3. Nathen Wingates - Mystran Bard.

Nathen Wingates - Mystran Bard.


  • "Aristocratic Assasins."

    -The Crew.

    _"So tell me where were goin' gild." Nate took one last casual glance around the south fire, fastening his right gauntlet and tying it tight. He looked to the questionable group at his side. Gildor, alleged urbain thief, idly stroking the hilts of her shortwords. This human woman named Linah, he'd never seen her before. By the looks of her she seemed rather reserved, and by the way she walked he assumed she was just another sneak.

    Kara was there, her yellow-red armor and cool, calm eyes seemed to reflect rays of light despite the downing weather. Her confident demeanor was fitting for her status as a Paladin of kelemvor - which she was, and proud of it. The elf named Elvin and his sleek panther remained sitting lowly against the wall, observing there companions closely.

    He glanced to his right, a slight frown on the barbarians face as he hefted his greataxe over his shoulder. Rain splashing on his clean-shaved, bald head.

    "I'll tell ya where were goin' kid, were here t' swipe a bow from Ugog fer Linah." She grinned slyly as she gracefully pulled herself to her feet from the tree stump, her grassy green eyes shifted calmly across the gate, towards the forest, then to Linah who was leaning on the tree, arms folded, face calm and focused.

    He chuckled a moment. "Yeah?" Nate had heard quite the rumour from the suposed goblin king Ugog. "D'you know that he had multiple goblin lovers?" He tied the last buckle to his dark black set of plated armor, hefting his fine club and shield. Gildor smirked, Linah kept her thoughts to herself, as did Mardo. Gildor spoke up. "Whatever kid, remember you n' the barbarian stay in back. Lemme, Kara and Linah hold tha front." He nodded promptly and patted the barbarian next to him on the back.

    -Sneaking behind there lines.

    "You better be ready for this bud." Nate grinned sideways to the barbarian as they all trudged through the near woods. His face remained still thanks to his obvious great discipline learned as a warrior. "Yes." Nate quirked a brow and decided to look forward instead.

    Gildor and Linah were jogging lightly and without a sound, the occasional shift in the elf's upper body to scan the area gave. Linah however stayed low, back arched, arrow knocked her eye lids closed halfway, focused and ready for anything.

    Like Elvin, Kara walked tall, in between the sneaks and the bard, her sword gripped tightly at her side and her silver shield strapped to her left. Her head tilted forward as she walked, perfectly aware of the danger that lied ahead.

    Nate begun to hum lowly to himself, just to pass the time. They hadn't seen a goblin in a good half-hour so he'd grown casual and care-free. He didn't even notice the fact that Gildor and Linah each disapeared into the shadows around them. Elvin and Kara listened to his hymn, not really knowing what to make of it. Mardo the barbarian simply ignored it.

    Nate glanced casually to the right before hearing a twig snap at. His head turned breifly, Kara swallowed lightly and brandished her sword. The goblin's eyes narrowed and focused the bard, gripping it's dagger tightly and charging. "Tuff luck." An arrow sung through the air, thumping into the goblin's neck.

    Nate froze still, watching the goblin's eyes roll into the back of it's head, small crimson lines seeping from the arrow wound. Then he saw gildor, brandishing her bow with a sarcastic smirk. "Watch yaself, kid." He sighed relieved and wiped the sweat from his brow, Kara and Mardo shook the startlement from there heads and pressed forward. Linah remained unseen.

    -The keep.

    Gildor grinned slightly, Nate peered from behind Kara's shoulder at the cave entrance. Linah faded into view from the shadows, left hand on her hip, right hand holding her bow loosely. "This is it."

    Nate swallowed lightly and crept behind Kara along with Mardo as the group slowly walked into the darkness. "Alright everyone…!" Linah spoke up, turning around with a serious look on her face. "This place is rumoured to be full of traps. I want everyone to stay behind me and Gildor while we check and disarm traps, got it?" Nate, Kara and the rest nodded. Gildor crouched just beside Linah, smirking.

    "Found one." She said casually through her slight smirk as she cut the trap's wire, disarming the trap right from behind the human sneak. She shook her head with a slight chuckle before they both went to work.

    Elvin continued just a step past Gildor that moment, Gildor quickly hopped up and extended her arm to stop him. "STOP, Idiot!" He frowned and tilted his head, she continued. "You got a death wish?" She said with an extremely sarcastic undertone. His frown deepened. "I came here to help, not be insulted."

    He turned and begun to walk towards the exit of the cave, brushing past the bard and barbarian. "Good luck." Gildor rolled her eyes and went back to scanning for traps along with Linah. Kara sighed and glanced towards Nate. "Well there goes our healer." Nate rubbed his brow with a sorry look and shrugged. "I can heal..." His words didn't seem to cheer her up any.

    -Wires, Pins, Cogs, Spikes and Acid.

    They had managed to creep deeper into the dark cave, only supported by Nate's torchlight and there keen eyes. Gildor and Linah had disarmed and disposed of countless traps, but they had yet to meet any real danger.

    Linah unlocked a chest, peered inside and shrugged. Nate took a glance, seeing a pair of old boots. He smirked slightly, reaching inside and picking them up. He leaned down and put them on before continuing. "Boots are boots, whatever."

    Gildor bent down next to Linah to examin a wire, trying to figure out where it lead and if it was a trap or not. Nate stood behind them, peering down and watching them work. He looked up, seeing a small glint in the darkness. "What…" He leaned forward slightly, Gildor's ears perked up at his words. "What is that...?" He asked, only to be interrupted by a splash of acid hurling through the cave towards Gildor and Linah.

    With a confident spark in her eye, gildor kicked the floor and tossed herself to the left, Linah dug her foot into the dirt and threw herself to the right. Gildor landed, back against the wall, her quick hands reaching for the bow on her back in a split second and knocking an arrow. Linah also drew her bow before the blink of an eye, having knocked an arrow as well.

    They both released there arrows at once, each one hitting the darkness from which the acid had come from. The creature staggered forth into the light, Nate got a glimpse of the disgusting beetle, spewing green blood with two arrows dug into the soft spot between it's armored shell.

    They both gathered themselves. Nate whistled a moment, standing next to Kara and Mardo with an amazed expression. "Wow... Nice job you two!" Gildor grinned slightly, Linah just turned and continued to scan for traps.

    "Where to now?" Linah turned to Gildor as they arrived at a cross-path. "Left or right?" Gildor looked between the two passages and shrugged. She hefted a coin seemingly from nowhere, quickly flipping it in the air and snatching it, slapping it against the backside of her oposite hand. "Tails... Right."

    -The Goblin King.

    They turned the last corner and took a moment to gaze at the giant door before them. Nate gripped his club loosely, swallowing lightly. Gildor rested a hand on her hip, Mardo gripped his axe tight. Kara kept a firm hand on her bastard sword. Linah, with a small glint in her eye, touched a ring on her finger and seemed to merge into a ghostly state. No one bothered to ask any questions.

    "Can you hear'em…?" Gildor pressed her ear against the door. "Tons of'em." Nate gulped. Linah remained calm. "This is it." Kara spoke up. "We'd best be ready." Nate loosened his armor a moment, humming a hymn, wrapping his group within the weave for that extra protection and strength. He quickly rebuckled it and gathered himself for the fight to come. "Ready... Steady... GO!" Gildor kicked the door open, jumping back and knocking an arrow. A battle-cry was heard from the deep confines of the room, the goblins began to rush out to kill the intruders.

    Gildor and Linah kept knocking and releasing arrows, Nate sung his battle hymn and held them off the best he could alongside Kara. Mardo swung his axe with borderline insanity, loving every second of the battle. Goblin blood shed across the walls of the room, the wave was over. "Did we get him? Was he there?" Gildor's eyes flickered over the bodies for the one they were after. She sighed and closed her eyes a moment, then motioned the others to follow.

    Slowly, very slowly and carefully, the group walked into the room, eyeing the darkness on the oposite end. Gildor and Linah both had knocked arrows, Nate had his crossbow held and pointed. "Come on out you coward!" Shouted the elf as she scanned the darkness.

    ...

    "Your lives end here." The goblin's low, haunting and somewhat squeeling voice emerged from the darkness. The large goblin could have easily been mistaken for a dwarf with green skin, a disgusting snarl spread across his face with a small line of drool dripping onto the floor.

    "KILL IT!" Shouted Linah as they all let there arrows fly, the goblin simply growled and shrugged them off, charging forward and hefting his blade. Nate hopped back as Kara pulled her shield to block the first blow, Gildor knocked another arrow and show it in the neck, yet it still refused to die. Kara swung across it's chest, he took the hit with a slurpy scowl and lunged towards Mardo. Nate pulled the trigger on his crossbow, he could see the bow the goblin had on it's back. Linah frowned, gritting her teeth and spread her ghostly blue fingers, releasing the arrow as it sung across the room into the back of the goblin's head.

    Nate looked around nervously, seeing Mardo lying in a pool of red. "Mardo!" Nate trembled slightly, swallowing hard as he ran over and leaned down to check for a pulse. He closed his eyes. "He's dead." He said grimly before murmuring a silent prayer to Mystra.

    -Aftermath.

    "Farkin' piece a…" Gildor trailed off a few curses as Linah calmly leaned down, grasping the bow and looking to the heavy breathing Nate who was resting against the damp wall of the goblin caves. "Bard." He glanced up, she was holding the bow down for him to get a good look. He nodded, still breathing hard. "Yeah... That's the one." She smiled slightly, slinging it on her shoulder while Gildor crept up to the chest which no one managed to see in the heat of the fight. She opened it slowly, eyes widening slightly.

    "Is it more boots?" Nate peered over curiously. Gildor shook her head, holding up a few scrolls. "Resurection..." Nate's eyes glinted at one of the rarest scrolls ever to be created. "What're we gonna do with it?" Linah looked to the group, Nate glanced to the dead barbarian. "I'll tell you what were going to do..." Nate spoke up. "We're going to revive our friend, that's what."

    Gildor sighed. "But we could sell it for alot of money." Nate smirked and shook his head. "He faught well - Revive him." Gildor muttered and walked over to the corpse, unrolling the scroll and murmuring the incantations. The barbarian's body was shed with light. "Nghhhhhh!" His back arched upward and he gripped clenched his fists shut. He was back, Nate grinned faintly. They had there bow, and they had finished there job. Now only one thing remained - escaping with there lives.

    "Let's get outta here quick, I'll betcha we woke up a shite load of goblins."_


  • _"Her."

    On a couch, in the master's library, with goblet of wine and a solid book about some piece of Narfellan lore… That was where Nate usually spent his evenings. If the theater was alive, then the library was it's mind. It was filled with historical records, arcane parchments, and detailed maps. Yes, it also had artistic collections: poems, songs, plays... But they were on paper. Words on cold, clean paper, to be read and analyzed and thought of rather than experienced and performed and felt. Nate was right at home among the books and the academia. And, he thought, what's the problem with that? Bards are so much more than people give them credit for. They are scholars and academics, alongside whatever assumptions people make about what a bard does or how he or she does it. You do not need much more than a canny brain to serve others as a bard, really. We are in the business of information, of knowledge, of gossip... If you can provide them with that, thought Nate, people will surely appreciate the bardic profession.

    The library had for a long time been Nate's solace in solitude... Interrupted only rarely by a tea or a meal.

    On the stage, in the auditorium, with a foggy feeling he can't quite place: some sort of subtle sensation in his stomach ... that is where Nate was and what he was wondering that night. If the theater was alive, then the stage was its heart. It was supposed to be filled with music, laughter, song, stories, and poetry... Not on paper, but in the air, around and inside us. Ah, but for Nate, the stage was a dark and empty one. Tonight, and for every other night before it for as long as he can remember: no flames on any torch, no seats sat in, and not a song sang. Heh, songs. Imagine that, he thought. To sing here, in this place. Nate never sang in public; his songs were always private and personal. Even so, he hadn't written let alone sang one in years. He preferred plays, because he could write them in solitude and then ask others to perform--actors, directors, students looking to make an impression. He could do all of that, feel nothing at all, and still earn enough profit to keep himself and his college projects out of debt.

    The stage was Nate's least favourite place in the theater... To him, it was broken, darkened, and deserted.

    Why, then, was he standing there? Why had he been there for what felt like eternity? Several hours, at least. He had been searching for the answer for some time. Center-stage, alone, and in the dark. It made no sense. He was supposed to be reading, thinking, attempting to solve the latest puzzle or challenge involving Peltarch's politics or peril. Was he distracted or tired? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe that feeling in his stomach is something more, thought Nate. Was it his stomach or his chest, anyway? Or was it his soul? The feeling was like a butterfly vice, filled with possibility's invitation and impossibility's challenge. His thoughts sharpened, honed, and became clearer and more immediate: Your soul? A "butterfly vice?" Get a grip, Wingates. You're starting to sound like the tacky dialogue in one of your plays. Aren't you the one who spends all his time at the library? Don't tell me you're feeling something after all these years. In this circumstance, too? You're dancing with disaster. You always say a broken heart and feeling nothing makes everything easier, once the pain is gone. Easier to pull the strings, to play the part, to wear the mask. Easier to fake the laugh, fake the smile, fake just about anything...

    So what's the matter, Wingates? Isn't the library enough? Don't want to fake it anymore?

    Nate shook his head and drew a deep, shuddering breath. He exhaled slowly, trying to control his thoughts or... more accurately, his feelings. He had become so good at controlling them. Hadn't he? Why was it so difficult, now? The bard continued to search for the answer. He frowned and gripped his stomach. He figured out that the feeling wasn't really in his stomach, so he gripped the air, instead, and looked down at his hands. His eyes flickered between both... They hummed with arcane and the Weave. He tried to stifle the magic. To control and suppress it, as he'd learned to do. And it was harder than he thought. The bardic knack for magic not only became more chaotic, but more powerful the more emotional a bard became. Nate's mind raced with warnings and danger and risk, but his heart pounded and his soul sang. Why was he thinking in alliteration, and feeling in verse? Why did he itch to write a play--a poem, or even a song! Yes, a song, not for profit but just for its own sake, or perhaps for the sake of another. Others? The public? The public may have been worthy of the fake smiles and laughs, yet Nate couldn't bother to chant a single syllable for its benefit. If that were true, then why was he standing in the middle of the stage with this sudden urge to sing?

    . . .

    A crack of warm, shining light pierced the stage's icy veil of lonely darkness. A dainty, feminine hand pushed the auditorium's large doors open. The soft light reached farther and farther across the shadowy floor, chasing the gloom away. Eventually, it reached the stage, and illuminated the auburn haired bard standing in its center. When the light reached Nate, he squinted his green-blue eyes and peered up. Isolde Garibaldi stood in the open doorway…. with starry blue eyes, atop a perfect nose and crimson lips, her pretty face framed by soft red curls. The light behind her wrapped a silver sheen around her silky blue clothes. She lowered her gloved hand from the door and took a few steps, as she entered the auditorium. She made her way towards the stage, with her heels clicking against the floor, and her black cape flowing gently behind her. She looked up at the stage as she stepped nearer and nearer.

    "Isolde?" asked Nate. A faint smile tugged the corner of his mouth as she joined him on stage.

    "Nate!" replied Isolde. Their eyes met and she smiled. "I've been looking for you."

    "Oh. Well, I..." began Nate. He paused. There was a hint of realization in his voice, and his faint smile grew a little wider. "I've been looking for you too. What's up?"_


  • _"Abyssal Shadowflame."

    "Christina!" shouted Nate. He had buckled down to one knee, his cloak unfurled around him. He was in the bardic college lounge, with three others. It was not a pleasant evening. Around him, the torches flickered. Beneath him, the foundation of the bardic college shook unreliably. In the air, in his mind, in his chest, he felt it: shadow and flame, and the endless chaotic and vile promise of the abyssal pits. His hand clutched his heart, and he glowered over his shoulder - praying that his voice would reach the woman. "HIDE THE STUDENTS!"

    "Right away, Master Wingates!" Christina called back somewhere in the distance. Good, thought Nate. You heard me. You better not forget to keep Her safe. Wait, Her… Where was she? Nate froze. He had not seen Her in some time. Wasn't she in Oscura? But, what if she was in the college? What if some of the rubble fell, and -- Nate hadn't faced this sort of immediate physical and extra-planar danger in some time. What was a bard sensing the immeasurable power of a nigh demonic lord to do? Panic. What if they did to Her what they did to ...

    "Reyhenna!" commanded Nuwairah. The inquisitor stood next to Shannon, both of them with weapons drawn. Nate was on the floor behind them - subdued and incapacitated by the sheer malignant presence of their foe. He continued to hold his heart with one hand, and keep himself steady on the rumbling floor with the other. "Or whoever you are… We are not afraid. Lay down the weapon and surrender, or we will use force."

    Not afraid? Are you kidding? Okay, focus, Wingates. You need to keep a cool head.

    Alright, a cool head. What of their foe, then? Ah, twist the narrative knife. Just a few feet in front of Nuwairah and Shannon, wreathed in cool shadows and cackling flames, floated Reyhenna Jorino. Reyhenna was the college's appointed guard. A few months ago, Nate hired Reyhenna himself. A bit mouthy, but always friendly with the bards and the students. He did not know Reyhenna nearly so well as one might presume, but she was still a member of the college in his eyes. She was pleasant and almost bardic… at least, in Nate's point of view. The word 'was' being key, for now she was anything but pleasant or bardic.

    "YOU are too LATE. And I… I AM ASTOUNDED," boomed Reyhenna or what was left of her. "THIS HOST CONTINUES TO SURPRISE AND ENTERTAIN." Her, or perhaps 'its' voice reverberated with the screams of tortured souls. Her eyes burned with torturous flames of demonic pits. Her body was consumed in shadowy tendrils and lashing flames. Even her sword was surrounded with them. She had become larger, stronger, less human - a twisted vessel for the demon that inhabited her body. She floated in there this way and that, her arms moving like an invisible puppeteer pulled strings attached to her limbs.

    "Enough," spoke Shannon. He sneered and rested one hand on the hilt of the large crystal sword on his back, whilst his other hand glowed with the clerically divine energy. Nate was used to seeing priests use this type of magic, and the fact that Shannon was considered one of the high-clergy of Torm re-assured him, although Nate wasn't sure if it would be enough. The aura from Reyhenna was potent to the point of incredulity. Still, Nate frowned and nodded when he heard Shannon say: "She's gone. We subdue this 'thing' and then exorcise it."

    Nuwairah pointed her sword and readied her shield. Shannon steeled his stance, muttering the beginnings of a prayer. Nate crouched lowly behind the two and slowly began to wiggle his fingers to trigger the somatic components of a 'Haste' spell. The demonically enhanced Reyhenna floated in the air before the three, laughed and gestured a taunt with her free hand, while he other held the massive blade loosely at her side. The college shook and quaked, the air grew thick with tension, and the torchlights flickering with shadows.

    A bare, few seconds that felt eternity…

    Until Nuwairah lunged. She slid her metal greave against the stone, leaped forward, and clashed her scimitar against Reyhenna's greatsword. Shannon intoned the words of divine power, enhancing Nuwairah. Nate concluded his Haste spell, whirled off the floor to push his cape out of the way, and fired it off towards Nuwairah through a glyph in the air._


  • "The Stage"

    _He stood in the commons, just like he always did. He put on the chummy smile, the twinkling eyes, the friendly face - whatever it was that people expected to see of bards standing in the commons. Anything but the dour and cynical sneer you want to show them, thought Nate. You'll just make them sad. And not the good sad that teaches you something or makes you feel more alive. Just plain old sad. And that's just not what bards do, is it? Headmaster Zyphlin taught him that the city itself was a stage, and that people who saw the stage for what it was could write the next pages of the script. As long as you see the stage, and as long as you play the part, as long as you acted your role. Imagine the power in that? An actor being able to write his own lines…

    Smiles, everyone! Smiles! The show's about to begin!

    "Oh, Zyphlin. Where are you?" whispered Nate. "The stage is a mess. Everyone's in costume, but they're forgetting their lines." Nate looked around the commons. The very shape of the city was strange - no more Senate, a non-existent bardic network, and king's court to substitute it all. The king has a spymaster, a royal archmage, and a military adviser. None of which is a bard, thought Nate pointedly. We have people in the Ceruleans at least, still, but that's about it. Eowiel, thank the gods for you. And Lycka, our brave commander. Otherwise, there are no classic bards to be found anywhere within the upper echelons of Peltarch's structure. I guess, thought Nate, without a Senate, people don't care about public opinion as much. He thought quietly while he walked towards the theatre...

    Remember the masks! One must look the part!

    Nate smiled to Christina as he entered the Bardic College. She smiled back. Ah, Christina and the theatre. It was she who brought him his meals during his hermetic exile: the self-imposed banishment to his room! He remembered those years. Why come out, he once thought? The Crystalline Collective almost ruined everything. He couldn't save Eli. He couldn't stop the skinner. So much failure. The weave, his friends, his city. Forget about it, he thought. Best forget it all. Even now, nevermind it: everything was different and new. Maya was gone. Sis was gone. Everyone was gone. His mind reeled as he entered the college. They were all gone, yes. But they were not forgotten. Nate walked and reached into his pocket for the key. Yes, the key, reserved only for the select few with access to the bardic college's master's quarters. Here were the benefits of solitude. The ranks are easy to climb when there is no one left to keep you company (or compete with you) while you do it. He pushed the master's quarters door open…

    Showtime. Lights, places, action!

    Nate walked down the shadowy stairs of the master's quarters. He brought a torch with him, and muttered a cantrip to light the chandeliers. Inside, bookshelves and more bookshelves, filled to the brim with notes and art and history and everything in between. When he was a mere student, he always wanted to read some of it. Of course, it would be easy to read all of it now that he was a master and had nothing but time. He tossed his old dark blue journal unto a table. He wondered if he should add it to the collection in one of these bookshelves. He stared at it - it contained a small portion of his past in Narfell. Would anyone benefit from reading it? He wasn't sure. Maybe someday in the future a lonely bard might pick it up and check its pages the same way Nate checked the pages of Adam Bromley's journal, or Arryn's records, or Meril's poetry. How many nights had he spent in their welcoming company? He had lost count…

    Take a bow. Curtain call.

    And then... Her. He had never expected things to turn out the way they did. He saw a kindred spirit in need, and wished to do for her what Zyphlin had done for him - because the situation was all too familiar. Just like Zyphlin and Gildor, or Nate and Sierra, another bard with a broken soul would do no good for anyone. A tricky situation with an uncertain outcome. He didn't want to interfere. He just wanted his friends to be happy, to be alright, or at least not to be sad, he thought. There are too many people in the dark oceans of the bardic depression club. Why join our ranks? He thought he was pulling her out of its murky waters. He began to wonder if she was pulling him out, too..._


  • "Sinful Stratagem." - Journal Entry

    ::The words are pressed firmly into the parchment of paper, each letter scribbled slightly as if written hastily… the page sports a dark red stain of wine in its center::

    _I was in the commons today, after returning from my 'trip' to the library… I'm pretty sure I found the hints and riddles Zyphlin left in the books, and yet something still urks me, dear journal. I do not feel proud, nor do I feel any sense of accomplishment. Not because of the books, but--this is difficult.. I'm not even sure if I know what I'm saying anymore, or how I'm saying it. Let me try and explain.

    The feeling you get when you think you've solved something,like a pimple you thought you'd popped, yet resprouts a tenday after. Or the irritance of thinking you've shaved your facial hair clean, yet spotting a patch that you someway, somehow seem to have missed despite being extremely careful and cautious. O**..::A dark red wine stain blurring the words::...** when you think a little girl is safe after having gone through hell two years ago to assure yourself that its over, only to have a woman sit in your lap, murmur her name to you and tell you she isn't.

    ::A few scribbled out words::

    I asked Hjoichi to get my old case files from the Cerulean Knights for me. I don't have access ever since my quitting due to that crystal situation. I hope he's able to get them for me. I think I wrote her address on one of them, when I brought her home and left her to whom I assume were her parents. She wouldn't just be sitting in old men's laps in the center of the commons. She wouldn't. Perhaps the years pass slower to me due to my elven blood.. she almost seemed my age, now. But she wouldn't! No matter how grown up she's gotten!

    It couldn't of been her anyway. She had the same hair and eyes, but I'm sure it wasn't her.

    There's something I'm not seeing, something I don't quite understand. I hate this feeling.. everything was going so well._


  • "Free."

    _The bard's boots slid across the manor's outside balcony, bathed in Selune's light. His grin unrestrainable whilst he twirled, dipping his neck back. He closed his eyes and grasped the Mystran gospel close to his chest. Inhaling the Jiyydian air deep in his lungs lovingly, he felt it.

    He felt the weave.

    Exhaling happily, his head inclined back towards the sky, eyes closed, still clutching the Mystran tomb close to his chest, his heart, with both hands. His eyes opened sharply, he shot a glance downward at the front yard. A knock at the door–a Jiyydian visiting at this hour?

    Pursing his lips, from the high balcony, he spotted the small figure waiting at the door. He swirled on his heels, hastily making his way inside the estate, setting the book of the lady's mysterious aside. His fantastic red cloak flowing behind him whilst he walked down the stairs, and reached for the door.

    Opening it and offering a chummy grin dowards to the delivery hin, "Evening sir." The halfling glanced up, and fumbled with a bit of parchment, holding it up towards the orange haired bard. "Nathe Winate?" Nate smiled a bit at the edge of his lip, "Nathen Wingates," lifting his finger, and correcting the chap.

    The hin shrugged, "It's f' you, sir. From'at Peltarchian fella. Ra'cule." Probobly Zyphlin, he thought, accepting the parchment. Nate blinked twice, closing the door after a fond farewell. He turned slowly, and strode over to the table... unfolding it, letting his eyes flicker and explore the writing within._


  • Journal Entry…

    _…The crystals are acting up, again. It's faint, but I can sense it. Maybe it's just me. Probobly just me. More demons have been spawning and shifting realms, more and more... always more. You'd think the devils would of done something effective 'gainst them in the blood wars. Hmph. Well, whatever…

    ...I miss Maya. I haven't seen her in a while. I wonder, if she still considers me a crystal freak. Heh. By now, I'm sure your just as sick as I am of hearing the term 'crystal,' in fact... It's become a horrible cliche. Cliche, in this case, meaning a word used over and over until it grows dry and bland. I'm sure the term will never have the same meaning as it used to. Or maybe I'm just rambling.

    Maya... ...almost makes me feel sorry things turned out the way they did. Almost... but then, maybe it's the positive thoughts 'they' pump into my mind whenever I begin to feel sad.

    All these maybe's. Heh.

    I haven't written any songs in a while... I wonder if Zyphlin'd be pissed at me. Anyways, I still have this inkling in the back of my head. I'm probobly just being paranoid._


  • "The student and the tutor, part II."

    Men of five, still alive through the raging glow
    Gone insane from the pain, that they surely know
    Take a look to the sky just before you die
    It's the last time you will

    -M.

    _"I really got to get going, Nate." Lilly smiles as she sits across of him, pushing herself off the flat surface of the rock. He returns the smile, also rising to salute her with a casual wave. "Thanks for the chat, eh? I'll see you later, maybe." He watches as she makes her way west towards the nars pass, thinking on the conversation they had just had. "Yeah, okay, so you had your mind toyed with awhile back," He thinks as he watches her walk off, "I still don't see why Zyphlin wanted me to speak with you… what's he trying to teach me."

    He purses his lips as he thinks, realising that, aye, in some twisted way, Zyphlin Re'cual is still teaching him despite the fact that they hadn't had a real head-on bardic lesson chat in over two years. This lesson, however, is not how to play the mandoline, or birdpipes. It's a different kind of lesson.

    He sits back down, Lilly's figure gone in the horizon. His greenish blue eyes deep and ponderous. "What're you trying to show me, Zyph?" He thinks, scrunching his lips up.

    "You were supposed to ask her something, Nate." He hears a foot press lightly onto the ground behind him, seeing a familiar shadow being cast to his front. Gritting his teeth, he pushes himself up to turn and face the blonde haired headmaster facing him. He takes a moment to gather himself, relaxing slightly, but not quite. He sees Zyphlin standing across the rock, looking blunt as he shifts his clothing from the leather armor into a casual outfit.

    "Heh, no rapiers drawn this time, Z? What's the matter, going soft?" Nate says, keeping a wary eye on his former tutor. "No, I just doubt you'd try anything stupid, Nate. So, did you learn anything chatting with Lilly?"

    The orange haired apprentice takes a moment to consider, before finally replying "Yeah, I learned there's been a helluva lot of manipulation going on in Narfell." Zyphlin smirks, continuing to speak as he begins circling the rock, making little arm motions.

    "That's right. Lilly said she didn't even realise it until it was too late. Lilly told you how invaded she felt afterwards when she finally found out." Nate's eyes followed him, he remained perfectly still, not bothering to turn around whenever the blonde haired bard passed behind him, instead waiting for him to complete the circling. "I still don't see what this has to do with me, Zyph. What're you trying to teach me? Hm? Is it the same thing as always, 'Crystals bad,' is that it? Because I've heard that all before."

    Zyphlin just smirked. "No, Nate. It's not a matter of good or evil. It's a matter of what's happened. Look at the weave, Nate. Look at it. It's so messed up it's killing innate casters. Look what your new patrons have done." Nate frowns, responding quickly with a hint of snippiness. "I know what's happened, Zyph. I know exactly what's going on, and all I can tell you is that it's being fixed."

    He sighed, shaking his head. "Nate, how do you know what their showing you is even real? How do you know their not just showing you what you want to see? Hm? When's the last time you've even tapped the real weave?"

    The orange haired bard grits his teeth, frowning deeply as he hesitates to respond. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Zyphlin continues, "Do you know the two main reasons why someone can end up cut off from Mystra's weave. Well do you, Nate?" His greenish blue eyes harden. "Yeah, I do. And it's only done in extreme cases, because it hurts her…"

    Zyph nods, continuing with the same intentfull tone. "That's right. One is dead magic, but that's not the case here, we're in an immense wild magic zone. The other, though... the other is when Mystra herself deems the caster unworthy, incapable of handling magic in a responsible manner. Think about it, Nate. Think real hard."

    "The weave is being fixed." He snaps back, sharpening his tone aggresively. "No, Nate. To hells with the weave as much as it pains me to say it." Zyphlin's eyes dawn on him, stopping his pacing and standing still across the rock, seeming relaxed, but hinting otherwise. "I watched you grow up, I watched you since your first day in Peltarch. I watched you grow behind that little boy act, I watched you become something that could of been the next great bard, the next Arryn Raven, or Adam Bromley, – the people that apprenticed me in the past. And now..." He continues, breathessly but with a hard tone, "And now I've watched that boy become a shell of a man that he could of been. I've watched that boy get pulled into something over his head, I've watched that boy become possesed and abused, and he doesn't even know it."

    Nate's about to responde snappingly with a quick comeback, but the words choke up in his throat, "..b.." He feels a familiar twitch in the back of his mind, "Complete lies!" A frown crawls across his forhead, his face dark as he watches Zyph.

    A brief moment of silence interrupts the heated conversation. He could be right, Nate considers, as he watches Zyph, who has his eyes locked on him, watching for a reaction. What if he is right? No, doesn't matter, we've still got to do what we've got to do. He probobly is right, we probobly are being influenced, but that changes nothing.

    …Does it? "Ngh..." Nate's frown eases slightly, he takes a small breath. "I'll dig into the crystals for answeres, Z. The really important ones usually require alot of prodding. I'll see... -- we'll see, who's right. For now, I need time to think."

    "Take your time." Zyphin responds quickly, his tone unreadable as he begins to leave, his face turned, expression hidden.

    "...You know where I'll be, if you ever want the answere." Nate calls, twisting his words with a hint of sarcasm, but mostly simply hoping his former headmaster heard him. The blonde haired bard's armor shifts back into it's leather form as he dissapears into the snowy horizon._


  • "Crystalline Arcanist."

    Raise the blade, make the change,
    Re-arrange me 'til I'm sane.

    Lock the door and throw away the key,
    There's someone in my head, but is it me?

    P.F.

    _"Mystra's abondoned you, Nate. You're not even using her real weave anymore, your using that fake weave, that blasphemous creation that the crystals created to mimic your old arcane abilities." …Nate sits on the cliff near spellweaver, like he'd done countless times before. His shoulders slumped, thinking about what Merin had told him previously. Oh, he'd thought about it before, trust your writer on this, dear reader, -- but this time was different in the way that he had just finished discussing the matter with his fellow Crystal Collective members.

    They had all agreed that, aye, the weave he was tapping was not the beautifull array of magnificent magic created by Mystra... but in fact, raw magic spawned and charged into his body by the crystals.

    So, he knew now that Merin was correct, and he was using something other then her ladyship's weave. Shoulders hunched, cheek in his palm, eyes glazed and ponderous as he over-looked the snowy nars pass, the bard wonders: Does it really matter? No, it doesn't. He would still thank Mystra every single day of his life for presenting him with a body able to conduct arcane: The body of an innate, magically-gifted, bard.

    However, with the current change of events, he would not be able to tap the lady of mystery's weave. Not presently, in any case, at least. Perhaps some time in the near future, he thinks... when everything's settled, and the wild magic is cured. For now, though, he would tap the crystal's inner power and manipulate it as his own, he decides, nodding.

    He had changed so much, since arriving to Narfell. From a rookie arcanist, to a Gyspie Camp gali, to a member of the Bardic College, to a proud Peltarchian Cerulean Knight... only to have it all replaced by something other then what he was aiming for. Something better, he thinks, one hundred percent sure of this fact, without a doubt in his hazed and invaded mind.

    A crystalline arcanist._


  • "The student and the tutor."

    -Unlikely meeting.

    _"On second thought, I think I'll stick around – Just to see what you've got to say, just to give you a chance to 'convince me' like you said you'd be able to." Zyphlin stopped in his tracks, finishing his sentance, turning around and pushing a strand of his blonde hair from his eyes. "Confident, as always, headmaster..." Thought Nate, watching him that night in the eastern plains.

    Snowflakes floated to the ground between them as they spoke.

    Zyph had just walked by, probobly planning to ignor his former student as usual, just like all the others do. But not this time. This time he stopped, and was actually giving Nate a chance to explain, maybe even convince him that the Collective's motives werent as evil as he'd pinned them to be. They looked eachother straight in the eyes.

    Zyphlin's were distant, cold and piercing. He was obviously on edge, ready to defend against any attack. Wary, keeping every single bit of focus he had on the allegedly crystal-controlled Nate Wingates. Nate simply smiled, standing a few feet from Zyphlin, snow falling gently around him.

    "I'm glad your giving me a chance this time, Zyph. You're not just walking by and ignoring what's happening around you. You're actually giving me a chance to explain." Spoke the orange haired bard, and the headmaster just smirked. "Actually, I just wanted to see how farked up those crystals made you, kid. Your not even acting like yourself anymore." Nate blinked, then frowned faintly. He hadn't called been called 'kid' by Zyphlin in over a year. It was painfully obvious the amount of respect they had built and forged for eachother over their three years of student and master relationship wasn't exactly kept in one piece after the present happenings.

    "Zyphlin, the crystals arent trying to harm anyone. Their motives are pure and just. They are doing the right thing." The stoic, younger bard replied. Zyph just maintained his sneering smirk, and replied. "Tell me, Nate. Explain to me how you became part of the collective. Don't tell me you went and touched one of them, your smarter then those other idiots. Tell me, Nate." He kept his wryly focused, blue eyes on his former pupil.

    The orange haired bard just took a deep breath, tilting his head and exhaling slowly. "They had to use force, if only to show me the things that make me act different now, Zyphlin. With all the crap that I've seen, all the history, the corruption, all the bloody death and fighting, -- your damn straight I'm not going to act the same, I don't have the energy to fake that amount of cheer." He replied, the blue armored bard before him simply narrowing his eyes, and tilting his head.

    "Oh yeah? Heh, listen Nate, I want you to think about something…" He begun, his voice calm but his demeanor suggesting otherwise. He continued. "I want you to think, if these crystals are really showing you the truth, or what they want you to see. In fact, I want you to do me a favor, kid..." Nathen's eyes presented a glint of interest. A favor? Why? What reason did he have to trust him, now? No one else did. To them, he was just another crystalline freak.

    "I want you to ask Lilly, or Mirk, or Penny about what Bromley did to them some ten years ago. I want you to ask him how they feel about it, too. I'm not saying it was right, but it was for the right cause. And after they tell you what it was, I want you to think about it REAL hard, kid. Think real fricken' hard about what you think you're being told." He stated, with a sharp undertone. What was he trying to do? Why tell him this?

    He then adjusted his rapier's hilt, and turned calmly to begin his way back to the city. Snow flakes still dropping gently around and between the two bards as Nate watched his former tutor and mentor, the man he looked up to while he was growing up, walk away._


  • "Leering Consequence."

    Behind blue eyes,
    No one knows what it's like,
    to be hated, to be fated,
    to telling only lies;

    No one knows what its like,
    To be mistreated, to be defeated,
    Behind blue eyes.

    L.B.

    _His greenish blue eyes seem distant this night, as he sits on the Spellweaver cliff, holding his jaw with his palm. He sighs, his thoughts wandering, thinking, racing… and being shared through-out the collective link. Merin told him he wasn't drawing from the weave. Merin told him, that Mystra would never allow him to do what he was doing, to work for the crystals. Merin told him, that he isn't even using the real weave. Merin told him that it's simply the crystals mimicing arcane power. "Lies, Nate. All lies." He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes briefly, before taking a deep breath. "Total and utter nonsense. I won't believe it. I won't have it." He states out loud, snippily, nodding promptly.

    No one trusted him. Maya had exiled herself somewhere in the nars… he missed her much. But it seemed she was gone now. He hadn't seen her in a year. Zyphlin kicked him out of Peltarch... he wished his tutor would only understand. Merin accused him of being a devil, accused him of being a slave... what babble.

    "I'll be yer frens foreva Nates." He remembered Arielle's smile while she stated her vow. She said he hadn't changed, she said he couldn't be a slave, because he was the same person. He hadn't seen her in seven years, and she came back to Narfell right in the middle of the mess. She still looked the same, she hadn't aged a day. She commented about how he grew up, "Like a beanstock" I believe, she said. That's right, he remembers, seven years had passed since they had last spoken. He was still a rookie arcanist, a new-comer... he wondered if she saw him differently now.

    Nate sighs forcefully, curling his lip and thinking. "What's wrong, Nate?" Kara's voice merged into his thoughts. He replied sighingly, "Nothing… Just wishing things would be a bit easier for us right now. You know... trust issues." She chuckled, then sighed. "All we can do is wait… something is about to happen soon. Something that will help us, I'm sure." He smiled, but just a little. "Let's hope."_


  • "Crystalline Paradise."

    Crystalline; Adjective. Consisting of or containing or of the nature of crystals.

    Paradise; Noun. Any place of complete bliss, delight and peace.

    Tell me why are we
    so blind to see,
    That the ones we hurt,
    Are you and me?

    C.

    _The orange haired bard is not found in the large mansion estate in Jiyyd today. He isn't found huddled over a Cerulean Knights file, working overtime to solve some case. He isn't on duty as a guard in Peltarch, he isn't cleaning the latrines for the bardic college.

    He is laying down, on a flat surfaced rock near Jiyyd, just a few steps off the Eastern Road. His arms folded behind his head, smiling blisfully, bathed in the sunlight. Those greenish blue eyes of his, are closed, and it seems his tale is about to come to an end. When you've finally found what you were fighting for, for so long - Peace, that is - why continue fighting, if you've already found everything, and anything you've ever wanted? The crystals keep him safe, share his emotions, they wrap his mind in a soft cushion and cradle it kindly.

    Peace of mind… but not quite. Not yet, anyway.

    "I don't want to fight Zyphlin, or Maya... Or Meril... or any of my old friends." He thinks, feeling altogether against the whole idea, as he sits on the warm surface of the stone underneath him. "We probobly won't end up fighting any of them, all we have to do is wait, and be patient." Kara's voice chimed in, breathing it's way into his mind naturally and easily. He sighs at that, shaking his head. "We can't be sure. They all think we're working against the betterment of Narfell." Kara's response over the crystalene link is delayed slightly, before finally answering. "I know… your right. But we'll just have to wait and see what happens. Trust your gut, Nate." Nate chuckles out loud, half heartedly, in response. Shaking his head and fending off a sarcastic smile. "That's the thing, Kara. My 'gut' isn't feeling to optimistic about this whole ordeal. Come to think… I feel a bit edgy." He thinks.

    Kara chuckles. "Where are you, anyway?" He asks, she responds bluntly enough. "Still in Norwick, practicing my sword strikes." The bard grins then, feeling altogether amused and sarcastic inside. Kara pauses, briefly, furrowing a brow. "What's with the amusement, Nate?" Drat, she felt it. He snaps his finger, grinning. He takes a moment to consider a proper response. "Well?" He purses his lips, shifting himself on his rock, before thinking casually. "It's simply because you folks have no idea on how to enjoy life right now. Always practicing swords, heck, Thomas too" He feels her stop her movements, furrowing a brow. His senses tell him that the combat dummy she was practicing on is slashed to ribbons. "Responsibility is important. If I want to keep in shape, I need to practice."

    Nate just sighs dramaticly, rolling his eyes as he stretches slothfully across the flat surfaced stone. "Aaah… you realise we'll be fit and healthy with ease from now on, right? What you need is to relax and take a breather. Like the crystals would want us to. Peace and relaxtion, ooh yeah." Nodding to his thoughts as he sits there, smiling. "Tell you what..." He continues, "How about I paint that portrait I promised you? Oh... what was it, seven -- no, eight years ago?" She chuckles, he feels her amusement over the mind-bond created for them. "Fine. A break will be nice. And I think I've gotten enough training for the day."

    "There we go, that's the attitude." He states, cheerily – In his thoughts, of course. Because if he were really stating it, out loud that is, Kara would never hear him. If he tried to communicate with someone in Norwick all the way from his rock near Jiyyd, by means of oral communications well… that would be just plain silly, now wouldn't it?

    ... ...He remembered the day he'd joined the crystal collective. Jarek came up to him, grinning and talking about this treasure he'd spotted near the giantspire. He mentioned that he'd need a bard's magic to help, and asked Nate if he would. Nate never expected it, oh no. Not one bit. So, the bard and the barbarian made there way into the scale singer cave, and everything was going as planned, until... well, to make a long story short, Jarek knocked the poor bard down and out when his back was turned. Let's just say there never was any treasure. Let that be a lesson to you, dear reader. Now, Kara, who had been following them invisibly, was the one who assimilated him. He was subdued, wounded gravely, barely concious. She pressed her lips unto his. Now he thought this was some sort of kiss, and was quite confused. Even more so when he felt her draining something out of him. Nothing organic, mind you. Something spiritual. He still can't put his finger on what. But what's past is past. Let's focus more on the present... ...

    Kara sheaths her sword, with a smile. "I'm on my way. Be there in roughly two hours." Nate just lays back down, making himself comfortable in slothfull bliss. "Take your time, I'm enjoying the sunlight here in the road near Jiyyd, on my rock. My amulet takes care of the cold, and the frost, so all I feel is the lovely sun." He thinks, cheerily. She senses his joyous emotions as his thoughts melt into hers. She chuckles, and grabs her things, making her way towards Jiyyd._


  • "Thin ice."

    _Nate's boots step heavily into the Jiyydian grass as he hastily makes his way towards Bromley Estate. Quickly, keeping his face low, he fidgets with the key and finally opens the lock, pushing the door and stepping inside. Like he's done countless times, with a heavy heart, he steps up the stairs, eyes low and distant, just about ready to give Maya a farewell kiss as she sleeps, grab his things before word came to Jiyyd about the happenings in Peltarch and leave.

    He opens the door to the closet, walking inside and grabbing a bundle of clean clothes. He shoves them inside his pack without a second thought, noticing that Maya's clothes are missing. Not all, but some… His eyes flicker over to the door that leads to the bedroom. Couldn't be... After the briefest of considerations he walks over to it, opening it.

    But Maya isn't spread out on the bed, hugging her pillow and snoozing peacefully. Maya isn't in the magically enchanted pool of water taking a bath or relaxing. Maya isn't praying to tempus for insight, Maya isn't admiring her armor and how it shines in the light. Maya isn't sitting on the couch with her lips scrunched up in thought as she tries to figure out what to eat for dinner.

    ...Because Maya isn't there.

    His eyes then find themselves on her empty clothes drawyer once more, then back to the empty room. His gaze lowers, he pauses, thinking... A small skip of a heartbeat explains it to him, taunting him and laughing at him, 'Your too late, Wingates' ... it skips another, as if saying.

    His hand rests over his left breast. Take a moment to think, Nate. Take a breather, give yourself a chance to consider what could of happened. No, nothing to consider, it's obvious what happened. But what if she's in danger? She's a big girl, she can protect herself, quit worrying. No time to look over the possibilities, Nate. Only time to grab your stuff and leave before word spreads.

    ..."Yeah..." Frowning faintly, with one last grim breath, he reaches over and grabs the bag he'd packed his things. He had to get out of town soon. Word travels fast from Peltarch to Jiyyd. But not as fast as a hasted bard. He still has time.

    Buckling the pack over his back, he quickly steps down the round stairs leading to the lower level of the estate. Closing the door behind him, locking it, and making his way through Jiyyd. Eyes occasionally dancing to the guards, then to the banning sign that had been recently placed. Finally, he opens the gate and closes it softly behind him, before uttering an invisibility spell and dissapearing into the nars.

    Many things to do, tonight. For now, the bard has to get away. Away from prying eyes and impulsive judgements. Away from lynch and pitch-fork mobs. But getting away is the least of his worries, now._


  • Journal Entry…

    _…I heard that the murders werent solved at all. Talgrath was wrong. But he had told me that they were linked to the shadows earlier, linked to the kidnappings. If the murders arent gone, what about the orphans? Are they going to end up getting kidnapped left and right again?

    I'm strongly considering taking Zyphlin up on that guard job I asked for way back when, the day I quit the Cerulean Knights. Jiyyd is a little odd. Not a bad town, just odd... different then what I'm used to. Oh well... He had agreed and understood why I had quit, too. I also need to give him the news that Gildor wanted me to. In any case, people are dying again. I need to find Zyph, soon. Maybe even move back to Peltarch, even if only to help. Don't know how Maya would take to that, though... I need some time to think on it. ~_


  • ((Good story…though I am wondering when Peltarch became Basin City 😉 ))


  • "Controlled Chaos."

    _-Walking down streets.

    Walk down the right street in the city of Peltarch and you can find just about whatever you were looking for. I make my way out of the bardic college, hauling whatever's left and getting ready to finish up my moving to Jiyyd. I march into the commons, seeing my ex-captain Anakore and his lady-friend, Nicahh. Not exactly who I was wanting to bump into, the last meeting between 'Kore and I was a little off-set, a little wierd…

    Regardless, I set my things down and dispel the invisibility sphere that protected my steps. Slumping down against the sundial, drumming my fingers against my knee and loking towards the couple. "Morning Anakore, Nicahh." They turn their gazes towards me and reply, "Hello Nate." A little exchange of polite smiles is done, I've gotten pretty used to that by now though. Everyone in Peltarch hides behind something -- Might as well be a smile, eh?

    Whatever, we continue talking, and I offer them some music. You know, maybe make some money to fill my light coin pouch, which it has been ever since that gnome in Norwick ripped me off. I chuckle at the memory. Clever little Frago.

    They agree to the music and I pull out my mandoline, plucking and strumming at the cords a for a few moments before starting. For a little while I sing "The Skinner, Part III" from my note-book in the bardic college.

    I finish up, a few minutes and no tips later, Anakore says he loved it, and so does Nicahh. Tips bag is empty, doesn't matter. A sleek figure catches the corner of my eye...

    She watches on, amused. Watching behind a masked cowl, leaning on a pillar to my left. Black and silver clothing pulled and strapped tight over her slender self, she claps softly. I smile in her general direction, otherwise shifting my weight and putting my mandoline back in the pack on my back.

    -Turning corners.

    "Nate." She calls me by name. That's funny… my mother specifically told me to stay away from dark clothed masked folk who didn't show their faces and hung around shady areas of the city. Yeah, real funny.

    This was someone I had met before... someone who didn't want me to know who they were. Regardless, she can't do anything, their are Peltarch soldiers everywhere. By the looks of it, she's an elf, but then again she could just be a really thin human...

    In any case, I don't recognise her. "Yes?" I respond, keeping my attitude polite as ever. "A word." She states, making her way west towards the giantspire and beckoning me to follow. I shrug and excuse myself from the happy couple sitting on the bench in front of me.

    As I walk by the stealthy figure, I notice something. Her stride is gracefull, her step, soundless. I know who she is, I just can't place it... stupid bard, you can figure this out. It can't be Divinus, she doesn't wear those kinds of clothes. And even if it was, I've learned to opress and resist her would-be mind magic. So, who is it?

    "Excuse me miss? Pardon my asking but, who are you and how do you know my name?" She continues walking, past the gate, into the giantspire, away from the fire. We walk towards a rock and she stops, standing in front of it. I blink and await my answere.

    And then the oddest thing happens. She dissapears. I take a moment to gather myself, I look around, ready to cast darkness and sprint out of there like a bat outta hell. But she re-appears again, a few paces north. She beckons me along with a slender finger. "This way." Oh real funny, lady. Keep taunting and toying with my nerves like that, I think to myself. Without a word, I follow.

    "Oh what the hell," I think to myself, "She's only able to dissapear and re-appear at will. What's the worse that could happen?" I tag along, pushing and fighting off every single instinct that's telling me to just ignor her and return to the city. You can't be too carefull these days, with all the crap that's been stirred. Like those crystals, or the kidnappings.

    We find a secluded area, a cliff as she pauses and turns around to face me. "Miss?" I querry yet again, to no avail. This is starting to look more and more suspicious and I'm liking it less and less. I have my hand near the blunt axe I have buckled to my belt, but before I can really do anything, she removes her helmet and cowl, shaking her light red hair loose from behind elven pointed ears. She presents a wink of her bright green eyes, coupled with a coy smile. I blink. "Gildor!"

    Turn the right corner in the city of Peltarch and you can find just about anything your looking for: Even old friends. And that's exactly who this was. This wasn't some two-bit wannabe sneak with tight dark clothing, this was a famed and trained stealthy woman who's probobly just as deadly as she is mysterious.

    "What're you doing here? Where were you?" I continue, rambling, my eyes flickering over her and just about everywhere else around my current location. But it's isn't like I'm not happy to see her.

    She chuckles, I settle down. We both sit, get to talking. I ask her what's she been up to, why's she been gone so long. And better yet, why she came back. We keep talking, she answeres my questions, if not a bit riddlish. While we're exchanging pieces of information, I notice yet another strange detail.

    It's probobly just my imagination, but the shadows cast by the nearby brazier seem to be extending and flickering towards the elf sitting just in front of me. Just a little bit... I'm probobly just seeing things. "Stupid bard, your just imagining it. Now quit looking like an idiot and focus on the conversation." I think to myself, rubbing my forhead, lifting my eyes again to meet Gildor's.

    It starts raining. Soft drops start landing gently on the grassy field around us, her red hair gets wet. I have to blink and squint my eyes so that no rain water upsets them, but I ignor the rain for the most part. Too focused on the infamous elf in front of me who just happened to have wandered back into the city that gave her said infamy, and just so happened to have stumbled unto one of my performances.

    She asks me what's been happening, she asks me how I'm doing and how the city is holding up, and I tell her everything. The more we talk, the more I realise she's changed.

    She looks weary, tired, worn out. She looks like butter spread over too much bread. I ask her why and she just tells me that she's focused and training hard. Training hard? For what? I disregard the comment, I ask her if she's staying instead. She shakes her head and continues. She asks me casual questions... how my child, Krystal is. I answere them all. I have no reason to distrust Gildor, no matter when people have told me in the past. She's always been nice to me, at least. Hells, she even helped me get a few keys a while back.

    After a few moments she gets up, I look to her from my sitting position. She warns me not to tell everyone that she's in town, but she asks me to make sure Zyphlin knows. I nod and agree, an easy task. She bends down to kiss my cheek. Then she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, the shadows cast by the brazier linger towards her. "Gildor?"

    "Hmm?" She responds, her body now half-surrounded by shadows, looking towards me. "It's just, you know... this city, you left a mark in it, and, well, -- It misses you, Gildor." I continue, pulling myself up to face her directly, she just chuckles and winks. "No it doesn't."

    Just like that she fades away, pulled into obscurity, pulled into the steady calm shadows surrounding her, and then poof... nothing. I swear this city gets wierder and wierder everytime I visit._

    ((EDIT Thanks for the compliment Zyph, it was a bit inspired, to say the least. ^^; ))


  • Journal Entry…

    …I quit the Cerulean Knights today. I need a vacation, a long one. I'm going to move down to Jiyyd or Norwick soon, too. I've also taken up a position as a squire for the order of the Divine Shield. They are a respectable bunch... And my good friend, Mariston, is going to train me personally. I hope this all works out. I also hope to spend more time with Maya.


  • Journal Entry…

    (Written with a calm hand.)

    _…Well, the questions posed in my last entry were answered today. Captain Anakore told me about Talgrath's expedition to the sewers, and I also just read the file about how they managed to find the culprits and destroy an evil hidden altar. Apparently, at the end of their voyage, Eli appeared and told them that the souls of the others were at peace, and the shadows wouldn't be appearing anymore. And that the city should be safe...

    Looks like the Eli that spoke to me the other day wasn't the actual Eli... just a figment or, perhaps a part of her soul... or probobly just the same vision as usual...

    I doubt I'll ever see her again, and I'm sorry I couldn't save her. ... In any case, I'm glad she's finally found peace, wherever she is.

    ...Rest in peace, Eli. ~_


  • Journal Entry…

    _…The oddest thing happened today. I was sitting in the Peltarchian commons, alone, by the sundial, thinking about my next move with the investigation, when suddenly, a little girl walks up to me. She tells me, "Nate, there you are!" -- I look up to her and squint, wondering who she is, and then it hits me. It's Eli! She's back, safe and sound. At the moment I almost didn't know what to say. I checked her for wounds, or anything of the sort, and she was fine! Hah! Talk about good things happening to good people! ~

    She only remembered the night of her kidnapping, though. She said she was the one looking for me. Talk about odd. … She didn't remember any of the visions I had or... anything like that, really. I brought her to see Daisy at the Tyrran temple, to see if the shadows had brain washed her to make her forget the events. ... She didn't want to enter the temple. She was afraid, shivering even. I asked the fellow inside of Daisy could come out into the street to examin Eli, but Daisy was busy. Eli whispered to me, asking me if we could leave. She was probobly just afraid of the new building with all the tall strangers inside, or something. So, I said "okay" and we left. I'll bring her back when Daisy isn't busy. Though, I can't help but wonder why she was so afraid of that little temple...

    I brought her back to her parents' house. They're probobly happy to see her. She lives in the docks. She was smiling and giggling, like before any of this crap had happened. ... It almost makes me wonder if it ever happened at all. Almost.

    Eli's safe and sound. I should be happy... but, something doesn't feel right. It's too... conveniant. I spoke with Meril about it at our usual meeting spot, the south Peltarchian fires, away from the ruckas of the city. And he says it is odd, but told me not to worry about it. I'm going to bring Eli to see Daisy as soon as I can. Just to make sure everything's alright._


  • "Diabolic Delirium."

    _My name is Nate Wingates. For over seven tendays I've been combatting and chasing the shadowed, hellish hallucinations that plague the city I live in, Peltarch. The creatures are made entirely of shadow and darkness. They've currently abducted numerous children, little boys and girls who were orphaned after the Peltarchian civil war.

    I'm going to open a bracket here and explain the war. The war itself, was caused by a rat-bastard Tyrran priest named Koreth the Crusader, who's too far stuck up in his own perverted vision of justice to see the total and utter chaos his actions have caused. Regardless, Koreth is now on the run, hiding like the coward he is, and we're left to clean up his mess.

    Now, many people were killed during this war. We won, in the end, but endured many casualties. "Justice was restored, peace brought back to the lands" some said, but not quite. Many children lost their parents, who were soldiers in the war. These children had no place to stay. The Bardic College took some in, aye, and a woman named Ocean Fyne tried to open up a place for them to stay, but by all means couldn't account for all of them.

    But that's alright. It's not like no one noticed the poor, homeless children. Someone did – or should I say, something. This brings me back to the abductions and attacks involving the strange arcane darkness and creatures made purely of obscurity.

    Now your probobly wondering how I got involved with the current state of affairs.

    The reason is split in two. On one hand, I work for the city. I am a cerulean knight, "first and formost," I have to help keep the beautifull jewel of the icelace, Peltarch, safe from magical disturbances.

    On the other hand... I met this little girl one night at the bardic college. She was off to her classes with Eowiel, a teacher who works there. The little girl's name is Eli, her and her friends only wanted to learn that night. Well, just as they were going to settle down and pick up there quills and listen to the teacher, one of those things I told you about earlier appeared. It literally consumed the two boys, leaving only Eli. The teacher and I faught and killed the thing, but couldn't save the two boys.

    The teacher, Eowiel Senella, who's also a Cerulean Knight, ordered me to bring the girl, Eli, to a safe, non-magic zone so she could be kept safe. In this case: The prison. So, I humbly accept my orders, and prepare to bring the girl to the destination. We're on our way, we're outside of the college, when another creature, another shadow-thing rears his ugly face again, appearing in an oscbure patch of magic. I hold Eli's hand tight, but it slips. Yeah, it slips, stupid bard can't even hold unto a little girl's hand to save her life.

    ...

    Anyway, ever since then... more and more kids, orphans, are being kidnapped. Yeah, missing, gone, without a trace, you know how it works. All cases match up. All cases are similar. Every single victim was poor, every single victim, an orphan, living in the slums. The slums that mister "almighty crusader of justice" Koreth created so long ago, thanks to his little war.

    So, I hold the weight of Eli's life in particular on my shoulders. The others, arent directly linked to myself... but Eli's, her existence, presses my responsibility. Anything happens to her at this point, it'll be on my head. I have this rotten feeling in my gut, this guilty reminder that it's my fault she's gone. My fault her life's at risk.

    It doesn't take me long to decide that I want this case, I want it bad. Anakore, the captain of my Cerulean Knights batallion, doesn't object and gives me total control of it.

    For seven tendays, I've been piecing stuff together. Asking my friends for help. Roubanes, Eowien, Maya, everyone I know can help. Especially Roubanes, he's always been there whenever something wicked happens, always been there to lend his knowledge of arcane as a helping hand.

    So, like I said, for seven tendays, we work on trying to find the missing kids, Eli included. One day, I decide to take a midnight stroll. A stroll I regret taking. I'm turning a corner in the Peltarch commons, when suddenly, I hear this voice. It tells me that, if I ever want to see Eli alive again, to go to this specific ware house in the docks. And to come alone.

    I don't have time to notice the guards and commoners standing near me, giving me strange looks. I answere the voice, asking who it is. It doesn't answere, tells me once again to head to the ware house. I think, whatever, this is the first big break I've had. Might as well take a look. I walk back to the commons first, finding my captain, Anakore. I warn him, telling him where I'm going, and that if I'm not back in five minutes, to come on after me.

    I might of been under some serious pressure, but I wasn't about to start making stupid decisions like going into a ware house in the middle of the night without a small back-up plan. I don't tell him why I'm going, though, because if he knew, he'd probobly just want to come with me to begin with. And if whoever contacted me earlier saw that I had brought someone, panicked, and killed Eli before we even knocked on the door, I could never forgive myself. He agrees, not knowing the full details, and I set off.

    I arrive at the ware house. I open the door, and take a look around. Empty? Heh, looked like it, though there was one thing I did see. That one shadow in particular, moving and taking a form, standing sinisterly before me with two red glowing eyes. He proposes his deal: If I stop looking for the other kidnapped orphans, he gives me Eli. I sneer at that.

    Decisions, decisions. I'm presented with a delirium.

    Like I said before, on one hand: I'm a cerulean Knight. Here to serve the city, not to amend my personal guilt.

    On the other: I'm that idiot bard who let the little girl he was supposed to protect get kidnapped.

    I need some time to think this, it wants an answere right away though. I stall it, asking it why it's doing this, who it is. I'm trying to buy time. Too damn bad it ain't selling any. My questions must of made it uneasy, it tells me "too late" and lunges out for me. That's alright, I came prepared for a fight.

    I fend it off, kill it easily enough too, if it isn't already dead to begin with. Then more of it's friends show up, they've been in the shadows all around the dusky ware house all along. I fight them, hold them back long enough, at least for five minutes…

    It was a fight I couldn't win. I shoved my way through them, headed outside, to see the captain Anakore and Chaevre waiting. Thank the gods for back-up plans. They help me fight tthe things off, and we win. Then we head inside, to poke around, maybe find Eli. We hear a girlish scream, then see it... a little girl's body. But it's not a little girl. Not anymore. The thought makes my stomach turn. The body giggles darkishly, and like some sort of puppet, it rises. Shadows lurk and slither across her body... and then, she dissapears.

    Eli... what have the sick bastards done to you?

    The investigations continue. Whether or not that body was Eli's, I wasn't sure. At least not 'till that one night at the Mermaid Inn, with my ex-lover, Shemaright. We had settled down for a casual drink. We get to talking. Her newly adopted child, Tillan I think his name is, was doing great. I'm happy for her. Funny, I haven't seen her smile like that in so long, and every time she does, she always says it's when she's around me. Whichever the case, I don't have time to comment. A familiar patch of darkness appears, behind us. And what's inside just about answeres my earlier querry, too.

    Eli stands there, surrounded by shadows, an unearthly darkness surrounded every single part of her. She shouts out to me, says I killed her, says it's my fault. Am I going insane? Why is it I keep seeing these visions?

    I'm not, Shemaright sees it too. The vision dissapears. She tells me to calm down, getting worked up won't solve anything. I catch my breath. I was in denial for a few moments... telling myself that that couldn't of been Eli, and that Eli was stronger then that. Who was I kidding?

    Whichever the case, one fact remains: The investigation is still on. Shadows are still attacking left and right. People were being killed and the regular city guard couldn't do a thing about it. My colleagues in the C.K. are helping, so are my close friends, like Roubanes or Maya. Giving me advice, helping me look, search the docks.

    There's one other thing that's certain. After all this chaos, all this death, this blood and sorrow... whoever caused it, isn't going to get away with it. Kids are missing, shadows are killing casually, and Eli's become a monster. So, what's certain is the fact that whoever's guilty, is going to pay, tenfold._