Journal of Shane Andryl

[shadevar]

Links to other stories:
How it came to pass
Revelations

_OOC: I thought it was about time to add my own journals to this fire, as I myself do not want to forget them, and way too much is going on off late. No XP is needed for this, if it's given at all.

So enjoy it, hate it, or burn it for what it's worth. These tales are mine to keep.

21st March 2006: I’ve finally edited once again these tales, taking out a lot of punctuation errors that had slipped in during the forums relocation a long time ago. And with that, I got to read these tales again myself, so take a warning… the first 2 pages are boring ^^._

**Following are the accounts of Shane Andryl of Imnesvale, Paladin of Helm.

I write these accounts so that, in the case that I should fall, these writings might be delivered to the watchful eyes of the Helm’s Hold. I therefore trust any soul that is to find this journal upon myself in such an event, to bring this journal with due haste to the Helm’s Hold, so that they too might know what has befallen. As of the time of this writing, I can but hope that it will show the happenings of my life that has been as honorful and virtuous, without fear nor blame, true in dedication. I thus leave it into their capable hands to decide, and judge.

[Signed and sealed with the mark of the Andryls]

Shane Andryl**

[Reposted from Historical Archives – Background Story]

"My honor is my life…" These words still ring clearly in Shane's mind, as if they were spoken just the day before. Perhaps they were, but it mattered not. They were lived by, and that's all what counts.

Shane has not known much of a life outside the protective walls of her father's castle. Her father, Lord Bern Andryll, Knight of the Crown to Cormyr, Guardian of Imnesvale, he lived by it. He had always been a firm man, living his life the only way he knew: by his honor. Of her mother Shane knows little, only that she died the night Shane lived.

It was not surprising that Shane grew up to be the woman she is today. Carefully guided in her younger days by a local priest loyal to Helm, she learned more and more about Helm's ways. Under the guidance of the men-at-arms, she learned to handle both sword and bow with equal skill. From her father, she learned the ways of Knighthood.

Yet then came the day that disaster struck. Already in old age, her father left for what was to be the last battle at his liege's side. He returned, yet not unscathed. More dead than alive, and with wounds that cripple him still, he was returned to his homestead. For Shane, it was as if Helm himself had taken his guard away from the home she loved... Yet somehow she knew it could not be so, she knew that Helm would not forsake those that served him most, she knew it had to be a sign...but she knew not what it meant.

For weeks she sought an answer as to why this had occured, when finally, news came. An old friend of hers was in need. Nalia, an aspiring druid, had heard of Goblinoid forces amassing near the village of Norwick. She had sent her trusted companion Crom for aid. Shane finally understood the path she was expected to take, and packed at once. Her father, now a proud but broken man, pleaded her not to leave, yet she would not listen. Seeing his pleas to no avail, he kissed her goodbye, and gave her the only thing that he could still offer: his sword Trivaenstel. It had been his father's father and his fathers before them, and now, it would be hers. She left that night, quietly, and drove her horse far beyond her homelands, to Norwick...

When Shane came to Norwick, she found that she had already come too late. Her friend had already fallen to the claws of the green skinned vermin. There was nothing left to do but bury the remains. That night she vowed never to question Helm again, and to live her life the only way she knew: as a knight in heart, as a paladin in deed.

[shadevar]

For right and wrong

”One ship sails East and another West by the self-same winds that blow,
Tis the set of the sails and not the gales that tells the way we go.
Like the winds of the sea are the waves of time as we journey along through life,
Tis the set of the soul that determines the goal and not the calm or the strife.” - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Choice and decision. Every action bears consequences, but every inaction bears them as well. Yet which of both we choose remains ours to decide. In this, the choice becomes our burden, and the result we must carry ourselves.

Choice - Sir Blake is right in one thing. Division brings weakness. I had to make a choice.

The Shield was built to garner strength from a union of faiths, serving towards a greater goal for a common good - an alliance. It’s foundations were upheld by a solid council, not to bring favor to each, but to protect itself from it’s own. Five speakers for each of the clergies, all equal with equal voice. No bias. No stalemates. No division. Strength in Union. A weapon ready to act, forged for the future.

Much has changed. The Shield has grown in exactly that which we sought to protect it from then. There must be structure, true. No single group can wage a war without one designated leader. Yet the Shield was created to be one out of many. It’s leading voice was to be a voice of these many, not one. We each serve our own lords, our own Gods. In other realms, there are those amongst our own churches that would wage war against eachother instead of sharing a table of council. We understood that to stand in union in this land they call Narfell, such differences had to be set aside. We had to protect ourselves from our own prides. No favor, only equality, each with a clear purpose. Yet even in doing so we understood the need for singular command, and so out of five, one was chosen to to achieve this. One with equal word to all, but with the power to break ties through his own word, able to steer the Order through every-day tasks, with this council to watch over all.

This, they changed. They changed the delicate balance of power within the Order that was created to avoid division. They changed it’s ways of command. One that spoke on behalf of the many, became only one to command all. In that, they changed everything. The Council in this became a shadow of what it was. No more does one of every church speak to guide the Order. Helm’s protection is absent from it’s word, and so are Lathander’s spirit, or Ilmater’s resolve. Strength in union, yet where is the union when each serve their own purpose? Where is the union when one Lord’s voice speaks above the others, allowing favor to be tipped to their own side? By their own hand, they created the division they claim to be wanting to avoid. Equality is lost. The real union has been replaced by idle beliefs, words of relational bonds. A family… One either belongs, or doesn’t. With the current ways that the Order commands itself, too much is dependant on only one.

_“I look upon you all, my dear family and I have faith in the future of this city, and of other lands where we reside. Learn from this, but do not allow it to cause bitterness or division.

In the name of Tyr, I absolve you of your sins. Let us start this day, once again a trusting family.

Bless you all.”_

Lady Daisy’s words were high praise, such absolution a show of high trust. I should have felt their touch as it seemed the others did, let them warm me perhaps and leave it all behind. Allow myself to fall blind to what has been, with a new eye upon the future amongst brothers. Yet, I couldn’t. When I heard the blessing spoken, and saw the looks of pride and gratitude upon the faces of those I called brothers, all in the twilight of what had been spoken before – and what had not - I felt nothing but disgust. The good lady’s words embodied all that the Shield has become. A family needing absolution from a Tyrean to continue on. A mere shadow of itself, dependent. All the words felt like was a lie… When she left and the others finally broke the tensed silence that had been in the air for the whole meeting before with idle purpose, all I could consider was the futility of the whole charade.

“A chain is only as strong as it’s weakest link.”

Natanya’s words initially brought me great concern. Of course, much I knew already from within the Order’s own reports, yet still. Her words brought question. What impact would all of it have upon the Order itself, when those involved are exactly the ones that either lead now, or will lead soon? Natanya is kind enough, I don’t bear her ill wishes. Yet her weakness is this empathy of hers. It blinds her. She cares too much. She tried to be the rock that others could cling to, yet she suffers their problems more than she thinks. More than she can hold, I am afraid.

Considering all that was told, the mistakes and failures, the grasp this forsaken gutterborn succubus spawn of a devil still holds over the Order, the way they still allow all of this to be their torment, all that has been done in an effort to overcome this evil, and all that is still being done now… No. They seek their personal strength in bonds of friendship, but in the meantime they continue to weaken the Order itself. They drive the wedge that will ultimately separate us all. I was forced to make a choice: either keep my trust in their ability to continue and see the right course, or to question everything and ensure that the strength of the Order remains. I chose to find the weakest link. Thanks to their own reactions, I found it as well.

The meeting was little more than a joke. I will not contest that the called for inquisition in it’s essence was not conducted to the best of the Order’s abilities, no. I still hold respect for it’s judgement, as well as for the decisions of the Order’s leadership. They were wise enough. It’s the rest… the silence, the hidden truth, that urge to protect themselves from something they should not fear, hiding behind words of pride and insult upon their own. How in trying to cling together they forget to reason.

Daisy could not have stated it any better had she actually wished to. Her own words confirmed my suspicions, along with the reactions of each and every one of them. The Divine Shield is no longer what it has been. The questions that stirred my primal concern still remained unanswered, and I believe now that only time and vigilance will answer them.

Division brings weakness, and ultimately an end. In their own blindness, they chose to find their strength in union against me. My point was made by themselves. They themselves showed the weakness in the Order, the division that was already there. I cannot bring myself to concern myself over this any further at this time however. For now, my hand will not be the one that destroys the little that still remains of what the Order has been.

For that, I gave my silence. For that, I now turn away from it, in order to protect that what still remains of it all. My focus now must remain on the war that is brewing to the East, and my duty there amongst my own, unburdened by the Order’s own issues, by it's division. I can only pray that they will still understand the wrong in all of it.

For that, I turned my back and left.

[shadevar]

Brothers in Arms

The Order of the Divine Shield. Brothers in both arms and faith, to say the least. Brothers till death and beyond, unified in a common goal.

To consider that it was born out of chance is actually funny, a twist of fate. Merely a simple chance that one Lathanderite priest wanted to unite the common good of Narfell’s defenders under Lathander’s banner. When she came to me to offer me a place amongst it, I was honored, for it is not every day that one acclaimed as highest servant to the Morninglord within these lands would ask one like me to join their cause. Yet even while we spoke on it, we understood that it couldn’t be right. Again, this would cause diversion amongst our own, already thinly spread. Brother Eram wished to draw together Helm’s knights to ensure the protection of the newly restored temple in Jiyyd - a matter I would not even have been able to consider ignoring, had I wished to - in Peltarch there was rumor that the House of the Triad would be extended, Rith wanted to band together the others under Lathander within Norwick, and the Order of Law… what would become of it, when all we were was a brotherhood of faithfull warriors, sharing the same beliefs that they wanted to consolidate? In the Narfell of that time, we stood alone. The diversion of allegiances alone would tremendously weaken us, perhaps even cause dissension within our own ranks as matters of faith clashed with our own goals. Without atleast the support from the clergy, we would fail, that much stood for granted.

It was this sentiment that brought us together at first to discuss all of these changes. Watcher Eram Meynolds, Dawnbringer Rith Phoenixfeather, and myself at first speaking for the Order of which I’d just recently been given command. Later on Vino Sten as well, speaking for the clergy of Tyr, and Fishel Warfaith, an Ilmaterii of fine and pure heart. Jorg Bolshev, proud and true Tormtar as ever there has been, and Tera Aerlsson, Tyrean and just like Jorg attached to the Order of Law, who continued the discussions in Vino’s stead.

“Divided we fall, united we conquer.”

And so we did. For days we spoke and spoke again, more than once laying our own troubles and discontents aside for the better goal, until a unified course we could all agree to was clear. Much was given and taken by everyone attending there. On one hand, it did not feel right to plunge the Order of Law in such a changing alliance, so shortly after taking the command of it. Yet what we did was the best way of action: why bicker amongst faiths that share a common goal, while in union we can remain to stand tall, do what all of us had set out to do to begin with?

That day still burns vividly in my memory now, even after all this time. That one day, deep in winter’s night huddled over the candlelit tables, the alliances between the churches of note were signed that would make history, the charters set in stone. That day, the Divine Shield was given name, and purpose. However insignificant it seemed back then, history was made that night, for never before had 5 of the strongest churches of that time set all their differences aside to share a common goal for the better of Narfell. The first Oaths were taken soon after, with near to all that had first pledged their causes to the separate Orders joining our ranks.

Funds we had little in that time, but there was little need for it either. The temples in Peltarch, Jiyyd and Norwick provided what they could. They offered room and food, a place for the weary to rest and tend wounds, a place to hold meetings when such was required. In return, we pledged our aid towards the same temples. We helped where we could to ensure that they remained. When there was trouble in their upkeep, we provided what we could. When the House of the Triad was in works of alteration, many of us stripped their armors and worked themselves in sweat until the works were done. Meanwhile, we watched over Narfell and set forth against one enemy after the other. The Divine Shield grew strong and prospered over the years, unified in a common goal.

This was more than 30 years ago. Where in the days of it’s creation we were struggling to survive, now the Shield has become one of the strongest bastions against the evils that peril this land, thanks to a strong leading hand of men like Roland Brynmor and Mariston Thel. It’s name is known far and wide by each and every one within these lands. Several other churches have flocked now as well under it’s banner, or allowed admittance under strict rule. We have scouts to be our eyes and ears, the strength of the faiths combined to be our weapon, brotherhood to be our shield. Instead of gathering in temple backrooms, we now have our own base from where the Order is led. The Order’s coffers are healthy enough to spend coin where it is needed, either for our own or for the better cause.

In Peltarch, our knights held 3 positions of notable worth, funded through the Order, to influence a change within the city in an attempt to stop the growing corruption there. In Jiyyd, our knights remained with sword in hand alongside it’s other defenders, gaining hearsay in it’s Council. In Norwick Lathander continued to be our liaison in a town that returned to more barbaric influences after Belthor Troff’s command dwindled. Only the Romani Camp remained free of our direct influence – out of respect for their own ways, though even there our knights would regularly pass and ensure the open routes remained open, or help where the Romani were in need of it.

It was with great pride that I was able to see that not only the Order had remained in all this time, but to see how well it had prospered more than 30 years later. It had been born out of a dream of a few, and even so many years after, that dream still lived forth. It was more than any of us could ever have asked for.

It is why what I must do now, I will do with hesitation and regret. Yet, there is no other choice where the Order is concerned. I have stood and watched in silence, lending again my sword to their cause in defense and aid of my brothers, without question, while everything that has occurred up to now, continued to grow and fester. I can only pray that my Lord will both grant me the strength to see this through, and the wisdom to do so without breaking that what the Order really is.

I’ve come to learn too much. Natanya’s words have deeply troubled me. “You’re the only one I can really speak to, if only because you are not tainted by all of this…” I was unbiased, that’s the root of it. Due to my absence. An ear to listen. Surely she could not have expected all that she spoke of to leave me indifferent where the integrity of the Order itself is concerned?

I’ve seen how the Order holds itself now, still standing true against dangers that half of those that whisper insults upon our knights do not even have an idea about. Sometimes I think, if only they did know. Would they still their tongues and lend their aid, or would they continue their speeches against the Divine Shield out of either fear or jealousy? Like the Sails for instance, they would rather see us gone I’m sure, yet do they even realize what our knights have done to ensure that they still have a place to do their shady dealings? They don’t, because we do not normally voice it. Sometimes it’s better to leave the people without an idea, so they remain without fear of what could have been. The Shield still remains strong towards the outside, that much is true. Yet from all I have come to learn, and all that Natanya has told me, I cannot remain blind to this fact: the brotherhood itself may be in the greatest peril it has yet had to face.

I was one of the first to speak the oath, for the Order as a whole, more than 30 years ago. My allegiance lies with the Order itself. The Oath demands that we stand unified to achieve within the Order what alone we cannot. I will not betray my own brothers, that I cannot nor would I even wish to consider such. But I cannot allow things to continue as they are, where it is my solemn duty to protect. Protect the Order’s principles in this case. If that means that I must cast my gaze within our own ranks to ensure that the threat does not come from within… then so be it.

Per fas et nefas – For right and wrong

[shadevar]

A Letter Never Sent
_My old friend,

I know that never you will read these words, but still I must write them and hope that perhaps you are still watching over my shoulder, hearing them as my thoughts guide my hand to write of them, if only to clear my conscience. This bit of honesty I owe you, along with so much else. These words I find the hardest to speak, for I know that were you to hear them, they would bring you pain. Yet I must. To any other ear, they will most likely sound as many claim: prideful, filled with zealotry, haughty… blinded. Yet I know you at least would not think such. You would know them for what they are: the real truth. I need your ear now, old friend. I need to believe that you are still listening.

Failure.

I’ve known the taste of it enough before. One cannot learn to walk without first standing and falling down. Once or twice, the fall has been hard, and it took me a while to crawl back up and continue on, but I always did. I never lost the will to continue, until failure would turn into success. I’ve allowed it to become my burden until it’s weight would almost crush me, to then do the only thing one can still do other than crumble: push back until nothing of it remains. Fight back. Failure became my strength, my weapon.

Spirit, you called it. You always said I was spirited, determined. My father hated it, it reminded him too much of things he would rather have forgotten. I wouldn’t give up even after my body was black and blue from the beatings that I suffered during swordplay, until the day that it was I who gave the beatings instead. Pride, I call it now as well. I was too proud to give up. My pride has cost me a lot, my friend. That much I know… now. I’ve let failure burden me many times. I felt it’s weight, it’s pain. I took my blames in it. If anything, I did not wish to become as my father has. I wanted to prove that even if I am to be the last, the Andryl name will not be known in history as one tied to cowardice and failure. Pride again, I lied to myself by claiming that my father’s end never affected me.

It’s why I remained in this hells-blasted land, why I traded the lush of great Cormyr for barren plains and ice. Not just to do as I told myself I was doing, find my own way in Helm’s service here, but to run. I was running away from a home I could not accept nor understand. Foolishness of youth certainly. Yet never did you ask me to return. You let me make my own way, my own mistakes.

This has been my real burden all along, and my biggest failure was to not want to see it. When Crom came and guided me to this land they call Narfell, I saw it as a sign, a way to start my own life, erase the blame that lay on our name, and end our line both in honor and forgetfulness. I was almost happy that it came at the expense of the death of a time old friend. I told myself that perhaps Helm guided me there, that there was a reason for me to remain there, while all I really did was run away. I desperately looked for reasons to stay, and found them all too easily.

Narfell is a land living on the remains of a demonic past, where monsters of dark lurk behind every corner. What lives here in the deep and the shadows can make the old tales of home pale by comparison, were I to speak of it to you. Yet people come here, and stay here. People like you and me that grew tired of their old homes and sought to find a new life elsewhere, free from corrupted politics or oppressive states, or any other reason they care to bring forth. Sometimes they remind me of ancient Cormyr. When Ondeth Obarskyr settled down within the Great Forest in the Year of Firestars, the land was wild, untamed, and hostile. Yet he and his remained, struck alliances, and prospered, and out of this Cormyr was born. All for the sake of running away from oppressed and corrupted homes, and live free. Sometimes, I feel the same of Narfell. Against all odds, people come with their families. They settle down on a parch of land, hope to farm their living of it, while they know that around the corner, Orcs and worse monsters await. And they stay… just like Ondeth and his have done so long ago.

It was easy enough to remain. Just as Helm was with Ondeth and his, He is here amongst the folk of Narfell, whether or not they care to look upon him. When I came here, respect was there, albeit little. Now, all know His name, and all know that it is Helm who watches over their safety when they sleep. Whether they care for it or not, it does not really matter. I’ve become proud to have been witness to this change, and moreover be a part of it.

“Not everyone can wear the shining mantle of a hero. Do what you can and it will be enough.”

Iltharl’s creed, the words on the headstone of a failed king. He was a hero, because he understood his failures and stepped aside for the good of the realm. Perhaps it is one of the best epitaphs of Cormyrean history. I never wished to be a hero. All I wished for was to make a difference. Help. When I see the farms aflame after Orcs have passed, when I hear the wailing of mothers and children alike, I know I cannot turn my back and leave it all behind. One more sword amongst many. Everything that happened, everything I bore witness to, it gave me reason to stay, a reason to not return home. A reason to keep running.

I tried what I could, yet in this land, it never seemed enough. So I tried again, and again. I was the simple warrior at first who became the diplomat, general, and commander of Knights. Whereas I lied to myself and told myself that such was Helm’s will, that He had guided me here, I know now that in truth this land guided me to Helm instead. I sought refuge from my father’s image, and I found it in the smile of a young boy that lived to see another day, because my sword got in between the way of that Orc’s axe. I found my strength here, and my trust in that Helm’s way was right grew with it. It became my way.

I became everything I tried to avoid, and kept saying I wasn’t. People called me humble. I wasn’t so much humble at that… all I wished was to remain as I was: just another sword to help out. If none other would step up to make decisions, then I would, and carry the results with me. If none other would get the factions to talk and group up, then I would talk to them instead. It never seemed much of an effort. It was only beneficial, since good relations strengthened alliances when the need was there, and once again ensured safety. A necessity in times of war.

Just the same I’ve been a pawn in games beyond my reach. Whether I knew then or not, does not really matter anymore. All I could do was play the games along, stand firm. People looked up to me, as they tend to do to any that wear their armors and wield their weapons with determination. They look for hope. I could not give up before them, so I had to go on and play the game. Finish it. Draw the harm upon me, so they could keep free of it. I was expendable, they were not. I stood firm because that was what was expected of me, but in the mean time, I kept fearing that one day I would fail. The people looked up to me. No, not to me, but to the image of Helm that I tried to uphold, just like others did. Their hopes became my weakness. I feared to become too much like my father and fall in the end. I thought that if I failed them, they would lose that hope and fail themselves, and all would be lost. I felt the pressure upon my shoulders in every step.

I crumbled once or twice. One time, I nearly turned my back on everything you taught me. I almost turned my back on Helm and gave up. I know He was watching me then. He was hearing every word that Kanen and I spoke. But I know as well that He knew. I was not turning away from Him. I wanted to give up on myself. But, I was too proud. I would not become that which I feared so much, thus… I could not give up. I kept fighting, and with every strike, every word, every battle fought, I grew stronger with Him, and He with the land. I became a champion to his cause, and the armor I wore became a symbol of it all.

It is what destroyed me in the end, almost. It became hard to see the thin line between your teachings, and reality. It became hard to continue to see the good in people, to know why every day you march on again and fight in their name, in Helm’s name. Faith became my shield from my own demons. In the end, I prayed for death to come and release me from the battles that in truth I did not fight just for them, but more against my own doubts. Until that faithful day…

Only now do I all too clearly see what my pride has driven me to. For that alone, it pains me to see the same happening in others. Different ways and different reasons perhaps, but the same none the less. The pride of old that is, foolish stubborn pride to not just accept that each must live our own lives, and that children do not just take upon themselves the blames of their fathers. The pride that could not understand that I was different and that I made my own way, instead of running away from a shadow that I kept myself in. The pride of Cormyrean blood that still runs through my veins. My Lord called me then, that day, my service to him had been enough in His eyes, the Eternal Watch was to be my reward. If anything would have been my last emotion before the final Oblivion take me, it must have been both that pride, and the joy for seeing finally that my end was not as I had always feared it would be. That day, the Andryl name died with me, and in this forsaken land, it died in all honor and respect, unlike back in Cormyr.

But, it was not to be so. For the last years I have struggled trying to gain a grasp on everything, trying to understand what happened, and to come to terms with it. If in anything I have failed, it is that. Seeing that now, I feel like I have lived a full life in the shadow of a lie. I know now how pride and desire can twist and turn even beyond death. In my nights I keep myself locked away, alone with questions to which I should not even be seeking the answers. In my dreams I still feel the cold of the shadows, I still hear my cries of anguish to just release me, cast me to Oblivion for eternity, while part of me roamed without control to seek an end to it all… to give up. My own pride brought such upon me. My own desires, how humble they may have seemed, turned whatever can remain to one’s soul after death into a willing weapon to strike against the very same that I’ve fought for all my life.

That I understood when I was first told of what had occurred. Of what happened in that time, I bear no blame. When the call of death finally grows so strong that no prayers can guide one’s soul back to the living, there is no more control. There is nothing. I was no more in control than a puppet lead by masterful hands. In the end, when all was said and done, when my brothers finally were able to stop the torment, even if they hardly knew what anguish they halted… nothing remained but peace and silence. And still, Helm’s promise stood. Still, He welcomed what little that remained within His halls. I had still serviced Him well enough.

I should not have doubted when nothingness was traded for a second chance at life. I should have thanked my Lord and continued again on the path that I had set out on so long ago, straight and clear, without fear or shame or doubt. Death has been the greatest gift in that, for all of it had been erased by a single stroke of an enemy’s blade. Redemption for my own, and reward for services rendered. But still, I could not accept. I could not see that it was no more than that: a second chance, another set of years given to champion His name and defend both those that look up to Him, and those that don’t.

I swore to myself that I would not let the same old pride come in the way again, while in reality I just made the same mistakes again. Not for my family this time, but for the truth that I now understood behind the lie they had made out of me in my death. They had erected a shrine in my name, an everlasting memory. My name was spoken alongside the heroes of old. But I was no more a hero than the farmer who would not give up and take his family to safer lands, I felt. I had given up myself. There was no truth, and no worth, in the legend I had seemed to become.

I began to fear this legend. I began to fear myself, and again, doubt came. I knew what was expected of me, what my Lord demanded. Yet how could I live up to even half of this? Again, Helm’s name became my shield protecting me from my own fears, and my strength to step back into the open and continue as if nothing had ever changed. Again, I turned to Him to save me from my doubts, to show me the way, what He willed of me. Again… I ran. And by the Gods, run I did. I hid myself away from the biting tongues of memories, burdened myself in work, kept telling myself that the past was the past and this was now. I sought a cause again to focus on, so that I wouldn’t focus elsewhere. Draihken became one such cause. Again, I tried to be that symbol that people look up to with respect, as my Lord willed, and I tried to give the just answers when brothers came seeking the wisdom they say I carry… while meanwhile all I can think is that perhaps my words are the last that should be heeded. I am the one that has made the gravest errors after all. I bear the guilt even if they do not wish to see it, all for the sake of legend.

I remained in the shadows whenever I could. I shut out those that tried to come close. Even Raver… I’ve helped her, she’s come to grow dear to me, and all I do is keep her just far away enough to remain a distant friend. One I can trust, and know can trust me, but just not that close enough to break through these walls I’ve built around my own. In my second life, I finally became exactly that which I have always feared from the start. I became as my father. And still none would see it. They saw the legend instead. I was a broken knight living in shadows.

Or atleast, I nearly was. Now I finally see the deepest lie in all of it. Now, finally, I understand what my Lord has always seen. Now, I see how close I have been not only to failing my Lord, but to fail my own. Teaching Draihken has helped me along the way to realize this now, but his part was only small in this. Teaching helped me to see again there should be no doubt. It helped me to remember the Old Ways again, the Code you taught me… it helped me to remember who I really am. Not the shadow that I have become, but who I was before everything happened. Before I started to run.

I do not need much. I’ve used old words far too many times to justify my actions. I’ve sought too many truths. Truth be had I never needed any justification at all. As I said before, I cannot turn my back when I see the need around. I cannot care about sniding remarks, when I know that my hand helped to keep others from harm. I cannot just stand by and do …nothing. That’s beyond me. Little do I need for such either, and little do I ask. The knowledge that the cause is right, a weapon to help me with it, a keen mind and sharp tongue for when battles are fought on the field of wills… a shield to keep me upright until the time is up. That is all.

Conviction, determination, faith.

That’s what it all comes down to. I must thank Raver for one, and Draihken, Rith, even Peppy… where they did not see all of this lie (or if they did, they did not speak of it), they helped me see the truth. Peppy, in her annoying little ways, made me question myself again. She asked me if I just always had to do the right thing in that annoyed upsetting tone of hers, angered because I’d stopped her from poking around a little too much in a merchant’s wares, but she had a point. I said I did, of course, but later on I wondered why. Why did I not just feel as annoyed as she seemed by it? Draihken, he’s shown me again that everyone can have a new chance. I gave him his chance, but in fact, he showed me the reason for mine. It’s a shame he’ll never know. Raver… she’s sought nothing of me but friendship. Just another lonely soul. She didn’t look up to me or sought me for counsel like so many others did, like my own Brothers. She just took me for who I really am. Not a symbol, but just another one fighting the same battles. And Rith, if anything at all she’s just been too honest. The only one to really tell me to smile again. Stop being like Kanen, she said. Stop hiding yourself behind a mask that is not yours. If anyone at all, she knew. And she was right.

But the most, I’ve come to see the truth thanks to these thrice bedamned Finest. They’ve angered me so much with their words, that I’ve gotten shocked with myself, of my reactions. I still do not know more of them, I’ll still need to face them again, learn more of them, know who they really are. But their words of all have made me look again into that mirror now, and finally see the truth. They've shown me my weakness by making me question the cause, Helm’s way, be it that they wanted to or not. They’ve made me realize that the armor I wear, I do not wear just as a symbol in honor of my Lord anymore. No, I wear it as a shield to protect me from my own lies. I wear it so I have something to cling to. A distant memory of how things should be, as an excuse for how things are. I do not draw my strength anymore from faith. I draw it out of pity, memory, and fear. Unworthy of it to say the least.

Now, old friend, my choice is made. I feel it’s a choice that perhaps I have been forced upon, through whichever mysterious ways the Gods work. But none the less, it’s a choice, and it’s done. I refuse to become the same shell again that I was, struggling to fight for a lost cause in the name of all that is good and right, calling out Helm’s name where I go. I refuse to again become that same hollow symbol. Moreover, I refuse to again be a false hero, just because I took a stand where others didn’t. I’ve spent nights praying, reasoning… determining what I really want. I do not hear His voice, nor feel His strength to guide me on in this particular struggle. But I still feel His warmth with me. I know I had to find my own way on my own, but only now do I so much see how close that way was to separate me from all that I have ever strived to live for.

No more.

I do not need the hero’s mantle any longer. My ego does not need such to give me courage, that is not who I am. When I see the looks upon the faces of the children here, I know enough. That gives me courage, strength. When I see them look upon my armor with a slight hint of awe, I know they don’t look up at me. They look up at Helm. They see that I remain strong with Him, and they themselves draw strength from that. Hope… it’s a powerful thing. It builds kingdoms.

If one day, when my bones have long turned to ash, a young boy enters these halls and hears the tales, perhaps of one knight amongst many, and hears the call, it will be enough. If he then looks back at his home, picks up his armor and raises his sword against the Hordes, and knows he does so only to protect his family, his friends… then Helm will be with him. That, good old Garran, is all I still need, nothing more. No personal glory. If I can still make a difference in that, then it will have been enough. Jiyyd may still prosper another 100 years, and Narfell… who knows?

Nothing else matters anymore.

The old Code, my friend. It is dead. It faded with me when I fell to the Banites. It died along with Draihken. Now, I bury it completely. I am done living in a shadow of the past. All that matters now, is what can still be done for the future, in Helm’s light… for that is where I shall try to remain. Helm has been my strength throughout every breath I have taken. It is time to give up now, finally. Not on myself, not on faith, but on what I have been. It is time to become who I really am.

One of many. Just another sword in the name of the Vigilant._

[shadevar]

Helm’s Finest – Part 2

Now, we have faced them a third time. Again, they leave us with more questions than we came, though this time they were quite more talkative, direct, and just as well deceiving. I admit, it takes much more from me than I ever thought to keep my thoughts clear. Perhaps I think and wonder too much on it, and my own thoughts are beginning to misguide me. Kanen, may Helm still be watching over him whereever he is, warned me of this once, to be careful of my thoughts, lest they would take me beyond the point of which there is no return. A clear, solid course in service to the Vigilant. Yet perhaps it’s exactly efforting to stay on this course and keep my thoughts in check, that now my mind is filled with doubts.

Children they were this time… three children. Others had found them at first, lost in the Mintas woods. They had duefully seen them back home, a farm closeby to Jiyyd, rejoining them with their uncle Marlon. Yet it seems controversy was abound, for when I heard of it, the “uncle” was already lost, chased away it seemed by the children ”for stealing their home from them”. One, a man with little decency, claimed he had been enspelled away into the caves bordering Mintas two times in a row, by “them”. One boy, two girls. They said the boy had called themselves “Helm’s Finest”. I didn’t need more to understand. Deception again… surely this Marlon was now their next victim. Our group set out at once, both to find this man that seemed lost now, and myself with the intent to find these “children”… if it was not too late for that yet. Quietly, I cursed the ill fortune for not having been there when the children were first found, so that perhaps a life could have been saved.

The girl we saw at first, picking flowers so she said, in the middle of the worg hunting territories. She seemed as any child should be: careless, innocent… yet there was a dark taint all over her. She was there to delay us, I knew it all too well, and so did the others. Yet while most of us headed forth in the hopes of finding a trail of the lost man, I remained behind with Call and Ginger. I was both intrigued, and perhaps I hoped to discern a little more of their motives. If they were present, there was a reason. If they wanted to delay us, there was again a reason… I had to know. Perhaps her alone, single, would be able to shed more light on the matter, than when they were together. We had to play the game along.

Call said he saw flames surrounding her… probably the True Sight that was his to command. Whereas little I know the man himself, I know both his name, his reputation, and his allegiance with the Phoenix. That’s enough for me, I trusted his word to see where I could not when he asked the girl of it. She said Helm protected her. She said her name was Dorothy. She claimed, when the woods woman asked in her consistenly stumbling speech (one I do not discredit her for, such faults are no more burden than one makes of it), that her brother’s name was Ashley. I did not see it then, but I did later on, Helm be thanked for granting me clear mind. Dorothy Whitt, I am sure. One of the three nobles missing in Peltarch… finally we were getting a step further. She was there, which meant the other two were still around as well. At the farm, she said. We let her go back to this farm, the information was enough. They’d be expecting us there.

We rejoined the others soon after, scouring out the caves and the woods of the Mintas, as they led us to the place where the children had first been found. A most terrible scene we witnessed there: An angel, broken in torment, enchained by those blasted flames. Little did we consider it, blessed waters allowed for some of those flames to be quenched, healing magics called upon to heal this poor creature’s wounds and seek a way to free her from her bonds. It was with no mild shock that we witnessed the effects of our healing: upon it’s touch, flames litteraly consumed her, ending her torment in painful death. ”Helm! Forgive me!” That cry, so strangled and filled with both torment and relief… I do not think I can ever forget this. Forgive me as well… we tried. She rests now with the Vigilant, I know my brothers at the temple will see it to it that the required rites are seen to.

Questions more, and rage. I understood all too well then that we would find little more trace of this lost man, this so called Marlon. It was time to pay these “children” their visit. If they were still there, that would only mean that they wanted it so. Time to show our hand and see what game they played this time.

Sure enough, they were there. Ginger kindly opened us the way in, where they would not. We found them at that farm, before an altar, seemingly dedicated to Lord Helm. Surely, their thrones were there again as well. This time, I could see the marks upon them, Helm’s eye upon every one of them. Call informed me that again he saw their flames, their darkness… yet this time I could barely sense anything myself. This caught me a little off guard, I had expected the same sickening wash of emotions as we had always been met with before, yet here, now… they actually did seem as they were: mere children. I swallowed away those first doubts, forced myself to remember the names, who they claimed to be, what they’d done, what they really were. Yet, I admit, it was hard to see beyond the visage of these children.

We shared enough words, too many of them altogether, with little use it seemed. The boy spoke mainly, atleast we spoke on equal terms, as he considered me as a Knight of Helm, the single one of our party to be welcomed by them in their “home”. We spoke, and question after question I asked, hoping that he would reveal a flaw in his own words atlast. Meanwhile, I hoped that the others would remain calm and not attack them without reason. A fight would end it, as it always did, and again leave us with no answers until they chose to come again. Call me cowardly, too talkative… I will call it prudence. We still did not understand the full extent of what we were facing, and what in the blasted Nine Hells these Three had to do with Helm. Every step brought them closer to Jiyyd just as well, I realized now. If we lost our quarry this time, then how close would they be next time, if now already they were appearing at it’s borderlands? They’d tried to enter the temple I was told, Legion had barred them entry. Where I should have a few very serious words with the Legion on their particular interest in barring the Temple from those that wish to enter, somehow I’m relieved that in this particular instance they did.

They said that Helm had taken the man we sought, Marlon. That Helm had punished him and cast him into the Hells for wanting to harm them. Helm protected them, watched over them. Marlon had attempted to lure them in the woods, abandon them and leave them to die for the beasts. Helm had saved them, and punished Marlon in return. The angel… they said she as well was punished, for seeking their harm. Punished by Helm. I struggled to believe it. Such could not be. Where it is hardly my place to question the will of the Gods, where I know that Helm’s wrath can reach far and hard, I could not bring myself to believe that Helm would deliver such a harsh penalty in this case, on mortal grounds even. Helm watches over children, yet that they were not.

They said the seats belonged to their parents, that one had been this Marlon’s, that they were now dead, and now the children were left alone. They prayed to Helm, they followed his will. He watched over them. Ten, eleven, and twelve of age… the boy grew visibly upset when I asked him if they called themselves “Helm’s Finest”. They did, aye… “His resolute will, his implacable conviction”
Whereas I should have had pride to hear young children speak with such conviction, I could not help to feel a twinge of sadness instead. Children their age should still have that bit of innocence without such firm resolution. It’s called choice, something a good education brings. How can one truly feel and serve the Vigilant with open and clear mind, knowing the rights from the wrongs, if instead of choosing to do so, and then acclaiming it with the pride that it deserves, they’ve merely been brainwashed into it from all too young age? Again, I had to remind myself whom I was dealing with. Fiends, not children.

I doubted on the next course of action. If anything, I wished to stall a useless battle as long as possible. I wished to lure them into terrain where perhaps they could be halted with more chance of success. There was only one place in my mind where such could be done: Helm’s halls in Jiyyd. They had said they’d wanted to go there but were barred from it. They said they would wait until invited to come. I was alarmed, the risk was great, but it was the only choice I could still think of.

I am sworn to defend the temple. Eram asked my word of me to protect the grounds upon which it stands, when we rebuilt it so long ago. A vow above any other, the temple is my task, my duty, my guard, until death and beyond. The choice was weighing heavily, whether or not to call their bluff, confer with the priests so they would know what to expect and be ready, and call them in. Call must have seen the doubt, for even while my words remained yet unspoken, he uttered the powerful arcane words that stripped away the illusions, and showed their true form. I must thank him, for the wizard allowed me to see what I could not.

The Three. Helm’s Finest. No mere children, but them. I growled inside, instantly I purged every further thought of doubt from my mind. I set every option straight again, for still we had no definite answer. Again, we talked.

“We are here to do Helm's work.”

_“Helm guides us and our actions.”

“We have served Helm since time immemorable.”_

Blasted lies. They have deceived, murdered, preyed. They spread doubt. They hide behind illusions, acclaiming Helm in twisted lies. Granted, until proof dictates otherwise, I believe that perhaps once they were indeed true, and stood high in Helm’s favor. But this cannot be now. They are twisted, evil, and do exactly that what Helm stands against. They are the lost, the damned. Yet still, I must know more of them. I must know why everything seems like too much of a coincidence. I’ve grown too old to still believe in convenient coincidences. I must know the exact contents of the threat they pose, their end goal. Somehow, I cannot shake the gnawing thought that perhaps they do not fully know themselves the extent of their own damnation. If so, then they must be made to see and redempt. Yet if I am wrong, and they are with full state of mind, then I do fear the consequences this may bring upon my own sanity. The next course of action is a hard choice, one that cannot be made without knowing it all.

They’ve been stopped again, for now. Battle had come again in the end, when the time for words was over. This atleast will give us little time to consider further options, learn more of them, perhaps see the correct way. Until then, I will remain vigilant of their return.

– This account I have made with clear mind, based upon the knowledge as I bear it now. Should I fail, then let this account be both a guide and a warning. May it then bring the knowledge that perhaps I could not see myself, so that this threat may be ended.

[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 -