3. Tacticum Vita

Tacticum Vita


  • Entry 19 - The Voiceless Songstress

    _A painter paints his pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence. We provide the music, and you provide the silence.

    • Leopold Stokowski_

    It's been a long time since I've been able to write here. So much has happened… and a lot of it I don't want to write about. Whilst searching for some kind of sign or information about the Shadovar, I was kidnapped by them. The next nine months was spent in a prison on the Plane of Shadow, where amongst other things, I lost my tongue.

    It was a choice I made. It was not forced on me. The Shadovar General, Nekrathul gave me two options... aid him willingly and betray my people, or he would cast Domination spell after Domination spell until I eventually fell under his control. I took a third option and bit my own tongue off so that I could tell him nothing.

    Unfortunately, whilst in that prison cell my tongue wound became infected somehow with negative energy. It won't accept healing magics of any sort, and so I am now a bard that cannot sing. At first, I thought I would die from the loss of my voice, but now... now I know that there is more to live for.

    A brave group of heroes came to where I was, and freed me whilst stopping the Shadovar from one of their many evil acts. Amongst them was Troff. He swore he would always come for me, no matter what. And he did... even though it cost him his life. He has yet to answer the call to return.

    The adventurers of the realm, from what I have been told, struggled without me to find the motivation to face the Shadovar, to stop them. Fadia did what she could to get them moving, but it wasn't an easy task... now her and I are working together. We have plans, good plans. Plans to move things on, to stop the Shadovar and defeat the evil that plagues our realm.

    Currently, in order to stop the Shadovar, I'm searching for information on the location of a sword that will allow me to cast spells and sing through it. Using it, the fabled Singing Sword, I will be able to step onto the Plane of Shadow once more, to defeat them and force them from our home.

    Before I can do that though, I have one more thing I must do.

    I have to speak with Troff.


  • Interlude - Time in the Shadows - Part 3

    _Months passed. The brown haired woman got over her pain, steeled herself. Her fate would not allow her to die here, alone and forgotten, she would not be permitted to fall without some sort of final victory, even if it wasn't the victory she was truly hoping for.

    Every night, before she went to sleep, she prayed to the Red Knight for guidance, for strength, and for courage to stand against her foe in the days to come. Every day when she woke up, she would wash her face and dress at what was as far as she could tell, the same time. She tried to keep a routine, to give herself a pattern to follow, so that she would be able to hold onto the hope that one day she would be free.

    So she kept her mind in order, she tried to stay fit. Push-ups, sit-ups, free weights with whatever she could find in the cell, and jogging backwards and forwards in the small area she had. The guards laughed at her at first, but over time, they grew used to her antics and just ignored her.

    Until one day. A priest turned up, told her that she was being moved. The time had come for a ritual to supress the Weave, so that they could get around Mystra's ban. If the first ritual went well, she would be used in the next one, and so they wanted her with them so that they wouldn't have to make another trip._

    A few days later…

    _The sounds of battle came up to her, in her cell at the top of the abandoned keep in Mintas Rhelgor. She heard battlecalls, and recognised some of the voices. Troff had kept her word, he had come for her. Fadia was there as well, Ronan, Maria, Jerrick, Shannon, Fadia, Yng'dir… they had all come for her.

    She didn't do anything though... there wasn't much she COULD do. No tongue meant no spells, and the ritual that the Shadovar mages and priests had completed would have negated that anyway. She couldn't sing either, so there was no way to let her friends know she was there. So instead, she watched the stairs through the darkness, waiting to see a glimpse of the people she had been hoping and praying would come for her.

    They rushed up the stairs, and she waved to them, jumping about to try and get their attention... she wasn't sure they'd see her through the darkness, but she had to try. Some of the Shadovar casters weren't impressed with that though, and began casting spells onto her to knock her out. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, they quickly left her to go and cast spells against those who had dared to come and try to stop them.

    One by one her friends fell... Troff, Maria, Jerrick, Yng'dir, and Fadia. Shannon ran down the stairs, holding his stomach in place, and Ronan ran, bleeding profusely. The brown haired woman collapsed to her knees, crying, and offered up a silent prayer to the Red Knight.

    The Shadovar laughed and went back to their places, ignoring the dead to continue the ritual. An hour passed, then suddenly, a colossal Red Dragon appeared in the middle of the room, and on its back was Shannon and a pair of Kelemvorite Paladins. It was obvious to her that they were spelled up, and less than thirty seconds later the Shadovar were dead.

    It turned out that the dragon was Ronan. He had used the scroll of Shapechange that he had saved from the defeat of Ogremochs herald to bring him, Shannon, and the Paladins in as quickly as possible after spells had been cast. Clearly, it had worked.

    A dragon is definitely not challenged by a set of iron bars, and so in moments she was free... less than an hour later they were all back at the Shrine of Kelemvore and the dead had been raised.

    All but Troff. He refused the call._


  • Interlude - Time in the Shadows - Part 2

    _The darkness around the brown haired woman moved quickly past her, blurring as the General travelled with her as his prisoner. Other Shadovar were with him, warriors and casters alike, all wearing the same livery, each of them with the same markings on their shoulder. From what she could tell in the dim light, they were part of the same unit, probably an honour guard for the General.

    They spoke in a tongue that she did not understand, probably Netherese. Some of them sounded pleased, others were unaffected, and yet the General himself sounded amused by something. Maybe they had found her mewling pitiful… she had no way of telling.

    After a time, the blurring stopped and a hole in the darkness appeared. The Shadowwalk spell was ending, they had most likely arrived at their destination. The spell that had held her had long ago ended, but she became instead bound with some kind of rope made of shadow-stuff. With a hand on the shadow-rope, the General gave her a tug to pull her along, and she followed him silently, trying to take in all that she could around her.

    The area around her seemed like a darkened echo of the Material Plane she knew.. it looked distinctly like Faerun, but everything was in shades of grey and black, all the buildings and plants looked twisted and somehow wrong. She'd only ever glimpsed it before, but now she was bang in the middle of the Shadow Plane, a fact that was reinforced by a mage she saw nearby practicing his use of Shadow stuff by hurling it at a target roughly a hundred feet from him.

    The General barked some orders, and the Shadovar that were with him formed up into a unit with him at the centre, her right behind him. As she peered through the gloom, ahead she could see a large stone castle, built much like the fort outside Ormpurr, but larger, and sharper. Even stranger, the taller the towers were, the more they seemed to curve and twist to keep in check with some unknown rule of geometry that applied here.

    They forced her on, into the castle... through corridors and doorways, large rooms, and so on, until eventually they arrived at a large stone room. It looked clean, if a little cold and dark, with a bed set into a corner behind some bookcases for privacy, a table, and various writing implements and books. The only source of light in the room was a torch set above the bed, it burned with a yellow flame which looked quite unusual amongst all the gloom.

    After the others had left, and the door closed with guards set on it, the General spoke with her... told her that she had been brought here for a few reasons. She was knowledgeable about Narfell, and could therefore aid them in finding the location of the artifact pieces they sought. She could cast Legend Lore, which would reveal even more information, and she could step between the Material Plane and the Shadow Plane... something they did not wish their enemies to be able to do.

    She swore an oath before him, that she would die before she would aid them in their tasks, she would die before she told him anything of her home. He seemed amused by this, and tried to break her will with magics, but she had already steeled herself and resisted his attempts.

    The General left the cell and her, promising to return shortly to revisit their discussion. Over the coming days and weeks, food and water was brought to her, along with word of how the "expedition to the wastes of Narfell" was going for the Shadovar. Every time they killed a hero, they made sure to tell her of it, every time they attacked and caused terror, they told her. They spoke of how they had tricked her friends with an illusion of her, how they had forced their hand and taken a piece of the artifact from them, and that resistance in the face of such power was pointless.

    For her part, she listened to them and their idle chatter, which they carried out in common so that they could be sure she'd understand it, and read all the books she could by the yellow torch light. She learnt much of their intent, much of their actions and the structure of their forces... learnt about their tactics, how they conducted themselves.

    Eventually, the General came to see her again. Said that resistance would earn her nothing but a broken spirit, that she would either tell them what they wanted to know willingly, or they would cast domination spell after domination spell until her mind broke. And so, she took the best option left to her. The brown haired woman reached into her mouth, pulled her tongue as far forward as she could, and bit down on it as hard as possible.

    The pain was intense, the sweet taste of blood welled up like a fountain in her mouth... it was all she could do to hold her teeth together and stifle the cries she wanted to make. Bright colours flashed before her eyes as her mind tried to cope with the pain and intense anguish that she felt, the loss of such a beautiful gift from the gods.

    Holding it all back, she swallowed the useless muscle and opened her mouth to show the General her ultimate act of defiance. He would not be able to dominate her, to have her tell him her secrets. She could no longer cast spells, she could no longer sing, or even talk. Shocked and confused, he turned on his heels and left the cell without a word, the guards on the door watching in silence.

    She waited until he had left and the guards gone back to their talking before she went to her bed and cried herself to sleep. No one person was more important than the realm, no one thing worth more than the lives of others. She had paid the price of freedom willingly... but by all the gods, it hurt more than anything she had thought possible.

    The greatest pain was not in her mouth though... it was in her heart._


  • Interlude - Time in the Shadows - Part 1

    _The brown haired woman stood in the commons, wearing her Bardic College outfit. Much was in flux, as always, and she had new allies to help and protect. Ael'que, the blue elf had asked to investigate the Peltarch Barrows, and so she put aside her own misgivings about going there. Troff, her own elf in blue would be with her, and he always brought the light with him. Others came as well… Maero, Ama'bael, Elsbeth. A solid party, although no healers or mages.

    As they moved from the Commons to the Sewer entrance, there was a rumble, and darkness struck. Shadows appeared and attacked, but they were easily dispatched before Guards arrived to look over the scene, confused. No matter, she knew the truth and would report it to Sir Mariston. Continued on, gave their names to the Guards on the Sewer entrance, who thought it likely that some or all of them would die deep beneath the streets.

    She continued on with Troff after casting spells of protection and augmentation on everyone. Down into the Sewers, nothing out of the ordinary until they got deep into the Barrows themselves. Ael'que said he was searching for clues relating to the Shadovar, or what they were after.

    It turned out they were after her.

    The standard undead in there fared no better than they normally did. All fell before them, and she barely had to do anything. It was reassuring that the future would be in good hands, should something happen to her. Once they had gotten to the point of the exit to the Residential district, she had them stop and rest so she could treat what wounds there were.

    Prepared again, on they moved. Cleansed the Crypts as far as they could tell, then moved into the Ashald Tomb. Nothing out of the ordinary, until a Blade Barrier appeared out of nowhere, then a Wall of Flame. Another and another appeared, until she was boxed in. Panic from the others, but she was calm, she knew that to move would be death, but to stay still was to live.

    The spells faded, and she gave the order to retreat. She knew in her heart that the spells weren't random, that something was after her. She had been taken here once before, and she would not have it happen again. They made haste, running for the exit to the Residential district. Troff didn't seem to understand, but so often that was the case that she wished she could just order him like she once could.

    Then, they struck. The Shadovar General hit her with a Bigbys spell, freezing her in place. Unable to move, unable to cast, unable to do anything other than speak. He cast again and again as the others poured into the same room, hoping to free her. They were met with powerful Shadows, and spells of disablement.

    The General walked over to her, seemingly pleased with his prize. Troff cried out for her, and she called his name plaintively. The General laughed, and raised his hands to create an area of utter darkness, into which he stepped, dragging the brown haired woman with him. The same area of darkness that she recognised as belonging to the Plane of Shadow.

    She was his prize._


  • _There was a time for all things, a wise man had told her. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. Now, it was her time to build up.

    The brown haired woman worked through her notes, sighing a little as she did. It wasn't that she didn't want to share her knowledge, or that she disliked spending time with others, but more that she knew that there was always a limit to what she could accomplish. Whilst she was teaching, she would not be out in the field, fighting to defend the land.

    She had to trust that others were up to the task, and knuckle down to do what needed to be done. The students would come in shortly, their young minds eager to be filled with the knowledge of those who had come before them, and it was now her task to ensure that they could learn what they needed to be able to make their own paths in life.

    In a very real way, it was simply another weapon in the arsenal of the warrior. The Red Knight would be pleased with her work this day, and in the days to come, even though it would not involve any swordplay._


  • Entry 18 - The Red Knight, and her chosen

    _All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

    • Anatole France_

    For a long time now, I have been putting off writing about the Red Knight. About the change that happened to take me from simply being a warrior working towards a goal, to become the person I am today. Now, as I am on the cusp of attaining Knighthood, I believe it is time that I stop putting this off.

    I cast my memory back to a time probably around five years ago now. Many things in my life here in Narfell were good. I had people around me whom I trusted and could rely on in battle. I had friends who cared for me, and people who respected my skills. I knew I was high in Tempus' favour, he had drawn me back from the dead three times to continue fighting and so I thought that my path in life was set.

    And then, I met him.

    His name was Einrihch. A tall, strong, scarred man, he hailed from a distant land. A symbol of Tempus around his neck, a greatsword on his back. I felt myself drawn to him, somehow… I'm still not sure how or for what purpose. But I introduced myself, we talked for a time... he told me of where he had come from. His time in the Thayan gladiators pits that had honed his skills, had given him the determination he carried with him to fight for what is right.

    There and then, I knew I had found a kindred spirit. The only follower of Tempus in the entire realm that looked at the world the same way I did. The others I knew did things differently, looked at it all differently. Even lived differently.

    And so, I did what I could to help Einrihch. Gave him some armor, a helm, my old cloak, and a greatsword. Took him into the Legion as a recruit.

    We spent much time together over the following months. Fighting against the evils of the realm, defending the innocent, and generally enjoying one anothers company. Looking back now, I would say that I loved him, and I still do, but it's a brotherly sort of love, not the romantic kind that the poets write of. In him, I had found an ally that would never leave my side, never let me down, never abandon me until we had both breathed our last.

    Even with all this, something didn't click for him. He had no problem with legitimate authority, but there were aspects of how the Legion conducted itself that bothered him. I admit that they bothered me too, but I had put that aside to attempt to work for the greater good. He also clashed with others who would not stand up for what they believed in, and those who sought to profit from others misery.

    One day, it all changed. He went from wearing Legion blue, to red. His attitude changed too, he seemed to be standing taller, and his glance was more steely than before. I asked him about it, and he told me what happened.

    @a6e0656c6a:

    "I was in the Kuo-toa, hunting. Testing my skills against them, learning what I could. That cloak of yours works brilliantly against them. But, I took a wrong turn, and walked right into an ambush. Three of their sneaks, and an elite. I did what I could, but I was overmatched. The elite's axes cut into my flesh, the sneaks found my kidneys… blood oozed from every cut they made.

    I fell, taking two of them with me. My life was dearly bought, and as I fell, I remember thinking "This can't be the end".

    Moments later, I awoke, naked. I had expected it to be the silver sands of the Fugue that greeted me, but instead, it was a mighty battlefield. Confused but alone, I stood up and took in my surroundings. It looked like the battle was over, but naked on a battlefield is never wise. So, I looked around for some armor I could recover from one of the fallen to cover myself.

    Eventually I found a suit that looked about right. It was red in colour, and seemed to gleam in the dull red light of the fires in the distance. As I considered how to take it from the fallen without disturbing him too much from his resting place, it somehow disappeared from his body, and appeared on mine! It fitted me like a second skin, the most comfortable armor I've ever worn.

    Next was a sword. I looked around, and eventually found a decent looking greatsword. Pulled it out of the hand of another fallen... it was so light it was like wielding nothing but air. And yet, the blade was as sharp as any I've ever seen. On the hilt was a holy symbol, that of the Red Knight.

    Suddenly, out of nowhere, a warrior appeared. Clad in armor with a battleaxe in hand, and a holy symbol of Tempus around his neck. He yelled defiance at me, and charged... I guess I was wearing the armor of his enemy. I called for him to stop his attack, that I was no enemy, but his blows continued to come. I raised my arms, tried to defend myself against him, gave him as much time as I could to realise his error, but he just wouldn't stop.

    His axe bit deep, and I sank to my knees. I knew then, that it was either him or me. And so, I stood and screamed a battlecry, and swung at him with my greatsword. All it took was one single strike, and he was dead... cleaved in two as if he'd been nothing but a peasant.

    It was then that the most beautiful form I have ever seen appeared to me. A woman clad in red armor from head to toe, shining brilliantly, almost as if she was more real than anything else that I have glimpsed upon. She walked to me, and I dropped to my knees again, this time out of reverence, not pain or loss.

    I knew that this was none other than the Red Knight herself.

    She spoke to me quietly, in a beautifully soft voice. I could tell she was smiling, but I never saw her face.

    **Einrihch, you are my chosen. I have watched you for many, many years. Guided you. Aided you. All this time, you have not been following Tempus, but instead you have been my sword.

    The time has come for me to reveal myself to you, to reveal your destiny. You will go back to the living, and you will continue to be my sword for the rest of your days. I will protect you, and I will show you the path that you shall walk down.

    Now arise, and return to those who need you.**

    She disappeared, and the next thing I knew, I was awake and back in Narfell, with this new armor. Since then, I've been praying a lot, and trying to understand it all… but I know now. She wants me to be her sheepdog. To protect the sheep who can't tell wolf from man."

    When he told me this, I was confused. If he, who I was so alike to, had not been following Tempus, what did that mean for me? Was I mistaken in thinking that I was blessed by Tempus? Was this all some kind of mistake?

    It took me nearly a year to come to terms with it all. I spent much time in prayer, much time working through the issues around it. Talked more with Einrihch, who was so understanding about it all. Heck, he was trying to come to terms with the change in himself. So in a way, we supported one another through it.

    I never heard her voice, like he did. I never saw her, never received a sign. The gods choose how they interact with us, and I guess I was never deigned to be needing a vision or sign. On the flip side though, I never received word from Tempus, he who was supposedly my god.

    Left in a place of indecision, I wasn't sure what to think, or do. And then, one day, it was revealed to me.

    I was in the Cold Caves with my allies. We'd gone in, in search of ore. Iron for preference, but really, anything would do. We made our way through the gnolls unseen so as to avoid stirring them up, then down into the Caves proper. The first level went easily enough, but once we passed the bridge, it became very clear that the Ogres were aware of our presence, and were reacting to it.

    Several Ogre Mages began to harrass our party, and I made the decision to depart before one of us fell. Their spells were deadly in intent, and all it would take was a poor streak of luck to cause a death. I took the lead, and after casting what spells I had left, cut a path to the bridge.

    The bridge itself wasn't too bad… it seems the Ogres had their own way past it and they avoided it due to how narrow and rickety it is. But on the other side... they were waiting for us.

    I shouted out a battlecry to rally my allies, and charged in to draw as many of them as I could onto myself. Left and right I stuck, cleaving flesh from bone, singing as I did. Several times one of my allies almost fell, but the healers got to them in time.

    We were perhaps halfway through the area when tragedy struck, and our healer went down. I rushed towards him and managed to stabilise him, then did my damndest to hold the Ogres off him whilst he got up and healed himself. This sacrifice would prove to be fatal for me, the strength of the Ogres surrounding me greater than what I could endure.

    As I fell, I saw my allies falling back, hoping to stave off the inevitable.

    My heart slowed down, I saw my blood pooling in front of me... my vision began to blur. It's funny how when you're about to die, your mind seems to almost pause time, to take in every detail in the hopes of staving off the inevitable.

    The air, I remember, was crisp and cold... a hint of moisture on the breeze, and the smell of the sweaty Ogres adding a bitterness to it all. The floor was cold stone, with a little lichen from the self evident dampness that occurred there. I could feel my grip loosening on my sword, the gladiators blade that had served me so well since buying it from Aelthas all those years ago.

    Then, it happened. On the verge of passing over, time really did stop for me. I heard a voice in my mind, a voice that I had heard three times prior. Clanging helm and clashing steel, Tempus, the God of War. Each time prior all he had seen fit to say to me was "Arise, and defeat your enemy. Your time is not yet done". This time, he said "I have watched you, guided you, molded you into who you needed to be. Now, you belong to her."

    His voice was replaced, by a beautifully soft one, the same voice that Einrihch heard. The Red Knight. I felt her presence, even if I couldn't see her… she laid a hand on my heart as she spoke, saying "My child, you are now and will always be mine. Arise, and defeat your foes, defend those who cannot defend themselves."

    I felt a surge of energy like that which I have never felt before, and in that instant, I knew. I knew what it was that I was here for, why I had been sent back. Why it had all happened the way it had.

    I rose to my feet, much to the shock and surprise of the Ogres. With the burst of strength that she gave me, I cut down the beasts before me like they were nothing but chaff, and rushed over to my allies who had fallen in the moments of my revelation.

    Some hasty healing and herbs, some stitches and a prayer to the Red Knight, and I managed to stabilise them, bring them back from the brink. Quickly we gathered our things, and after a spell of mass invisibility, we departed back to civilisation to lick our wounds, and for me to think over what had happened.

    Since that time, much has changed in my own life. Einrihch has left the realm, I quit the Legion and have now forged my own path. Promises of acceptance have come from the Order of the Phoenix and the Order of the Divine Shield. I am stronger now than I have ever been before, and I am more certain of my purpose in this world than I ever thought possible.

    Some would call what I have "faith". I smile and shake my head at that, for faith is what you have when what you believe in is unseen, untested. I know that the Lady watches over me, I know that my path is set before me.

    I know that I am one of her chosen, and I wouldn't have it any other way.


  • Entry 17 - Darkness and Light

    _I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.

    • Richard Wright_

    Many months have passed since my last entry. Many things have happened. I have seen the depths of corruption to which men will go, where they will sell their souls for nothing more than a promise of power. I have also seen the heights of illumination, where people will give their lives and more in defense of nothing more than an ideal.

    These two elements, of evil and good respectively, are often referenced in terms of darkness and light. And yet, one cannot know darkness without knowing light. How can you tell what is dark, when you have never seen the light?

    The Man of Shadow, he is one who once knew the light, and has fallen into depravity. He is endarkened, no longer knowing the true value of a life. And so, I have cast my fear of him aside, for the darkness can travel where it will, but it cannot control me unless I allow it to.

    The timing of things seems to be highly ironic to me. I encounter the Man in Shadow, and my Sunny helps me through the hard time. Now, she is gone without a word, and the Shadovar have arrived. Moreover, I have found the notes of standing between the light and the dark, to call upon when needed. To move without effort, to step between worlds, such is the power of this melody.

    Some would say that to choose to stand between the light and the dark is to deny the light, and embrace the dark. That it is impossible to encounter such things and remained unchanged. Perhaps that is so… but if it is, it is a sacrifice I would make to protect those I care for. I will stand in the middle of all things, to mark a line in the sand. A point from which there is no return for those who would destroy that which I protect.

    For I know the value of a life. I will not allow them to go unchallenged. I will scream my defiance into the darkness, that it knows it will never conquer my soul.

    Even in the darkest hour, there is still a glimmer of light.


  • _The brown haired woman had seen many things, but it seemed now that the shadows themselves had come to life around her, perhaps in answer to her nightmares and fears. She no longer feared the Barrows, what point was there in fearing a location when the darkness can travel where it pleases?

    And so she instead sought out for ways to make herself stronger, for ways to control the darkness and not let it control her. She positioned herself to stand between the darkness and the light, making the sacrifice necessary to protect those she cared about. She learnt the secrets of the ways of walking in shadow, to bring the fight to the beasts who sought to torment her.

    Every day would prove to be harder than the last, more so without her Sunny. Gone without a word, each day a little darker now. But others relied on her, and she would not let them down. And so, she studied her foe, shared what she could find with the Senate, and with her Lord. They would not find her sleeping when the time came.

    No, she would be awake and armed, ready to face the darkness given form._


  • Entry 16 - The Man of Shadow

    _We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.

    • Jim Morrison_

    I'm sitting in the Bardic College Common Room, in front of the fire. Troff is next to me on some cushions, sleeping… but I can't sleep. The man is a saint, without him I don't know if I'd be here now. I have to write and get this down before my mind rationalises it all as a delusion brought about by too much time below ground.

    I have stared into the Abyss, faced down Glabrezu and Hezrou. Fought to death and beyond, then been raised up to continue fighting. I have been trapped, held prisoner, tortured, and beaten to within an inch of my life, but never have I been more scared than the Man in Shadow left me. Never has my soul itself shrunk away from something, seeking to hide within itself if such a thing is even possible... for he stripped me bare, seeing every part of me for what I am.

    For the sake of what may come, and for any who find this, I must begin at the start. My hand shakes as I recall it, but Troff and Rith have sworn that they will not leave me, and they won't let Him take me, nor the Shadows consume me. I can feel them, even here, waiting at the edge of consciousness, ready to assault my mind at the first sign of weakness.

    I was in the Commons, in Peltarch. Sy'wyn and Eluriel were talking about something with Havon... something to do with him being protected by a malign being. Troff and I were talking quietly, but I felt that for some reason, I should go into the Peltarch Barrows to destroy some undead. So, I voiced my desire, asked for those who would aid me. They all came, talking as they walked, walking as they talked. Troff beside me, my defender.

    Down into the sewers, no resistance. Even through to the entrance to the Barrows, we only saw a single Ghast. Then, down the hole, into the Barrows. An eerie silence greeted us, no Undead. Dust moved where no-one stood. A door opened, and closed without our action. Briefly, I glimpsed a figure clad in black armor... I recognised him as a Black Dragon Knight from the Peltarch Civil War all those years ago.

    Then, the blood. So much blood... pooling on the ground. Everywhere I turned, blood... and then, I could hear the children again. Laughing, playing, frolicking. A scream, then a cry for aid... and they called to me in my mind, whispered for me to come to them. Troff did what he could to keep me with him, to keep it together. He was relying on me, I could tell, but I wasn't coping.

    We continued on, they were hoping to find the source of it all. I just wanted to go, but I had brought them here, so I would stay as long as they wished. The blood trail continued on into the Makere Crypt. Troff led me in there... it was so dark. I tried to make it brighter, but my harp could only do so much. I could hear the voices still, one clearer than the others. A child, playing. Walking on, there was a torch set into the floor, and a circle of blood around it... then, a child appeared, skipping around it... she was singing "Skip, skip, skip to maloo... skip to maloo my darling".

    She couldn't see us, couldn't hear us... just like the children in the cave in Mintas Rhelgor. I couldn't look away, all I could do was watch and wait, I knew she would die, knew that someone or something would kill her. The Black Dragon Knight appeared in the room, stepped forward, drew his sword. Troff and Eluriel tried to stop him, but he was as substantial as the air... he lifted the girl up by her hair, and ran her through. Dropped her to the ground, and walked off, disappearing through a wall.

    Her screams echoed around the room, long after she would have been dead, her voice calling to me, haunting me... the others could hear it as well, but they didn't understand it like I did... couldn't hear the hidden words spoken to my mind. Finally, I snapped. Shrugging off my armor, I ran as fast as I could into another Crypt, I'm still not sure which one.

    The next ten days, I have no memory of. Troff assures me I was missing for that long, maybe longer... he eventually lost track of time himself. Eluriel, Havon, and Sy'wyn left the Sewers after I disappeared, but Troff wouldn't leave until he'd found me.

    Eventually... something happened, and my mind stirred. I remember waking up, on a floating platform of earth somewhere... maybe within my own mind, or perhaps in another place. Alone, I sat there, waiting for a release, or for something to reveal itself. Finally, people appeared around me, all of them women or children. Scores and scores of them, standing in a circle, ringing my form. One of them stepped forward, and said "Look... is it.. another one? She is so... different to us... Daddy.. Daddy... why is she different?"

    Another figure appeared, it filled my heart with dread like nothing I've ever seen before. A man, made of shadows. In his right hand, a whip. In his left, a sickle. And he looked at me, and that look stripped away every pretense, every defense, leaving me as I am at my core. His eyes glimmered with the shadows that made him up, this Man of Shadow. And he spoke, his voice like the fall of tombstones in place.

    "She was like me... once.. my child... she.. was.. LIKE...ME. Then I saw you... my children... I.. I saw your new friends... below the ground... I saw them.. I saw them.. all around....

    I saw myself.. I.. I could do nothing... it already happened... it.. it will always happen... so I killed... you...

    I killed them...

    ...I.. KILLED... YOU...ALL! "

    His screams made me want to curl in on myself and will myself from existence, but I couldn't do that, all I could do was to huddle and cringe... huddle and cringe as the people around me screamed a bloodcurdling cry, falling down dead. Every single one of them, dead in a ring around me, and the Man of Shadow vanished. As I tried to process what had just happened, there was a burst of light above me and a massive woman appeared and cried out, her voice echoing throughout the chamber.

    Moments later, I suppose I woke up, or was transported back, or whatever. Perhaps the massive woman is responsible for that... but when I came to, I was in the Barrows, in the room where it had started. Blood was everywhere, there was blood on my hands, and I felt cold, and alone, and confused... what had truly happened over the last ten or so days?

    Troff heard my cries, and he ran to me, broke down the door and picked me up, holding me close. Thank Lathander and the Red Knight for him. He took my hand, led me out... the blood followed me, the children called to me. But he was my anchor to sanity, the only thing keeping me going. We went to the Commons again, and he held me until morning, when Rith came and took my other hand, and together we faced the dawn. She said a prayer to Lathander. All through the night, I heard... something, calling to me, calling me back to the Barrows.

    But I won't go there again. Not now, not ever. Troff assures me that I'm nothing like the Man in Shadows, that I'm a light in the darkness, not the darkness that snuffs out the light. I pray to the Red Knight that he is right, that I'm not going to fall and become like the Man in Shadows... a child killer, a tormenter of souls.

    One thing I do know, is that what happened was real. As real as this journal is, and the bloody hand that now forever stains my writings.

    I don't know who, how, or why the bloody hand appeared in my journal, but it's there now. And I can't remove it, no matter how I try. Even worse....

    It's
    My
    Hand

    This page is stained by tears, the words running a little at different points.



  • Entry 15 - Fears

    _Mine are the deep-seated fears established when we are children, and they never quite go away: the fear of being helpless, the fear of being trapped, the fear of being out of control.

    • Virginia C. Andrews_

    The last few days have shown me again what my place here is, and it is something that is keeping me awake, even as the sun rises again I have yet to find rest. Hopefully it will pass in time, and may the Red Knight help me to deal with what I have seen.

    It began in Peltarch, in the Commerce district. I walked out of the Mermaid expecting to greet my friends. Instead, I was greeted by the sounds of battle, as they fought against undead beast that seemed to be tougher than those normally found deep within the crypts. Lune, Fadia, Sir Shannon, and Devlin (an odd mix, to be sure) were standing around it, hacking away as best as they could. Thinking this was a simple enough problem I began to cast to prepare myself for battle.

    The magic fizzled.

    My heart jumped in my throat, as I realised why the others were struggling so much with this undead. Wild Magic, the one thing that would make me nothing more than a commoner encased in steel. I gripped my sword, slipped on my armor, and called out a battlecry to join them.

    With the help of my rallying call, we were able to bring it down without too much more difficulty, and they told me of undead falling from the sky. Our foes began to fall in increasing number, Wight Priests, Restless Champions, and even a Doomguard. They drained our strength, our very spirits, caused us harm. Several times one of us would be forced back to try and heal despite the magic. Devlin, Lune, Fadia, and myself all almost fell.

    Eventually, we found the cause of the Undead falling around us… Undead Wyverns. A pair of them dropped to the ground, and attacked us in earnest whilst we fought with the Doomguard, the party splitting up at that point. I did my best to distract the Wyverns and keep them on me, the others trying to cut down the Doomguard. Three times, I almost fell and was forced to retreat down an ally to heal, leading them to follow me in. Thankfully the narrow walls left them unable to flank me, giving me the time I needed to cut them down.

    One almost dead, the other leapt over my head and stabbed me in the back. As poison flowed through my veins, I struggled with vials of Antidote to try and reverse the harm it had done, the Wild Magic eating the first two vials. Finally the poison was clear, and I tumbled under the Wyvern in front of me, slashing at it. The other continued down the alley behind it to come around my back again.

    I was out of songs, unable to use my magic. Just my silver sword and my steel armour between death and life. Uttering a silent prayer to the Red Knight, I gave one last charge and managed to sever the creatures spine at the neck, causing it to fall to the ground and convulse for a moment before lying still for the last time. Certain that my first foe was down, I turned and ran forward to find the other Wyvern before it could kill a civilian, only to find that Sir Shannon had moved away from the Commerce District so that he could use his spells to prepare himself, then had come back and quickly finished off the last foe for me.

    We regathered, just in case there was more to come, but thankfully that was it. Saying my farewells, I went into the inn to recover from my wounds, and to think. What would I do, if I lost my magic? If I was no longer granted the wonder of the song that underpinned all of my abilities? Would I be able to survive in a place like this, or would I be forced to cower behind others? Knowing that I did not have the magical enhancement to my defenses, strength, or sword left me in no doubt as to what to do, but it did leave me with a real fear of the consequences of a battle. I could so easily die without that which I am so used to.

    A day later, I met Rith and Rhiain in the Commons, and we talked for a time before Rhiain as always advised of her boredom. So, Rith suggested Mintas Rhelgor, and we headed out. Having not gone there since my own disastrous attempt to recover some Dire Bear hides, I wasn't sure what to expect, but Rith assured me we'd be fine.

    Long story short, we found the Blood War, occuring before our very eyes. Demons and Devils, fighting with all manner of spells and abilities. Blade Barriers turned the ground into a deathtrap, Holy Hammers and Blasphemies ringing in the air. We kept our distance until only one or two foes were remaining, then moved in to finish them off.

    Succubi, Kytons, Hellhounds and Nessian Warhounds, even a Glabrezu, not to mention the hordes of Dretches and Lemures. All this, on top of the normal Dires found in the woods there. I knew my sword would cut through their hides thanks to the enhancement I had placed onto it that day, but I did not relish the idea of facing down a Glabrezu. It's not cowardice to know ones limits and to prefer to not try and ignore them, despite what some may think, but we pushed on, giving the Glabrezu space.

    Deeper and deeper into the forest we went, clearing out the Outsiders and the Dires as we went, my Steel and Spells keeping me safe from harm. Eventually, we came to Mintas Rhelgor itself, and the Abandoned Keep there. The Glabrezu wandered off north, and we headed into the Keep to find somewhere safe enough to rest, feeling rather weary at this point.

    We weren't alone.

    The building was empty of people, but haunted by souls. They called to us, saying "Don't leave us! Take us with you!" and various other things, all of the cries in the voices of small children. Initially, I thought it simply a ruse by a demon or such, to scare us, but when doors were opening and closing without anyone near them, we took that as our sign to leave.

    No more Demons or Devils spawned around us, so we headed home the slow way, checking the forest for a cave where I might find some iron ore with which to make a suit of armor for Lune. We did eventually find a cave, and ore. The ore was protected by creatures of Earth, but they fell to us far more easily than the Outsiders had.

    Within the cave though, a far more sinister evil dwelt.

    A group of ghostly children appeared near us as I checked the ore veins, playing and frollicking. They didn't seem to notice us, so we assumed they were simply echoes of a time gone by. Indeed they were, but they were haunting that place, and the reason why would soon become apparent.

    A Balor, wreathed in flame with pure malice emanating from its ghostly appearance suddenly came into view, chasing the children away. Their screams of terror echoing around the walls, I was helpless to save them, or to even stop their attacker. Thinking that was all that would happen for now, I finished with the veins of ore and gems there, and we continued on through the cave. At the exit though, the balor appeared again, as did the children, their poor little forms huddled against the wall, trying to get away from the beast that sought their doom.

    As we watched, it killed them by crushing their bodies beneath its feet, their screams of pain still ring in my head even now. It was all I could do to not break down and cry at the evil of this act, and my own helplessness. No matter what I did, there was nothing I could do to save those children, they had died many, many years before.

    Rith said a prayer for their souls to her lord, Lathander, and after I gathered what I could of the iron ore in that place, we headed out, only to see yet ANOTHER die by the Balor, this time a mother who had heard her children die. The Balor simply picked her up and smashed her body against the rock wall, laughing with evil delight as she cried out, still clutching the Holy Symbol around her neck.

    Faith is not a protection against harm, it is the means by which we find the will to continue on, even in the face of overwhelming odds. I fear my own mortality, I fear the day that I will be unable to defend myself, when I will be unable to defend others. My own pain is bearable, watching others suffer is not.

    Red Knight ease my mind tonight, all I can hear is the screaming.


  • Entry 14 - To Walk in the Light

    _I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have. I must stand with anybody that stands right, and stand with him while he is right, and part with him when he goes wrong.

    • Abraham Lincoln_

    My path through life winds ever onwards, taking me to places I never thought I would go. Once, I was a Steelfang, fighting other peoples wars for them. Now? I am free, and I fight so that the light is never extinguished. I walk in the light, as it illuminates my path. I hold the light close to me, and I pour my will into it, giving it all of the strength that I possibly can.

    I know now, that my former life was not truly a life… it was merely a gritty existence, where I lived or died by the sword. There was no meaning to anything I did, beyond devoting it to Tempus, and asking him for a glorious death in battle. He never gave that to me. There was always something calling me back, dragging me away from the darkness of death back into the light of this realm.

    Nowhere have I ever seen a more apt description.

    The Oscurans say that those who move away from that hole in the ground have "Seen the Light" and they sneer, as if it is some kind of insult. They look down on me in contempt and pity. Let them, I say. Without light, they could not know the darkness they hide in. Without light, they would have no-one else to hate, and would turn inwards and destroy themselves.

    To live in the dark is to live a life that lies dead. One without purpose, without love, without hope. And Lady Rith shines this light everywhere she goes, making the realm a better place. She honours me with her friendship, and it makes me feel truly blessed that one such as she would count me as her friend. Lathander light your path, Lady Rith.

    She and I together have just returned from what I would call a trip of epic proportions. We cleared most of the Harbinger mines, the Hobgoblin fortress, and the newly opened Duergar Foundry. All the time laughing, making jokes, and revelling in our god given gifts and our friendship.

    More than that though, we found two prisoners, kept deep within the Duergar fortress. Slaying their captors, we took them with us to the surface and helped them to Norwick, that they might have a chance at a new life. Whilst we returned to town, I turned to Rith and I said "We have brought the light to this place, and the realm is a little less dark tonight". She nodded in agreement with me, and smiled... and now I know my purpose here.

    May the lights of truth, love, freedom, life, and beauty never be extinguished by the evils of this world.


  • _Tiredly, she stretches her hand. Weeks have passed, and the world around her is caught up in the twists and eddies of a plot with unknown intentions, save that it can only be for the worst. For some she had been an anchor during this time, working her hardest to gather what information and research she could… compiling and dissecting what others tell her, sorting the wheat from the chaff.

    It was quickly moving beyond the few that she trusted to act competantly and wisely, and so she stuck to what she could do without interference... acting as a scholar. No-one else wanted to have a part of the world of words, so it fell to her mainly.

    The last few days had been spent going over the latest notes, and working them into a massive scroll, which she copied by hand and passed on to those who needed to know. The brown haired woman didn't know how it would all end, but she knew that this would be her battleground. She would let others fight on the front lines, for whilst she could aid them, too often she was pushed to the side when the heroes of the realm came out.

    Her quill was her sword, her mind was her shield. She dare not let her ink run dry, nor her candles burn too low.

    Her Captain would be proud of her... she was finally fulfilling what he wished for her, that she become a historian and a scholar. Whilst it might be recording history in the making rather than what had already been, right now this is where the greatest good could be done.

    She would see that others are given the tools they need to fight the good fight, where words and knowledge are what they needed._


  • // Just a little OOC note to anyone who reads this journal.

    I've had to go back and alter a few things in Val's past, in order to make it line up with what would have actually happened according to other characters and events (Thanks Lager for the help). If you're interested in Val's past and she's told you of it IC at some point, please read over what is written previously and adjust what she told you to fit it.


  • Entry 13 - Cowardice

    _To see the right and not to do it is cowardice.

    • Confucius_

    Over my years, I have seen many brave actions by scared men. I have seen people do the impossible, and their actions will ensure that they are remembered long after they have been buried. And I have seen people who, when faced between an easy path of cowardice, and a hard path of righteousness, chose the path of least resistance.

    It grieves me that those who I call friend would do such things, that they would take the easy way out. Truly, the path I walk now is a lonely one, that I must stand with so few that will stay with me to the end. No wonder evil is allowed to grow unchecked.

    We travelled to the Lizardman caves beneath the swamp. Squeek wished to go somewhere different, find a new place to jaunt, and so I had suggested it. I knew of the abandoned Smugglers Cove there, and thought it would inspire her interest. I was correct. And so, Daveth, Rhiain, Garviel and I made our way through the swamp and down into the caves.

    Once inside the caves, we discovered dead men, no markings on their bodies as to rank, group, religious alignment, or other such… nothing but a misplaced missive, referring to a wandering tribe of orcs. The Lizardmen were eating their bodies. These we quickly dispatched, and gathered the things of the dead men. Their bodies were too defiled for much to be done with them, so I satisfied myself with gathering and burning them, so that they would not be further defiled.

    We continued on, to the Smugglers Cove. The Lizardmen fell before us without too much difficulty, asides from one strongroom that they had. And so it was in the Cove that Daveth heard voices. I sent him and Rhiain to investigate.

    Long story short? We found a large group of undead, led by a Velsharoonite priest and a Banite. The Velsharoonite was a Blooded of Oscura, which set Rhiain and Daveth on edge, afraid to harm him due to possible repercussions. I wished to destroy the undead and their creators, and managed to get the others to join me to face them.

    It was there that it fell apart. Daveth and Rhiain wished to merely knock out the priest, so that they would not be killed or worse by the authorities. I stepped into the doorway of their room, and called out a battlecry, at which point the priest mocked me, and simply stood his ground. He did not take a single hostile action. Didn't even cast a spell.

    The banter began. The priest made fun of me, and Daveth basically curled up in a ball and began to agree with whatever he said, siding with the foul man. And so I was forced to leave, letting the evil continue to fester and grow due to the cowardice that he showed, and which Rhiain joined him in. Garviel for his part, was indifferent throughout all of it, much like he normally is.

    If I had charged in on my own, and attacked the undead, I know with almost 100% certainty that I would have been killed. Garviel may have aided me, and I daresay that when pushed Daveth and Rhiain would have as well, but it would have been too late, most likely resulting in all of our deaths and then subsequent raising to unlife.

    The Red Knight teaches us to not fight where a battle cannot be won, and to go into a dangerous fight without the full support of your allies is tantamount to suicide. I am not afraid to die, but I will not do so pointlessly, and take others with me.

    Now, I know the nature of Daveth and Rhiain better. Now I know that they cannot be trusted to do what is right.

    I won't make the same mistake again.


  • _She sits in the Dancing Mermaid, a pair of white feathers in her lap. Quietly, the brown haired woman fumes. Evil had been allowed to triumph due to the inaction of a few. As she thinks over what had happened, she knew that there would be another time, another place… she would destroy the undead and the priest who had raised them.

    And yet, she knew she had stayed true to her goddess. Do not fight a pointless battle, do not wage a war you cannot win. Even that was little comfort though, as she thinks of what those foul beasts would do, if left unchecked.

    Her own life was precious though, bought for a dear price by the Red Knight, and she would not throw it away pointlessly. So instead, she thinks on her next plan, deliberates on a path of action. Her thoughts will not pass from what has been, no matter what she does.

    So she writes, to alleviate the anger. Perhaps in time, they will change. For now though, there is the white feather._


  • Entry 12 - The Bardic College

    _I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.

    • John Adams_

    After my admission to the Royal Troff Legion, there was one other organisation that I wished to become a part of, that I had known of long before the Narfell War. The Peltarch Bardic College and Theatre has had a name of renown for generations now, with its students travelling throughout the realms performing and sharing their talents where-ever they go.

    I remember when I was a young girl, that my father took me to see a performance in the local park by a lady called Ocean. She had a full band with her, but it was clear to me that she was the main attraction. Her hair shone beautifully in the sun, and her voice was as intoxicating as the finest wine. I spent the next few days after that wondrous event singing and dancing to the music she gave to us all, that fine lady from the Peltarch Bardic College.

    And so, I began to perform where-ever I could find people in Narfell, hoping to run into a member of the College. It also helped me earn the coin I needed to eat and buy some new clothes and equipment… something I had badly needed. It seems though, that word spread of my performances and eventually I met with an eccentric elf who referred to himself as Professor Elidur.

    A follower of Lliira, he wore the most outrageous colours in his outfits, and walked with a most odd gaite, and yet I could see that he was a skilled performer. We spoke for some time about the art of performance, about Peltarch, ourselves... he spoke with a clear intelligence but obvious signs of detachment from reality. Our conversation finished with a promise from him... that a Master would find me to test me for admission.

    Months passed. I kept running into Elidur, but never a Master. Eventually though, a lovely young lady called Gaerielle found me. She was a Master of the College, and the current caretaker whilst there was no appointed Headmaster in the absence of Jerr. She showed me around the college and theatre, explaining as we went of the purpose of both and some of the history. As she spoke though, she seemed unsure of herself and rather shy, a trait I had not expected in a master.

    I would later find out that she was a N'jastian like me, but had been in the realm for far longer and she had received a lost of mistrust, abuse, and betrayal because of it. It was only natural that I would develop a bond with her, a closeness to help both of us. I performed on the stage of the Theatre for her, to show her my skill, and I was admitted as an apprentice.

    Time passed. I met with other young performers, attended classes, and performed as often as possible. My skills grew, and along with them, my name spread throughout the realm and beyond. And yet, there was still no Headmaster for the College, and only two Masters where we could have five.

    So I met with the Senate. Explained my position within the College to them, what I had seen within the College, and what I wished to see happen. They gave me full approval to make any changes I needed to. And so, Elidur was made Headmaster, and I was made a Master. Gaerielle chose to leave the realm, seeing the changes I had made as a failure on her part, which grieved me greatly.

    I still miss her dearly.

    I recruited seven new apprentices, and worked with them as much as time allowed. Unfortunately, all but two of them have left the realm, the free-spirited nature of the bardic lifestyle calling them away. William de Montez and Talisen Talespinner are still with the College, and I hope in time that they will graduate.

    A few years ago, after the defeat of the Dracolich and the Hungry One, I arrived at the College to check my office and run some classes, to find Elidur had packed up and left without anything more than a brief farewell note. Another one I still miss, and always will. And so it was with a heavy heart that I stepped into his position. The College needs a Headmaster

    Now at the College there is Lycka, Will, and I. Sometimes I see Adrian or Anderian in the corridors or the common room, and I see the odd note from Talisen. But I fear that unless I can find a way to ensure succession, I may be the last Headmaster that the Bardic College sees before it closes its doors.

    For now, I'm working on the library, trying to record all the lore I can find in the collective memories of the people of the realm. I'm also working on a series of books to help others learn when they don't have time for classes.

    May the fates give me the time I need to see this all done.


  • Entry 11 - Allies and Enemies

    _The victor will never be asked if he told the truth.

    • Adolf Hitler_

    There are two things that I have never struggled to find. Allies… those who will fight alongside me, willing to give their life at my command or urging. And enemies... those who would cut me down where I stand if they thought they could get away with it. I believe it is the way of the world, and that those who live life to its fullest see the extremes of it.

    I laugh, love, fight, read, eat, work with all of my being, focussed on the task at hand. Utter devotion is one phrase I have heard used for it, and what else could be the response when we know how short and brutal life is? Some people see this and admire it, or long for it themselves. Others still recognise it for what it is, and wish to share the experience with me. These people become allies.

    I also hate with all of my being. My own prejudices (yes, prejudices. There is no other word for them) are easy to see. I may not act on them out of caution and a wish to not promote unnecessary violence. Followers of Garagos and those who would kill the innocent, those who would defile that which is holy... they bear the brunt of my enmity.

    Do not mistake a lack of violence for a lack of hate. I fight where the situation calls for it, but when a follower of Garagos is living what passes for a normal life in this realm, to attack them without a clearly defined reason beyond their faith would make me no better than them.

    Velena, Sogar, these are the only two I know of at the time of writing this entry. I ignore them generally, refusing to rise to their insults and words. They're trying to bait me, to get a violent response. But to what end? They love the sight of blood, their own or anothers does not matter. So why should I give them that pleasure? But I will not heal them. I will not aid them, and I will not travel with them. Not for any end.

    And if I was lying in the street, dying, and the only one there was a Garagossian, I would refuse his aid. My faith demands nothing less.

    When it comes to my allies though, they are many. Those of good heart within the Circle of Quercatha Terr, I count as allies, especially Jerrick, Fadia, Vash, Belia, and Adriell. The Crafters Union holds many who will fight beside me to the end, including Devlin, Z, Vanderkaus, and Maythor. The Bardic College, well, there's not many of us there nowadays, but Lycka and Will would aid me in any way they can. And now, I have some new allies, amongst the Order of the Divine Shield. Sir Mariston, Lady Rith, Lady Eluriel, and probably others that I have yet to meet.

    Beyond that, there are the allies I've made of my own accord, or those who remain from my Legion days. Benji, Marty, Troff, Pugor, Senria, Celad, Syclya, Alexi, Raila, Rain, Caelisar, Taniko, Maria, Anor, Raul, Ronan, Aelthas, Maero, Daveth, Rhiain, Targohr, Tindra, Chea, Artie, Vick, Kabul, Brendel, Yarah, Ferdinand, Vladimir... the list goes on and on.

    Yes, I have far more named allies than enemies. Don't let that deceive you, for many enemies I have, have no name. And then there are the enemies of the soul, which I fight on a daily basis. Lethargy, self-deception, callousness, selfishness, cowardice, bloodlust. Whether in myself or others, these are the things that I combat whenever possible. And what do all of those sins come down to, at their most basic level? Putting yourself ahead of others, and treating other people like objects, not people.

    To give in to these base emotions, is to become that which has no place in the enlightened society of mortals that I pray will one day come to be. The society I try to encourage every time I wake up and say my prayers to the Red Knight, the one I give a glimpse of when I sing.


  • _More time passed for the brown haired woman. Things turned to another place on the wheel of time as they do, and she found her skills as a historian in need. Some folk were lamenting the lack of new books in the libraries, so she set herself to a mammoth task… recording the history of Narfell. Unsure if she would finish it in her lifetime, it was still a worthy task to undertake, and so she would attempt it.

    The beginning would be easy... events that she had been a part of, stories that were now done but still fresh enough in her mind that she could recall the details. But as she got through those, she would need to turn to others for help with the missing lore... and there it would slow down.

    So far, she had written the stories of Jay and Jaelle, the Lost Temple of the Rawlins, the Evil beneath Norwick, and now she put the finishing touches on the story of the Dracolich and the Hungry One. Each would go into the libraries of the Bardic College, for the knowledge to be passed on to future generations.

    Stretching her writing hand, she stood up and looked over her work, checking it for errors or inconsistencies. Finding none, she nodded to herself and added it to the pile to be catalogued. Some years prior she had completed the study of the Defiler, which had led to three books. And yet she knew there would be scores more to write.

    She went to the kitchen and helped herself to some bread and cheese, and a little wine to soothe her headache. There is only so long one can write via candlelight before it gets to them, and she had been doing it for many, many nights.

    Half an hour later, she went back to writing, but this time to her red leather journal. For the wheel never stops turning._


  • Entry 10 - Men

    _Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other.

    • Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_

    Perhaps the battle that I have fought the most, and with the hardest results, is the battle for my heart. Many men have sought me, without success. As well as a few women, but I'd rather not go into that. In the matter of love, I cleave to kindred spirits as family, but nothing more, for now.

    I think it makes me rather unusual in this realm, amongst adventurers at least, as so many seem to be searching for the next woman or man to share their bed. It's not that my body is not capable of the act, or that my heart has not healed from the pains of the past, but more that I do not need that complication in my life.

    And yet, some men take my rejection as an insult, or a challenge perhaps. Nothing could be further from the truth… and I don't see why they can't accept my words for what they are. Simple, clear, honest. I have no need of the physical affection of another, to hold them twined with my own body.

    Even if I was to retire from this martial life, I would not raise a family in Narfell. The realm itself is too chaotic, too violent. There are far too many risks to people here for me to be willing to risk those that I would care about most. An adult can make their own decisions, they are responsible for their own life. A child is dependant on their parents for these things.

    So many men seem to base their own identity on their skill with women, or their prowess at wooing. And yet, they leave behind them broken hearts, or even worse, anger and resentment. Why can't they be content with finding themselves in other, more worthwhile pursuits? Something that builds up, not cuts down.

    I do not hate men, but nor do I love them. There are too many who I could not trust, to give my heart away so easily.