3. Celia StClair

Celia StClair


  • The old cottage in the glen looked just the way I remembered it. Built of stone cobbles that were unusual for the area, it had a rustic charm the more modern structures of the city lacked. The rock garden out front was showing dark red blossoms in stark contrast to the deep blued tones of the weeping evergreens behind them. It was plainly obvious that someone took great care of the place.

    An older couple stood outside the front door. Their faces had aged more then I thought they would. Lines tugged at their eyes where they hadn't been before, and gray had worked its way into their hair, giving them both a dusty look from where we stood.

    “This is it Celia.”

    “Wish me luck,” she whispered through her smile.

    We walked up the garden path, Celia holding my right arm in something less then a death grip. Weeks of anxious anticipation had boiled down to one moment.

    “Lady Celia, I'd like to introduce you to Lady Kathryn Du Luc and her husband Sir Reginald Du Luc, Chief Inquisitor of the Order of the Chalice, Defender of East Marsh…”

    “Knight of the Realm and so forth...” My father interrupted, waving me off. “It's a bit of a mouthful I'm embarrassed to say Milady. I seem to collect titles these days the way farms collect feral cats.”

    “My parents” I interjected feebly.

    The old man gave me a nod and flashed Celia a charming smile while deftly taking her hand, raising it formally to his lips to kiss the back of it. It was spellbindingly smooth. My father had spent most of his life around the intrigues of court; he could really turn it on when he wanted to.

    “You must be Lady Celia StClair, Priestess of Torm the True and Knight of the Order of the Divine Shield. My congratulations on your knighting. Rey has written about you frequently, although his description of your beauty was wholly inadequate.” He was about to continue when my mother gave him a sharp poke in the ribs with her elbow. She shot him an “enough all ready” look, before picking up where he left off.

    “It is a pleasure to finally meet you my dear. You must be tired from your long trip. Would you like a nice hot bath? I took the liberty of drawing you one. Please... come inside.”

    “It iz a pleasure to... er... uhm... yez?” Celia managed, taken something aback.

    “Regg dear, I need more firewood brought in if I'm to have dinner ready on time.”

    “I need to split some. I'll have the boy do it.”

    “REGINALD DU LUC! It's been five years since our son has come to visit, I'll not have you spirit him away to chop wood!”

    Defeat was written in his eyes. “Yes dear.”

    Celia suppressed a giggle as my face turned red. Home five minutes, and all ready feeling guilty.

    I followed my father out back to the chopping block while the women headed inside. He set the first piece of wood upright and picked up the ax.

    “It's good to see you again son.” The ax fell with a sharp crack. “You know, there's a place for you here with the Grail Knights.” The tone of his voice was hopeful, but unexpectant.

    “My duties are elsewhere.” The ax struck again, cleaving off another narrow strip of wood.

    “You're making a big mistake.”

    “Am I? Peltarch needs me.”

    My father's face broke into a got you smile as he handed me a few pieces of kindling.

    “You left Lady Celia alone with your mother.”


  • The late morning sun had burned off the mists by the time our ship was tied off to the pier and the gang plank extended to meet it. The crew set to work diligently positioning gantries and squaring block and tackle to unload the cargo that held the ship low in the water. Shore leave was just a few hours away, a chance for some to blow off a little steam, for others, a long awaited reunion with loved ones not seen in months.

    I crossed the gangplank in two short strides and turned just in time to be hit in the sternum with the first of our bags, thrown by a sailor in a bit too much of a rush. I slung the bags off to the side, thankful we hadn’t packed in a large oaken chest. I turned back to the plank, and offered my hand to Celia to steady her as she walked out over the water.

    She didn’t take it.

    Her face holding the same expression that aboard ship two days earlier had reminded me of hunting rabbits.

    “I don’t zink I can go through with zis..”

    “Why not? You have it easy.”

    That got her. My smile was as big a taunt as my words.

    “Moi? ‘Owz is it easier for me? You don’t ‘ave to meet my parents.”

    I knew my laugh would not go over well, but there are times when one just has to.

    “Torm is my father and the Church is my mother? How high are the expectations on a son-in-law there?”

    Her expression changed in an instant, from worried anger to the affectionate smile that never fails to touch my soul. She took my hand and joined me on the pier. A warm embrace followed. In all my returns, I’ve never felt so much at home.


  • OOC: Once again, special thanks to RS for letting me guest post. More from the memoirs of Reynauld Du Luc…

    MEETING part 1

    I had seen rabbits being chased by fox that looked less nervous.

    I could feel the tremble in her body as I held her close to me. Her apprehension was feeding into my own, making me a little uneasy as well. I was sure she couldn’t help but notice.

    “You are nervous, yez?” She asked half a second before I was about to pose the same question to her.

    “A little. I’ve never done this before.” It was a big step in our relationship, one that we knew would happen at some point. “You Milady?

    Celia managed a forced smile. “Terrified. It’s ze first time for me az well.”

    “Men and women have been doing this for hundreds of years. How difficult can it be?”

    She looked away, and I thought for a moment she might decide not to go through with it, even at this late moment. Deep down I’d been looking forward to this for a long time. Was I being too eager? Maybe.

    “Per’apz you are right.”

    I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring hug. “We’ll get through this together. Trust me."

    The ship pushed its way through a glassy sea with the help of a small air elemental. We had to be getting close to Caladon, because the Mists of Avalon were drifting past the boat in patches, giving us only occasional glimpses of the sea ahead. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Celia had convinced the Captain to part with his prized spyglass, and now she was sitting cross legged on the for’castle resting the glass on the railing, trying to get her first glimpse of my homeland. I took it as a sign of renewed enthusiasm. I approached her with some apples I liberated from the galley; she had to be hungry by now.

    She was so intent with the spyglass that she barely noticed as I leaned on the rail and polished an apple with the front of my shirt. I was forced to put it out in front of the glass to get her attention. She startled for a moment, then looked at the apple, back to the glass, then at the apple again. We exchanged prisoners and I took up her vigil to the sounds of a crisp apple meeting it’s final moments.

    There was nothing but white to be seen. Then a dark spot. A chimney with bluish-white smoke lazily curling up out of it. The slightest of zephyrs punched a hole in the mists, revealing the port of Caladon, with its cluster of small houses made of chalky white plaster and exposed wooden beams topped off with the thick thatched roofs I had spent so much time working on as a boy.

    My flood of memories were interrupted by a cry of, “Land Ho!” from the crow's nest. The glass was deftly snatched from my hands almost instantly.

    “Zo many flowers… Oh Rey, c’est tres bell… Itz beautiful!”

    I didn’t need the glass to see what was painted forever in my memories… The split rail fences and their small gardens. The pole beans and flowering peas mixed with trumpet vine winding their way up and along them. Wisteria and climbing roses warring with each other. Window boxes filled with petunias, pansies, and marigolds. In good times, the city’s residents prided themselves on the colorful displays that fought back against the often gloomy Caladon weather. Some people say it’s hard to come home, but I don’t agree, perhaps because home has never left me.

    I took a great joy watching the expressions cross Celia’s face with each new discovery, from the stark chalk cliffs to the North, to the quaint little fishing village bordering on swamps to the South. The sharp point of the monolith at the crossroads to the east poked up over the city in the hazy distance, and beyond that, the spires of the temple fortress, keeping guard over the farms that pushed against the wilds.

    Eternity keeps watch over the passing of fleeting moments. What one takes of those moments is what one takes out of life. This was a moment that I would cherish until the twilight of my days.


  • CHIEFTAIN

    “Ve should try to find some balms and potions. Per'aps a hobgoblin patrol vould be in order?”

    “Indeed Milady.” He responded courteously as usual, and, as many times before, the two of us set off to challenge whatever foe crossed our path. Something was different this time, tension clouded the air, lending anxiety to the road ahead.

    We did not speak much, the quiet reassurance of each others presence chasing away the desire for idle chatter. Thoughts of Fendon and the coming assault were heavy on our minds, like carrying the anchor chains of some great ship upon our shoulders. I could feel a pain in my chest, the stress over worry about my friends, my brothers and sisters in faith, as we all prepared. Did we have everything we needed?

    I knew I shouldn’t worry. The Knight of the Order was in charge, and she had a plan. People would come through at the set date. That much I knew. I hoped Torm would stand beside us when the time came, but I couldn’t set aside the thoughts that haunted me. I can still see them, the cold dead eyes of people I once cared about. How many more would we lose in this dangerous business? How much is a price too high to pay?

    Whatever happens, I will stay with Torm. He is my Father, and the church is my mother.

    I watched Reynauld, studying the knight in training before me. He’s come so far in the years I’ve known him. I walked in a state of daze, unable to clear the visions of the past from my mind. Reynauld cut through the goblinoids as if they were butter. It’s clear he no longer needs the wards I’ve placed upon him. The first fields East of the lake posed no challenges and fortune smiled enough to supply us with some of the potions we were seeking. As we pressed on towards the camps of hobgoblins I noticed something. Rey was watching me as well, long glances when he thought I wasn’t looking. Is it worry… or is there something else hiding behind his piercing blue eyes?

    “How are we holding up?” He asked.

    “Tres bien. We should continue further East.” I whispered a few prayers to ward him from the magickers and their negative spells before we pressed on. “We turn South and around. Yez?”

    His simple and deliberate nod of understanding told me he was thinking the same thing.

    We continued past the field holding close to the tree line all the way to the opening. In the distance we could see a hobgoblin beating on an enslaved umber hulk. Our pace quickened. Reynauld was so robust that he leaped ahead of me and I had a hard time keeping up. The umber and the hob fell easily enough.

    The noise provoked the ire of a large group of hob casters. Rey drew his bow, and I knew, without a word spoken, from all our adventures together, that our tactics had just shifted to hit and run.

    His bow sang out, then he dropped back. I held my ground, firm and steady to drive a bolt true, then fell back past him to reload behind a tree while he kept the hobs’ heads down with another well placed arrow. We gave ground to buy time and stay beyond the range of their stronger spells, never presenting ourselves as good targets. Bolt, arrow, bolt, again and again.

    My breath was coming hard, dodging and weaving through the trees in heavy armor was exhausting, but our moral was high from the success. A hob arrow cut through the branches above my head before thunking into a tree trunk somewhere past me. “Do you think ve can take ze cave as well?” I yelled to Rey from three trees over. I could almost hear the smile in his response as he fired yet again.

    “We could certainly try Milady”

    The darkness in the cave was disquieting, seeming to stick to our cloths in wisps as we passed through it. Our footfalls made more noise then we would have liked as we moved forward, Reynauld slightly ahead of me in a manner that could only be described as protective. He met the first guard at the corner and dispatched it with a single gurgling thrust to the neck, easing it to the floor in the time it took me to stride towards it. The second stepped out of the shadows to his back, but my axe split its skull before it could press its advantage.

    We paused. All was quiet again save for the drip of water that echoed through the cave.

    “On y vas. Letz go…”

    We passed through two open chambers and a long hall before coming to a vast cavern. Guttural voices sounded in the distance. The darkness gave way to the soft glow of an old fire at the far end that silhouetted a group of hobs in a smoky red haze.

    “Be careful,” I warned Rey as he drew back on his bow.

    A sudden cry of warning erupted from the hobs and they jumped to the ready. Rey let fly just as one of them started casting, magical energies swirling around it. His arrow missed its mark, but struck the caster’s hand, pinning it to the chest of the hobgoblin next to it, disrupting the spell. I added a bolt to another caster as two more hobs charged at us. I found myself wondering what it must be like to see the world through cold dead eyes…

    “Back… Back! Retour!”

    Rey didn’t question. He slung the bow over his shoulder and followed me back down the hall, taking out his shield and drawing his silvered long sword along the way. We rounded a corner and he stopped, turning to face our pursuit. The two hobs were on us in an instant. Both were massive for hobgoblins, but one was a head and a half larger then any I’d ever seen. The monstrosity carried a large axe in each hand. It snarled in rage at seeing us and Rey took a step towards it, but the hob grabbed it’s companion by the collar of its armor and hurled him at Reynauld, knocking him back to the wall. I was amazed that it had still kept a hold of it’s axe in the process.

    The brutish leader bore down on me and its axes whistled through the air with terrible velocity. I blocked it’s right hand swing with my own axe, and the shafts crossed, locking the heads together, leaving my side dangerously exposed. My armor stopped the other axe from taking my right arm off just below the shoulder, but only just. I yelled in pain as the blade bit deeply into the muscle and my arm dropped uselessly to my side. I heard Rey curse, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of my predicament, or because he was in dire straights of his own.

    I turned the back hand swing of the axe with my shield enough that only the flat of it slammed up against the side of my helm. My ears rang and blood rolled down my forehead and into my eye. Time seemed to stand still as I stumbled away deaf and half blind, retreating back the way we came. I could almost feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. Where was Rey when I needed him?

    Running made the blood flow faster, pumping the life out of me with every step. I could stop it if I had the time…

    It wasn’t long before I could run no more. I turned to face hob chieftain, resigned to my fate. The hob leered as it closed in for the kill.

    Rey came in at a dead run, his shield lowered like a battering ram. They both went down in a tangle of legs. Rey rolled with surprising nimbleness for a man of his size, regaining his feet awkwardly inbetween myself and the chieftain, buying me the time I needed to heal myself through the grace of Torm.

    “Vite ! Vite! 'urry! Go! Go!” I yelled at Reynauld, but I could tell by the stance he took that he had no intentions of anything other then complete victory or being carried out on his shield.

    The hob closed swiftly. Blades swirled, and the chieftain snarled as Rey scored a quick hit. Crashing blows battered his shield. Rey tightened his defense, passing on several openings that would have left him vulnerable to counter strikes. He landed another cut, then the brute beat his guard down and landed a heavy chop that punched through his breastplate. I reached out with Torm’s blessing and the wound closed off. The battle continued furiously, both opponents landing several cuts. Rey was wearing it down, while I kept him healthy.

    It dawned on the Hob that he was losing, and that as long as I stood, it was doomed. It feinted left then spun back to the right, past Rey and onto me. It wound up a savage blow, but Rey hooked the axe with the lip of his shield and twisted the hob back around to face him. It swung reflexively at him, before regaining its balance, leaving it open for Rey to bury his sword to the hilt in its intestines. The hob reeled back a few steps, clearing the blade, leaving a trail of guts spilling out of the open wound. It took another dazed swing, and Rey left a gouge up it’s arm from the wrist to its elbow. It swung weakly one more time and toppled, never to move again.

    The cave fell back to quiet, save for Rey’s heavy breathing.

    I could see the pride he had in his victory over the chieftain laying at his feet. I removed my helm and gave him a genuinely approving hug.

    “Good work, but now ve should 'ead back before zey regroup outzide..no?.” With Torm’s blessing, I healed the last of his cuts and we started on our way back. Reynauld was exhausted, but I could see new light in his eyes. This was a test we knew we needed, and we were victorious. He was happy, and it pleased me to see him so.

    We arrived back at the gate, both of us spent from the day’s adventure. Our muscles ached as we slumped down along the wall and rested with a smile on our faces.

    His soft whisper carried more than words. “Thank you Celia, for keeping my back today.”

    “I vill do my best, and I vill alwayz watch your back. It iz my duty…” Our eyes meet, warm and sparkling with life, chasing away the visions that plagued me earlier. “…and you are my friend.”


  • ((OOC: many thanks to Vander DM X who made this event for Celia and ofcourse the party going with her))

    A letter left with the boat from Peltarch to south west Tethyr. With neat and precise handwriting addressed to a convent and to mother Christelle d’Avignon

    Mere D’Avignon!

    I have good new! A week ago we secured the sacred chalice for it’s intended purpose, the celebration of the union of love blessed in Torm’s name. It was the most challenging assignment ever given to me, and I could not have done it alone. The Convent St Clair is truly blessed to have so many good people willing to help. These brave men and women not only performed their duty in retrieving Torm’s true relic, but also risked their lives for their friend in doing so. Mere D’Avignon, please let these names be forever remembered in the St Clair church ledgers.

    Allester Hollis
    Ashena Teroldys
    Aymon Teroldys
    Cecil Northman
    Reynauld Du Luc
    Romulus Grey
    Thorin Goldenaxe

    Once the wedding is performed, I promise to return the chalice to it’s rightful home with you and the sisters of the convent of St Clair. I will again gather a company of the loyal and faithful to deliver it to you for safekeeping, that it may be secure for future generations to cherish.

    It is with a heavily laden heart that I will end this letter. I regret to inform you, that of the original coterie that set forth form the abbey, only one of the brothers in faith survived their horrible ordeal. I’ve included a review of our raison d’etre, so that all might know what happened here. Perhaps it will provide some closure as we grieve for those we have lost.

    I will write to you again as we prepare to return the chalice.

    Yours in Faith and Service,

    Celia St Clair

    Based on a letter we received at Peltarch via messenger, we embarked on a ship heading for Westgate. We arrived several days later after a long journey at sea, weary from our travel, but renewed of purpose when our feet once again stood on solid ground. We paused at the docks district, getting our bearings about us to begin our search for the small settlement where our brothers and sisters found shelter.

    Our initial inquiries were of scant use, most of the residents of Westgate seemed to know little or nothing of the settlement, until one man, for a small fee, told us of a small town that had “recently appeared” some twenty miles to the south. Mindful of our need to hurry, we set off at a brisk pace to the aforementioned town, arriving the next day, several hours after dusk. We found the town to be in good order, with the sounds of laughter and companionship coming from the Inn just inside of town. While I wished to press on immediately, the long journey on foot had sapped us of our strength, and weary, my companions suggested we retire to the Inn for food and lodging, and perhaps speak with some of the locals.

    The innkeeper was congenial, and we settled in to a large table for a well deserved meal together. I must say, my compatriots experience and tact surpasses my own. I am sometimes far too eager to execute my task swiftly and be done with it. Monsieur Romulus’ charming presence and song provided all with a relaxing treat as Messieurs Cecil and Reynauld’s cunning patience drew the bar maiden Sarah into a chatty conversation about local rumors, including the presence of bandits in the area.

    Everything appeared to be in order. After a good meal of well seasoned fish stew, and a few rounds of drink and laughter, we all headed off to bed for the night, in the hopes of being reinvigorated for our task by morning. Mademoiselle Ashena and I shared the middle room, while the men split to the remaining two. Messieurs Cecil and Romulus took the first watch, to be followed by Thorin and Reynauld in the early hours before daybreak.

    We were woken suddenly by Cecil shouting across the hall. We dressed in the dark confusion of a quiet night shattered by the clash of weapons, arming ourselves and racing to be of assistance to our watch. The tavern seemed to be filling with undead, and as we joined Cecil and Romulus in the fray, Thorin, Allester, Aymon, and Reynauld rushed past us half dressed to help push the tide back out into the main room.

    The initial encounter was over quickly, as the zombies were no match for our martial skills and were quickly slain, buying us enough time to get ourselves equipped and orientated. Amid the heaps of reeking rotten flesh, blood, and gore, we recognized the moldering remains of our bar maiden Sarah. There was little time for comment, as the pounding on the hallway door announced the arrival of more undead. We gathered our resolve, and fought out way out of the Inn, happy when we finally made it outside to find a foggy and moonless night where a chill seemed to hang from the air itself.

    Much to our surprise, the small village we had walked into earlier in the evening had changed. The vibrant looking town had become twisted and run down, the buildings sagging in disrepair, fungus growing the rotten woodwork and sickly trees sprouting from their broken stone foundations. It had turned into a ghost town, and we could all feel the evil that permeated the settlement to its very roots. As we moved down the muddy road, undead kept coming at us from out of the buildings and the darkness in what seemed like a never ending stream of vile corruption.

    We turned east, and just outside of the settlement we found the scattered remnants of a camp. The equipment, the tack, and some of the clothes held the mark of Torm’s faithful, along with the abbey’s fleur-de-lis. It could only have been the camp of our brothers and sisters. As we continued up a small hill, we found the entrance to a barrow. Shadows in the tree line converged on us, and to my horror, I started to recognize the faces of the undead stalking us. My heart was squeezed by terror and revulsion as my friends and I were forced to cut down the remains of the once good people I used to know so well. Tears blinded me. Our faithful… our friends… my friends… They deserved better then to be cut down like this. The cruelty of their fate was more then I could bear. Never before had evil been so personal to me.

    Pushing aside our emotions, we made our way down the narrow passages of the barrows, seeking the heart of the corruption, and hopefully the chalice along with it. We had to be very careful. Deadly traps and dark magics gave us painful reminders of why we were here. It was almost as if the barrows were alive, daring us to venture deeper, taunting our every effort. Ghouls and turned faithful rushed to assault us, or lurked in dark recesses and around sharp corners or twisting bends to pounce on us from unseen. My friends fought bravely, taking savage wounds in the process. I consider myself fortunate that a priest of Ilmater, Monsieur Hollins, had offered his assistance to our group. While I did not know him well, his aid was most helpful to me in administering healing blessings and attending to the injured as our force of holy steel pushed forward.

    At long last we reached the deepest end of the barrows, and that is where I saw him. He was one of the most devoted brethren in our sacred community, a man of loyalty, skill, and dedication. He had been corrupted and twisted into a thing that may have resembled him on the outside, but never could have matched his spirit on the inside. Possessed of evil, he turned to fight us with a savage ferocity that took all we had for us to merely hold our ground.

    In the end, it was my axe that finally felled him. In some way it might have been for the best, that he be laid to rest by one of our own. I dropped to my knees next to him, my heart torn by despair. What lay there on the ground was not him. So many memories welled up inside of me that I could not begin to recount them. He had been a brother in faith to both of us, and a loyal friend to you Mere D’Avignon. Even as I write this I still morn the passing of Jacques D’Emoull, I pray that he forever be remembered for what he once was, not what I saw laying before me.

    While I gave Jacques his final rites, the rest of our group searched the area, and to my sudden joy, called out that they had found a survivor trapped behind some boulders. As we pushed away the rocks, we could see him, wild eyed and clinging tightly to the chalice as his only salvation.

    Whether our freeing him broke the spell on the barrows, or moving the rocks triggered the collapse I may never know, but a shudder passed through the barrows, and we had to flee for our safety, leaving behind the mortal remains of the faithful that should have had a better burial then this mass grave. I bid them all a last farewell, knowing that Torm’s arms are held wide to receive them

    Our group has arrived back in Peltarch, and the chalice is safely ensconced at the Temple of the Triad waiting for the blessed day that Cecil and Ashena are joined together in matrimony.

    As I sit in the Mermaid Inn writing this remembrance, I can’t help but think how truly blessed we are that Torm watches over us. Had it not been for his guidance, our fate may well have been the same as those that went before us


  • A letter left with Miss Daisy of the Temple of the Triad, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-du-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Ashena Teroldys:

    Mademoiselle Ashena my sister in faith,

    I am writing to you in order to inquire about the progress of the planning of your wedding. I have the ceremony all written, but there are a few things I would like for both you and Cecil to tell me. Are you writing your own vows to be inncluded in the ceremony, and are you exchaging rings?

    Naturally, I could beforehand walk you through it all, perhaps there is something you would like to add? The ceremony is now containing six short but important sections. This, my sister, might seem a lot to you, but a union and committment of love in Torms name, is nothing one performs in haste:

    1. The blessing of the man (Monsieur Cecil is not a noble nor is he a follower of Torm, do not worry mademoiselle Ashena its more about the tradition than anything else)
    2. The challenge
    3. The commitment
    4. The vows
    5. Blessings of the rings
    6. Blessing of the chalice

    I am genuinly happy for you both, not everyone is blessed with mutual and true love. You must look forward to this day, and the many day to come once the union is formally executed.

    Your in faith
    Celia StClair


  • A runner comes staggering in to the temple of the Triads. Celia who is praying by the Alter is startled and immediately gets up on her feet.

    “I seek mademoiselle StClair!” he calls out

    Lady Daisy turns to him with a worried frown and motions to Celia to hurry down the aisle.

    “Mademoiselle Celia I have a letter for you” He hands her a folded parchment, and then falls on the stone floor completely exhausted.

    Lady Daisy motions to the guards to aid the messenger.

    Mademoiselle Celia,

    As you are aware, our mère Christelle d'Avignon has assigned me and some of our brothers and sisters to deliver the ceremonial chalice to your care. This was four weeks ago, we left the southwest of Tethyr heading east, around the great forest towards the southeast of Amn.

    We were hoping to cross the Western Heartlands and head towards Cormyr, where, with some luck, we could rent a boat towards Peltarch.

    But unfortunately, our plans are now, impossible. It was at the triple border of Amn, the Heartlands and the Dragon Coast that we were surprised and ambushed by a group of bandits. Our duty demanded us first and foremost to secure the chalice. To bring these foul vermin’s down one by one. A chase along the coast commenced.

    It was near Westgate that we found their hidden lair, and there Torm’s justice was made, but not without cost. Some of the brave brothers and sisters with me have fallen to enemy bolts, and some still suffer from their blades. It would be unwise to travel back to Tethyr or to move ahead, since I am afraid it could worsen the health of the remains of our faithful

    In light of these events, we found shelter in a in a small settlement 20 miles south of Westgate.

    The loss of our brothers and the current status of several wounded, gives me no other choice. We have to stay where we are its the only way to secure the chalice. The convent StClair cannot help, mere D’Avignon already sent her best.

    Please I urge, for this precious relic to reach its destination, for your help. By Torms protection and steel force gather a loyal party and come to our rescue. I am sorry if I have failed you

    Your brother in faith,
    Jacques D’Emoull


  • A letter arriving to the temple of Triad with a stamp of the crest of Convent StClair, addressed to Celia:

    Ma Petite Chèrie,

    My beloved daughter in faith, I am writing to tell you we have sent a convoy carrying the scared chalice towards the region of Narfell. Since great care is taken to secure the path ahead, it will take many weeks before they reach you.

    Enclosed you find the the ministers cermon for union in faith.

    I am happy to know you are in good health and have a life with purpose in Torms name. We all miss you but duty comes first

    Yours in faith
    Christelle d'Avignon


  • A letter left with the boat from Peltarch to south west Tethyr. With neat and precise handwriting addressed to a convent and to mother Christelle d’Avignon:

    Mere D’Avignon ,

    I write to you for the first time since my departure north east. There are many things I would like to tell you. I am all well, and I am currently serving as squire within the Order of the Divine Shield in the region of Narfell.

    Life treats me well and I find great comfort in this community. My master Rath Ashald Jorinsen is a bit peculiar, but in heart all good. There are many here that I should mention, but first I tell you my purpose writing this letter.

    My best friend, a noble, a sister in faith, Knight Ashena Teroldys is getting married. I am so happy for her and the man soon to become her husband is a true match. Worthy of her indeed, he shall not fear his social status, as member of the militia of Norwick. His love for her is as strong as her faith; he will guard her heart like no other.

    It is with great honour I have been asked to be the minister in joining their hands. I admit it makes me also quite nervous. I am only a sister at a convent, and an aspiring cleric of Torm, a squire, with no real attachment to this region. Many will be present at this wonderful occasion, and I must not fail presenting Torms true will and acceptance of this union.

    I remembered a wedding ceremony some years back performed by you and at the end the sacred and blessed chalice of Torm was brought forth. I now humbly ask, with your blessing of course, if there is a possibility to have this chalice sent here.

    The temple of the Triad is a most well kept spiritual establishment and this relic will be thouroughly locked in and guarded.

    I wish no other thing than to give this union and my best friends mademoiselle Ashena Teroldys and monsieur Cecil Northman a true blessing and have them, with this chalice, share their first sacramental wine together in Torms name.
    ‘
    Your in faith
    Celia StClair


  • A letter left with Miss Daisy of the Temple of the Triad, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Rath Ashald-Jorinsen:

    Sir Rath,

    As you requested, hereby the report:

    I was not present at the beginning of the attacks, a guard approached me in the commons and told me to head out west. The tower was assulted and after choking that, we took stand by the two bridges fighting waves, after waves, of orcs, shamans, hammers, archers and thugs.

    In a union of unbending force, we were finally victorious. Prasied be Torm! The orc leader was killed and a weapon was taken to the church for clensing.

    Notet members that should be acknowledge for their bravery:
    Cecil Northman, Gnarl Horst, Romulus Gray, Walter Barry, Joanna Kitten, Victoria Beatrix, Jeffter Tealeaf, some other hin (I never met before), Rath Ashald and Celia stClair.

    All accounted for and to my knowledge in good health.

    With this I will with your permission take a leave of absence and visit my home region.

    Please continue handing out garlic in the dock districts. I left a basket full at the orphanage for the children to carry a garlic with them at all times

    Your in faith
    Celia StClair

    PS. I will also pray for lady Elenas recovery may she be in good health to join the the Triads and the order once more


  • A letter left with Miss Daisy of the Temple of the Triad, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Rath Ashald-Jorinsen:

    Sir Rath,

    As you requested, hereby the report:

    Myself, Mademoiselle Ashena and messieurs Rath and Mark were finishing a routine patrol of the sewers and barrows under Peltarch when we encountered a large number of rats and undead. We decided to pass the area by the barred fence, as we had exhausted a great deal of our divine graces for the day. Crossing the dilapidated wooden walk over the main spillway, we noticed there was something down in the water.

    As we all gathered near the edge, a vampire shot up out of the water like a projectile and landed near us, bull rushing monsieur Rath, gravely injuring him and nearly knocking him off the walkway.

    I tended to Monsieur Rath while Mademoiselle Ashena and Monsieur Mark fought a pitched but losing battle with the creature. With nothing left to give, I presented my holy symbol strongly, and encouraged the others to do the same. This caused the vampire to freeze before us, and with the combined effort of us all we were able to drive it off and return to Peltarch safely.

    I subsequently lead a follow up patrol with messieurs Reynauld Du Luc, David de Garmon, and Mike Bin searching for signs of the vampire’s presence in the sewers and then deeper into the barrows. We stocked up on wooden stakes, garlic and holy water prior to our patrol.

    Our sweep turned up three spawns, but no other signs of the vampire the earlier patrol had encountered.

    While recovering from the second patrol, I had an interesting conversation Monsieur Reynauld about the habits of vampires. He related to me some advice given him by his father Sir Reginald Du Luc, a Knight of the Chalice and Chief Inquisitor for the province of Caladon, who had the misfortune of investigating a vampire infestation some years ago. Our conversation was quite lengthy, but here are some of the points he made.

    –- The vampire will probably be looking to separate members of the original patrol in order to get at them one at a time after such a humiliating defeat.

    --- They frequently travel cities at night under the guise of normal citizens.

    --- Vampires often convince innocent people to do their bidding.

    --- A vampire always has a plan, but they often go about them in ways that make it difficult to determine what it is. Almost like a puzzle.

    --- Vampires are motivated by the acquisition of power and the need for entertainment. They’ll do what they need to survive, but it isn’t what drives them.

    --- They have other lusts beside blood. Notably women of nobility or status, and virgins.

    --- Direct confrontations with vampires, like the one we had, are rare, so there had to be something specific it was after.

    --- Vampires will often put people in positions where they must choose between their faith, and someone they care about.

    Monsieur Reynauld then went on to ask if the vampire had attacked myself or Lady Ashena. At no time did it attack me, and to the best of my recollection, it did not directly engage Mademoiselle Ashena either, choosing instead to focus on messieurs Mark and Rath. Perhaps he saw the men as obstacles to overcome first? I can only surmise that since Mademoiselle Ashena fits the profile of being of nobility and I would only presume a virgin, that she may have been it’s intended target. Being an orphan, I am not to my knowledge of noble blood. Therefore we should take precautions to see that mademoiselle Ashena is guarded at all times.

    Also I would like to propose a funding to equip our closest allies with garlic, stake and holy water. At the expense of the Order.

    Your in faith,

    Celia StClair


  • ASSIGNMENT

    I have never traveled alone with Monsieur Fabian Reinhard before, but I thought I would invite him for patrol duty down in the depths of the sewers. It would be my first time venturing there without Mademoiselle Ashena or Monsieur Reynauld since I fell there. The knot twisting in my stomach made my apprehension feel even worse. I’ve had a hard time engaging cubes since that fateful day. It was time, I thought, to get back in the saddle and put my fears behind me.

    Monsieur Reinhard, a young man from the city, seems able enough to handle the unexpected from what I’ve seen of him. He has the boldness of a man with something to prove, and the chaotic brashness that one often finds in Temposian warriors. He can be direct and outspoken, but also wields a sword well enough to provide the shield I need.

    We descended into the rotten bowels of the sewer, our sharp footfalls echoing down the spillways, only to return the squeaks of scurrying rodents. Something did not feel right. There were more rats then usual at the first open chamber, and I had the uneasy feeling the shadows were moving at the limits of my visions. A face in the darkness, covered quickly by a hood. Sounds of soft padded footsteps fading in the distance. A door gently closing…

    Monsieur Reinhard followed behind me as I took the lead, setting my normal route. I’ve walked it a thousand times, I could do it blindfolded if needed. In an instant, an eerie silence fell on the sewers. Wary, we continued on, rounding a corner into four Skeletal warriors, their fleshless skulls and empty eye sockets giving them a leering grin that made them seem cunningly sinister.

    Monsieur Reinhard jumped on them immediately with his blade. “Blunt veapon!” I called out, but he kept hacking away with his sword like a man determined to destroy the skeletons hanging in his own closet. I joined in swiftly with shattering blows from my hammer. Reinhard pursued the skeletons down the hall taking the lead. It was a tactical change I didn’t care for, but I had to follow or it would end badly. Behind me I could hear the pops and sizzles of what could only be crystal ooze.

    Our battle turned into a chaotic mess, with bones cracking and shields clattering. Blow after blow rained down on them and us. As the last skeleton crumbled to the ground, I prayed for Torm’s favor, just then, two more skeletons took the place of the last one, and the acrid sent of the ooze overtook us.

    “Keep zem busy!” I yelled to Reinhard. I called out to Torm one more time that he might aid our weapons in his grace. We were pressed out onto a wooden ramp as we fought for our very lives. The ooze fell apart into a puddle of slush just as I stumbled over the remains scattered about the deck. I froze. I found myself standing exactly where I had fallen a few weeks before. On the floor was the nearly dissolved remnants of four or five cultists, striped of the flesh by a jelly cube and left here with no one to morn them. My stomach turned over just looking at it. Reinhard poked through them with his foot, looking for anything that might have some meager value.

    “Attend.”

    Reinhard turned to continue on.

    “I mean wait!” He turned back to me, thankfully. “We pass ‘ere, and from now on we be cautious ..yez?. Open zat door and zere vill be cubes, zo move zlowly a’ead until its clear.”

    I’ve been told my accent gets stronger when I’m worried, and by the look on his face, Reinhard is having trouble following my line of thought. At last, he nods and we forge ahead.

    We open the door cautiously and wait. All is silent. I step through the doorway, breathing a sigh of relief… only to see the air in front of my face shimmer as a ripple passes through it. The hair on my arms stands straight up as the chill of death passes over me.

    In one timeless moment, I can see cultists coming down the hall, their leader gesturing to his squad, they twist and distort as if being viewed trough some child‘s toy. I can feel Reinhard tense like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action. The cube, inches from my nose, reaches for me all over again. I pull back ever so slowly, willing myself not to get touched, knowing it’s smoldering kiss is inevitable. The knot in my stomach leapt to my throat, bringing the taste of bile with it. My gagging keeps me from screaming. There are words I need to get out, but I’m choking on them in my horror. Reinhard pushes past me, but I don’t want him to. Again I try to scream “don’t engage” but nothing comes out.

    Reinhard gets in one good swing before the cube engulfs him. He struggles to free himself but the cube doesn’t relinquish it’s grip of fate. His body spasms briefly then go still. His exposed skin starts peeling off before my eyes. I’m suddenly reliving that day with Monsieur Reynauld. The day I exchanged my life for his. Again I’m faced with the dilemma of what to do. Do I rush in and hack at the slime, knowing it will swallow me as well, dooming both of us? Do I jump back and slowly whittle it down with crossbow bolts while it dissolves my companion? Do I call upon Torm to heal him, fighting a losing battle of attrition in the hopes he recovers enough to fight his way back out? There is no choice that guarantees a good outcome. My feet suggest another alternative, but I know I need to stand true, no matter how scared I am inside.

    I call down two of Torm’s blessings hoping for a miracle. Reinhard twitches, and suddenly the cube parts over him and collapses to the floor. I grab him by the cloak, yanking him through the door and slamming it behind me. We stop to catch our breath, unable to flee to a safer spot. As Reinhard recovers his ability to move, I notice how badly I’m trembling from the mixture of fear and adrenaline. The tension locking me in place even as every fiber of my being urges me to flee. For a moment, anger races through me. How can I be so terrified that I can’t move? How can I allow my fear to have such a grip on my will?

    With the groan of old negated hinges, the door pushed itself open.

    The cultist leader steps through the doorway, his cutlass, dripping with slime, ready for action in a low guard. I look from his rust stained chain shirt up to his dark piercing eyes almost hidden under his blackened hood. I do not care much for the sly smile that crosses his face as he leers at me. At this moment, he could take me easily.

    With no hesitation, he greets us with a nod. It seems surreal after what has just happened.

    “We seem ta have some problems, me en mah men.” Hints of danger tone his deep burred voice. Reinhard returns his greeting like it’s a Sunday social in Ashald park. The casualness shocks me out of my trembles and I take in a deep breath as the fear fades and my anger fills me with strength.

    The sternness in my voices has not the slightest wavier. “Your problem be uz coming down ‘ere to ‘unt you down.”

    Reinhard’s hand comes down on my arm, staying my axe. He’s more willing to hear the cultist out then I am. A discussion ensues, but I only remember the gist of it. The cubes are causing the cultists problems and he wants to hire us to put a stop to them. He offers a large sum of gold, but I cut him off before he can finish.

    “Ve are not making any dealz, and ve are not taking any coin from you. You just ‘ead back to the dirty zewer drain pipe you crawled out of, yez?” He starts to say something, but I tighten the grip on my axe and take a step forward. “I varn you. I count to five and zat is your ‘ead start… before I cut you in ‘alf.

    He throws Reinhard a wry grin. “All right, as ya wish.” With a dark chuckle, the cultist turns and heads back through the door.

    “Letz ‘ead back Monsieur, and quickly..no?” I ordered Reinhard. We moved down the spillway. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see several cubes pushing their way through the narrow hall. I knew this was a setup.

    “Pick up ze pace!” It was clear to me that Monsieur Reinhard was dragging his feet. How could he not understand the severity of the situation? I saw cubes coming from in front of us. I turned left, running past the rooms and back to the wooden ramp.

    The door was now locked.

    Reinhard was far behind me, I called out as loud as I could. “Do not engage! The door is locked, We‘re trapped!”

    I took a step back and hefted my axe, savagely lighting into the door. Splinters flew in all directions. Between swings, I could hear the sounds of Reinhard fighting somewhere back behind me. With one last blow, the door failed.

    “Ze door is down!” I holler. I heard him run up behind me, but I didn’t turn, instead hurrying through the door and across the ramp, nearly stumbling as I jumped over the remains of cultists we had passed earlier. The door at the other end was locked as well. The slithering of cubes behind us sounded like it was getting close. Laughter echoed down the hall.

    “You should have listened to me…”

    My fear turned into survival fury. I shattered the door in two swings then turned to Reinhard, who was looking back up the ramp.

    “Keep close! … and keep pace! Do not engage in any fighting. We need to get out of here!”

    He was still looking back.

    “NOW!”

    His head turned to look at me. Furious, I hook my axe back to it’s baldric so I could grab him by the front of his collar, shaking him out of his lethargy.

    “I will not fall to zose cubez again. I WILL NOT!!” This time he understood.

    We ran. And kept running. At last we found ourselves safely away, with only another chamber between ourselves and the exit. We slowed to catch our breath, only to hear the scrabble of clawed feet behind us. Too big for a rat, too quick and light for something much bigger then a dog. Turning, we saw a badger rushing up behind us.

    A badger?!?

    I rubbed my eyes, and it was still there, only this time I could see it held a note in its mouth. I watched as it scurried over to Fabian, dropping the piece of parchment at his feet, then quickly fled back down the sewer. My eyes narrowed as monsieur Reinhard picked it up and unfolded it. His eyes passed over the page, then he looked up, lost in thought.

    “What does it say?”

    He glanced back at the paper, then crumpled it up.

    “It says ‘We will have a word.’”

    My response was immediate. “Why vas zis given to you?”

    He stiffened and turned to me, a scowl crossing his face. “I don’t know. Are you accusing me of something?”

    “Am I? Vhy are you so defenzive all of the zudden? Letz get out of ‘ere.”

    We made it back to the Inn, and after some rest, we talked about it. What Monsieur Reinhard doesn’t know is, I’ve been assigned by Monsieur Ashald and Mademoiselle Teroldys to keep a close eye on him. After my outburst in the sewers, I was starting to worry my cover was wearing thin. I needed to change my approach. I found myself explaining that I cared for him and if he was in some sort of trouble… well… I told him I wished the note had been given to me, and then I would not have worried since I know what I stand for. I could not let anything happen to him.


  • RETURN

    I hear in the distance what seems like women talking in fractured whispers that dance about the ear but fail to give up their meaning, no matter how I strain to listen. I can sense the worried tone to them. My body feels heavy, leaden and statuesque, pressing in nakedness into the cold stone of the floor. I turn my head to the side and it rolls more then I wish, giving the disconcerting feel that it isn’t attached as I slowly open my eyes. Like my hearing, my vision isn’t quite with me yet. It looks as if everything is working in slow motion, hazy, indistinct, one image fading and blending into the next. Dreams have had more substance.

    She is there. Sweet young mademoiselle Ashena, kneeling in prayer at my side. She seems to spin indefinitely to one side without moving as a wave of vertigo passes through me. My head rolls to the other side as if to follow the motions of ghosts. There is another woman there, one I’ve never seen before. My mind struggles to determine who or what could she be.

    “She’s waking up,” Ashena whispers quietly.

    Some small measure of clarity returns to my vision and I look around, dazed and confused, wondering where I am. Arched ceilings recede in the distance over me, tapestries of holy justice, wars, weddings and other priestly duties cover the walls, prismatic beams of smoky light pierce through the chamber from stained glass windows, even as the flickering light of small lamps mixes with the dull glow of incense braziers to fill in the shadows. Slowly my mind returns some of its cohesion. I have been brought back to the safety of the Temple of the Triads.

    Ashena’s angelic face shines at me as I reach for it. The other woman holds me gently around my back as I sit up, coughing violently on my first breath. My lungs hurt like they have been torn from my chest, but I am breathing.

    Breathing…

    I am alive!

    “Celia, this is Elena. She helped you come back. You are safe now and with us”

    As my eyes strain to focus on Elena, the tumult in my mind makes it difficult just to speak a few words. I don’t know her, and it pains me that she will not know how thankful I am for her compassionate effort to bring life back to my poor retched remains of a body.

    “I… I am grateful mademoiselle, I am very grateful,” I whisper. A chill passes through me like a frigid brush from the specter of death leaving one last promise to return before exiting the room. I leaves me gasping. “So cold…”

    The two women are shocked into action, abashed that they hadn’t thought of something so basic. They quickly bring me a blue robe and help me to get dressed. If feels soft to my bare skin and the warmth penetrates immediately. Ashena sweetly offers for me to stay upstairs with her a few days to fully recover, then guides me when I accept.

    “You can keep an eye on my kitten Bub.” She says it with a stern tone, like a mother to a child, even though she is ten years my younger.

    As she helps me towards her chambers, Romulus bursts into the temple.

    “I came as soon as I heard,” he calls out.

    It is unexpected that this man comes to be present at my awakening. Although he has been with myself and Lady Ashena several times on patrol, I still do not know him that well. That he would care this much I had no idea. A weak smile of appreciation is the best I can manage. I wish I could give him more, but I’m too tired and too drained to do anything more then allow Ashena to guide my unsteady steps up to the halls of The Order and find a bed to rest in. She tucks me in and turns to go, but I have one last question.

    “Monsieur Reynauld Du Luc. He was with me. Have you seen him?”

    She shakes her head in silence. I can see she has nothing to say because she has not seen him. “You rest now,” she tells me with a warm and genuine smile. My eyes close on their own this time and I drift off peacefully.

    I awake to the raspy sound of a kitten purring as it rubs against my face. A day has passed and a small portion of my strength has returned, enough so that I can kneel beside my bed in prayer to Torm. I remember to thank him for my blessings. I have true friends in Ashena and Romulus. They found it their hearts to greet me at my return, and just having them near gives me comfort. Perhaps this can restore some of the faith in man I’ve lost in the last year.

    I learn several days later that a white haired elf came to the temple bearing my remains. One of the alter attendants recognized him as someone who used to come into the temple and light a candle to meditate. He thought his name was Iathouz. Apparently he had come to the temple, laid what was left of me on the alter, said something about not forgetting the debt he owed, and walked away.

    I kneel before the same alter, trying to make sense of it all, thankful that Torm has granted that my strength return. I hear someone greet me from behind. I know the voice, but I don’t turn immediately. I need my time with Torm before addressing the young man standing impatiently behind me. A smile crosses my lips. Torm teaches patience, and I am his servant. I wait another few moments before standing up.

    “Yes Monsieur Wefneran?”

    I turn to see him standing there, a brash youth if there ever was one. He stands with a open stance, ready to react. My old weapons instructor at the monastery would have called him a man of action, one who was willing to sacrifice defense in order to maintain his offense, a dangerous man, but also prone to leaving openings one could exploit. I hoped it didn’t extend past the battlefield. He’s holding a few large bags, and I can see he’s very eager to speak with me.

    He sets down the bags, and they make a hollow sounding clank as their contents shift noisily, breaking the serenity of the temple.

    “Lady Celia, I’ve come to return your belongings.” His voice is a mixed with pride, honor, and a wish to do good, …and hints of reward.

    I look him over again. He has such strong contrasts. “My things?” I realize I hadn’t even thought of them during the week as I recovered.

    “Yes?” he asks a bit hesitant, suddenly seeming less then sure of himself. My look begs explanation. “A Lady River, a green plated veteran living near the docks apparently.”

    I can sense a bit of unease as he mentions the docks, like he thinks it is an unpleasant place to dwell. When I say nothing he continues in a stuttered rush of words.

    “She is a friend to my father and caught us in town. She told us she was in possession of arms belonging to the order. She seemed very concerned and wanted someone to relieve her from the precious items. Me and my father followed her back her apartment and when she opened the chest I immediately recognized your things. I was shocked at first but my father seems more busy taking with lady River than caring for the lost item. I… gathered your things. I had not heard you fell and I was trapped in my own thought thinking how this ever could happen. I am truly sorry I could not be by your side to aid you. I.. I.. wanted to head to the temple immediately. After my father and Lady River were done talking we headed to the temple to see if there were any news about you. We were told you were resting upstairs and that we should return in a week. So here I am.”

    He stands there grinning while trying discreetly to catch his breath. I can’t help but smile.

    “Thank you Mr Wefneran, you are too kind.”

    He looks at me as if he wants more from me, and an awkward silence ensues.

    “I should bring my things upstairs Monsieur. I don’t know how I can ever repay for this, but I will find a way. Until then, I will pray for you. You will be in my thoughts and prayers always.”

    I gather my things and leave him standing alone by the altar


  • Monsieur Reynauld is running ahead in front of me, the stone floor is slippery and the pipes are rumbling, sounds deafening, shrieking wights chasing us down the narrow corridors. I turn a corner he is nowhere to be seen… I stop and freeze.. I am surrounded by reeking toxic cubes…

    “Monsieur” I call out

    …the cubes are closing in and I am trapped, there is nowhere to run..

    For a moment I thought to myself that this would be the end most suitable. A soldier and a cleric of faith, unbending steel lost on patrol, vanished as engulfed by the hungry vile creatures.

    Accepting my fate I kneel before them, my shield and axe fall heavily onto the wet stone floor. I bow my head for a last prayer

    Torm is my father and the church my mother….

    And then only silence remains


  • OOC Note: Special thanks to RS for letting me guest post on her thread. The following is an excerpt from the memoirs of Reynald Du Luc.

    On the whole, I prefer the smell of stables and sweat stained leather tack over this. The cheap end of the docks district has a odor all of it’s own, a noxious mixture of dead fish, rotten seaweed, and the swampish effluvium of human excrement that rolls up from the sewer entrance. The surprisingly warm day only compounds matters.

    Four of us stood there, readying our gear and planning our mission. There were rumors drifting about that the Cult of Bane had been building strength in a hidden stronghold down in the maze of sewers below Peltarch for the last few months. Lady Celia and I had made a couple of probes in the last few days and had a few skirmishes with the Banites for our efforts. We knew they were down there. We also knew that they were down there in considerable numbers gathering equipment and supplies for some sort of operation. We needed to eliminate the threat, or at least set back their timing enough that we could bring a larger force down to deal with them wholesale.

    Lady Celia had gone to her Church looking for volunteers, and the two men with us had agreed to assist. I didn’t know them personally, but being the tourney gypsy that I am, I don’t often get to know a lot of people in the cities I travel. The first man introduced himself as Trevor. He had a easy going casualness and smooth manner that spoke gentry and refinement, although the informality of his introduction led me to believe he was a man working his way up the social ladder. By contrast, our fourth companion, Ky, was a lot gruffer, much like some of the career guardsmen I knew from back in my homeland of Caladon. Neither man saw fit to give their family name, which is always something of a disappointment to me. Perhaps I put too much emphasis on such things, but I know as a son of the house of Du Luc, history walks with me, for boon or ill. I introduce myself as Reynauld Du Luc, but I spare them the lineage I often use for tournaments. I doubt either one of them cares much about pedigree.

    Lady Celia frets about her blessings and wards before we go in and we decide as a group to hold back on any divine assistance until we reach the area where we think the Banites are holed up. We need to be flexible with our tactics. I can’t help but watch her as she prepares. I’ve come to regard Lady Celia as something of a guardian angel since my arrival in Peltarch. We’ve traveled together, fought together, discussed our shared faith and goals in life, and even come to the other’s rescue on occasion. I know her well enough to see she is troubled, not by our mission, but by personal matters. She’s told me some of what is bothering her, but it’s clear there are some details she’s left out. I hoped she would trust me enough to open up more about it, but she clearly isn’t ready. Torm teaches us patience. It is not the easiest lesson to learn. I decide to keep a close eye on her. Distractions are dangerous in this business.

    We catch the Banite sentry at the entrance to the sewer flat footed, and he sets into us like a cornered rat. Ky dispatches him with brutal efficiency. “The scum comes to greet us,” he quips with the hard-bitten humor one only finds in a veteran campaigner.

    Lady Celia recites one of her ritual prayers and the divine energies build around us, only to fizzle when she stumbles over the wording. I’ve seen her cast the spell a hundred times. Her thoughts are definitely somewhere else. I can’t help but mark the frustrated look that flashes across her face. She succeeds with the remaining ones and I can feel my spirits lift and the strength flow through my frame. I find the divine litanies to be inspiring. Four people united in faith, set to carry out a common goal. Torm walks in our footsteps and I can feel his holy hand raising up my shield before me. Justice and truth follow in our wake.

    I have another concern down here. Lady Celia and I have encountered several crystalline oozes and they’ve been invulnerable to all our efforts to remove them. I’ve trained for battle all my life. I can pick a moving target ring out of a man’s hand at a full gallop with a lance, but my training hasn’t covered this.

    “Anyone know a good way to kill oozes?”

    Trevor responds. “Fire, arrows… swords.”

    I don’t have a bow. Fire? No luck there either. I get a sudden flashback of how little my blade did. “Swords didn’t seem too effective the other day.”

    He shrugs. “Well… I know arrows seem to work usually.”

    I have my doubts. “Perhaps MORE swords will work better.” I can’t help but laugh.

    “…and fast feet help too.”

    “Yeah.” Ky chimes in agreeing with Trevor.

    Celia turns to all of us with the stern authority good leaders always seem to possess. “Pay attenzion. Itz bad down here.”

    She decides to cast another spell, but three words into her prayer she fumbles trying to find her holy symbol and the divine energies collapse in on themselves. I see her clench her fist and release it. I know the feeling. I’ve had days on the lists where I haven’t been focused, and after giving up a few hits, things only get worse. Then my frustration spreads to my horse, and when we can’t work together as one, bad things happen. I have a certain fondness for Lady Celia, she’s never been anything but good to me, and people of her faith, character, and dedication are hard to find. I hate to see her get grief from anyone. I find myself wondering what I can do to help her through this…

    Trever suddenly yells “Mine!” and dashes ahead of the party, swinging wildly at nothing.

    Then…

    His blade cuts the very air, parting it in a large gash that starts to ooze tiny clear droplets… I’m slow on the uptake, it’s a jelly cube and it swallows up Trevor as the rest of us close in on it with a small thicket of blades. It engulfs me next, and my skin crawls with a mass of fiery little pinpricks as I slowly lose the ability to move my limbs. If I was alone, I’d be dinner.

    The cube loses its cohesiveness and melts away from Trevor and myself. Ky and Lady Celia have succeeded in slaughtering the beast, saving two of us from a grisly fate. Trevor steps out of the slime, but I remain locked in place, aware but unable to react. I find myself wondering how long it takes for a cube’s digestion to prove fatal. After a few minutes the effects wear off.

    Off in the distance two skeletons squirm in mid air, victims of another cube. Trevor makes light of it but all I can see is the two of us hanging there. I pray that Torm grants me a quick and honorable death when it’s my time. Our group makes short work of the cube at range.

    We make our final preparations as we close on the lair, spells cast, prayers made, swords and axes at the ready. Off in the distance we can see a couple of them milling about, unaware of out presence.

    The spell rips into our party like a bright flashing tornado of despair, swirling and biting, blinding the eyes and whispering foul things in our ears. Bleakness, pain, surrender, submission… These thing tear at my mind. I have not the will to lift my blade, but at least my feet still carry me…

    Our party scatters to the four winds. Almost. As the effects wear off I can see Lady Celia has retreated along the same path as myself. Our working together has paid off, in our despair and confusion we’ve allowed our shared training to guide us down the same egress, but we haven’t gotten far. Ky and Trevor are nowhere to be seen as the wave of Banite cultists rolls over us. We stage a fighting withdrawal, giving ground to buy time. I cover her as she drops back to heal, then I retreat back past her to do the same. Between her axe and my sword we make the Banites pay dearly for every yard we give up. At last their leader steps into the fray.

    He bellows orders to his men and they press all the harder. I catch him on the shoulder and he snarls as turns his full attention to my destruction. His mace batters my shield in a hail of blows that would be devastating if my defense wasn’t so tight. Lady Celia spots her opening and her axe cleaves down on him in a powerful swing that end his life. With a quick spin, she buries her axe in the forehead of the priest behind him and the banites break in front of us.

    We give chase down the spillway pressing them between our hammer and the suddenly reappearing anvil of Trevor and Ky who were closing in from the other direction. Torm’s crusaders stand united once again, and between the four of us, the remaining Banites don’t stand a chance. A strange quiet once again settles on the sewers except for the labored breathing of the four of us.

    Trevor breaks the silence. “Hey guys, surprised to see us?”

    Celia sums up my feelings. “I am surprised ve all survived. Torm’s vill is strong.”

    “I think I need to soak.” Ky interjects.

    We make our way out of the sewers. Trevor and Ky part ways with us, and I escort Lady Celia to the Inn. I can see she is exhausted and something still lays heavy on her mind. She’s once again given every thing she had this day in the service of Torm. I have naught but respect for her.

    Sleep well Milady.


  • A letter left with Miss Daisy of the Temple of the Triad, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-du-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Rath Ashald-Jorinsen:

    Sir Rath,

    As I did talk with mademoiselle Daisy I hear a party will for the third time attempt to stall whatever threatening to disturb the good peace in our land. I will, as your squire and with your permission remain here in the temple, and pray for the brave and true. I am a bastion of faith and positive they will return safely. Praise success in the name of Torm, the Triad and the order of the Divine Shield.

    Yours in Torm,
    Sincerely,

    Celia StClair


  • TRUE LOVE

    I would normally have stayed away.

    My upbringing at the temple had taught me a great deal about honor, dignity, respect, faith, and compassion among other things. I’ve tried to apply these ideals to my daily life. Like most mortals, there have been times where I’ve fallen short. The influences of daily life often subtly take us off the true path and it is Torm whom guides us back to it.

    I was crossing the commons when I saw them together in what to me looked like a personal conversation. What Monsieur Walter and Mademoiselle Shallya were conversing about I had no idea. Normally, I would have stayed away. The Church had always taught me that it was rude to interrupt a conversation between two people, especially when a man and a woman are involved, but I wasn’t thinking of my lessons in the temple, I was thinking of the conversation I had with Walter the night before.

    When Walter has been talking to others before, I had walked away. He told me he thought it was jealousy on my part. I made it clear that I would always leave any two people in deep conversation alone. I would wait for my turn and show respect, as myself and my fellow sisters of the convent had been taught. He wouldn’t listen to me. It seemed so important to him, this perceived jealousy. At last I gave in to him and agreed that I would never walk away again.

    Seeing them in the commons, I remembered my promise to Walter, so despite my values and the beliefs of my upbringing, I approached and greeted them politely, then settled under one of the trees in the commons.

    It only took a few seconds for mademoiselle Shallyah to turn away from Walter and focus her attention on me. The eruption came as a complete surprise to me. I do not remember the exact word she used, just the general lines of attack… You aren’t good enough for Walter… You pity yourself, and he doesn’t need anyone like that… What language are you speaking? Is it even a language?…

    The onslaught simply took my breath away. I tried to counter it with humor, comparing my accent to a speech impediment and that she could call it whatever she wanted. Perhaps it was the wrong approach, as it only seemed to make her upset.

    I can remember watching Walter, wishing he would do the honourable thing, but instead all he could do was stand there and say Shallyah was his friend. I couldn’t believe for life of me this was happening, it was like something from a dream gone horribly wrong.

    I stood up and walked away, and as I did, I could hear her shouting after me in a tone of mockery and in heighten satisfaction “There she goes again”

    At no time have I ever meant any harm to this woman. I hardly knew her or have even spoken to her much, and yet she felt the right to unload her vitriol on me. I could only wonder what could bring forth this craving to hurt someone emotionally. Someone with nothing but good intentions. Is humiliating someone a simple pleasure to her? How does someone even begin to formulate the right to berate another so personally? There is no such right. Where is the justice in this? Does she think that she betters herself by doing so? It seems like a self destructive behaviour to me, lifting oneself up by tearing down others. I glanced to Walter and the look in his eye disturbed me. I got the eerie sensation this is what he wanted. It just seemed surreal to me. Could this be a plan between the two of them to hurt me? Why? The thought entered my mind that maybe Shallyah was a victim in this as well, even as her abuse continued.

    Perhaps this was Walter’s plan all along. I can’t grasp this being chance, not after last night’s conversation, it is too unlikely. I have to admit to myself I was glamoured by his smooth words. Like a duck sitting on a nest, I was easy to pluck. I am not young any more, nor have I ever been touched by a man. His attention was… nothing but a game it seems. A cruel game, to see how far he could go before he had a broken woman at his feet.

    He or them both must still be laughing in petty amusement as I cry to Torm to forgive me for ever thinking I could find true love.

    The only true love I will ever find rests in the hands of Torm, as he is my father, and the Church is my mother. Forgive me father, but as long as they are part of the flock I cannot be. I cannot bear to walk alongside of them, even for the good of the land. The grin on their faces as they ripped my heart from my chest has broken my soul.

    I had, until this day held great trust in those associated closely with the church of Torm. I know goodness does not always equal kindness; however, there must be some limits to what is considered the correct code of conduct. I hope there are rules about mutual respect in general amongst the associates of the Triad. Simple pettiness cannot be accepted, nor I will not be a part of it.

    My trust in man will be broken forever. I will show no mercy to those who walk over bodies to make themselves feel better. I will execute swift justice in favour of those wrongfully treated. This is a lesson I will never forget.

    These are my vows.


  • A letter left with Miss Daisy of the Temple of the Triad, sealed in blue wax with a fleur-de-lis imprint, addressed in neat precise handwriting to Rath Ashald-Jorinsen:

    Sir Rath,

    I have taken the time to study the charter of the Order of the Devine Shield, and I can see no conflicts with the vows I have taken in the service of my lord Torm. I would consider it the utmost honor and solemn duty to join the Order, as it also holds the greatest compassion for what is true and just.

    While it is my earnest intention to join the Order and devote my entire being to becoming a humble servant to it’s cause in the name of Torm, there are obligations with my home temple that I must discharge first.

    I will therefore have to return south for some weeks to the Temple of Torm and seek permission from my Mother Superior to terminate my current mission and pilgrimage. I have faith that the end of the journey that Torm has sent me on can be found in Narfell at the Temple of the Triad, with the Order of the Divine Shield.

    I hope to speak with you soon about the matter.

    Yours in Torm,
    Sincerely,

    Celia StClair