3. Robyn's Whispers

Robyn's Whispers


  • Inspiration

    I’ve heard several origins for the meaning of “Inspiration”. One of them literally means to be guided by spirit. The other is “breathe”, like fanning an ember of thought into flame.

    As we stood there before the Chain Devil, I knew we were pretty much fucked. I asked Livia, no I pleaded with her that if she wanted to show up, now would be the time to do it. Hell, I would have suffered further duels to use that sword again and have the sliver of a chance at defeating it.

    But help me she did, in a way I hadn’t imagined. I suddenly remembered the old dusty arrows sitting unused at the bottom of my bag. They were Demonbane arrows, with enough divine power to shred the thing we could not otherwise defeat.

    I ran to Ting and gave her half, and when things went bad we used them. Ting’s aim was remarkable, and on her 7th arrow the creature was banished.

    So, as I sit here in the Dancing Mermaid with a little too much Elven Wine I raise my glass to Livia. Right then, and just at the right time, she truly inspired me.


  • The Stage

    I’m standing at the back of the Bardic College. Below on the stage, a young woman of elven descent is being mentored by a slightly overweight gentlemen dressed in silks and fineries. Her coach walks her through an old melody, repeating notes and stanzas. Her voice is spectacular and rings hauntingly throughout the hall.

    For this young elven lass, her life is just beginning. The stage is the place where the keys to her future will be forged. For me, the stage is place of sweat, trial and fear. Ultimately, it was a place of sacrifice.

    I come here most every day to rid myself of the demons it conjures. Like the young woman who sings below me, I want this place to remind me of the beauty that life promises. I want it to be something better than how I remember it.

    Soon, the young woman and her mentor leave the stage, and I am alone again.

    I don’t rightfully know what possessed me to get on the stage. Perhaps an act of defiance to the specters that haunt me. I descended the stairs and hopped the divider, my boots softly clicking on the polished wood. I draw Livia’s blade and close my eyes.

    The forms and katas are all second nature now. Gone is the woodswoman and archer that graced a small house in Jiyyd. The girl who baked apple crisp for the adventurers that gathered in her dining room no longer exists.

    The cloak on my left arm swirls briefly to conceal my silhouette, allowing me to avoid imaginary blows and strike at nameless shadows. The blade, aglow with divine energy flashes through the air with deadly intent, striking at the hobgoblins that plague my thoughts. The sweat pours off of me as I dance with my blade on stage. Although I feel shackled by my past, for fifteen minutes, I am free.


  • Coin from Fancy

    I have spent the last several months sitting at a table watching the commons. Adventurers come and go. Guards walk by and pay little attention. My presence at the little table in front of the Mermaid has become so commonplace that I’ve become another shrub waning with the seasons.

    Pitiful really.

    As a result, my indolence was paid by the girth of my purse. I didn’t realize how little coin I had until I paid my rent. The remaining coins in my purse jingled pitifully out of loneliness. To make matters worse, my last venture had seen me use all my potions just to stay alive. Not only was my purse in desperate need of sustenance, but I had nothing to sell as well. Too poor to purchase potions, and too lacking in potions to go adventuring to gather coin. An awkward conundrum.

    Enter Fabian Reinhard

    I man of some twenty odd summers, his perfumed skin and oh so pretty countenance screamed wealth and privilege. I had heard rumors over the months. Waitresses spoke of the near magical properties of his stare, and giggled and blushed in with hushed tones over night time antics. I even heard a few tales of hurried window exit or two from a woman by the fire.

    He was indeed pleasing to the eye. I’m old enough to be his mother, but being with a handsome man took me back to my youth, baking apple crisp and serving hard cider to the likes of Vino, Adam Bromley and Kanen Hightower. Despite my hard earned sensibilities, I found myself daydreaming of inappropriate trysts with a much younger man.

    I knew it was manipulative. I’m better than that. But I needed the coin and figured he would be intrigued by the older woman with the rapier. I was taking advantage of him by offering the prospect of a would-be bodyguard. After all, wasn’t I the one who killed General Ash in a well publicized duel in the market?

    Livia would be ashamed of me. I should be ashamed of me. Oddly, I am not. They say if you don’t die the hero, you live long enough to become the villain.

    …and Livia told me her sword would keep me alive for a very, very long time.


  • My Restless Nature

    I bought a house a few years ago. It was not the house of my dreams, but it was close enough. It wasn’t on the side of a mountain, but on top of a hill. There was no man to share it with, but a mercenary named Erik who lived across the river would stop by and spend the night now and then, and that was good enough. We would sit together on the porch and tell each other stories while having tea or coffee. His dog would watch the squirrels, but he was getting on in years and was too old to chase them. Sometimes an apple crisp would be cooling in the window

    We never discussed marriage or even living together. We were both set in our ways I suppose, and happy with the solitary existence. He stopped coming by about six months ago. I ventured over to his place once and saw the grave marker for his dog. Perhaps he simply missed him too much and moved on.

    My sword hung on the wall. I took it down now and then, but the last time it drew blood was more than a year ago. Someone thought to take advantage and try to rob the place, but I let him know it was well enough defended by leaving a cut across his thigh.

    I am no longer living on the knife edge of destiny and adventure. Life unfolds lazily one day at a time. I have dreamed of this life for twenty plus years. I should be happy …

    … but I’m not.

    Erik talked about this at length one evening. Sometimes he said, old soldiers would have a hard time settling down. It took someone very special to give an old soldier roots. With the life I’ve led, I understood his words deeply.

    Perhaps that’s why I find myself on a caravan headed north. I shuttered the house and left the valuables with the money lender in the center of town. My sword is the familiar weight at my side that it always was. The bow rests easily in my hand, the grip wound with fresh leather. I keep telling myself I’m a stupid old woman for doing this, but my heart sings at the decision to travel again.


  • Departure

    I pulled down hard on the strap, and the horse turned his head and looked at me as if to say, “Really?” It was the last of my bags though, and when I stood back and looked at the blankets and saddlebags, it was comforting to know that I wasn’t carrying that much.

    It was a lifetime ago that I was a young girl of sixteen. I had killed a guard and fled north, relying on my wilderness skills and determination to make it as far away from the Dale as possible. I had followed the bay north to the river, and then skirted my way north east until I came to the settlement of Norwick.

    Now, I was going back

    I’d reverse the course I took. I’d follow the river to the bay, and eventually reach Uthmere. From there, I’d take any one of the trade routes until I found a place to call home and settle down. I had asked Rasuil to come with me. Rasuil was a man I could learn to love. He was a kindred spirit, about my age, funny, and self-reliant. But he just looked at me sadly and shook his head. He wasn’t ready to leave Narfell. It was disappointing, but I respect his choice.

    A few folks asked why I was leaving. Some just wished me luck. A couple said that there was still work to be done but honestly, I’ve done enough. The sword took twenty years of my life away, and even brought me back from the grave to kill again. Now that I’m pushing forty summers, it’s time I do something other than killing. There’s more to life than running things through with a sword.

    I hopped on my horse and trotted out the gate heading south. When I got to the shrine to Tempus I looked back one last time at the city walls. One more trip through Norwick, and then off to some place I can call home.

    Farewell Narfell.


  • Reinventing Myself

    I thought freedom would feel different.

    I had been looking forward to it for so long that the thought of ever achieving it became fantasy. The sword had been in my life longer than I’d been without it.

    I had forgotten just how much of it was a part of me until I had to use something else. The holy blade anticipated my opponents’ moves. Blocks and parries were second nature. The divine power of its strikes often crippled opponents, and even glancing hits had a telling effect. The blade that Livia presented to me is a fantastic weapon, but pales in comparison to the blade I have wielded most of my life.

    But the hard part is not just relearning to fight. It’s relearning to look at my future.

    I have one.

    The thought of final death in a god appointed duel has weighed on my conscious for almost two decades. That weight is no longer there, and I should feel elated, but I find myself oddly missing it. I’ve developed a certain wariness over the years that’s hard to shake, and now I have nowhere to direct it.

    I really could retire

    I could build that home on the side of the moutain. At my age, children are probably out of the question, but a man to spend it with isn’t. I’ve pushed romance aside for so long, knowing my future was likely short and violent. Now I have choices. Choices I never had before.

    I just don’t know what to do with myself. I really don’t.


  • Released

    It started out like any grand adventure. We were going to face one of the demons that escaped us earlier, and there would be Drow trying to stop us. Livia and I were well equipped to the task, and I had the General Ash’s dagger to protect me.

    I had slain several Drow along the way, and faced a few Drider’s too, so when the Drider with the fancy epaulets appeared, he was just one more that would be cleaved by the power of the Livia and yours truly.

    With a gesture of his hand came a spray of twinkling lights. General Ash’s Dagger will protect me I thought, as it shielded me from most spells affecting my mind.

    This time, it didn’t.

    There was a wave of numbness and disconnection. I was surprised. I remember that much. When I fell I expected to hit the floor of the cavern, but I kept falling. I fell past the point of the floor into darkness. Then I fell even further, until I saw the face of General Ash.

    I remember he looked at me amused. There was a sense of hatred, followed by surprise, then horror. His image dissolved and tore to shreds in front me. There was a near silent scream before I too, was left alone in the darkness.

    It took me a while to realize where I was, and what had happened. I was in the dagger.

    I had died.

    But the dagger held only one soul. When it captured mine, General Ash’s was kicked out. Kicked out and released to destruction, as per The Covenant. General Ash’s artifice to save himself had ultimately saved me.

    How ironic.

    I lost track of time then. It was meaningless there. I felt a presence at one point, and reached out to talk. I don’t even know if it heard me.

    I slept and awoke several times. Days, months, or years passed. There was no point of reference.

    Then once when I awoke, my world exploded in a myriad colors.

    The first face I saw was Daisy’s. Her arms were out stretched, and General Ash’s dagger hovered in the air before her. Then it turned into an inky black mist, and was gone.

    “Robyn?”, she looked down at me.

    I blinked a few times and sighed. She smiled and reached down, helping me to my feet. I stood wobbly for a moment, wondering why I couldn’t regain my balance.

    That’s when I noticed the candles on the altar shaking. The drapes on the wall rippled in unison.

    There was a soft rumble, and the temple shuddered slightly. The Blade of Tyr which was on the floor beside me shattered into the thousand points of light. I took a step back and fell against one of the pews and before me, where the sword once lay, stood Livia.

    She smiled. It was a smile that could win hearts and quiet crowds. I saw Livia many times before, but I looked at Daisy, and this time she could see her too.

    “Dearest Robyn”, she began. “You and I have been released from Tyr’s service. No longer must we face the preordained duels. We are…”, she paused,

    “…Free”

    I stood there dumbfounded. I didn’t have words. Tyr and the sword had stolen 20 years of my life. When I first came to these lands, I had dreams of finding a husband, living on the side of a mountain, having children, and making apple crisp for my family. All of that had been taken away, probably forever. I was too old now for children. The crow’s feet around my eyes betrayed my age. Who would have this woman whose time has passed?

    I wanted to be resentful. I wanted to scream. But all I felt was relief.

    “This land is still dangerous”, she continued, “And you’ll need a new sword to defend yourself. I would be honored”, she bowed, “If you took mine”.

    With little ceremony she unbuckled her sword and tossed it to me, scabbard and all. If felt real in my hands, unlike the ghostly figure of Livia that stood before me.

    With that she turned to walk away, but suddenly stopped. “Oh!”, she laughed. “Tyr sends you this in thanks for your service! It will help to keep the years away”, she winked.

    She flipped a ring to me with her thumb. I caught it, twirling it with my fingers. I looked up and started to say something, but she was gone.

    “Good bye” I whispered to the empty air before me.

    I would like to thank the DM Team, particularly DM Guardian (may he rest in peace), and DM Skippy for this plot. It involved duels to death, evil creatures great and small, and a real holy sword that Robyn was both reluctant and honored to wield. I'm not sure where Robyn is headed in the future, but hopefully the readers of her tale will be there to share in her adventures.


  • The Dagger

    I practice most every day in the Bard College. Even after Anelundil passed on, I still find myself here five mornings out of seven. On this particular day I am going through my routines as fast as I can bring myself to do them without being sloppy. I have stripped down to the barest of decency, and my fencing clothes are soaked with perspiration. Getting old frustrates me. I’m not as limber as I once was and lack the stamina of my youth. Yet I press on to push the years away, one exercise routine at a time.

    Livia stands beside me watching. I know she’s not really there, but nonetheless the part of my mind that acknowledges her presence makes me see her. It can be distracting at times but I’ve learned to live with it. In many respects she’s become the sister I never had. We laugh, argue and joke with each other. We have both wisely chosen the Bard College to chat because here, no one questions me talking to empty air. The scholars and playwrights probably think I’m rehearsing. Perhaps a few think I’m nuts, and they might not be far off the mark.

    The dagger I picked up from General Ash’s body has proved itself to be … most unique. When I first picked it up, it made me feel safe in ways hard to describe. It wrapped walls around me, and when I wield it I feel that Livia and I could conquer worlds.

    I know it’s an illusion. I know the runes on it are powerful and that the feelings of safety are the result of the wards that are placed around me when I hold it. I still found myself accompanying Maria to the bugbear lands … Just the two of us. It was an act of insanity that almost got us both killed. Yet I slew bugbears left and right. When a Bugbear Shaman cast his spell on me, the dagger’s runes glowed brightly as it drank the enchantment. I ran him through, the look of surprise still in his eyes as his life left them.

    It wasn’t until General Ash spoke to me that I realized the full nature of it.

    I am guessing that General Ash had somehow acquired this dagger by killing its previous owner. The dagger was then bound to him, life and soul like its previous owner. When he died, the binding was not broken. He was saved from utter destruction by it, and how lies hidden within, even from the gods. Why hidden?

    The runes. They are THAT powerful. …. And now the dagger is mine, bound to me when I killed General Ash and claimed it.

    How ironic.

    This presents an interesting conundrum. Do I give up this powerful artifact to the Church of Tyr so that General Ash could face his righteous end, or do I keep it and use it for good? General Ash has no doubt defied the concord between Tyr and the immortals, and managed a loophole with this curious item. But the question remains … Could General Ash’s soul be unbound and allow him to live again with a powerful blessing?

    Of that I have no doubt. General Ash told me he had used this to cheat destruction. He can whisper to me now that we are both bound to it, and I’m sure that was his ultimate goal. That given enough time the dagger would fall into Cyricist hands again, and that somehow General Ash would be reborn.

    However, it also means that I now have a loophole for the coming duel, just like General Ash.

    “Robyn?”

    I stopped my routine and put the blade down point first on the stage. I looked at Livia, and for the first time I saw uncertainty in her eyes.

    “Robyn, are you sure you’re doing the right thing by keeping it?”, she asked.

    “It ain’t evil”, I replied. “Though I can’t protect it as well as th’ likes ‘f some o’ th’ great ‘eroes of this land, it’ll be used for good, I swear. An’ none o’ them ‘as to face a soul blade like yours truly. ‘Sides…it’s bound t’me now. Couldn’t give it up if’n I wanted to, ‘less the church could find a way to unbind it.”

    Livia still looked uncertain, and I could see worry in her eyes.

    “The Cyricists will try to come and take it”, she said, “and they’ll have to kill you to do it”

    I thought about what she said as I picked up the sword. It flashed in a blur as I cut apart and skewered an imaginary opponent. “Let them try”, I said with a grin.

    Of course, that could be the dagger talking.


  • The Morning After

    I ran into a young woman looking for Anelundil. He had offered to train her in the use of the long sword. I didn’t know what to say at first other than the blunt truth. Anelundil had given his life for me and two others.

    It’s something I still feel guilty about. I put my life at risk for the sake of adventure when I had already been prepared for the duel. I just needed to wait and bide my time until it happened. I had no idea how to make up for that until my conversation with this young woman.

    I would teach her.

    I will carry on his legacy the best I can. It’s the least I can do to honor his dedication and memory.

    I took this woman Eilonna to the Peltarch parade and tournament grounds, and began to teach her that very morning. Though I am no master with a long sword, I am still better than most. I taught her basic grips, stances and strikes. Nothing fancy, but you have to start somewhere.

    That afternoon found me in the Peltarch commons. Livia was sitting beside me … not really, but I could see her. This was going to take some getting used to, having a constant companion inside my head.

    “There’s your mountain man”, she quipped

    “Hmm? What?”

    Livia pointed under the tree, a small smile on her face. “Oh, go over and talk to him”, she said.

    I looked over. A man was lounging under the tree. I had seen him off and on during my stay here in Peltarch, and I never took much notice of him until now. He wore a relaxed, care-free expression. His arms were bare to the shoulder, and worn leathers covered the rest. A tooth was on a cord around his neck.

    “Oh go on!”, she repeated. “Besides, it’s about time you got laid again. It would do you a world of good”

    My eyes widened at the comment. “Shush you!”, I whispered loudly. I can’t believe Livia was ever a Paladin.

    The man looked up at the comment with an odd smile. “First words outta your mouth to me an’ ya tell me t’be quiet”, he smirked. “…an I haven’t even ‘ad a chance to say anything”

    Livia giggled. I felt embarrassed. Sighing, I wandered over to chat
    I introduced myself, and I recalled someone calling him “Ras” once. We chatted about very little for a long time. I asked him what his idea of home was. I suspect he never really considered it, living out in the woods they way he did. I could tell, because that was the kind of person I was in another life.

    I excused myself when it got dark, and wandered back to the Mermaid for supper. I should have invited him I suppose, but I certainly wasn’t ready to open up to anyone so soon, not after all that’s happened.

    I ate dinner alone that night, with Livia giving me a sympathetic stare. Then quietly she vanished, leaving me alone to my thoughts. I ate my dinner in peace and daydreamed of another life filled with children, a dog, a good home, and a man to share it with.


  • The Duel

    It began as a day like any other. I had become complacent to Livia’s whisperings, and they had faded into the background noise of the day. I had a leisurely breakfast, followed by sword practice in the bard college, prayer in the temple, and a walk along one of the piers. I was looking forward to the ceremony on the rant stand in the merchant grounds. They were to honor the people that risked their lives to right the weather, and I looked forward to the gathering of people. I had hopes of making new friends, meeting old acquaintances, and envisioned a night of telling stories in the Mermaid until we were all drunk and sleepy.

    Yes, it promised to be a good day.

    The ceremony started, and people gathered until the crowd pressed against the stands. I found a place in the back to stand, and greeted those I recognized and traveled with. I had even brought a bottle of wine to share afterwards. I said “Hi”, to Tally and a few others, and watched them take the stand one by one. General Neverith gave a great speech, what I could hear of it anyway over the crowd. Shallyah stepped up and said thank you and…

    General Ash, captain of the city guards shouted, stepped forward, and ran Neverith through.

    For what seemed an eternity, nobody did anything. Then there were screams. People ran from the merchant grounds. I saw children getting picked up and hustled away. General Ash stood there, soul blade in hand. It cast a reddish glow on the stage. It all seemed surreal until he shouted.

    “Where’s Livia!”

    My knees almost buckled at that point. The time had come, so soon it seemed. I wasn’t ready. I had so many things left to do. I still wanted that home in the mountains.

    The guards rushed forward to subdue him, but were blocked at the stage. General Ash shouted again, but I couldn’t hear what he said over the screaming. I drew the blade of Tyr, and pressing through the crowd, stepped forward onto the stage. My way wasn’t blocked.

    All became quiet

    The sounds of the crowds diminished. I noticed several of the guards beating furiously at walls they couldn’t see. I noticed the flapping of the flags on Peltarch’s walls. I watched he snow that mysteriously fell around me collect on the podium. I noticed hundreds of little details of the world around me and drank them in, because they might be the last things I’ll ever see.

    I looked over at General Ash. I started to say something, but I was interrupted by two words.

    “Die Bitch!”

    He rushed forward. I was caught completely off guard and his blade clipped my side. I felt the wave of the swords energy as it drilled through me, but in complete reflex I noticed his guard was far too low, and the tip of my rapier slashed just above his gorget. A great cascade of blood ran down his tunic, and his eyes grew wide at the hit. Then he backed off taking his guard.

    General Ash was much taller and stronger than I so I stayed defensive, relying on Anelundil’s training. I deflected the next several blows, and parried his off-hand dagger with my cloak. But he was keeping his guard too high…overcompensating for the throat wound I had just given him. So when he swung again I crouch and extended. His sword whined over my head, but the point of my rapier buried itself in his gut.

    I knew at that point, I had already won.

    I felt giddy. Confidence filled me as I went on the offensive. His attacks came weaker now, and were easily blocked. My dagger cut his arm. My sword point found his shoulder. When he twisted right, I cross blocked and ran him through.

    “No…”, he whispered hoarsely, and the light in eyes just vanished as Livia in the sword sundered his very being.

    Much of the rest of the day was a maelstrom of emotions and events. People carried Neverith’s body off, though I knew he could never be raised. Though I imagine I could, I would never use Livia in that fashion to kill anyone except in these duels. The thought horrified me.

    I learned that an Elvish man named Elessar had tried to interfere in the duel and had been struck dead. I feel terrible about it, but there’s little I can do.

    I spoke with the Divine Shield and told them my story. Tyr spoke and told of the coming war, and that not all is lost for Neverith if I can win the next duel.

    If…

    After that, I wandered the streets alone. Everyone had departed for prayer, rest, or grieving. I meandered back to the temple in hopes the knights and priests would still be there. Perhaps I hoped, they would like to share that bottle of wine with me. The only person I ran into was one named Allister, who apologized that he was readying for evening prayers. Everyone else was gone.

    That evening I found myself alone on the docks, and sat on the one of the piers. I could see Livia sitting beside me, even though I knew she wasn’t really there. I grabbed the wine bottle from the pouch, and yanked the cork with my teeth. I spit it into the water and watched it bob away.

    “Are you going to drink that all by yourself”, she said?

    I looked over. She was blond and pretty in ways I’ll never be. I could see why she charmed people in her short life time. Her eyes held mirth and laughter. I thought I would feel jealous, but I didn’t.

    I took a swig. “Prob’ly”, I said.

    “You’ll regret it in the morning”, she replied with a knowing, wistful smile.

    “I’ve earned it”, I snorted and took another swig.

    The wine never tasted so good.


  • Death

    I died

    It all started out as a grand adventure on a quest for treasure. There were clues and hints, and while we all had our doubts, the glimmer of hope and the adventure itself kept us going. It wasn’t until we climbed the rope out of the cold caves that everything fell apart. We were all made invisible by a scroll used by Sabre, and the plan was to climb the rope and sneak away from the Gnolls. But one Gnoll started on our scent. He growled. Romulus panicked, and the next thing I know there’s mayhem, too many Gnolls, pain, and darkness.

    I awoke in the temple of Tyr. Though it’s called the Temple of the Triad now I will always think of it as Daisy’s temple. Some things shouldn’t change.

    People were milling about. Anelundil was standing over me. He had a sad smile on his face, and the wings on his celestial form quivered and drooped. He asked me to bring justice to the world, and still wearing that sad smile faded into oblivion. I knew in my heart that I would never…ever…see him again.

    People handed me my things. They stood around for a while talking quietly, and one by one left the temple. I stood there for the longest time, trying to make sense of it all. The guilt of what Anelundil did for me was a stone in my heart. There was no possibility of ever repaying that sacrifice. I had risked the greater good for adventure and treasure.

    It was greedy. It was stupid. It was selfish.

    Galin had been standing off to the side. He cleared his throat and approached.

    “Lady Robyn, I don't rightly know everything that's going on here. I do know what you've shared with the Order though, and if that young man was what I think he was, then there's bigger things at play here than you or I.”

    “Are you going to be okay?”, he continued. “Is there anything I can do for you, to help you through this? It seems Tyr has a direct interest in seeing you complete some task…”

    I could feel the tears hot in my eyes. I wanted to be stoic. I wanted to be the model of heroism. Instead, I broke down and told him everything. I babbled amidst tears of frustration and guilt over Anelundil’s passing, the pressure of waiting for a duel that if I lose, will likely be the end of me in ways I can’t even fathom. The sentences rambled on almost non-stop.

    I told him the history of the sword, how it came into my hands. I told him of the story of Vortelli, Domar, and Lady Winters. I spoke of Lady Winters’ untimely death, of lost loves, of the soul in the sword. I told him of the duels I’ve faced and the price that is paid. In the end, I just stood there shaking and tear streaked.

    Galen wrapped his arms around me as I wept. This was the second time my tears have stained his robes. He whispered something about prayers, but I was crying too hard to pay attention.

    After I recovered my dignity and excused myself, I exited the temple and began wandering the streets alone. I felt hollow … empty. After an evening of wandering in the cool night air, I found myself standing in front of the Bardic College. After months of daily training, my feet had automatically guided me to the location I have walked countless times before. Before I knew it, I was standing on the empty stage where Anelundil had taught me.

    If there was any place I would ever feel his presence again, it would be here. With great deliberation I took out the Blade of Tyr. Its steel flickered eerily in the torchlight, the runes of my name rippling on the blade. I brought the sword to my face ceremoniously and with a salute to the memory of Anelundil…

    …I fenced.


  • The Storm

    I can feel it coming. I would like to say that “The dark clouds of destiny are on the horizon”, but that’s so fucking melodramatic that I couldn’t respect myself for saying it.

    But it’s coming.

    The sword keeps whispering “Soon”, as if I didn’t already know. I dream of long hallways and doors. Sometimes I open the door with an intense feeling of dread. In others I am being chased, and flee into dark rooms while something unseen pounds on the door.

    I have more or less resigned myself to the inevitable. I try not to think about it much, and live each day individually and not dwell on tomorrow. It’s the only way I maintain any semblance of sanity.

    I participated recently in a terrifying ordeal filled with bugbears, undead and far too many demons. I owe my life to a man named Luke, who rescued me when a demons magic wrapped around my mind and I could no longer respond to the swords and weapons around me. I feel obligated to repay him in some manner, but short of the obvious I suppose the only thing to do is be there the next time he’s on the ground instead.

    For now it’s quiet. I have enough coin in my purse to not have to waitress any more, and move from day to day in relative relaxation. There’s a ceremony coming up to honor the people who ventured to stop the rains. I think I’ll go and enjoy the moment, and try not to look at the horizon.


  • The Great Adventure

    I participated in a great adventure last night.

    No, it was not the terrifying ordeal into a Lich’s realm. I don’t consider that as much of as adventure as a fight for survival. My skills don’t work well on undead. For that you need a large blade, hammer, magic and blessings. My quest for quiet prayer in the temple of the Triad turned into a tag-a-long on some quest to recover the vessel of a Lich named “Baron Locke”. Well, it was actually to recover a book that someone else would use to recover and destroy the vessel, but I digress. We went into this realm. We had 24 hours to recover the book. We fought so many undead I entirely lost count.

    Nor was it the Lich itself showing up with his minions, raiding the city, and whisking us away to parts unknown. I didn’t help much there either. My arrows did nothing. I couldn’t get close enough to hit anything with my blade. The best I could do is make myself an inviting target and stick my tongue out in his general direction once in a while for good measure.

    In the end the book was recovered, the vessel was destroyed, and the Lich was defeated.

    That’s the short of it.

    When it came time to divide the proceeds, I took one small item and left the remainder. Let the wizards, priests and warriors who actually slew the undead get the spoils. Besides, I am in high debt to several for potions purchased prior to the trip or used during it. Hopefully my share of the potions recovered will pay them back with interest. I cannot abide being in debt.

    No, my great adventure was baring my soul and playing storyteller to a wizard named Maria.

    I told her the legend of Domar, Vortelli, and Liv. I told her about the making of the sword, its prophecy, and my fate. I told her everything, because I need someone to know. Someone has to carry on the story because despite my training, there’s a very real possibility I could lose.

    And by the gods if I’m going to die, I don’t want it to be alone and forgotten. Let the story live, even if I don't


  • The Sword and I

    It’s been more than six months since I hung up my bow. I have lived, slept, and trained with this blade until the callouses of my hands match the lines in its grip. The once oppressive hold on my mind has been turned into a comforting coexistence. Its weight and lines are as familiar to me as a part of my own body.

    I have learned do things with this blade I never thought possible. I have danced and sparred until my body ached and my mind became numb with repetition. I have bested my instructor, and he told me I was ready. We celebrated with quiet ceremony, yet inside I was terrified.

    Now I walk the streets of Peltarch, awaiting a tragedy foretold in prophecy. I have no idea what to expect, so even the rumblings of the senate have me on edge.

    This tragedy will be orchestrated. Someone evil will be behind it. We will find each other, and only one of us will walk these streets again.


  • Fear

    I rarely take the time to pray. I mean really, really pray. Fear does that to one I suppose.

    Anelundil has given me the day off, and I found myself in the temple of the Triad, which I knew in my time as the Temple of Tyr due to Daisy’s influence. I sought solace, and while I considered making a pig of myself at a local bakery, I didn’t want to undo anything I have accomplished in the past several weeks. At times I’ve sought solace in drink, but I avoided that for the same reasons.

    I thought I knew how to fence. I truly did. But it’s been made quite clear to me that I only pretended. True knowledge of the blade is as much a dance of the mind as the body. I’m a quick study but I’m not twenty any more, and my body is sore enough that sitting on the pew is difficult.

    I have asked Tyr for guidance, but the only answer I have is silence and the majesty of this building with its ornaments and stained glass. The blade and I have made peace with each other. Perhaps it knows the gravity of what lies ahead, and leaves me awash in my own fears, with visions of parries, ripostes, and inevitable ends.

    “Miss, are you ill? May I be of some service?”

    A hand on my shoulder startled me, and I looked up into a kind, almost fatherly face. There was compassion in those eyes, the kind that breaks down the walls we often put around ourselves.

    I wanted to say something. I wanted to be clever and witty. I wanted to tell him I was OK.

    Instead I buried my face in his robe and wept.


  • Train or Die

    I’ve given over my bow to Anelundil.

    My bow. The one my father designed. Its horn and dark wood laminate construction make it unique. I practice with it every day for at least an hour, and have since the times of Kanen Hightower. It is as much a part of me as my green eyes and ponytail.

    But it can’t be, at least for now.

    In wars, it is often the little unsung battles that shape the course of events. The soldier who defends the stairway to a tower just long enough for reinforcements to arrive. The scout who pick up a trail and informs the general of a troop’s location. The archer who wounds a leader, causing an attack to falter.

    Their names, like mine, will be forgotten. History will write the names of the leaders, the cities they represent, and the troops they command. The names of the individuals are lost in time.

    A tragedy will happen. I will know when it does. There will be a person that must be faced in single combat. I cannot fathom how it will shape the course of events, but I know it will. I must be there to face him.

    In order to win this battle, I must give up all that I am. I cannot be Robyn any more. Robyn the hunter, Robyn the archer, Robyn the woods women…She cannot be a part of me any longer. That woman cannot face him. To face him, I must live and breathe this sword of Tyr. It must become a part of me, as much as my bow ever did.

    …And I have so precious little time to do it.


  • Winning Means I Lose

    There was a tournament recently in Peltarch consisting of archery, fencing, and jousting. It all started innocently enough with an impromptu archery contest with a dwarf named “Gnarl” just prior to the tournament. I won some ale money from him, and though I felt guilty for doing it, I certainly could use the coin. He grumbled good-naturedly, and I think I may have made a friend.

    I won the archery tournament. Considering the class of adventurers I’ve seen in this time, I shouldn’t have expected to. Nonetheless I did, even before the tournament started. I rarely lose, and while I’m glad my overconfidence was justified, there will come a time when I cannot afford to be so full of myself.

    That time is now.

    Even before the fencing tournament started, I could feel the tightening around my thoughts. The sword wanted something from me, and I was powerless to resist. I could feel the invasive whispers in the back of my head. I fought them. I tried to think of something else. I told the damn thing to shut up, but before I knew it I had to challenge everyone. It became completely necessary to prove myself to someone else, though I knew not who at the time.

    And challenge everyone I did. I fought everyone I had a right to. I beat the priestess of Larue, the big half-orc that hangs around the commons, and even beat Raryldor. Vortelli’s instruction proved itself time and time again with each attack, parry, and riposte. Before I knew it, I was standing victorious at the fencing tournament too.

    “You fence well”, the tournament host said.

    He introduced himself as Anelundil. The name didn’t sound familiar, but the half-elf before me looked like someone I should know. We spoke in private, and soon the subject turned to Vortelli, Gwendolyn and the sword. He knew far more about this history of this blessed and cursed thing than anyone had a right to. Even me, and I own the damn thing. He even knew about the duels.

    He claimed to be the son of Vortelli and Gwendolyn…the one “they never had”. Considering what I know of Vortelli I first doubted his words, but he knew so much that I the doubts began to melt. Vortelli was very secretive about his relationship with Gwendolyn, even with me. Could they have had a son?

    “I’m here to teach you”, he said, “For the coming duel”

    The Duels. Not much scares me enough these days to turn my legs to jelly. I faced orcs big enough to move houses, demons, and all manner of critters big and small. Each one brings with them their own brand of fear. But the duels bring a different form a fear; one that has a righteous finality that only the gods provide.

    I talked to Talindra about the sword. With Daisy gone, she’s the only priestess of Tyr I trust. When the time comes, I’ll have to face my opponent alone. However, it will be nice to have someone standing behind me to pray for my soul.


  • The Aimless Archer

    I’ve been on several minor adventures. I’ve followed people in the wilderness while remaining out of sight, just to keep my skills up. I’ve met several good people, some of whom I might call friends some day.

    But by and large I am an aimless archer, with few duties and goals to call my own.

    I’ve traveled back and forth along the road between Peltarch and Norwick countless times, and encountered little more than the occasional traveler. With the exception of the Gnolls, the land here has been pacified. The Eastlanders that once occupied the pass are nowhere to be seen, and even the larger fauna have taken to the deep woods. In my explorations I even found the old Wolf Den, but no one was home. Perhaps they no longer have a purpose here.

    The chaos and crime in the city of Peltarch has reached proportions of which I have never seen. It’s as if the wild has gone out of the lands and been moved into the city. It’s become so distressing, and I lack the authority to do anything about it, that I’ve moved out of the Mermaid and setup camp in the woods outside of the city. I mentioned to one of the local magistrates my former position as inquisitor, but I did not press the issue. I have no desire to wear that mantle again.

    Even the sword has remained silent. There are no dreams of Lady Winters or Vortelli. I have not woken in strange places, nor has it whispered to me since I received it. Perhaps it’s waiting for me to gather my purpose and strength again, or perhaps it needs to waken from its slumber in the Temple.

    While I wait for purpose, several people seem to keep cropping up in my meanderings.

    Lady Talindra is a priestess of Tyr, and with Daisy’s absence I believe she will one day hold the key to the sword. I have traveled with her a few times. She’s mostly quiet until she has something important to say, and I appreciate that. I have not told her of the sword, and am hesitant to. I sometimes wonder why I even told Raryldor. I could easily see myself calling her friend, given time.

    Corwin is a member of Spellweaver, and while I never trust wizards, for the most part he seems bookish and harmless. He also strikes me as being rather innocent in a way I find hard to describe, perhaps due to his focus on his studies.

    And finally, the lady Val was able to enchant a belt for me, for which I happily traded the Norwick Crest ring. She called it the “Belt of the Gambit”, or something similar, and it offers some protection enchantments I’m sure I’ll find useful.

    I’m sure that all these people and others who I’ve met will make me feel welcome into this land again, but I can’t shake the feeling I really don’t belong here. I’m from a different, chaotic and more violent time in this land’s history, and my presence here has me confused and baffled.


  • The Girl, the Sword, and Everything

    The idealistic sixteen year old girl who received the blessed sword of Tyr is not the same one who wields it now. She is buried beneath layers of cynicism, pain, and regret. The sword doesn’t seem to care however. It wraps around my thoughts with a firmer grip, perhaps hoping that idealistic young teenager will be squeezed out into the world again.

    I told Raryldor about the sword. The sword didn’t seem to mind. It would have let me know with most painful repercussions if it did. The sword was crafted by an elf. I was taught the art of Elvish fencing. I speak Elven fluently. Even the cloak that shelters me from the rain is full of magical Elvish camouflage. Though I am quite human, my life has a healthy dose of Elvish influence.

    Of course the sword didn’t mind.

    During our conversation, Raryldor told me about a place called Oscura. I have healthy memories of Narfell from … well long ago, but I would certainly remember it from then, and I don’t. Raryldor described it as city with a corrupt government, churches of evil deities, slavery and corruption. I found it hard to fathom a place like this would exist underground for so long without being discovered during my time, but he pointed to a barge in the docks of Peltarch and said I could pay the ferryman when I was ready.

    I wasn’t ready, but I went regardless. Acting first and deciding later that it was a bad idea is the story of my life.

    Yes, Oscura exists. I was there. It’s a dark, foreboding fortress of a place set underground. I wandered through it getting a feel for the place, didn’t like what I saw and left. Not much to tell really.

    Raryldor told me he had a lot on his plate, and that he was looking for allies to help him with everything.
    “There is simply too much to do, and I can’t do it all alone”, he said. After asking, “Why me?”, he said it was because I looked trustworthy.

    Perhaps I should work on that. I don’t want to get involved in everything.


  • Lost in Familiar Places

    Like my belongings, Peltarch is the same … but not. The guard barracks and section are no longer there. There is another temple. Hemrod moved shop. Even the walls have been rebuilt.

    There are no familiar faces. People walk around going about their business. I feel I should know them, but I don’t. This is not the same Peltarch I left so very long ago.

    I asked an errant elf if there had been a war. The condition of the walls seemed to indicate cataclysm and ravages. I had expected a simple “Yes”, but what I received instead was an invitation to tea and a long recounting of recent events. I wonder if this elf who goes by the name of Raryldor does this to all the people who ask him questions.

    I took a boat south to Norwick. Like many of the places I’ve seen, it’s the same … but not. Norwick has expanded considerably in the passing years, and buildings have moved or added. While I was there, a speech was given by one of the guards, and he and the new leader of the militia argued with other visitors about preparation for war, and lack of recognition for their contributions in recent conflicts.

    I tuned it out after a time. The bluster, arrogance, and lack of respect on both sides was astounding. Eventually, I headed back to the city I served so long ago.

    I ran into Raryldor again. He invited me to go on a trip to the Underdark with him. Perhaps he’s truly insane, or perhaps the Underdark too is not as I remember it.

    I did meet a nice woman named Val. I had been trying to sell the ring given to me by the old leaders of Norwick. I don’t have a use for it, and the magic is rather powerful. She offered to enchant me a replacement in trade of the ring, and I accepted gladly. Val is a member of the lore masters and bards in the city, and much of my good fortune has always centered on such good natured people. Zyphlin was Adam’s protégé, and Adam was one of Kanen’s best friends. All good people in their own way.

    As the city grows more familiar with each passing day, the question remains of my purpose here. Without it I am truly lost, even in familiar places.