3. Tacticum Vita

Tacticum Vita


  • 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.


  • Entry 9 - The Royal Troff Legion

    _Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head.

    • Euripides_

    It seems ironic to me that I'm writing this now, after I've retired from the Legion. I never thought that I would willingly leave a military organisation, but it seems that my fate is full of twists and turns. Many things in this life will come and go, and perhaps I will be one who stands with allies of free will, not at the front of an army.

    In any case. My trip continued north from the Temple of Kelemvor. As I rode slowly up the pass, I saw a large stone tower rising over the trees. The Legion Tower. Their banner flying proudly, their soldiers travelling in small units as they patrolled the pass and practiced their skills at arms and armor in the courtyard of the tower.

    They paid me not attention, asides from a few soldiers who saw me and nodded, then continued with their patrol. Clearly, I wasn't a drooling barbarian with murder on the mind, or a howling gnoll out for blood. Their armor was well looked after, reflecting the light as they moved about. Their weapons were clearly sharp and kept in good condition. The pride that the soldiers had in the colours was evident.

    From here I rode further north, past the entrance to Oscura and the half-completed shrine to Tempus. I could see what was taking shape, but it seemed that work had stopped on it. So I took a few minutes to sit and reflect by the shrine, and put together my own cairn to the Foehammer, asking for his blessing on the battles to come… both those fought with the sword, and those fought with ideas.

    This done, I re-mounted my horse and cantered north, inside the city walls of Peltarch. No guards stopped me, clearly they weren't worried about invaders in a time of peace. I was somewhat surprised, but then again, most threats in this realm are very obvious. The subtle evil is always the most deadly.

    The horse dealer at the gates took an appraising look at my horse, and offered me a hundred gold for him. I simply nodded and handed him the reins, knowing I was getting a decent deal. Some gold in my hand and I'd reached my destination without too many incidents.

    The streets were no longer paved with clear, smooth stones. Instead, there were cobbles where there was anything other than dirt. Many of the buildings looked as if they had either been recently repaired, or hastily built. The Peltarch we had been told about, was no more. This instead was a far more simple city, but there had to be a lot of spirit here to rebuild after a war and a flood had all but wiped it out.

    The merchants called from the market, trying to get as much business as possible, mothers with their children bustling through as they went about their day. Here I could revel in my anonymity, just another face in a crowd.

    I organised a room at the inn for my stay, with no idea how long it would be for. The innkeeper nodded at my words, clearly used to "adventurers" and the like... gods how I hate that word. Being an "adventurer" makes it sound like everything we do is an adventure. It makes the life sound glamorous... a way to ensure that the next generation of heroes will willingly train for that life, without ever telling them the truth of how hard it really is.

    It took several days for me to spot an officer of the Legion, but one eventually turned up. Sergeant Benji, the gnomish hin with his goggles and crossbows and contraptions walked into the commons, looking around. I'm still not sure why he was there when he was, but it seemed that he was there for me.

    So, I introduced myself, told him who I was, and that I wanted to join the Legion. He was somewhat taken back, surprised you might say. So, I told him more. Told him where I was from, why I wanted to join. Told him the truth. I knew that it would be hard for most to get past my history, but to his credit, he simply nodded and agreed to take me on as a Recruit.

    What followed over the next months and years would be a long, hard grind. I was questioned repeatedly by several officers about my intentions, but eventually they accepted my words as truth and I proved myself, making Private. Quickly the promotions came, to Lieutenant, then to Sergeant. Many battles, many men and women serving around me, with me, and eventually under me.

    Every single person I served with, I would fight side by side with again. Some stick out in my mind though... Pugor and Troff first amongst them. Both are utterly selfless, devoted to defending others. They may never be officers, they may never be the almighty heroes that the people of the realm look to, but they were heroes in a way that most who receive that title will never understand.

    In the end though, I had to leave. I know a lot of those I served with would want to know why, or will make up their own mind as to what caused it. If others will think poorly of me for it, so be it. What it all came down to, is that my service to the Red Knight comes ahead of my service to mortals.

    If that means that I must leave the Legion in order to not have other orders come ahead of hers, then that's a decision I will make.


  • _Months pass between her writings. The brown haired woman has done much, but some things she has put off, until now. The cold feeling in her heart told her it had to be done, but she knew that it would change everything. She hoped it would be for the better.

    A series of trips, although short, where what followed. First to the Rats and Bats restaurant, in the Pass. A formal farewell from a group that she had once hoped would help her realise her potential. In a way, they had, but not in the way she had intended. Cold stares from the Chieftain, and disbelief from the others… she made her exit quickly before anything more could be said.

    The next was a little up the pass, to the Legion tower. This would be harder to do, but easier in some ways. She wrote her last note in her report log, and left her keys and her ring behind. The last of her belongings removed from her room, and a final salute to the Private on the door, and she was almost free.

    The last trip, was to the bustling city of Peltarch. Several days and some thousands of gold, her clothing had been recut and died. No more blue, but silver, black, and red. Red for the faith that is, Black for the faith that was, and Silver for the Steel in her heart. On her way to her room in the College, she stopped by Town Hall and signed some paperwork. Her last bond to an uncertain past was gone forever.

    Eowiel didn't say much in the College, she never did. Always had her nose buried in a book. The libraries here were truly marvellous, always something new to find and learn, so it was no wonder to her that they were covetted by others. But today was a day for introspection, not learning.

    She finally got to her room, wrote a note for someone dear, and placed it where it would be found. Before she headed out again, she had to write something for herself. At this time of endings, she thought of the beginning, and so it would be written._


  • Entry 8 - The journey to here

    _All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers.

    • Francois Fenelon_

    I've been asked before, by those closest to me, that if I could go back and change anything, what would it be? My honest response has always been that I would change nothing, because we do not know where our choices will take us, and that what we have done in the past, makes us who we are today. All the hurts, all the pain, it was necessary to mold me into the person I am. These things might be regrettable, but they were necessary.

    Perhaps war should be looked at, in the same way.

    In any case, once I was freed from the prison, I went to the Temple of Tempus in the Capital, where we were once all based. My trip was made in the dark of night, my face hidden from onlookers by a heavy cloak and hood… I dare not show myself, for fear of what would happen should someone recognise me, and then take it upon themself to punish me for my actions.

    The High Priest ushered me into the Temple quickly on my arrival. He had been expecting me and the others. Gave me a meal and some food, fresh clothes, my ring and cloak, and some coin. He also gave me a set of chainmail and a longsword and apologised profusely... the temples resources had not stretched to be able to purchase back our armors, shields, or weapons.

    But still, I was free, and I was in friendly company. Ten long years I had been waiting for that, to know that I was no longer subject to the whims of others. It seems I wasn't the only one... as the others came in slowly, in ones and twos, they were smiling. Weary, but happy to be free.

    We greeted one another as long lost family, there were hugs and handshakes, tears and laughter. We shared stories, and talked of the future. But as I watched the door, too few came. And the stories told why. Our unit of one hundred had been whittled down to fewer than fifty.

    Some were killed and did not return to life, Tempus taking them with him to fight his battles in the afterlife. Others had fallen from the faith, or fallen in with the wrong people, or both. They would not come. And amongst those gathered, I could see that others had fared worse than me. An eye gone, an arm missing, a terrible limp making it impossible to walk far without support. The High Priest could heal some of the wounds, some of it had been done too long ago, or too thoroughly.

    After a few hours of the bittersweet reunion, we spoke of our plans. Some of the men would stay here in the Temple, and become part of the Broken Blades... those who were no longer able to fight but wished to do Tempus' will. Others decided to head to another realm and join up with a unit of Steelfangs there. They would train and work hard, and do everything they could to gain their fighting strength again.

    When I told them of my plans, some of them were shocked. Others simply nodded, or seemed to not hear me. In any case, none would come with me. I was to be alone again. I had expected this, but it was still hard to swallow. As the morning light rolled around, I said my goodbyes to those who were leaving, and went to bed.

    The next night, I saddled up a horse that had been brought around for me... a broken down stallion who would never see battle again, but he would serve well as a mount for a long trip. Perhaps his last trip. I prayed it would not be mine. I said a tearful farewell to the High Priest, and offered a prayer at the Altar for a safe journey, and a new beginning.

    I mounted my horse, and pulled him into a slow trot as we moved through the town. No-one paid me any mind, I looked like another adventurer out to see the world, with my scant few belongings on my back.

    The journey overland was not difficult, asides from flea infested beds in the inns and loud drunks trying to get me to join them in bed. After a few nights of this, I took to buying a weeks worth of supplies and sleeping in the wild. I thought there was nothing worse that the world could throw at me than I had already seen, and at least, on this journey, I was not proved wrong. Tempus did bless my journey, and kept me safe, until I arrived on the outskirts of Jiyyd.

    Ahead, I saw a scene of utter desolation of the land and the soul. Restless dead walked the ruins, their insignia that of the army I once served. Demons commanded their allegiance now, and sent them on endless patrols, jeering at them and mocking their former intentions. I watched from a distance, trying to see a clear path, but none was obvious to me. Suddenly, a Succubus noticed me and flew over, her naked form disgusting to my eyes.

    As she approached she looked over me, and saluted with a mocking grin.

    "Welcome home, traitor"

    "What do you want? What more can you and your ilk possibly take from me?" I asked her, standing strong in the face of a foe I knew I could not defeat.

    "To see you broken, to see your soul as tainted as this land is, to have you join us in celebrating the destruction of all that is good."

    "Never. You'll never have that pleasure, I'll never bow to you or your prince." My fists clenched, my face resolute.

    She laughed, wiggled her hips and waved a hand to indicate that I should continue.

    "Then go on, go to your destination. I'm sure we'll meet again soon, you and I."

    I said nothing further, but quickly did as she suggested. The demons and undead left me alone, they let me pass. I knew then, that my task was mammoth. I would either succeed, or die trying, for by Tempus, I would not let such evil go unchallenged.

    I took rest at the Temple of Kelemvor, the priests there offering kind words to an unknown traveller. The next day, I travelled on to Peltarch, and sought to see what had happened to that city, and how it fared now.


  • _Fight Night rolled around again, as it did once a month. The brown haired woman would turn up as she did most of the time, hoping that this gathering of warriors might catch the attention of a wandering friend from her past life, that perhaps they would be able to talk once again.

    She carried her age well, so well that she wasn't sure they'd recognise her anymore. Even the woman she had been when she was released was nothing like how she looked now… she knew though, that her voice would give her away. So she entered the Team Fights, her longsword at her side. These days she used her flail simply because of the magic within it, but her preference was always for the holy weapon of her lord, even though it was nothing like her old sword was.

    People waved to her, and called her name fondly. She had made a home here amongst the people she had once fought against. She had aided them many, many times now, and was doing all she could to protect the realm and its people from the horrors that were out there. And yet, she could stand in a crowd there, and be alone.

    She smiled to those who welcomed her, and played the part that she had for so many years now. She longed to be truly a part of it all, to feel like she was home. But no matter what she had done, there was only one place where she felt at home, and this was not it.

    The night came and went without incident again... nothing noteworthy for her. A loss in archery, a victory in the teamfights, and another trinket to be put away for another day. Afterwards, everyone wandered off their own seperate ways, seeing to their lives as they felt was fitting. She too, did what was necessary, and after a meal in the inn, sat down by the fire to wait for friends. In the meantime, her journal called._


  • Entry 7 - Death and rebirth

    _The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.

    • Mark Twain_

    I could regale you with tales of the ten years I spent in prison. Tales of horror, tales of pain and suffering, of loneliness, of desperation. Tales of the times that I prayed for a release, of when my spirit almost broke. Sometimes, I relive those times in my dreams, and I awake with a scream.

    The general nature of it? Hell on earth. The specifics? I was killed eight times, and eight times, Tempus did not arrive to collect me, so I returned to the living. Eight times, I sought out my killer, and sent them to the afterlife for their action. They focussed on me, because I was the smallest in my unit, I was the weakest. But I was smart, cunning. I had tactics and strategy.

    After three years, the other prisoners left me alone. I wasn't worth the energy or effort, they couldn't find a way to break me. I only cried when no-one was watching, and I never showed them fear or pain. It was only then, that I could start rebuilding my life from the inside.

    The entire time, the other Steelfangs had done their best to stay in touch with one another. Slowly, they had built up a network by paying the guards off to carry messages between cell blocks. Some guards were even converted to Tempus by the other soldiers, and willingly became our accomplices.

    It was through them, that we were told the outcome of the war, that N'jast had lost and withdrawn after getting all the way to Peltarch and having fought in the streets there. A river was poisoned, Jiyyd was blown up and a portal to the Abyss opened there, the war surged back and forth, but eventually the will behind the attack faltered, and the N'jastians returned home.

    The Chancellor of N'jast had turned up dead one morning around the same time, as had several prominent Peltarch citizens. Those responsible for the assassination of King Golask were never captured, but the evidence pointed towards demonic influences and actions behind everything to do with the war.

    Logically, it made sense. Demons love death and chaos, and war produces both of those. They had even managed to trick the Legion into opening a portal to the Abyss so they could freely come to our world. In addition, somehow they had corrupted Kara Du'Monte, who was once a Paladin of Kelemvor over to their side, and gotten her to defect to N'jast. It was her orders that saw us imprisoned, and she died during the last days of the war.

    And yet, we were still in prison. Still our names were branded as traitors, still we would serve out our sentence. I would wait seven years to be free again, but during that seven years, I learnt all I could about Narfell, and about what had led to the war, from both sides.

    Information wasn't too hard to come by, when you can pay people in magic. The entire jail was warded against magic, but the guards could turn it on or off for a specific cell, so that someone could be healed, or a cell investigated. Repairing clothing and tools, healing wounds, in small ways I would pay for the information I sought.

    I got word out as well, to the Temple of Tempus in the capital. They knew of our plight, and although they could not visit us, they had managed to purchase those goods of ours that had been sold, and would return them to us.

    Yes, I got older in jail. But I also got wiser, more aware. I saw what had happened on both sides, and I knew then what my path would be, on the day of my release.

    Redemption of the wrongs of a nation.