in it's sheath. One move from her and the others would surely lunge forward. They were ready for it. But this man would never be alone here, such boldness was not in the hearts of those vile Banites. "I have returned for the sword and for the dawning of a new night." This man was too calm, too eager. He spelled trouble at the least. "You will not have it. You have been lucky with Kanen before… it is foolish to have returned alone."

The man burst out in old laughter at her words. "Alone? Alone you must think me mad! Of course I am not alone!" A bad mistake, the knight thought, giving away his cards like that. Still, there was reason to this. He had a score to settle, and she had one with him. He wanted battle, that much was clear enough. She'd need to be careful lest they would be lured into a trap they would not be able to handle. "Neither would I expect from filth such as yourself, Banite." "Oh filth is it? Takes one to know one" Trickery, hatred, strife. He was attempting well enough to lure either one of them out. The others replied in the same cold and bold manner, tightening their grips. One word, one move, and they would attack. She had to be careful… But anger was not easy to control, not in the face of this man, one she still had a score to settle with. "You would call the Watcher filth? His grace will see you gone once again!" "Natasha! Be gone!" Ishar called out to her, worried for her safety. Battle was soon to be, he knew it, felt it as well as the others. With anger burning in her eyes, the knight drew her blade…

"Farewell! Enjoy the dark of the abyss!" With a grin he turned to leave again. The others stirred, wanting to lunge out, but still the proud paladin remained still, drawing strength within from Helm's grace. "Here! A present from Lady Doom!" The words were not even cold, or raw power struck upon her, just barely held back by Helm's guard. Quickly, she regained composure. Faith and armour had warded most of the damage off. As the Banite turned and fled the scene, they all ran behind.

"Stop!" The trap was clear a bit beyond. There they were, slowly coming out of hiding: hired mercenaries. Quickly, the knights grouped, ready to ward them off. The paladin saw it, a feeling of pride slowly welling as she moved beyond them, going after the Banite himself. The others would be able to hold the mercenaries back, they should be no match. With a well placed strike, she stopped the Banite's retreat. But it was too late… from behind some trees in front, 2 more appeared, focused solely on her own. She knew enough. This was not a mere attempt to lure them out. This was an assassination team. And she alone was the target. "You have made more enemies than you can ever dream about this night Lady Shane… You will meet a gruesome fate soon..." The words of old sprung to her mind instantly as she saw the Banite's glee. This was it then, the moment that had been awaited for all these years. The promise made to her by Bane himself finally became true.

She fought with all strength that she could muster, warding the assaults from both in front as behind, trying her best to shield her will against His dark influence. But it was to no avail. While she battled the warriors that had sprung to defend their master, magic seared upon her time after time, each blast weakening her more and more. She concentrated on keeping her wounds as little as she could, Helm's might closing them the moment they were made. But it was too many, and soon enough, her strength was fading. In the distance she could hear the cries of her fellow knights, as they too, one by one, fell to the trap that had sprung, while Bane's dark whispers seeped through her mind slowly but steadily, until all defense that she could muster was broken. "Feel the Vigilant's wrath !!!" With a loud cry, she heaved her sword again, summoning the final strength still within, calling out her Lord's name both in pride and wrath. This was it, she saw the blade in the corner of her eye. It would strike true, her guard was down against it. But her final blow would be on that Banite, and he would know that it was not just herself, but Helm that had struck him…

She never felt the pain... as her sword thrust hard against the Banite, the other pierced her side, severing the arm with it. Her hand fell numb, her sword clammered on the ground as her legs failed. A red haze fell before her eyes as the blood cluttered her vision. The last she saw was the Banite, his face in shock at the sudden blow, then full of gleeful victory as she collapsed to the ground...

Her heart weighed heavy upon her as the darkness slowly lifted, and distant voices drew near, becoming clearer with every breath. She knew where she was, all too many times had she seen the realms before, had she passed through the mists that separated the realms of the living from the dead. She did't even listen to the whisper of pain and torment, the luring voices of demons and fiends, as fate was decided. Kelemvor's realm: the Fugue. There they were, one by one, the knights that had stood with her, the friends that had been with them. Gunnar, Ishar, Nyblas, Cyrus and Natasha, all had fallen to the trap. For a moment, anger still roared. She had expected the blow ever since the threat had been made, for the Gods hold their promises when mortals are intended. But to take as well the lives of those with her, to slaughter them, the insolence alone ...

"You should have stayed back…" Their failure was not theirs, they had acted all too vigilant. It was hers, she had allowed them to fight, instead of commanding them to retreat when she had noted the trap. "Then again, they would not have listened." She took a deep breath as the others came to her, bound in brotherhood even after death. "No Shane… I cannot let you risk your life. It was much better to die at your side again." A light smile came to her as she could feel none but pride at the words. Gunnar, Ishar, both had a zeal that was commendable, one that could grew stronger with each setback. They would still walk their paths with pride. Nyblas stood quiet, broken at the reflection of defeat, his head heavy, the look on his face sad. "I will pray that you see the light of day again…all of you. If I..." The knight halted a moment, looking down. "I should not have called you there…" The knight fell silent as the others objected. Of course she could not have known, how was one to know that such a fate would lay in store? But the signs had been clear, now she understood. The day had been more beautiful than ever, the wind had been still, and even a small flower had shown near the river bench. A day of dreams, in the midst of Narfellian winter. It had been too good to be true. Quietly, she closed her eyes, her thoughts one with her Master, her prayers to their salvation.

The mutterings and objections fell silent as an ominous figure drew near. Kelemvor, Master of Death, Guardian to the afterlife… The paladin straightened herself, bowing her head in respect to Death. "Ach! What is this here?" Gunnar wondered upon the figure, pondering what treachery the hells themselves might still have in store.

"Lady, your Lord sends intervention but there is a cost." As the empty eyes peered directly to the knight, the voice was soothing, serene, not at all unearthly as she would have expected. At least, such it sounded to her own ears. The woman Natasha looked up, realization as well coming to her. "Are you a messenger of Kelemvor?" The avatar did not avert it's eyes away from the paladin before him. "I am here for one who has proven worthy. In this instance I serve the Protector"

The knight closed her eyes once again, knowing all too well what the punishment would be. Damned until the end of eternity, for failing His will in the darkest hour. This time, failure had not only cost her own life and once again tarnished His name in the face of Bane, but had taken the lives of brothers as well. Helm would not allow it. Calm, ready to face her own judgement, the paladin looked up again, nodding once. "Any cost my Lord demands… I will sacrifice." The others looked at her in worry, uncertain of what was happening.

"It is hardly a cost, though some may see it that way," He who was Death continued. "And withing the Rules of the Great Game it is allowed. He invites you to His side. The work that remains to be done falls to others." The knight raised at hearing the words. Were they true? Could it be that even now, when failure was so clear, that still, He deemed her worthy? How could these be none other than lies, when the words were heard right there, where demons had taken her will years ago? But years had wisened her, strengthened her will, hardened her faith. Deep inside, she could feel it. His warmth was deep within her heart, His strength in every muscle, His will shown in hers. It was as if a massive burden, one she had carried for so many years, was now lifted from her shoulders with but a single breath.

"And in consequence these others must go back to continue the work. That is the cost." The knight remained still, ignoring the nervous looks of the others, the pleading motions to not listen. He was right, the cost was hardly worth a mention. There was no cost… They would all be returned to their lives, a new chance to make a difference and continue the work that had been done. And she... she would be allowed that what she had quietly yearned for for so long. Finally, He would heed her final prayer, and allow peace in death at last. Allready, He called her near. All she had to do, was to accept.

"They will remember all including those who did this deed and even now transport your corpse to their temple with evil intent." Death fell silent, His gaze remaining focused upon none other but her own. As if to be certain, she let her gaze linger upon each and everyone of them around, for a moment wondering if indeed her task was done. There was still so much to be done, still so many battles to be fought! But He called her, the duty, the guard, others could take it from now. To His eyes, her duty was complete. The paladin steeled herself again, standing proud as ever, the look in her eye stern as ever, her voice unwavering. "The cost will be paid." With that, Death bowed in respect to the decision made, then turned away from them. "I will leave you to say farewell for now for if they prove worthy you will meet again." A moment later, they were alone once again.

"Miss Shane? Is this what you want?" Cyrus could hardly believe what was happening, and seeing from the looks of the others, they too were struggling. "Sister…" Her smile, soft and gentle, cut his words off. There was no more pain in her eyes, no more troubles to worry her. Gunnar looked upon her, trying his best to hide a tear. "Guard the Bridge well Lady Andryl… is good that you are there going... with the others..." Slowly, she nodded at him, thankful for his words. The squire had become a man, and now, he would have his chance to become the master as well, heart and mind with Helm. "Be well, my young knight… Remember what was told. Find strength in that." The young man straightened himself, pride obvious. For a moment, she could recognize her own in his posure. Cormyrean blood pumped through his veins, Cormyrean pride unwavering, he would be fine. With a content smile, she saw him fading before her eyes, as life once again was granted.

"Sir Nyblas… Never have I respected one more than you. May you remain blessed with Arvoreen..." The proud hin looked upon her with saddened eyes, nodding his head gravely. "May you find peace, milady Shane." With those words, he too was whisked away, as heart would pump again, and the eyes of the hin would see life once more. Ishar's mutterings became louder, his face in pain as he tried to reason with her. She ignored his every word, as she turned to Natasha. "M'lady… My pardons, for such new meeting to be as this. May you find luck and friendship yet. Live your life." With a soft smile, she watched her leave, Natasha's final words being drowned out by the silence of the winds arounds. The knight then turned to the Tomrite Cyrus. "Sir Cyrus… I'm afraid someone else will need to inform you on the workings of the Order. But your heart is true. May Torm remain to smile on you..." "You have done much... Please be well, I will continue to help as you have." His words faded along with his smile as Death was relieved from him as well.

Ishar… they were alone now, him being the last to leave. The one she had doubted the most, proven perhaps the most valiant of all. The young paladin still had much to go for, his task had been set, and his heart was true. He would do well. Nothing of the proud posture remained as she softly looked upon him, affirming his fears that indeed, this would be her choice. "Shane… what will happen now? We need you!" "Please, do not look so sad." Ishar tried a smile at her words. "I'm not at all sad sister. Being with Helm will be a great gift. But… what we will do?"

That was for them to learn now. The direction had been set, the Order bound by the unison that was between them all, the tasks set ahead. Now, it was their time to learn what else future might hold in store. "You have a task still before you Ishar… I will always be with you all, in heart and mind." A warm look remained as she continued. "If you will remember…" It was to no avail, Ishar saw it. It was not in pain, but in longing, in welcome for the word, that she had accepted to pay this price. Not damned as all her fears had been ever since that woeful day, but honored for the deeds done in proving. "I will never forget you Shane… No one will."

"Remember what I spoke off…the ruby. Guard it Ishar. Do not loose it." Her voice grew stern again, direct, bringing his attention back to matter. Immediately, sense of duty returned. "I'll make sure of that. At the cost of my life, no one will take the ruby. You have just given me the task, and for the honor of Torm, I shall see it accomplished." Torm could do none but be proud of His servant, she thought for a moment, for even Helm would appreciate his will. _"I thank you. Now, I have just one request… "_For a moment, the knight needed to compose herself, then she looked upon him again. "Bury what is left of me under Helm's grace, Ishar…leave to my remains my armour and sword. Let me have those in my death. All the rest is to the Order. See to it." With that, she closed her eyes, dismissing him as well from the bounds of the afterlife. " Be well, Ishar. May Helm guard your way." She was alone…

For a final time, she looked around. The demons that lured in the mists all kept at bay, knowing their quarry was lost. With a final breath, she kneeled down, thankful for a live lived to the fullest, proud for the honor now bestowed. She closed her eyes one final time in prayer, as thoughts drifted off to what had been, enemies overcome, love shared and pain endured, friends gained and lost, or left behind... .

[shadevar]

_"A Knight's Life is Duty, a Knight's Heart is Honor
Kindness and Service, Chivalry and War
Everything that she lives for

Mission is finished, nothing more to do
Peace and Happiness, have come to you
Nothing more for a Knight to do

Time to find a new mission, the need is gone
This Knight knows her duty, wander on,
The need is gone

Family and friends, would be very nice
I have thought about it, tried once or twice
No good with a heart of ice

Harden my heart, close my eye
It is hard, but I've got to try
Time to say goodbye…"_

((ooc:

I've tremendously enjoyed playing Shane Andryl for the past 7 months. This journal serves now as a reminder of what I've laughed and cried with during her play, and of the good and bad times I've been lucky enough to have shared.

I would like to thank everyone I've RP'ed with over all these months while playing Shane, for all the good times, Dm's included. You've all been part of her story, and now, her story has ended.

Time for a new tale… ))

[shadevar]

Down the well again: The Caves - Finale

"Let them gather!" "Do not waste prayers on them!" "Save your strength!" Several called out to warn as the undead came upon the group. One by one accustomed to battle, they grouped up, each granting aid to the other. A strong, single line was formed to ward off the assaults as the dead drew near. More than once, the line broke for a moment, only to be reformed a bit further. One by one, those who were dead before returned to what they should be, dead again.

"Remnant!" There it came… the husks of zombies and wights or the rattling skeletons had posed little threat. Even the devourers that came crawling had been dealt with swiftly, and with little injuries to the group. Now, the time had come to call down the wrath of the Gods upon the foul creatures that came upon them from the dank depths. "Stay together!" With their Lord's names high and battle raging, it was hard to keep the group together. Yet the ranks held as well as they could be, while bones and talons clawed from all sides, and shadows turned to live as the dreaded shades joined the fray. "Rally! Don't loose all your blood yet!" Stubbornly, they tried to hold the group together as the fights lured them farther away from their path. "We should be sure we are not off chasing a battle that need not be fought" Reluctantly, the Tempurian faithful returned to the group. Lust for battle was high as the sight of the undead stirred all their blood. Belthor shrugged. "Seems all our town folk hauntin' us!"

Lost… for a moment, the knight looked around, uncertain of the path to take. These caverns all looked the same. "We goin' tha wrong way." "Aye..there's no water here. Follow the water….back." Quickly they retraced a few steps, until the path was known once again.

"You have a map?" Kanen's voice called out in both wonder and astonishment for the situation. No one had paid much attention to what Adam had been doing. With a grin, he tucked the parchment in his hand away again. "Of course I have a map." "Now he tells us. Bards…almost as bad as mages." For a moment, the group was silent, exchanging glances at one another, unpleased with the old bard's silence. They had wasted too much valuable time on him already. "No worry lad, I dont think I kin cast hammer in here." Janu grinned lightly at Adam, his warning clear enough. The bard shrugged. "You have heroes leading you now, I have a map so this old man can find his way out again. I did spend a month down here, my mind is not totally lost." "Well then use it so this old man can show us the way. Let's go!"

The group set forth again quickly. Allready, the last prayers of protection were slowly fading. Soon, they would only have their own strengths to rely on. None of them wished to be near the foul undead when they did. "Dwarves can sniff our way aroun' a caverin'. Maps, Bah…. "

…And there are Drow behind us by the way." Again, the group halted. Drow? Indeed they were nearing the place they had encountered the Drow party before, yet no-one had seen any. Immediately, they formed ranks again, watching all sides. But not a trace. If the Drow were really there, they were on their home grounds. The time to be watchful had come. Nervous, Braeth lowered his voice to the others, trying to keep himself hidden from sight. "You folk need to take them out… lest they report me and Zak's presence." Silently, they awaited, listening to the cavern sounds, watching the shadows carefully. They couldn't be with many, or surely they would have been spotted before. But Braeth was right, they had to be eliminated before they could report his presence and Zak's amongst the group. The Drow could not be alerted to the fact that two of their own travelled freely with this group. Also, it would be a fine opportunity to gain Drow clothings and weapons to make the illusion more complete. The bandit sheath Zak was wearing would no doubt raise questions later on.

"Other side of that outcrop." Adam's words weren't even cold when the Drow scout came out of hiding, striking his blade at the first within sight. _"Get 'em!"_A few moments later, the scout was no more, felled by the harsh blows of those around. Quickly he was stripped of his armour and weapons, and the body hidden from sight. They needed to hurry now, before more scouts would notice Braeth and Zak with them. Nothing less than the true sight, or luck, would allow them to spot the Drow in these caves, unless the Drow himself made mistakes. And such, none dared to hope for.

"Back, Drow" They had made their way further into the tunnels, finding themselves in a defendable outstretch. Now, behind a corner of rock, the enemy was sighted. A full patrol of Drow… Janu grumbled, readying his weapon. The patrol had not seen them yet. Quickly, the knight stepped further backwards, adjusting her cloak tightly, hoping the light emitting from the plates would not give them away yet. All took defensive positions as Linah set forth to scout them out, awaiting the moment in silence. All held their breaths, keeping weapons at ready until she returned. "Alright, listen… I saw and heard six of them." "Are we close enough?" "We're not far from where we met that other patrol before. It might be." This was it then. The position they held was not the best, but at least away from the Drow main path apparently, and defendable. Here, Breath and Zak would leave the group, taking the gnome Namfoodle as their slave. The time had come for the others to remain in hiding, and wait. Four days was the time agreed upon. Four days that they would be able to return to the group. Four days that the others would play hide and seek with any patrols coming their way, allowing their friends a chance for escape. If they had not returned before then, they would be presumed lost, and would be on their own. Until then, the others would hold their guard and try to keep the retreat secure. Disciplined, they all said their goodbyes and goodwishes. Then, Braeth and Zak left them for the Drow, pushing the brave gnome Namfoodle forth, covered in blood-soaked dressings to show wounds.

"Where's Adam?" While they awaited the return of their friends, the group set up camp, setting out guards and laying traps to hold off any that would draw too near. Now, attention focused again to the situation at hand. Adam was gone. "Think he went fishin'." The guards muttered lightly. That bard would some day be the death of them all. Now of all times he needed to wander off towards the lake, when silence and carefulness were all that would keep them unnoticed. Linah returned from a scouting venture, noting that the three companions had met with at least 7 Drow, and left with them. Now, they needed to make certain their escape route remained safe.

"What ta hell" Galnin tried his best to restrain his voice as Adam returned, soaking wet. "Ya fool!" The grizzled bard merely grinned at his welcome. "A fool with the password to the drow city. They have a secret entrance to their camp in the rock face. I bet their defenses are weak inside their secret lair." "We aint strong enough fer an invasion, and besides we ave a quest te complete." Galnin was more than right. The earlier scryings had said enough. Hundreds of Drow were to be expected within their fortress. To get there, they would all need to swim. Then, there was no telling what they might encounter beyond the walls. They had to remain as they were, and allow their friends to complete their task. No matter the mutterings off some along, it was decided that an assault would not be an option. Too much was at risk allready. Soon though, the mutterings changed in first thoughts as options for retreat were looked over. What if their friends failed? What if the one Drow that escaped had informed it's peers? It could allready be too late.

"Drow? You mean the ones still at our flank? The ones that have been watching us?" Again, all attention went to Adam, knights and warriors glaring at him in anger. Drow had been watching their position, and he had not cared to inform them yet? "Seven or eight. A female among them…looks like they are planning on jumping us. I didn't stick around to count." "Keep the information comin lad as ye get it. Ya can add the poetry in the middle" Janu grumbled as he clenched his blade tight, not at all humored by the bard's behavior. All remained at their posts, awaiting the impending assault of the Drow, as it would surely come if they knew their positions.

Hours passed, but the drow did not come. Instead, Linah reported having seen Kharbeh and Vilmar a bit further beyond them, and another patrol to the north. They were getting boxed in slowly but surely. The time to act had come, before the Drow gained more strength and beset them. Again, options were overlooked as slowly but surely Linah's scouting taught them more and more of their surroundings. First they looked for a more suitable place to make a stand, but alas the caverns provided none other than mere death traps. Without the aid of healing, it would be their end.

"If we are trapped we should attack north east. At least then we can escape. For all we know these two groups gather here to trap us while Norwick is attacked." None dared think of that possibility. Such would be devastating, if it could even but barely be true. But Uthger was right in his words, they needed to clear their escape route first. "No, they will not attack Norwick, what they want is right here." Silent, all prayed the bard was right in his utterings. A plan was made. They would circle round, head east, and catch up with the first froup of Drow, and possibly Kharbeh and Vilmar. Then, they would attempt to eliminate the larger group to the west that had been reported first. After leaving a small sign to allow their friends to learn of their path should they return, the group left for battle.

But there was no battle. Not at first. The Drow patrol to the north was gone, and none could say where they had gone. Kharbeh and Vilmar were met with, and without wasting another moment on bickering, were allowed in the ranks. Then, without a foreboding sign, the proud knight nearly collapsed, struck by searing pains as the pains of her husband drove like stakes through her heart. "Shane ye allright?" She barely heard Galnin's concerns as the pumping of blood drowned out all noise to her ears. While the others once again considered options, she summoned all her will to stay upright. Then, as soon as it came, the feeling was gone again, leaving none but emptiness in it's wake…

"They could be gathering to attack Norwick. It is too quiet here" "Perhaps they allready have… my husband is dead. And he was there, in Norwick." The knight's sudden words turned the group silent for a moment as they stared at her in wonder. She closed her eyes a moment, grateful for the helmet that now concealed her own expressions. This was no time to show weakness or grief. Behind her, mutterings were once again raised as some wished to halt the Drow patrols, while others wished to make use of Adam's findings and head into the fortress itself. She remained silent, until her name was called by the others to make the decision.

"Scout ahead a moment. make sure they are all gone" Vilmar, Linah and Kharbeh immediately set to work. The Drow patrol had been dealt with, their deaths having come swifter than they could cry out for aid. With speed, they had gathered their remains and dumped them in the lake nearby, away from prying eyes. Now, all that remained was once again ensuring the retreat remained safe. Seeing their grand success with the patrol, voices were raised again to attempt a raid on the fortress. Sternly, the knight in charge, Vino and Belthor tried to calm their hearts. This was no time to fail their friends. The Drow didn't know they were there anymore, or surely they would have already sent more of their own to capture or kill them all. And as for Norwick, anything could be happening there. The death of the knight's husband was in no way proof of Norwick being in trouble. Still, anxiety was growing harshly as all wished to see this over and return to make certain.

"Either we move on an see what lays ahead er move out an back ta town. It been longer then four days." Time was growing short, and all were more than tired. Dissension and lust for Drow blood were growing with the minute. "We can't leave the others to rot here.." The knight hoped inwardly their friends would soon return. They couldn't have been caught yet, or the Drow would be all over them. The fourth day was not over yet, but time was growing shorter than ever.

"Rith!" Vino's call snapped them all to attention. There they finalle were, Braeth, Zak, Namfoodle, and Rith. Apparently too weak to stand, Braeth was carrying her towards the others. Immediately all rushed forth, and questions arose as to what had happened, or where the others were. What had become of Sasha, Nefiri and Yurana? "Let's go….. quickly!" Braeth called out in anxiety. There was no more time to waste.

Arrows met them as they made their retreat back to the surface. The Drow were there, and they were not pleased. Apparently, the trade had worked, and now the Drow had learned their mistake. A single volley hit Vilmar with dreadful precision, dropping him to the ground instantly. As the knight lurched forward covered by the towering shield, Uthger quickly gathered what remains he could. One by one they tried to cover eachother's retreat as the Drow followed in their stead. Another cry was heard a few paces further as Belthor found himself trapped between some of their forces, unable to retreat. Before anyone could reach him, he too was dealt with with utter lust for vengeance. Each step was one for their lives as the group retreated, each blow placed well enough to hold their assailants off for a short while, allowing the others to make good their escape. It was not untill they once again breached the crypts that it seemed like they had lost the Drow behind them.

Quickly, prayers were once again called upon to heal the many wounds that each of them suffered. They did not take time to rest, speeding themselves on. A few moments later, the ground underneath and above them shook badly as the explosion behind them sealed off the entrance to the caves. The one keg they had brought along had done it's work well.

Defeat… It was all each of them could feel as they emerged into the light of day again. There was no victory, no glory in success towards their mission. The risks all had taken meant nothing compared to what emerged before their eyes. Norwick was in flames... Shocked, they heard the first tales of what had happened, of how the Drow had emerged and raided the town, butchering all in their way. It could not be!

Silence was all they could muster as they entered the town itself, seeing the carnage that was before them. Homes were on fire, men, women, children lay butchered, their hearts cut out. The Temple was desecrated, the Town Hall was merely a burning resemblance of what it once had been. Here and there, a few were quietly trying to find traces of survivors. "Bloody hell" "Impossible" It could not be true. That which they had feared the most had happened. The Drow had passed beyond them and had raided Norwick while they had been down there, in hiding. They were defeated, empty… Quietly, they set to work to heal the wounded, and gather the remains of the dead. Norwick would still survive. Life would slowly find meaning again, and within a few weeks all would be but a memory.

But for the knight, the memory would remain...

[shadevar]

Down the well again: The Venture into the Crypts

"This passage was cleared!" "It must have collapsed again .. or… more.." Whatever had happened, the results were obvious. Rock upon rock once again blocked the hallway that Ayanie had cleared before. The tremors caused by the well must have caused it to collapse further. For a moment, all watched, trying to see a way through. "We've got dwarves.. and they've got picks." With a nod, the Dwarves set to work, inspecting the cave-in for a moment, then picking themselves a way through. Slowly, but surely, with a skill and eye that only Dwarves could master, a path was cleared for all to pass through.

"Spies" As the Dwarves toiled, Vino's voice called through the stairway. Quickly, the knight rushed up, followed by Kanen and Uthger. The path up to here had been quiet, too quiet even to their liking. "Adam was here and someone else." For a moment, the four looked around the hallway, searching for any signs of intrusion behind them. But whoever was there, they did not feel like showing themselves. Unasked questions became apparent as each wondered what the reasons for this intrusions would prove to be. "Well should we continue?" "No wasting time in it. Let's move on." Without a further word, they descended down again, this time not letting guard to the rear fail. They were warned, someone was behind them. Whether the reasons would prove to be friendly or not was yet to be learned.

"I'm stuck! Darn me eat te much before going." Balin's face contorted to a frown as he found himself stuck in the small opening between the rocks and the wooden frame of the doorway. With a loud cry, Galnin rushed forth, charging with his full weight against his kin. Both dwarves tumbled through the opening with a loud thud. The others shook their heads, uncertain of whether to laugh or not at the sight before them. Yet the seriousness of what was to come weighed to heavy on all of them, and even a brief smile was hardly shared as they quickly set to work again, widening the passage to allow the others through.

"Be watchful now…. this has gone all too easy already." The knight did not like the silence at all. Perhaps they had cleansed the area better than they had hoped for the last time the crypts had been breached. Yet reason alone dictated vigilance. What was dead before could surely rise again and find itself in their way. "Aye tis is whar it started ta get ruff" Belthor rubbed his head a moment, his face covered in dust from the rockslide that had fallen on the Dwarves' heads just before. Kanen looked at them, concern growing. "What did you encounter?" "Remnants, Devourers… " "All them undead ya can think of" For a moment, the group halted, listening. "Keep an eye open for a place we can bar the way." Janu was right enough. If the dangers from before would find their way towards them again, they would need to know where they could make a stand. The survival of all depended on them acting as one, staying close together. "We maybe scare them…if I was a undead I would hide frem us." Balin's logic was as simple as his way of life had been, straightforward. As long as nothing was there, it was allright. If something crossed their paths, it would fall. Simple.

"Te fark!" Once again, the bars blocked their path, the damage done to them before clearly having been repaired. It was a clear sign that vigilance was needed now. They were not alone in these crypts, and whomever was here as well had seen to it that the path was once again obstructed. "I keep hearing…things." Kanen's warning was well placed. They were still being followed. Quickly, a few ropes were taken out as one by one the group climbed the grates to the other side.

"Why in Helm's name was this place even built?" "Evil…" "Nothing but evil indeed." They stood in the darkened hallway, Bacelar and Uthger guarding their rear, as Linah went ahead again to scout the path in front. More than once, her keen eyes and experience saw the traps covered the long, dark halls. With skill and determination, each of them were either disabled or removed completely. "This way?" Quietly, she peeked around the corner a moment, making certain it was safe. "I remember left." The knight's voice was calm, emotionless. With a slight nod, the scout set forth on her path again.

"Ye allright Kanen?" The paladin stood still for a moment, looking into the darkness of the hallway to their right, an unknown path that was to be behind them. "I'm fine…just wondering what is down that passage." "Darkness...I doubt curiosity is gud here." "And nae ale" Slowly but surely, tension began to rise in the group as they came near to the end of the first part of their journey. Soon, they would lower themselves down to the caves underneath. No spells nor prayers would be their aid from that point on.

"We're still being followed." Janu's voice was hushed, but still loud enough for all to hear. "Are you sure?" "Positive. Three at least. I don't like the idea to be boxed in if we are in for a battle." All tensed. They were already getting far, and with each moment, the threat of battle grew more real. Being boxed in was not an option. "Shane, will you see who it is? I can give you the true sight." The knight nodded at Vino. The time had come to learn just how many were behind them, and whether they were friend or foe.

"Hello Adam" The bard startled, clearly surprised that he had been caught. "What in Helm's name are you doing?" The knight stepped forth a few paces, clearly noticing both Vilmar and Kharbeh in the distance as well, as the others grouped around Adam. For a moment, she called out to them both, yet both were unwilling to draw near. At least it was known now how many were behind them. Now, all that remained were the reasons. If they were ill intent, it was to no avail to pursue them now. With a shrug, she turned again towards the group, and Adam.

"Sleepwalking again. I told that old brewer that I needed something better. You know…me just waking up and all" The bard's excuses were as hollow as his steps had been. Yet there was no time to deal with them now, they had to venture forth. Adam was taken along with them, so at least they would be able to keep an eye on him. "And…um, can I ask why you have two Drow with you?" Everyone muttered at the questions posed. Aye, of course it was natural to wonder why two Drow were in this company, guarded by two paladins even. But they were close to Drow territory now, and any could overhear them if they were near. For a moment, the knight was thankful for the gift of True Sight bestowed. Any Drow near in hiding would be revealed as well. Quickly, in lowered voices and few words, Braeth explained the reasons to him. "I really gotta know who does his makeup." Still, the old bard did not seem to grasp the seriousness of the matters at hand.

"Shane I fear we may have ta turn back wit them followin' like that. Kharbeh goes into a rage seein' Drow." Belthor's concerns were genuine, and reasonable now the knight had learned what had occurred before. "They were just here to escort me. I thought I could follow you." Finally, the bard spoke more truly on his reasons for being there to begin with. "If the fools that follow us see me and Braeth they might as well kill us… " The Drow that was Zak was all too concerned. This was not needed. Both himself and Braeth would already be walking straight into a death trap. "If Kharbeh cannot discipline her self tie her and leave her." Vino looked upon it as calmly as ever. The two that still refused to show themselves in the open could not be allowed to endanger the mission. The knight looked at Bacelar for a moment, then made the decision on how to act. "Stay behind, and keep your eyes open. With that, they pushed on, this time with Adam amongst them. Bacelar guarded the rear, Uthger, Janu and herself close by.

"Wait. This leads down to the caves. We should rest while we still can. There is no possibility to it anymore from here." With that, the group settled. They had made it this far. From this point on, there would be no more return. As they rested, ate and prayed for the last time, each considered the options for a final time. Still, the two that followed refused to join them, so as few words as possible were spoken in regards to the mission. From here on, they would survive only through discipline, skill, and their ability to act as a group. No more mistakes could be allowed.

[shadevar]

Down the well again - Prelude

"May I introduce Braeth and Zak, the Drow." The Keeper's voice broke the murmurs that were abundant in the halls of Spellweaver Keep. All gathered fell silent a moment as she and Ka'ell returned to the hall, followed by both called for. The expected faces, Zak's over-eager smile and Braeth's serious smirks, they were gone. The two that entered in no way resembled the friends and allies of old. These two were none more but Drow.

"I suggest you become used to the sight. It is not certain that this change can be undone." The Keeper's warning was ominous. The ritual that had altered their form had been stressful enough, and there had been little time for research to it. This was not merely a wizard's way of changing form for a moment. No magics would be able to dispel the casting or detect that castings were in work. These two were real, flesh and blood Drow. Those gathered were lost for words for a moment. Perhaps they hadn't realized the extent of what was to happen, had not fully comprehended what was to pass. But now they did all too well.

"By Helm… I pray this can be undone afterwards as well." The knight's words broke the silence again, releasing faint murmurs from the others as well. The two were all too well aware of the content. "I hope so too…. Shane" The Drow that was Braeth looked upon them weary, but confident. "I guess you should all try to remember our faces." Zak's words were all too true. In the darkness of the depths beyond, they would easily be mistaken if it came to battle. They would all need to be extra careful, lest good friends might be mistaken for the enemy they were too face. Allready, Galnin was biting his lips, reminding himself that the two before them were not Drow after all, but merely a resemblance of the hated foe. Ilphrae and Xundrin. They would need to remember the names well, and refrain from calling their friends by their true name. Soon, Braeth and Zak were to be no more.

The plan had been simple, but daring none the less. At first, the knight had spoken with Belthor and Myell, bent on learning what mistakes had caused the first group to fail. Soon, they would need to venture down again, and see those that remained back to safety. Not a moment had passed when the thought had not crossed her mind, when she hadn't cursed the events that had occurred. Yet there had been no other way, and now the plan was made to return them from the clutches of the Drow.

The Keeper's insights had been useful, allowing a glance on the situation, a reason as to why exactly the Drow had wanted Rith. The Orb, an ominous device of which both lie and truth was known, the power to shape the world into chaos… They could be after none other than that. The first part of the plan was forged, to offer the Drow what they wanted: the Orb would be theirs in exchange for the captives. Zak had come to her a few days after, providing the solution as to how the Drow would receive the exchange. Himself and Braeth would allow themselves to become part of a transforming ritual, allowing them the shapes of Drow. They would go into the Drow's own lands, and barter for the lives of those enslaved. The knight herself, Belthor, and a few select others, all known for their wits in battle and their ability to keep their calmth and silence, would venture along to lead them down, and safeguard their retreat. The Keep would try and create magical rings, allowing understanding and speech of the Drow tongue. Slowly, but surely, the plan came to life.

The knight cast a final glance around the room before they ventured forth. Many had rallied to the cause, all bent on the same goal. Belthor, Balin, Galnin... the Dwarves would prove once again to be a fearsome ally in this cause, and their knowledge of the underground depths could be useful. Uthger stood quietly by, his axe ready to fight their way through, as long as there was a fight to share. Then Linah, for this woman the knight could feel none but respect. Although she had faced the terrors of the Drow first handed, she had set aside her fears and agreed to join them. Her experience as a scout would be vital to all their survival. Vino was standing right at her side, worried for her safety, ready to join them as well. His aid had been crucial to their success, his knowledge having been the key in creating the bargain tool they were in dire need off: the Orb, a fake replica, imbued by magic to allow it to pass magical detections, now in Zak's, or rather Ilphrae's hands. Her word to him would remain true, given on her own honor, that Linah would not be abandoned there. The knight would be the last to leave. Then the Mystran priestess Amissa Lee and the Tempurian Janu, they too could not a see friend and one of their own left behind, and were ready to join. Kanen stood quietly behind them, focused and ready once again. Bacelar had joined them just in time, bent as well on correcting the previous mistakes.

And then the gnome, Namfoodle Ningel... his part was as crucial as the others, and his courage to be admired. He would serve as slave to Zak and Braeth, an extra means to elude the questions that would arise once the Drow were met. Each for his own dealt with the last moments at the Keep to prepare, as prayers were lifted upwards. They were ready to depart.