Letters Home (The House Of Teroldys)
-
A candle spills a warm pool of light across a study desk in the Order library, the air filled with the dry, dusty smell of old parchment and leather. Several books are laid out infront of the young woman, whose look of dogged concentration slowly cedes to frustration. With a quiet groan, she plants her face against the wooden surface of the desk, then sweeps everything to the side and begins to write a letter instead.
"Dearest Gralam,
Why is it that I can go to the darkest and dankest of places without flinching, boldly stand up to rotting undead and screeching demons, only to find myself defeated by homework?
While I was yet a squire, Rath bid me learn the Celestial tongue, for not only is it the language of the divine, but also another of the Order's squire's means of communication. Walter was to be my tutor, in exchange for teaching him my own skills with a blade, such as they are. This was agreed upon, but never really put into effect, the fault being asmuch my own as Walter's.
I was about to write that there was simply always something more important to do, but that's just it, isn't it? I have yet to be convinced or convince myself that learning Celestial ~is~ important, and so I sit here with my books in just the sort of half-hearted effort that I cannot stand, knowing I ought to do it, but not really wanting to. Predictably, progress is slow!
Studies is truly a part of my duties that I have to struggle to complete, for it brings me back to the times when all I did was sit inside and wait, long and envy the rest of you for being out there, doing all the things I wished I could. Now that Torm graces me with perfect health, should I really waste it being cooped up like a sword in its shealth?
I do ~try~. I spend at least an hour reading, each evening, everything from books on Peltarch history, religion, necromancy and demonology, verily the library here is a fount of information to gladden any scholar's heart. And in this treasure trove, I sit sighing - tis a shameful thing, I admit! All this knowledge, and my stupid, stupid head is just too slow and too thick to take it all in. I leave the library humbled, each time feeling as though I know even less than I thought I did when entering. Though perhaps that is not an entirely bad thing? At least I shall never fall from pride, being so reminded of my shortcomings!
Nor shall I fall from sinful excess, for while each kiss from Cecil seems to rob me of all wit and sense, we have wisely decided to ration them quite sparingly - although sometimes, we do not meet for weeks and have a dizzying amount of kisses saved up! You needn't worry though, not only is Cecil a perfect gentleman, not only do we most often kiss while both of us are encased in armor, but we have a third ace up our sleeves of virtuous conduct - the kittens.
Believe it or not, but Bub & Bob seem to always be their most insistant for attention when Cecil and I are in each others arms, even to the point of Bob swatting his little paw at our very lips, mid-kiss! Chastity belts are out, chastity ~kittens~ is clearly the season's hot new trend in Narfell!
Your study-weary sister, Ashena
P.S. Did Aymon write home recently?"
-
_The Order Halls, again. The young woman is seated at her desk, feet pulled up into the folds of a warm blue robe as she contemplates her next letter, quill wagging in her fingers. Suddenly, a streak of pale fur leaps at the quill, battling it down with great fury and vengeance. Ashena gives the fuzzy kitten a reproachful look, yet can't help but to chuckle and scratch his tawny head before she carries him over to a small basket in the corner of the room. The comfy basket, perched securely on a climb-friendly contruction resembling a small tree adorned with various cat toys, soon sees the kitten yawning hugely and falling asleep, face down on his tiny paws.
Giggling quietly at the state of her mangled quill, Ashena picks a fresh one and begins to write._
"Dearest Gralam,
All of a sudden, and in ALL the reverse order, me and Cecil find ourselves parents! Mother always told me, sweet words and sweet kisses lead to sweet babies, but never had I imagined it would happen so swiftly as all this, with ~several~ key moments missing inbetween!
Our young ones are named Bob & Bub, and have the most adorable blue eyes you can imagine, coupled with soft fuzzy fur (tawny and black respectively), razor sharp little claws and teeth, and mischief by the bucketful! They are, surprise surprise, of course kittens, and found abandoned in the strangest place at that!
I should start from the top though - and it began most normally indeed, with little reason to think it a day out of the ordinary for any other reason but the joy of getting to spend it in Cecil's company. We had finished our patrol, the rest of our party dispersing as we headed on to the bath house together. I think we must both have been in a bold mood that day, for somehow I found myself not only close, but in fact seated upon Cecil's leg while we spoke, and nearby bathers made jeering remark on this fact. A wink from one of the men added to the discomfort, and so we decided to seek privacy within the steam room, and relax once more.
On our short way over from pool to steam room however, the most bizarre sight awaited us. Verily, when I hear of people being reluctant to frequent the baths, this very sight pops unbidden into my mind, and I cannot help but shudder inside! A man stood by the door, trying to engage in conversation as Cecil and I stared in fascinated horror. He was most unfortunately attired, in a bathing garnment far too small for his bulk, and adding to this, covered both in his own body hair and so much oil that I half expected him to slide sideways on his own grease trail.
The man made eyes, not at me but at Cecil, and desired to come with us into the steam room. The door SLAMMED in his face (unkind I know, but necessary for sanity's sake!) and we stood near trembling in the steam room. Then, unbelievably from a grown man, bawling began. He was ~crying~, and now I did feel cruel, remorseful enough to eventually open the door - but the man did not stand there waiting. Instead, we followed oil glistening footsteps back to the pool, where he stood entwined in a lustful embrace with the man who had winked at us previously!!!
I shall spare you the details, verily as much for my own sake as yours, for that very vision seemed to etch itself to our minds, and we retreated to the steam room in haste. Clinging to each other like frightened children, we simply stood there, trying ~desperately~ to unsee what had been seen while all thoughts of romance were brutally stripped away.
But not for very long.
After all, the steam room is designed for relaxation, is it not? And Cecil's proximity does make my thoughts scatter, even foul ones. Soon, we had regained a little of our previous mood, and the only danger remaining was temptation itself. But that's when we heard it..
'Meow..'
A soft, mewling sound coming from somewhere inside the room! Cecil listened intently, then walked over to the benches across from us to kneel down and peek below. A pitch black kitten trotted out to cautiously sniff at his leg - then a second one, pale gold in hue like a little lion! We picked them up and searched the room, yet could find no mother to the small critters, nor any signs of a passage she might have used to get inside or out of the room. The staff were equally clueless, when asked.
Quite simply, the kittens presence was inexplicable and we could not help but to wonder whether it was a sign of sorts. Cecil's god is the Black Lion you see, and he has on previous occasions received signs, leading him further on his spiritual quest. Regardless of that, the kittens were far too young to manage on their own and so we decided to care for them ourselves. The plucky black one promptly climbed into Cecil's lap, while the tawny one stared at me uncertainly for a while, then buffed my leg with his little head. One each then, we decided!
With great argumentative effort, I was allowed to keep little Bob with me at the temple. As luck would have it, there is something of a rat situation in the city and a cat makes perfect sense in that respect. Although you would not BELIEVE how much trouble a small kitten can be, or how often he wakes and demands to either be fed or played with. Parenthood is exhausting, verily! Yet when he is asleep in his basket, looking like a perfect fuzzy angel, I confess my heart does swell with love.
Your (unexpectedly) kitten-raising sister, Ashena"
-
_A tall candle spreads its warm light across a large and open room, fine tapestries on the walls and the floor set with beautiful marble. The young woman sits at her desk, several small piles of paper stacked neatly beside her, and an as of yet empty sheet set before her, awaiting freshly inked words. The nearby bed is enormous, Ashena's neatly laid out nightgown looking small and lonely on the vast expanse of the bedspread. Sword, shield, helm and a fullplate armor in shining blue and gold rest on the armor stand beside the bed, gleaming in the candlelight.
The sound of her chair creaking echoes across the silent halls, and Ashena pulls her woolen shawl closer, a thoughtful look on her face as she begins to write._
"Dearest Gralam,
While my last letter was written in such euphoria that I scarcely touched the ground, the time that followed my knighthood has seemed designed to ensure I keep well grounded. The Order is most generous, allowing me full use of the facilities here which include sleeping quarters, training and crafting hall, meeting room, an expansive library and storage room full of the most curious and wonderous items to admire. I even recieved aid in getting my new plate dyed and tailored so precisely to my measurements that I swear it will keep me on the straight and narrow in sweet consumption, for fitting so very closely! It is now a deep, rich blue with gold details, strictly adhering to the guidelines of the Order.
I feel just a little bit less Ashena Teroldys, and a little bit more the Knight of the Order, wearing it. I expect that is part of the point, however!
My days have begun to find a steady routine, a daily grind that, while not so different from before, is yet unlike what I had imagined life would be like as a knight. I sleep in the Order halls, above the Temple of the Triad, I say my prayers at dawn before the altar of Torm, then have breakfast in Ashald Park. I walk my beaten path down in the sewers (sometimes the nearby swamps, and the crypts of Norwick every so often), then soak at the bath house. I eat my supper, write reports and study before going to bed (in a bed so freakishly large, one would think the Order either had giants in their ranks, or housed nightly orgies. Neither is actually true, of course!). Lather, rince and repeat this routine, over and over, and there you have the current life of Ashena Teroldys.
Glamorous, is it not? My friends chase treasure and adventure all over Narfell, fighting beasts of myth and legend in the most dangerous and remote parts of the region, while I mop up slime in the sewers. Ashena, the Janitor Knight, on a never ending quest for cleanliness! My new weapon of choice ought perhaps to be mop and bucket, instead of sword and shield, at this rate!
(I can picture the heraldic emblem now, a bucket with a drowned rat and diagonal mop, overlaying a green gelatinous cube background)
I jest of course, yet part of me is not free from envy of such epic adventure as those my friends partake in. Still, perhaps the hardest part of my chosen path is something I am still learning - patience and perseverance to one's duty, whether this duty be full of glory or in my case, simply gory.
If one breaks it down to the core, tis really quite simple though - my life is sworn to a higher power. I would live and die serving Torm in whatever way He asks, over seeking empty thrill or shiny treasure any day. Yet when I hear fantastical tales of dragons and golems, how can I not feel just a ~little~ envious? In our heart of hearts, every adventurer longs for just that, I think; adventure with a capital A!
I will be patient, I will persevere in my task and who knows? I may find that adventure lurks in even the slimiest and dirtiest of places, walking hand in hand with duty. I have faith that it is so, verily!
I shall be fair to my routine too, for it gives my days structure and meaning, preventing what would otherwise be days spent waiting, worrying and longing. I wait for Aymon, I worry over the future and I long, oh how I long for Cecil, for our duties now separate us more often than not. The time we do have together, we fill with fun, adventure and kisses so sweet, they live nextdoors to agony. I am happy, yet waiting, worrying and longing for more. I want you to meet him, I want ~everyone~ at home to do so, I want to present him proudly and declare my love out loud!
But I must be patient, I ~will~ be patient and persevere in my love and who knows? One of my dear siblings might marry so fabulously up that me marrying down will be a footnote of no remark in our family history, or a title may present itself for Cecil to wear, just shiny enough to give him an honest chance. I have faith.
Your most glorious slime-buster sister, Ashena"
-
"Oh, Gralam!
I'm a Knight now, as of just this past eve, a sworn knight in the Order of the Divine Shield! I spoke my vows before Torm and a small congregation, and verily, such bliss filled me that I do think my feet have yet to touch the ground since! Aymon was there, and Sigibert, Rath, Shallyah, Walter, Ardent, Elena and many others from the Order itself, several good persons from our recent mission, alongside the unexpected addition of quite a few of the pale and scantily clad women we had liberated from the cult but hours ago.
And at the back, standing head and shoulders above most everyone else and looking so splendid my poor heart nearly ~burst~, Cecil. Beaming from afar, he looked beyond handsome in a regal red and gold outfit (which oddly matched the strange new armor I found myself in, though his was immaculate and mine full of gashes and bloodstains, alas!).
I knelt a squire and rose a knight, to the solemn smiles of Lady Daisy, Sir Roland and Sir Mariston. A joyous feeling bubbled inside me, bursting into full and unstoppable bloom as I turned to wave to the small crowd and congratulations began. I HUGGED Rath, near lifting his feet off the ground, hugged lady Daisy, nearly did the same to sir Mariston before some tiny vestige of my dignity insisted upon itself. Instead I shook his hand, far, FAR too many times, smiling as though I was touched.
More hugs, handshakes and congratulations followed, though they blur together into one big, giddy jumble as I worked my way through the crowd. Further back stood Sir Shannon, expressing his regrets that his many duties had prevented him from attending the whole ceremony as he would have wished. My heart swelled inside my chest, and I nearly hugged him too, before swiftly reminding myself to act more befitting a knight. I shook his hand instead, and he smiled! It was a small smile, but I'm sure it was there, unless my giddy mind has in hindsight plastered such expressions to everyone in attendance (which, come to think of it, it might)!
I had just enough time to be swept up in a mighty bear hug by Cecil, before the Order was called to a meeting with General Neverith of the Peltarch Defenders. As I walked up the stairs, I cast one glance back and spied Aymon and Cecil in what appeared intense conversation, and my insides did a quick somersault. Aymon looked so serious, and Cecil startled and gobsmacked - what on earth were they talking about?!
I sat through the meeting feeling much like a child masquerading as an adult in my new Order robe, yet tried my best to listen and learn. Mariston was opinionated and adamant, Roland shrewd and Shannon dry and precise as the discussion continued of things political, legal and governmental in nature. Rath offered good ideas and Eluriel proved more insightful than I had perhaps given her credit for as of yet - but my mind kept returning to Cecil and Aymon downstairs.
As the meeting wound to a halt, the jubilous feeling of before returned in force as I left my seat. And it must be this very sensation that compelled me to take lady Eluriel's hand as she playfully offered a dance, spinning me deftly around, then offering sir Shannon the next dance. At this point, Shannon must deemed me just as childish as I felt, for he left without a word and I could not help but feel as though I had disappointed him.
Even that was not enough to dampen my spirits or still my trembling heart, however, and I near tripped on my new robe in hurrying down the spiral staircase. Torm be praised, Cecil was still there (though Aymon was not)! We had made a sort of promise to go dancing at the Festhall afterwards, and his face lit up as I stepped into view. I took his arm, and walked as if on naught but air through the darkened city streets.
The Festhall was bright and gaily lit, a band of elven musicians greeting us with soft lilting tones. Cecil had assured me he could dance, but some part of me must have doubted the extent of his claim, for as he swept us into that first dance with sure and elegant steps, I am certain my jaw must have dropped momentarily! Not only can he dance, he can ~dance~! I floated on my cloud of bliss, following effortlessly as if in a dream. It was simply perfect.
Eventually, we both found our tongues as the band kept playing, and we kept dancing, through joyous jigs and slow, sweeping reels. It seems Aymon had observed and drawn his own conclusions, for now he wished to have a talk with us both and to interview Cecil formally, about himself and his intentions. In short - an interview for prospective marriage!
I gawked, and looked no doubt precisely as startled and gobsmacked as Cecil had back at the temple - yet now, he simply smiled and pulled me closer as the music slowed. Before such an interview, he murmured, it might be wise to ask what the lady herself desires. As if on cue, the music stopped. In the sweetest repetition of our first encounter, Cecil withdrew a single red rose from his pack, offering it with a most significant smile.
And just like the first time, I accepted. The music swelled around us for the last dance, and the words that were whispered then are mine and his alone.
All that remains now is to have this fragile rose accepted by the family, and Aymon's support will mean a world of difference. Until that talk, the rose is but a rose to anyone but Cecil and I. Remember that, Gralam. It's just a rose, so SHHHH!
Seriously!
My feet still refuse to touch the ground, and I have not slept all night. No frowny-face now, tis not for having spent it in any unseemly manner! I was escorted back to my room, and have since been packing my things to move to the temple, then writing reports and letters to calm my butterfly thoughts. I'm just so HAPPY that I do not know what to do with myself, and fear I shall run through the streets shouting like a maniac!
But I won't. After all, I'm a knight now, and sworn to a certain level of conduct! Though if inside of me, a tiny Ashena does cartwheels and squeals in delight, I do not think Torm himself would begrudge me of it.
Your giddy sister, Ashena"
-
_The first explorative rays of of sunshine have only just begun to creep past the horizon, probing and pushing gently at the velvet blanket of night outside the small inn room. It is either very late or very early, yet the sole occupant of the room seems very much awake.
In fact, it's highly doubtful if the young woman has slept at all this night, as a small suitcase occupies the bed, her few modest belongings neatly packed inside. A wickedly spiked set of gold and red armor rests on a chair beside the bed, alongside the usual wooden shield, longbow, a shining golden helmet and the sword, now free of any trace of rust, shimmering in the warm glow of the candle light.
Ashena, wearing a sky blue robe cinched at her small waist with a golden band, can't seem to stop smiling as she flits about, adding the last few items to the suitcase's content. A single red rose adorns her long braid, adjusted now and then with an even brighter smile. Dawn spreads a soft pastel light through the small window where Ashena takes her seat, perhaps for the very last time, and begins to write._
"Dear mother and father!
The past day has truly been the most significant, most blessed and proud one of my life. I write to you today not only as your daughter, but as a true knight of the Order of the Divine Shield! Yesterday, I stood before the altar of Torm and a congregation of the Order, family and friends, to take my oath.
Though nervous at first, once I spoke the words, nothing has felt more right. As I drew my sword, that feeling increased ten-fold, for a bright golden light did blossom along it's length, from the very tip and down the blade, through hilt and onwards. Verily, it seemed to travel through the palm of my hand, tingling down my arm and to reach all the way inside me to set my very soul aglow! And with that blessed light, the last rust fell off the blade of my sword to reveal the name of the paladin who had weilded it before me - and I knew it pleased him well that the duty he raised it for is done.
For ~Marko Kirkasmieli~, my brother in faith, the story of the final defeat of the cult of Kiputyttö will be recorded and remembered. I share it with you, my honoured parents, for I have no doubt that it will please you well to hear what your son and daughter have accomplished in these lands, in the name of Torm and House Teroldys.
With the demons taken out of the cult's ranks on our last mission, the time was upon us for the final, and with the gods aid, decisive blow to this evil. Lady Daisy once again put the call out, and many fine and good souls did answer. There was Aymon and myself, Ivor Shemov of Torm, Walter Barry of Mystra, Shallyah of the Red Knight, Elena and Allestor Hollins of Ilmater, Doogie of Beronnar Truesilver, Magdarin of Gorm Gulthyn, the unarmed fighter Aeden and hinnish faithful Rynthen McTavish of the Silver Valley.
The task set before us was clear and true - destroy the cult. And with them, any wicked helpers they may have, as according to Lady Daisy's scrying there were mercenaries bolstering their ranks, amongst them Cyricists and even drow. The map of the cult's location, by thoughtful addition of Lady Daisy's, was enchanted to function as a word of Recall, to be used once our task was complete. The map would then bring all of us back to the temple of the Triad in an instant.
The map lead us into the foothills, south-west crossing a small section of Gnoll-infested forests, then due north across a snowy field, fighting our way past ogres into a a cavernous lair. Here, we soon found the mercenary forces Lady Daisy had reported present, but more than that. A grey dwarf with a coiled whip barred our way, claiming we must pay if we were to go further, to see 'her' girls. We quickly slew the slaver and proceeded into a large room with an enclosure, housing a great number of sickly looking women in naught but rags.
Directly ahead of this cage, a woman was shackled and kneeling, while a richly dressed man discussed the price of… of using her, with a pair of bulky guards. Aeden's scouting had also revealed a drow priestess near the back of the room, likely the one calling the shots. We launched a swift attack and killed everyone but the captured women. From them, we learnt the horrifying truth - the cult had forced each and every one of these enslaved women to prostitution, in order to spread disease and gain riches for their dark purpose. But even worse, they were impregnated time and again, their innocent children at once sacrificed and thrown into the putrid cookpots, devoured like the holy men and women that came before us.
The cage being sturdy, the women frail and sickly and the key to the lock no-where in sight, we decided to press our advantage and return to free the captives on our way back. Down a flight of stairs, we found the cult's true stronghold. Their numbers were high, featuring numerous druids and priests. Chief amongst these, the High Priestess, a sinister and powerful woman, awaiting us near a raised altar, soaked with blood.
The fighting in that final room was fierce, but in the end, none of our foes remained but the priestess herself. As we closed around her, she took to running, but got no further than a narrow bridge before we caught her. Malice seemed to drip from her, poison radiating from her very person, and with her dying words, she did place a curse upon us - for her godess to strike us all down with a terrible disease.
For a breath or two, her words did seem but empty threats, but then several of us suddenly took ill, falling unconcious with a burning fever. First Walter, then Ivor, Aeden - and then Aymon. I ordered them brought back to the main chamber, for t'was my immediate thought and full intent to destroy the altar and by doing so, break the curse and the power of Kiputyttö.
I carried Aymon with the help of another, placing him gently on the stone ground. No words did reach him, the fever raging with a heat I feared would soon be his death. I placed my hand on his forehead, whispering words of cleansing, but he was still and did not stir. Until suddenly, his eyes blinked wide open, gleaming with something dark and sinister. One by one, our sick did rise up to strike against us, possessed by the evil powers of Kiputyttö. I was forced to strike my brother down, and kept him down as the others were being likewise subdued.
Elena, at my urging, did approach the altar and begin to pray. A dark force lashed out as the altar fought back, resisting the purge with grievous harm to Elena herself. She bore the pain, stood there unfaltering and strong in faith. One by one, we all added our prayers to hers, with Elena and Allestor in the fore.
The pain was brutal, spreading to all who added their voices to the choir of cleansing. The force seemed to lash out more frequently, desperately, then a crack appeared on the altar's surface. Through gritted teeth, our chanting continued, human, dwarven and hinnish mingling, echoing in the cavernous room. There was a rumbling, the pain building to neigh unbearable, then the altar did shatter in a million pieces, a great explosion that sent shards, dust and pebbles everywhere. Victory! Praise Torm, Ilmater, Gorm, Beronnar and Arvoreen!
Immediately, the oppressive feel in the aid did lift, and t'was as if a cool and fresh stream of air had flowed into the room. One by one, our afflicted woke, confused and with no memories of their attacks upon us. I think it perhaps best it stay that way, for those actions were in truth not their own, nor should they carry any shame or guilt from them.
Upon the priestess' body, we found a key and several vile and powerful possessions. We collected them all for Lady Daisy to take care of, and headed upstairs to free the women captives. As everyone crowded around me, I used the map to bring us back to the temple, to some shock and consternation of the temple staff, I can only imagine.
The women were immediately treated by Lady Daisy, given some gold, directions, an offer to stay at the temple and last but not least, their freedom. Many left, but some stayed - and I pray the temple may give them honest work and a chance to heal not just bodily, but in spirit.
Lady Daisy heard our account of events, before one final boon was bestowed upon us - the vile items of the priestess were, through what must have been a tremendous effort, cleansed and sanctified, to be offered as our reward. I was honoured with the first pick, and after much consideration chose a wonderous amulet of strong protective magic, with a hidden boon within - a breath of fresh air, to be released once every day. I was full of glee, thinking the sewers and dank crypts would be that much more bearable had I this breath of fresh air with me always - then I took one look at Aymon's face, and knew I could not keep it.
He chose the priestess' spiked armor in turn, and we traded the two immediately after. The armor also offers fine protection, far better than my old, which I gave to Ivor with a slight pang of regret. I had grown fond of it, for just as my sword, this armor was old looking and with rusty spots, yet bearing the symbol of Torm upon it. Some romantic part of me saw a correlation, a form of kinship there. I felt part of a long tradition in wearing the armor, in weilding the sword, all in the name of the Loyal Fury. But Ivor is a priest of Torm, and I have no doubt he will carry on the tradition every bit as well as I.
The armor, oddly spiked and covered in blood and gashes from axe and sword, was the unexpected outfit worn for my knighting ceremony, for it started immediately after our quest was complete. I had made such meticulous plans for what to wear, and how to do my hair, and suddenly, there I was, bloodied and ragged before the small crowd in attendance - but in all honesty, it felt more true this way. A knight's work isn't all roses and corkscrew curls, quite the contrary. Tis blood, gore, sweat and tears, and I would have it no other way.
Your proud, faithful daughter, Ashena
P.S. I will now move into the Order's facilities at the temple of the Triad. Adress any letters you send to that adress!"
As the young woman finishes the letter, she touches gentle fingertips to the rose in her braid, her smile again growing brighter. Immediately, she reaches for a fresh page to continue writing.
((Immense thanks to Wywernywin for this amazing, exciting and highly meaningful goodie-good plot line. Ashena wouldn't be half the paladin she is now without you!))
-
Early morning in Ashald Park, the young woman seated in her usual spot with a mug of tea, a bright red apple and a neatly cut sandwich beside her. She hums happily to herself, enjoying the solitary breakfast and the freshness of the rose garden while working on another letter.
"Dearest Gralam!
The one true perk of wading through filthy sewers and cutting the rotting hide of oozing zombies for a living - aside of course for the satisfaction of doing one's duty - is that one may visit the bath house afterwards, and without shame or hesitation indulge in lavish soaps and scented oils. The staff have begun to call me by name at this point, and often offer for me to try this new soap or that (although they have yet to convince me of the merits of their massage services).
At first, I felt ashamed to constantly walk through the door in such a wretched state (covered in slime, zombie gore or both), but by now it is a well established routine, and the staff greet me with far greater cordiality than my often stinking presence deserves. For a small extra fee, I can even have my armor cleaned while I soak - a fine service!
My visits there are as frequent as they are solitary, for while I do not lack for company in my patrols, most people are either too shy to bathe in public or hesitant to spend so much coin on a membership to join me. So you can perhaps imagine the raised eyebrows as one day, I walked in with a very tall, very slime-covered gentleman beside me. Cecil had, after several patrols in dark and smelly places alongside me, decided to collect his courage and his finances to finally accompany me to the baths!
Oh, don't give me that frowny-face, Gralam (and I know you are doing just that, reading these words)! I said they were public baths, did I not? Nothing truly ~improper~ could occur in a public setting, and besides, he had already seen me naked the very first time we met. This was much less bare by comparison!
Though I will not pretend there were not a few admiring glances exchanged between us, and mayhaps a reddened cheek or two.
And perhaps he kissed me, finally.
Perhaps for a ~very~ long time.
We hurried to the cold pool soon after, briskly determined to cool off, yet grinning like the terminally deranged. I've never known anything to feel so sweet and so wildly, irresistably intoxicating! He kissed me again after a game of splash-the-Cecil had turned into TIDAL WAVE RETALIATION, washing me right out of the pool. As we left, I felt sure I heard the staff murmur and chuckle behind us, yet despite my cheeks burning, I cannot feel so embarrassed as to regret it. I won't!
We've spoken no words of actual love yet, but it's there in every glance, in the warmth of his voice, in the brightness of his smile, in the smallest touch and the closest embrace, it's there, I cannot doubt it and I will not hide it (as if I even could!).
Aymon knows, and while mostly amused at first, he now seems determined to facilitate matters, should Cecil measure up to whatever standards it is he has in mind. They have met, and seem to get along fairly well (to my immense relief). Rath too seems to be taking stock of Cecil, even going so far as to take him to the Barrows below Peltarch, just the two of them. I think he was impressed, though he still seems to watch us at times, more big-brotherly than Aymon himself in a way!
While love blossoms in my own heart, I'm saddened to see it wilt in that of another. An argument between Celia, Shallyah and Walter broke out recently, and what had appeared a budding romance between the first and last of these friends is now crushed. A bewildered and disheartened Walter asked me to talk to Celia, to get her to stay, yet I could not understand the true nature of their disagreement. Except that Shallyah, admirable in many ways, but verily not in her understanding in matters of the heart, had opted to intervene somehow.
Uh-oh.
I found Celia in Peltarch, about to catch a boat back to her old Order. We talked for hours, her hurt and humiliation so real they were near palpable. T'was startling to find that beneath that strong and confident Celia I've come to know, the Celia who faces down a Vrock without flinching, the steadfast Celia, shining in faith - beneath all that is someone as brittle as she is beautiful, someone even less familiar with romance than I. Though she is perhaps as much as ten years older than I, though in matters of the faith I have no doubt that she is much the wiser, in this case, I felt a font of wisdom and experience.
When Celia, whose whole life has been devoted to the church, growing up an orphan as she did, for the first time ever tried to open her heart to another, to lower her guard… when she was in this most vunerable state of mind, in unfamiliar territory - that is when she was told she was doing things wrong, that she ought to change, that she was not good enough. Shallyah (through no ill intent as such, I am sure) either did not see or did not care that her words were like bricks in a house of glass, and no matter what I said or did thereafter, I could not mend the damage.
But I kept Celia from leaving, and somehow, though t'was not in the manner I had envisioned or wished for, I did get behind the shield to see the real her. After hours of exhausting, heart-wrenching conversation, I think the one good outcome of it all is that I have made a friend for life. I find myself both fond and a little protective of her, and very glad that she remains a squire for the Divine Shield, just as I. And I have no doubt that once she is past this hurt, she will emerge all the stronger for it. In fact, despite being burnt in the romance department, I find Celia is warmer and more open now than ever before. Mayhaps we all do grow from our mistakes?
Your thoughtful, blissful sister, Ashena"
-
The early morning sunshine finds the young woman already at her desk, though still in her nightgown and slippers, a woolen scarf draped loosely around her shoulders for warmth and a huge mug of steaming tea beside her. A stray ray of sunshine glints off the now golden hilt and pommel of her sword, a wonderous smile spreading across Ashena's face as her eyes travel to the source of the sudden flash of light. She takes a sip of tea, wriggles her toes in thought, and begins to write.
"Dear father,
Yesterday saw us strike a most important blow against the cult of Kiputyttö, as Lady Daisy gathered us once more at the temple of the Triad. She had divined the location of the Nabassu's lair, situated deep within the swamplands south of Peltarch itself. With undoubtedly good words of warning and advice, she saw the group off…
...that is to say, all but myself, for I was shamefully late! While preparing for the strike, I thought to find peace amongst the foothills, gathering apples for Fury. But I wandered too far and momentarily lost my way. If not for Fury's swift hooves, t'would have been a day not of glory but deep embarrassment, indeed!
I caught up just as the group entered the underground lair, Aymon giving me a chiding look as my flustered face no doubt said it all. Besides ourselves, there was good and strong people to fight beside, verily! Lady Elena, a priestess of Ilmater and knight of the Order, Shallyah, Ivor and Walter from the last strike, a Hoarran paladin by the name of Talaitha Gray, the unarmed fighter Aeden (an associate of the Ashald family, I believe) and last but in no way least, Doogie, priest of Beronnar Truesilver.
In the dark, damp cavern below, there were a great many undead in our path, bolstered by lesser demons such as quasits - the latter cunningly hiding above our heads to swoop down and spread their wicked havoc. A few lizardmen did also aid the demonic side with spell and sword, but the toughest challenge before finding our target was the ropers. These rocklike creatures, said by some to be more commonly found in the Underdark, did lash out queer tentacles to harm and poison many of our number.
As we neared the end room of the caverns, bodies lay scattered and broken on the ground, in greater and greater numbers. These did rise as zombie warriors upon our presence, a fact that our lurking Nabassu used all too well. For as we approached, it suddenly revealed itself to lead an unmerry chase around the room, awakening all it's undead allies and calling the quasits down from above.
Doogie and I gave chase, but the remaining party was hard pressed by the rising zombies and quasits. I turned back while Talaitha joined Doogie in the chase, hoping they could keep the Nabassu from fleeing while we finished it's allies off. Once the dust began to settle, we chased after, finding the Nabassu pinned into a corner by Doogie's persistant efforts. However, as our own reinforcements did arrive, so too did the Nabassu's final aid - another Vrock, screaching defiance as it tore into our ranks.
A strange calm did settle over me then, and as another in our party shielded me from the Vrock's swipes, my focus could rest solely on the wounded Nabassu. With my Lord's name burning in my heart, on my lips, I did strike the demon a solid blow, the truest I have ever struck - and it fell, defeated! Praise Torm!
The Vrock, however, very much remained, and slashed savagely around itself. Shallyah and Elena in particular seemed to draw it's wrath, and it was a close thing for both to walk away with their lives. Through numbers, teamwork and the grace of the good gods, the Vrock too did fall, cleaved in twain by Shallyah's axe.
As the last lingering undead were finished off and some items recovered from the Nabassu's lair, the whole cave began to rumble and shake. With many of us weakened by poison and sickness, the wild dash to the surface was more of a desperate crawl, the shaking landing many on their hands and knees along the way. Mere moments after exiting, the whole cave collapsed beneath us.
Again, my sword awakened after our task was complete, the searing, golden light travelling all along it's length (and into my very heart, it did feel!). Once my eyes adjusted their sight, I saw that the rust clinging to the hilt had fallen off, the symbol of Torm depicted there now in splendid, shining gold!
One final duty lies before us now - to find the cult of Kiputyttö and root them out for good. May Torm guide us to success in this also.
Your loving, most determined daughter, Ashena"
-
The young woman twists and turns in her bed, a full moon spilling silvery light across the small room. Finally, she gives up the pretense of sleep and scoots out of bed, sheepskin slippers softening her footsteps as she pads over to the window, looking up at the sky with a dreamy smile on her face. Lighting a candle, Ashena begins to write, pausing now and then to tug absently on her long braid, drifting into private thoughts.
"Dearest Gralam!
Such a difference there is between touching and ~touching~! I never, ever thought that I was missing out on much, for not being the most physical of persons. Indeed, none in our family are very prone to physical affection, now that I think of it, at least in comparison to many of my new aquaintances, some trading embraces as easily and effortlessly as others do words. I find myself homesick enough at times to startle Aymon with a small hug, though. I wonder, am I as awkward and stiff in accepting such affection as he? Likely I am, though I try not to be, not with my friends.
When it comes to ~touching~ though, you know full well how I have felt about that subject. You tried to tell me it was much different with the right person, but I just didn't believe you. Too many sweaty hands at too many harvest dances, pressed far too close for comfort, as if they had some sudden right to rest upon my person. Oh, how I wished I could have danced in full plate, covered in spikes ideally!
That ~worm~ Roderick Pendergast in the rose garden, with his groping, unwanted hands, that slug-like tongue he tried to shove down my throat.. ugh, the thought does still make me shudder! To this day, I do not know which one of you sought him out that night, or what was said and done. But after he grovelled and stuttered out his apology, he never so much as looked my way again - a fact I am eternally thankful for.
In short, I thought I was not only not missing out, but in fact escaping something entirely undesirable and mostly repulsive. But oh, how wrong I was! I swear, I shall never taunt you for making puppy eyes at Beverly again, or make gagging noises whenever I should find you in an embrace, for oh, OH what a difference the right person makes. It makes a whole ~world~ of difference, verily! And we've not even kissed yet!
We had our dinner, Cecil and I.
I opted for the Mermaid and we found a secluded spot at the back of the inn, by the fireplace. I chose his meal and he mine, and we laughed long and hard at having picked such very similar things for each other. He'd bought winter wine though, something unfamiliar to me, but most fitting for the tale he was about to tell of his own northern origins. The wine was dark and surprisingly sweet, a little spicy in a pleasant way. He filled just the one cup, lifting it to my lips to offer a small sip. My head spun, though I felt more drunk by his presence than the wine, for we sat very close together on the couch, his arm draped around me.
Cecil lifted the wine cup to his lips, pressed against the wet imprint that my own had left behind, but moments ago. It was as if our lips met, on the rim of that lucky cup, and I could not help but to envy it. He was very warm, and very near, and the air seemed alive with a sweet, dizzying anticipation. Oh, would that I were bold enough to kiss him, but I was not, I did not! Instead the cup passed between us, from lips to lips, from fingertips to fingertips while we spoke.
I asked for his tale, and he gave it, the story of his youth; how he had come to be who he is, and where he is now. He faltered a bit at first, vunerable in a way I have never seen him before, but as the tale unfolded, it seemed to immerse him and flow unhindered. He spoke of himself as if another person, a past self, a boy that was not yet a man. The tests that boy had to face has marked him, deep gouges and rents running down his back, slicing through the swirling patterns of his tribal tattooes (yes, he showed me).
Cecil's rite of passage (though at the time his name was not yet Cecil) was both failure and success - failure, because he was cast out from his tribe, but success in that he proved both valour and patience, and his spirit animal's footsteps lead him onwards, lead him here, to Narfell. And here his quest continues - so I believe, and I think he does too. The Black Lion has shown itself to him since, and I am certain that though he did not succeed in the way common warriors do, it is only because Cecil isn't anywhere ~near~ common.
As his tale came to a halt, that vunerable look returned to his face. I think this is not a story he tells often, if at all. We spoke of softer, lighter things then, yet that deep sense of intimacy remained, like a warm glow between us. When we rose at last, it was only to embrace fully, and oh, oh, OH.. if any harvest dance had come close to that sweet embrace, I'd be dancing still, instead of smiting foul and wicked things in every dark, dank corner where the sun does not shine!
Your (stupidly enamoured) loving sister, Ashena
P.S. Give my kindest regards to Beverly, if your heart still sings her song. In hindsight, I might have given her an unnecessarily hard time. I understand certain things better now!"
-
Again the small inn room, shrouded in darkness but for that one, single candle on the desk. The young woman, still clothed at this late hour, is putting the last polishing strokes to the sword in her hands, the pommel now gleaming a deep, rich gold, free of rust. She holds it out infront of her, pressing a light, almost reverant kiss to the shining pommel, then swaps sword for quill as she begins to write.
"Dear father,
We have struck our first blow against the foul cult, Aymon, myself and a small group of faithful consisting of two Tormish priests (Celia St Clair and Ivor Shemov), a Mystran spellsword (Walter Barry) and a warrioress of the Red Knight (Shallyah). Our mission was a success, though the victory was bought with every last drop of blood, sweat and tears we possessed, for all of us were near death's door in this fight, and none more so than our Aymon. But oh, how proud you would be of him, father, had you seen him on this day!
Lady Daisy had studied the note I brought to her, and scryed for the location described within; a cave tucked into the foothills beyond the city walls, usually populated by orcs. These had moved out at the cult's behest, and instead the cave was filled with their own wicked ranks. Our mission was two-fold: bring rightful wrath to the foul inhabitants of the cave, and bring back any and all information we may find on the problem at hand. I am pleased to say we did both.
Arriving at the cave's mouth, we found the entrance blocked by boulders, seemingly impassable. Walter, having skills with the arcane, deemed the stones but an illusion however, and boldly thrust his hand at - and through them. With this, the illusion broke, and we proceeded inside. Cultists awaited, men and women of like garb to the man with the rotted face. Troglodytes bolstered their numbers, and about half-way through, the next set of reinforcements did show their ugly faces - dretches and quasits.
At the very far end of the winding cavern, their leader awaited: a man skilled in both magic and melee, likely a druid of sorts. His cohorts were cultists, but.. not all alive. Rather a good few were in fact undead, and did rise again after we had thought the battle won with their leaders death. I instructed the room searched, but just then, the whole cave shook and groaned most alarmingly, and then a monsterous Vrock stood before us!
It did taunt us, calling us the next sacrifices and ghouls to be. The fight that followed was desperate, Aymon blocking some of the Vrock's vicious swipes with all his might, but bleeding profusely when it did strike true. Yet he stood firm and unyielding, letting each swipe of those claws break upon him, as ever my rock and my shelter. The rest of us swarmed around it, all on our very last legs, most all healing depleted. One healing balm, two, all of Torm's blessing from both myself and Celia to my brother just to keep him standing, and then the ground shook again!
A large and grotesque figure shook free from the rock itself, unfolding great stone-like wings. It resembled a gargoyle of sorts, but far more intimidating. Before we could even think to act, it flew off, while we clung on to the fight with the Vrock for dear life.
'Just one more strike, good lord, just one', I thought - but it was the Vrock that got there first, it's claws finding an opening in Aymon's guard to drop him bleeding to the ground. But then, oh Torm be praised, then our steel hit true in turn! It fell, IT FELL, and Aymon's life was saved just in time.
Afterwards, we did search the cave and came upon several holy items of the good men and women of faith that the cultists had captured. However, there was no sign of their bodies, and a large cookpot in the room made my stomach turn uneasily. A note was also recovered from the leader of the cult, written in Abyssal. All of this, and our story, we did bring to Lady Daisy at the temple, after having slugged our way through the returning orcs to reach the city, none of us dead, but all of us nearly so.
The gargoyle-like demon, recognized by some of our party and Lady Daisy upon description, is called a Nabassu. It is a powerful fiend, also known as a 'Portal Demon', according to Sir Shannon who I spoke to later on the subject. It was speculated that the Nabassu encountered was a juvenile, spending it's time on this plane feeding on holy men and women to grow in power. It must be stopped, this is now our first priority.
At the temple, the holy relics were divided amongst us, though Aymon did refuse the sword I found most fitting to his hand, and would not say why. He gave me this ~significant~ look, as if I was meant to understand something, but as usual I am no match for his intellect and stood there, dumb as a post and insisting he had earned it. He seemed glad enough to accept the shield and sword of my noble warrior spirit's gift to me though, and did take the armor Celia kindly gave away as hers was replaced by another. Oh, I do not ~get~ Aymon at times, but I am nontheless most proud to be his sister!
Finally, the most wonderous thing occurred as we were all but done talking. I felt a stirring in my right hand, a compulsion almost, to draw my sword from its scabbard. As I did, the blade flashed a bright, blinding gold, the light seeming to travel from its tip and all the way up my arm. A deep sense of what I can best describe as gratitude filled me then, and I knew the paladin before me was pleased that his duty did not fall with him. The rust on the sword's pommel has now fallen off, revealing a flawless gold surface beneath.
It is not yet over by far, but with such companions and with Torm's aid, the task ~shall~ be completed. This is my solemn vow.
Your loving daughter, Ashena"
-
Sunshine filters down through green foliage, glistening off a thousand little dew drops on a thousand leaves, straws of grass and flowers in a small park. Deep red, velvet roses sway in the gentle morning breeze, their rich scent filling the air. The young woman sits alone on a blue wool blanket, nestled in between rose bushes and a sheltering oak tree. Eyes closed, she breathes in deeply, smiling as she exhales and lets her gaze wander through the marvels of the small garden. The sounds of the city are muted and distant, and a bird chirps gaily in the tree above Ashena's head. Smiling, she slings her heavy braid over her shoulder, and begins to write.
"Dearest Gralam!
I have found the most wonderous haven in the city, a small and sheltered garden that, at certain times, reminds me of much of home. It is called Ashald Park (and yes, it is indeed Rath's ~monstrously~ wealthy family that has founded it), and it is a shining gem inlaid in the stout stone walls surrounding the Jewel itself.
I like the park best early in the morning, when it is near empty of people and all the flowers unfurl to greet the dawn, spreading the most amazing scent. In fact, I like it so well that I often fight my natural urge to sleep in, in favour of a solitary breakfast out here. The beauty and freshness of such a morning fills me with such purity that I can readily brave any stinking sewer, festering swamp or dank crypt that the rest of the day may throw my way, verily!
Given the frequency with which my duty takes me to foul smelling, slime-infested places, I shall need every bit of purity I can get! I recently invested in a membership for the local bath house, a full 200 gold which I at first found shockingly expensive. But oh, never have coin been better spent, for it is a wonderful place with hot and cold water in abundance, and a steam room that is simply heaven. I feel born again after each visit, and though some of my friends argue they are too shy to bathe in public, I'm certain they would change their minds after one blissful soak!
Speaking of friends, I think there are a few I have yet to describe to you! Well, some are friends, some are (I hope) friends in the making. Walter is a Mystran spellsword who seems in equal portions brave and unlucky, for twice I have now witnessed him draw new breath as the healers brought him back to life. Ill luck aside, he is both pleasant in demeanour and intellect, though wears the most unusual set of armor that leaves his legs bare. He also winks at me, and makes what seems to be half-hearted attempts at flirtation, though I'm certain he means nothing by it.
Actually, the display of bare legs seems something of a trend in Norwick, and it strikes me now that all the following persons share the preference! Victoria, who I have already described, favours a silvery white armor with a tabard, but nothing to cover her thighs. Likewise, Celia St Clair, an equally blonde and pretty priestess, though of Torm and not Lurue, favours a similar attire, though with a colouring more suited to The True. Shallyah, a warrioress from the north, also leaves her legs mostly bare, claiming it favours mobility. I could name many others, but suffice it to say that the climate may be warm for this far north, yet verily not QUITE so warm as to explain the plethora of bare thighs on display! I feel both prudish and practical by comparison, encased in metal from top to toe as I most frequently am.
Both Celia and Shallyah are not yet what you could call friends, exactly, but definitely persons I wish to one day call that. Celia is not easy to approach though, for just as sir Shannon, she seems encased in duty and faith, and getting past that shield to learn anything of herself is no simple feat (at least I sense it is a shield with her, though with Shannon I am less certain - it is more as if he has ~become~ duty, and left irrelevancies like his own personal self behind). Shallyah on the other hand is difficult to talk to because her approach to life is so different from mine. Verily, while I am guided by my heart and my faith, she approaches everything as if it could be picked apart by reason, some of it discarded for being of no practical use. She is a good ally, though if she's to become a good friend too, she'll have to start thinking of her heart as something other than a tool to pump blood through her system!
And speaking of heart, you did not think I could write a whole letter ~without~ mentioning Cecil at this point, did you? Well, I almost made it, but must now confess a certain nervousness of what might happen next between us. There's such a TENSION in the air whenever we meet - not a bad sort of tension, but the sort that makes you intensely aware, makes hair stand up at the back of your neck and sends prickles down your spine. We do not hug or kiss, but the feel of my hand in his makes my insides turn cartwheels until I'm dizzy!
We have agreed to meet in Peltarch next, and share another meal together. It could be today for all I know.. I must hurry to my patrol so that the rest of the day is mine to spend freely!
Your (now frantic) loving sister, Ashena"
-
The last lingering rays of a red sunset spills through the window, glistening like blood on the rusted blade of a longsword in the young woman's hands. Her brown eyes are full of wonder, yet her movements are slow with weariness as the sword is diligently cared for, cleaned, sharpened and finally placed aside. The hilt is shaped in the symbol of Torm, and despite the rust clinging to it and the blade itself, the sword looks both well made and sharp of edge. Deep in thought, Ashena stares out the window as the sun disappears below the city skyline, then lights the candle and begins to write.
"Dear father,
Today has lead me down a dark and perilous path. While I do not yet know where it leads, I know I must see it through to the end, or until it ends me. The task will be finished, the duty filled, for Torm himself has commanded it so. The one sent before me was defeated - he gave his all to the cause, and I shall do no less. I weild his sword now. It feels right in my hands, like a burning torch of duty, passed on by this unknown brother in faith. I wonder how many hands have held it before me, and how many will after I am gone? I know I am chosen - something which fills me with both pride and joy - but at the same time, I am but one of many, my life unimportant compared to the task that needs be done. It is both humbling and a comfort to know that duty outlives us all.
It began with a vision.
I saw, with terrifying clarity, the body of a fallen paladin, cruelly chopped up by a man with a foul and rotten face. The paladin's eyes were gouged out, his flesh fed to the pigs of this man, who himself feasted on the marrow of the knight's femur.
Then I heard a voice, a deep and masculine voice that seemed to reverberate within my soul, filling me with purpose.
"Finish his task", it commanded me. "Fill the duty. Foothills, cavemouth with an orc outside."
I readied my blade and ventured out into the foothills, and found my target quite readily, a lone orc outside a narrow cavemouth that lead to a larger, winding cavern. Within, more orcs, goblins and two quasits were slain before I reached the far end of the cave. Here, a cookpot bubbled upon a fire, sending dank and unpleasant odours into the air, and blood did stain the ground.
This is where he died..
A man and his pigs stood outside a small hut, and anger filled me as I leapt into the attack. I would have been wiser to prepare myself with every strengthening potion within my pack, but I did not stop to think, let alone drink potions. I soon learned my mistake, as he cast foul magics to curse me, and his pigs and hawks did tear at my legs and hack my face.
I was defeated, my lifeblood running out. Dimly, I heard the man laugh and his steps fading away. I whispered a fervent prayer to Torm, and through his grace, found the strength to apply the scant healing supply still left to me. The hawk spied my movements though, and cried out alarm. The rotten-faced man came back out from his hut, and I threw my everything into the battle, just barely defeating him. Torm be praised!
Upon the man's body, I found the letter he had been composing as I lay bleeding on the ground. It speaks of a cult of a godess of disease, though not Talona, and gives some hints of where to strike next. Then, in a chest marked 'Unholy Items', I found the sword and a few other belongings of my unnamed paladin, all meant to be sacrificed to the foul godess.
I brought the note to lady Daisy at the Temple of the Triad, and it was decided that a call shall now go out for men and women of good faith to aid in fighting this cult, under my leadership. I know I can count on Aymon to stand beside me, and for that I am more grateful than I can say. But I cannot help but wonder how I shall manage to be 'in charge', when it has ever been I who looked to him for advice. And what will he say of his little sister suddenly (possibly) telling him what to do?
I shall leave it up to you to decide what and how much of this to tell mother. I know she is not frail or mother-hennish as such, but even I myself have begun to worry when I realized the degree of horrific things my letters home contain of late. Do not think all my days here are filled with darkness though, on the contrary! I am learning much and have many friends to share both happiness and strife with. And while I see little enough of Sigibert and Emma, Aymon is my rock of support in troubled times, as is Rath, who has adopted much of a big brother attitude towards me.
Your loving daughter, Ashena"
-
The candle light flickers as the young woman dances in slow circles around the small room, her long hair hanging free, gleaming wetly from a recent bath. Her bare feet make soft thumping sounds against the wooden floor, the white nightgown billowing as she twists around, arms outstretched as if to embrace the world. As her foot hits a creaking floorboard, she suddenly stops dancing, her fair face flushed as if caught doing something she ought not to. Yet a smile still lingers as she sits by the desk, gently so as to make no further noise. The hour is late, but Ashena seems far from sleep, her toes still wriggling as she begins to write.
"Dearest Gralam!
You know how it is said breakfast is the most important meal of the day? I have never quite agreed with that sentiment before (and yes, I do still enjoy sleeping in when I may), but just today, I think I agree whole-heartedly! You see, the prospect of breakfast had become something of a personal joke between myself and Cecil, when our travelling group returned from long hours of adventurous trekking through forest, caves or crypts. I would always be starving, he would kindly (and shyly) offer to share breakfast with me, and that one little word seemed to trigger catastrophe time and again.
'Now that everything's calm, we can go have that breakfast', he would say, shuffling his feet with this half awkward, half hopeful look on his face.
Annnnnnd cue gate attack, monsterous underdark horrors, bugbears with catapults, murderous mummies, slimy puddles of man-eating muck, you name it!
This went on for what seemed forever, and we began calling breakfast the B-word in superstition, joking of the omnious power the word held. Until finally, miraculously, one day (TODAY!) the curse ended. Cecil gave me this huge smile, offered his arm like a proper gentleman… paused... waited for the sky to fall on his head... and then smiled even wider when it did not! We nearly dashed off to the local inn, a cozy place called the Boarshead, and quickly placed an order for two plates of bacon, eggs and fried potatoes.
I was so full of glee at our success that at first, it did not occur to me that we found ourselves alone together for the first time - if one can call it that, in such a public place. But still, none of our joint friends were present, and seated opposite each other at a very small table, it did feel as if there was no one there but him and I. He is very tall, and our armor-clad knees bumped together beneath the table.
Though I was the one professing to be starved, I suddenly found my interest in breakfast itself fading vastly in comparison to studying Cecil, who attacked his plate with the ferocity of a lion, swiftly devouring strips of bacon and a whole egg while I was still cutting things up on my plate. Verily, he eats as he does all other things in life - wholeheartedly and without restraint. Like a warrior conquering his plate! The poor bacon had no chance whatsoever, but a lone and incredibly lucky little potato clung on to existence as Cecil suddenly caught me looking at him, and blushed profusely.
Whether to allow me to catch up with him, or to drag the meal out a little longer, he began to push the potato around on his plate, aimlessly, while we spoke of everything and nothing in particular. He smiled, he blushed, and eventually blurted out something of a fondness for my presence. I would be lying if I did not admit those feelings are in fact most mutual, for whenever I see Cecil, it feels as if my heart is trying to do somersaults inside my chest, aiming to find some hidden springboard to jump right out of it! And so I smiled, I blushed, and eventually blurted out something of a fondness of his presence in return.
Then we sat there, in a happy, awkward sort of silence, just looking at each other. When we finally left, arm in arm, the morning light was long since gone, replaced by deep midnight blue.
I cannot wrap my head around it all!
When I first met Cecil, I thought at once that here is Ardent's dream man, standing before me in the flesh. She had jokingly described her ideal man as a handsome, muscular tribesman (with mapmaking skills, but he might have had that too for all I knew), while probing for my own preference. Of course, I had none (unless you count Torm himself, but that is hardly sporting to mortal men), so instead made joke of how any prospective match should at least not be a paladin also. Just think of how poor a marriage it would be with two people who were ever steadfastly certain they were in the right. None would ever yield an inch, and every disagreement would be painfully, stonily curteous. Horror!
Cecil is... very different, though. He is not at all strict, correct or even well behaved, but instead so very genuine, earnest and without pretense. He is undeniably honourable and brave, but above all, he is ~kind~. It is a kindness that goes right down to the bone, and makes his fierce and wild side not so much frightening as it is appealing, for I know it is tempered by that good heart. And he is so full of heart, so full of LIFE that simply being near him makes me feel more alive too.
Am I awful for thinking that he would suit Ardent so well, yet not only not telling him so, but instead seeking excuses to happen across his company more often? I have even found myself making shockingly bold comments, for no reason other than to make him laugh (and blush, I admit it). I think I would indeed feel bad, if not for him telling me, this very blessed breakfast day, that he has felt this way about me from the very first time we met.
Oh Gralam! I just had to tell you, for if not with my twin, then with who would I share something like this? I know, I know - I teased you somewhat over your infatuation with Beverly Greycastle, but really, a girl that faints because there ~may~ be a spider in her hair might not be the ideal match for you, my nature-loving brother! On the other hand, I am beginning to think opposites do attract. You need not be concerned for me though, Aymon is very much keeping a big brotherly eye on things (and has already weaseled out some pertinent details).
Also, there is NO NEED to tell mother and father (especially not mother) anything of Cecil at this point, for in truth, naught has yet really ~happened~. Besides, I realize well enough how he looks on paper: a penniless barbarian without even so much as a family name (at least he has no surname that I yet know of). A guardsman, yes, that must be to his favour, and of course anyone who ever actually MET him would immediately see his virtues. But on paper? No, he does not look his best on paper.
But none of those are concerns for the present, for right now I will let myself relish the simple fact that I like someone, and am liked in return. It does not have to be more complicated than that, surely?
Your dearest sister, Ashena"
-
In the dead of night, a single candle spills its yellow light across a small desk. The young woman wears a distant, troubled expression as she cradles a wooden shield in her lap, the golden metal reinforcements glinting as if newly polished. With a heavy sigh, she puts the shield aside to begin writing, pausing several times with a furrowed brow.
"Dear mother and father,
I write to you today with a heavy heart, burdened by doubt and deep dismay. I find myself sorely wishing for your wisdom and guidance, or even just your words of comfort and caring, for the events that took place on this day have shaken me to the core.
It began as a simple enough errand, where a group of us were hired to merely deliver a parcel, and take a message back in return. Sensing no malice in this request, I and Rath decided to take the job on for the sake of new experience and adventure, as did a number of other people, some friends of mine and some fresh faces.
The travel route took us through the city's slimy underbelly, and away to distant hills far beyond Peltarch itself, to a settlement called Denville. Here, the guards on watch instructed us to arm ourselves before entering, snickering at our surprised expressions. Though alarmed at this point, nothing could have quite prepared me for what lay beyond the gates, for it seems Denville is indeed a den of all evil faiths put together, an uneasy coalition under the iron thumb of it's leader - a leader we had been specifically instructed to avoid.
…words fail me, still. How can I describe the oppressive feel of this place, an evil so thick and so heavy that it seemed to press down on one's very mind and soul? It was all I could do to simply walk down the street, for every which way one turned, there was Cyricists, Sharrans, Gargauthans, yes every foul following imaginable. One of the latter preached his message to a crowd, and Rath, no doubt feeling just as affronted as I, stepped forth to issue a challenge, championing Siamorphe's cause.
How little we yet knew, and how little we likely still know, of the inner workings of this place. Instead of meeting this challenge personally, the Gargauthan priest instead took us to the settlement's leader - a whip-thin Sharran priestess all in black, radiating such evil as to physically stun Rath, who stood the closest. I too felt dizziness near overtake me, but tried to focus my mind for the encounter. As you can imagine, talks did not go well.
Rath stood firm and unyielding in his beliefs, yet I was silent. It shames me that this is so, and I twist and turn the reasons for this over in my mind, again and again. To say I could not find my words would be true at least in part, but sounds much like a weak and feeble excuse. Verily, I knew that to fight Denville's leadership then and there would offer zero chance of success, and very high risk of endangering the lives of the rest of the party. At the same time, I could not, and would not ask Rath to abandon the ideals that he holds more sacred than life itself. Rather, ought I not take the same stance as he? Yet to fight would be to die, and fail at the task we had agreed upon, would it not?
As these doubts did assail my foggy mind, the fight broke out, and a spell from the priestess robbed me of choice as I stood there reeling, dazed. When the dust did settle, Rath lay dead at the priestess' feet, yet somehow the rest of us yet lived, and were allowed to continue on our way. Myself and my friend Ardent carried our fallen along, and everything past this point, I recall as if through a fog, for I felt stunned, overwhelmed and unable to think clearly.
The man we had been sent to find was held by Cyricists, as others amongst us learned. These Cyricists we slew with great efficiency, yet even having done this, freed the captive and manage to leave without anyone else perishing, I feel a sense of failure that I cannot banish or make sense of completely. What could I have done differently? What ~should~ I have done differently? I still do not know, but I cannot shake the feeling that I did not do all that I could have.
My last effort, and indeed the only idea I could think of at this point, was to mark the return path in such a manner as to (hopefully) be able to retrace it in future. A decisive strike by the Order, where all are of like mind and fully devoted to the cause - now that may be able to make a real change to Denville's existance. Torm willing, we shall find them and wipe them out, and this time without doubt or hesitation.
Your faithful daughter, Ashena"
-
Twilight falls through the window, glinting off a simply enormous lollipop in the young woman's hands. With a blissful expression, she sucks on the top edge of the giant sweet, eyes closing for a moment to savour the taste fully. One last lingering lick, then she reluctantly and carefully re-wraps the lollipop, smacks her lips happily and begins to write:
"Dearest Gralam!
Thank you for the silk rose ribbons, and thank everyone at home for me too, for the lovely gifts sent to me for my birthday. We celebrated the occasion here at the inn, myself, Aymon, Emma and even Sigibert (festive as a slab of rock, as usual). I had made an attempt at baking the cake myself, but decided t'was best not to subject anyone to the sad, strangely lumpy result. Instead, a strawberry and cream creation of the Mermaid's own cooks was devoured under much merriment, and with many fond mentions of all of you back home.
By curious coincidence, for he cannot possibly have known that my birthday loomed so near, I received the most marvellous gift the other day. I had spent a pleasant afternoon in the company of Victoria, her beau Kolde and Cecil (the very tall guardsman), enjoying sweet hinnish pastries and some wine. Rath joined us for a while, and made a chiding, big-brotherly remark upon the size of the wine mug Cecil had given me (and it was indeed larger than both my hands could encompass).
Oh, I admit, t'was foolish to accept such a mug when you and I both know a thimble of sherry is enough to send me into fits of giggles, but something about Cecil makes me daring and bold, to the point where I find myself saying and doing things I normally would not. So I sat there, cradling the mug with burning cheeks, while Cecil lounged beside me on the grass with a stein of ale that was even larger. 'A knight shuns excess', Rath reminded me, and I set the wine aside, embarrassed. Cecil took the blame upon himself somehow, and Rath charged him with seeing to it that I would not overindulge - a charge Cecil took most seriously, as it turned out.
It didn't take much investigative effort on his part to learn my true weakness; sweets. And once he did.. oh, this is where the BEST GIFT EVER comes in, for he presented me with the biggest lollipop I have ever seen, larger than both my hands put together! It is dark red in colour, with a delicious raspberry flavour, though beneath that one can see a darker layer of something else. Layer upon mystery layer of sweet candy bliss, a thousand licks and more to even begin to diminish it! Cecil seemed mighty pleased at my reaction, adding that the best part was that it would be impossible to eat it all at once - hence I would never need worry of excess!
My sweet tooth shall be sated for a whole year, with this one, grandious gift. Best of all, in case of emergency, I'm certain it could work as a blunt instrument to smack sour evil-doers across the face with - though I think I shall reserve an end far pointier than that for such!
Speaking of pointy, I have much to learn on the jousting field. Somehow, through sheer luck, I managed to knock a famed priestess of Lathander out of her saddle on my first run, only to lose all the following matches in decisive, painful manner! If I can but learn to lift the lance to the exact right position (and keep it there with my less than mighty arm), I might do better in future!
Your dearest, most sugarfilled sister, Ashena"
-
Another letter is composed on a clear afternoon, the lazy golden sunshine flooding in through the window, where the young woman sits in a bath robe, a thick towel wrapped around her head. A different set of armor sits on the chair this time, well worn and bearing the faded symbol of Torm, yet as dutifully cleaned as the woman herself. She pulls up her knees, wriggling her bare toes subconsciously as she writes:
"Dear mother and father,
With Aymon's blessing, and at the urging of the good Rath Ashald-Jorinsen, I have accepted the position of Squire within the Order of the Divine Shield. My master is Sir Mariston Thel, truly the knight of knights within the Jewel, for he is not only a devout Paladin of Torm, but also one of the foremost Senators in charge of the city's affairs. Besides all this, he is kind, curteous and simply awe-inspiring to watch upon the jousting field, on horseback and on foot. An inspiration, verily!
I find no shortage of Torm's true followers in this land, a fact that brings a smile to my face each day. Besides Sir Mariston, there is Magistrate and priest of Torm, Sir Shannon D'Arneau, also a long-standing member of the Order, alongside many others I have yet to meet. Also, independantly of the Order are two of the clergy, Ivor Shemov and Celia St Clair, both of whom I hope to befriend further in my stay here.
My duties to this point include patrolling the sewers below Peltarch's streets, where cultists of some evil, dank god do lurk, alongside undead, vermin and all manner of strange and disgusting jellies and oozes. When I do not wade through the filth of these sewers, I often cleanse the crypts of the Norwick cemetary, where all manner of evil resides, including a lich Rath and I have thwarted once already. We hope to learn more of this creature, that we may destroy him for good.
Though I do confess I had not thought the good fight would leave one so smelly and filthy, so frequently as this, I have no regrets in my chosen path. Indeed the opposite, I find my resolve and strength do but grow, with every new step upon it.
Give my love to everyone at home - I miss you all! All except Fury, who somehow turned up in the foothills outside the city, but a few days ago. I had thought him safer at the stables back home, but that horse does have a will of his own, for certain!
Your loving daughter, Ashena"
-
With a woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders and sheep skin slippers warming her small feet, the young woman makes her way across the room, her bed abandoned for lack of sleep. She lights a candle, smiling at a somewhat crinkled rose in a glass of water on the desk as she begins to write once more, the scratch of pen on paper filling the silent night.
"Dearest Gralam,
Why are you not here!? There is SO much for you to see and learn in Narfell, and so many adventures, tales and thoughts I would share with you! My head feels close to bursting with them all, and I must leak some of it out on paper before I could even begin to sleep.
The past few days, no, make that weeks, but days in particular, have been astounding! I have spent much time in a place called Norwick, at the outskirts of the great Rawlinswood - a place I simply ~know~ you would adore, for all the room it has to roam in wild places. The forest itself, I have only just begun to explore, for it is infested by tribes of goblins, hobgoblins and bugbears, making for an exciting though deadly mix if one does not choose travelling companions well.
But I think I have done just that, making new friends and aquaintances from the adventurers, travellers and local folk here, and oh, so many are the ones I wish you could meet. The Rawlins have many defenders, the rangers in particular being vigilant guardians of both animals and travellers. Yngdir is one such person that I think you would admire, perhaps somewhat grim, yet most unrelenting in his watch. Rasuil has a greater warmth, though an even more uncanny ability to turn up out of the blue, calmly shooting an arrow through the eye of the hobgoblin about to split one in half! Though somewhat rough of speech, I think you would like him well, for in truth he reminds me a little of you.
And then there's Ardent, oh Ardent! She is a newcomer to this area, just as I, and have very swiftly become most dear to me - this is her special talent, I think, to be able to befriend nearly everyone, yet ever remain herself. She is lovely; spirited and clever, kind and mischievous. In fact, a bit like Emma at times, a likeness that might explain why I took to her instantly. Ardent brings out something a little mischievous in me too, boosting the sensation I have experienced upon arrival here - that I am not always lady Ashena Teroldys, but simply Ashena! Tis both unfamilar and liberating, to feel thus (yet naturally, Sigibert is quick to point out the lady part to others).
Another friend that seems to know just how to befriend everyone else is Victoria, a beautiful blonde priestess of Lurue. She is very kind, playful and caring of the well being of others. In fact, she is admirable enough that I found I did not mind it when for a moment, I appeared to look exactly like her (and she as I!). But before this unsettling shift of appearances, something even more unsettling occurred - I stood by the gates with Victoria and another, a tall guardman I had met but hours ago, when suddenly I felt a distinct chill. I looked down, and found myself bare as the day I was born, to my great alarm and embarassement!
The guardsman (whose name is Cecil), turned beet red and looked away, but his eyes then fell on Victoria, who appeared likewise nude! Before I could make well on my plan to SINK BELOW THE EARTH, I found myself encased in armor again, but the hair falling down my shoulder was blonde, not brown. I looked across and found myself staring back at me, for Victoria looked every bit as my normal reflection! A pixie appeared beside us, giggling at her joke, and proceeded to turn her magics on Cecil next, turning him into a bull! He mooed, confused, and begun to chew on the grass with a bewildered look.
I had stern words with the pixie next, but it merely laughed at my insistance that we were not its playthings, and I could sense that it's soul was tainted with evil. Still - it gives me no great joy or pride to say what happened next, for slaying a pixie is hardly a knight's greatest accomplishment (nor did I mean to hit it squite so hard)! But, this did break it's enchantments, and things were back to normal afterwards. Well, almost normal, for Cecil seemed to linger beside me, shuffling his feet in an awkward manner. He was as embarrassed about the whole incident as I, I can only imagine, but managed to make joke of it.
I found myself laughing along, feeling strangely bold, so bold in fact that I accepted the flower he gave me next, sticking it into my braid (I must say, he is much more handsome when not a bull). The True only knows for how long we would have stood there talking, if not for two others beyond the gate - Rath and a stern figure in blue and gold plate, none other than the Magistrate of Peltarch and high priest of Torm, Sir Shannon D'Arneau!
I had heard much and more about this man, and think I must have swallowed my own tongue as he came over to enquire about the pixie. I stuttered something awful, for wanting so much to make a fine first impression, and it took Rath's kind intervention to introduce us in proper manner. Sir Shannon looked at me with a strict and judging gaze, saying he had expected me to introduce myself. I might have DIED on the spot, but then it was as if he relented and spoke kindly instead, and my heart warmed instantly.
Sir Shannon is a most impressive man, as I was just about to find out, for not long after we had spoken of the Order both he and Rath are a part of, strange fleshy constructs appeared to attack the gates with great force, nearly slaying many! Sir Shannon, shining with Torm's might, stood strong against them all, and did save my own life more than once in the adventure to follow. But oh, there was this one moment when he stood by the gates to call down Torm's Rain of Vengeance upon our foes, OH! If my hair were shorter, it had stood straight up at the thrill, and I am still in awe this long afterwards!
Yet when the dust did finally settle, it was in Cecil's company I found myself once more. His awkwardness had seemed to disappear completely in the heat of battle (where more than once he had lunged back from the front to shove an attacker off me), yet now he lingered nearby again, blushing at my simple attempts at jest. Maybe he is just shy of women, though I think I am not just imagining that he was not quite so bashful of Victoria (who is far prettier than I, you would surely agree).
I do not know if he favours my company over others, but I do not mind his in the least. There is something larger than life about Cecil, an infectuous sort of enthusiasm that spreads all around him. I think you would agree there too!
I miss you, you should have come! The woods will not burn to ashes if you leave for one moon or two, surely!
Your dearest sister, Ashena"
-
The same young woman sits down by the same window, quill in hand. Night has fallen, golden candle light spilling across her unbound chestnut hair, smoothed by a hundred diligent strokes of the brush. A small glint of light reflects off a freshly cleaned and polished set of full plate armor, shield and sword, set upon the chair next to the bed. The young woman looks over to the chair, a sense of deeply felt wonder shining in her brown eyes. With a smile, she begins to write.
"Dear mother and father,
Today has blessed me in ways I cannot begin to express, and even now, I feel aglow with Torm's fire burning in my heart. If ever I had doubts that my path was not right for me, these are now forever gone - for I have felt the touch of The True within me.
It began in the southern settlement of Norwick, a small town oft beset by dark forces, including goblinoids, bugbears and the restless undead of a nearby graveyard. Indeed, I could write much of Norwick itself, but for now let it suffice that I was there, practicing my swordarm on the wicked goblins past the gates.
By the lakeside, I came across an elderly man, distraught and armed with nothing more than a fishing rod. Fearing for his safety, I offered my assistance, but the request he made of me was not for safe passage. To my surprise, he instead looked me over in thoughtful air, then, as if having deemed me fit, he bade me help not himself, but another.
'Do what I could not', he said, continuing to tell me of the cries of lament and agony he heard, night after night, from an old crypt within the graveyard. A noble warrior was laid to rest there, but his spirit was trapped and tormented by the undead forces within. The old man lead me there, as night began to fall.
The crypt's door stood before me, stern and unyielding stone. My directions given and my purpose clear, I stepped down into darkness. The air was fetid and dank, oppressive. Click-clack of bone upon stone, the wet shuffle of zombie feet - I gripped my sword and turned to the right, following the distant cries.
Skeletons and zombies fell to my blade, until one of particular, unbearable stench did approach, moaning his challenge. My sword bounced off his putrid hide, once, twice, three times, but I could not, and would not turn back. Resolved, I kept up the fight and cried out for my Lord's aid to see my duty done.
In instant reply, a bright light lit my blade. It seemed to travel through my arm, into my very heart and soul, and light me up from within. The next slash of my sword hit blessedly true, slicing through rotten flesh like a knife through butter. Torm had heard my plea! He was with me, my light in the darkness!
From then on, I knew I would not fall or falter, and all fell before me - skeletons, zombies, the undead priest chanting darkly beside a battered coffin. Only afterwards did I realize I was bleeding, but the wounds hurt me not - it was as though I were not me, but Torm's instrument, a feeling which leaves me both humbled and awed.
As I approached the coffin, I felt a deep sense of gratitude from within. A voice spoke, thanking me, for the undead had long attempted to turn him into one of their foul kind. Now, he could be at peace at last, but first he bid me take his worldly belongings from the chest, and to use them well.
'What is your name, that I might remember you by?', I asked, but too late. The spirit, now set free, began his true journey. Oh, would that I had the skills of a bard to describe this moment with! There was the utmost calm, a beauteous calm that did soothe the soul, and then light began to swirl. Think of a clear autumn day, with the red leaves of the maple falling slowly - but these warm lights did drift upwards instead, carried on a breeze of the divine.
I will never know his name, this kind and noble warrior spirit, but within the coffin lay his armor, shield, sword, amulet and rings. All of these will be treasured, all of these will serve to remember him, and further the cause of what is good and just. So I do solemnly swear.
Curiously, when I left the crypt, the old man was nowhere to be found, nor does anyone in the town proper recall such a person. Whether a ghost or a divine messanger, I am forever thankful that he found me.
Your faithful, loving daughter, Ashena"