3. Inheritance of Fate

Inheritance of Fate


  • Valeran looked at his mother and smiled. It didn't work. She was still angry. He sighed and sat down at the opposite end of the table she continued to glare at him from. Her elven eyes seeming to bear the wisdom of millenia and more than willing to bore into him for twice as long.

    "Mother…"

    The glare worsened and the room seemed to grow colder to Valeran and he wisely silenced himself.

    "You want to join your father. Galavanting around Aber-Toril on grand adventures? This is your idea of fun? If you hadn't grown so big so fast I'd take you over my knee. Perhaps I still should." Valeran sat stoically and bore the words. His mind was set and she knew it but he knew she needed to do this.

    "No retort, Valeran?" Her gaze softened and she simply stared into her sons eyes for a few moments then suddenly, even unexpectedly, she nodded. Valeran stood up slightly then reseated himself.

    "You will leave Silverymoon. You will join your father but... not until he is ready for you." Valeran began to speak but was silenced with another glare. Not so cold as the first but just as assuredly a clear message. She continued speaking.

    "I can not convince you to remain here. I will no longer try. Your path is set. I see it in your eyes, my son. Your human blood will burn in you until you do this. It is my hope that it will burn out and you will one day return to your home, here.

    Your training will continue per your father's wishes. Troth has many more lessons to impart to you. Learn them well. Then when your father sends word, you may go."

    Valeran wanted to speak, to announce he was ready, but he simply nodded. He was convinced his mother would never understand his reasoning for wanting to go nor did he care to explain it. He would never be truly accepted in the city of Silverymoon. He was a half-elf. But the stories of the wild untamed lands of Narfell were of many peoples of often strange and exotic origins.

    Valeran had heard tales of the distrust and hate but so to had he heard tales of outsiders becoming heros of that wild land, heros revered and accepted, truly accepted. He would find his place in Narfell, but he would wait a time. The aging knight Troth would soon tell him he was ready. Then he would set out for the lands of Narfell. Then he would find his place in the world. Then he would leave his mark.


  • ((The background story will be continuing seperately from this part. Eventually it will catch up to this story which will be in the form of a journal kept by Valeran myself having been inspired by Kallethen's rather entertaining journal project.))

    **_Father's journal is both interesting and frustrating. Why are there so many missing pages? Every time I come across something that seems of great importance to this new land the missing pages seem to mock me. I suppose I'll ask him once I see him but I doubt his answer will be of any help.

    Which brings to this journal I now write in. Why do I write a journal? If I ever have a son it won't be to give it to him with missing pages. But the real reason I write this is because if Father did so, it may prove important one day for me to have done so as well. I suppose in time we shall see.

    Norwick seems a prosperous little town. Out of sheer boredom I decided to see if there was any work to do. The men Wald and Fine sent me on some errands. Some rather huge rats were my reward. I'd better wash these bites out again in the morning.

    The Eastlanders were an interesting lot. I did not speak to them but reading of what father wrote about them I find it difficult to believe they wouldn't set upon me in force yet they left me umolested on my journey to Jiyyd.

    Arriving in Jiyyd I met Baragorr. Father had introduced me to him when I arrived in Norwick. Baragorr was to be my watcher it seemed. He and a hin woman named Rhianna Bare had heard of an orc warrior in the plains to the south. The orc apparently posed some significant danger and Rhianna had sought out Baragorr to help her slay him. So I found myself on a hunt to kill an orc warrior.

    Hobgoblins and those orcs we first encountered fell before Baragorr's axe so quickly I rarely got a shot off with my bow. Then from around a hill came a much larger armored orc. He had a large axe in one hand and a small wicked looking axe in the other. His attack was fierce. A lion appeared and began attacking the orc as Baragorr and he clashed axe to axes.

    Rhianna and I stayed well back with her using magics and I using my bow. I was pleased to manage two shots into the orc despite the chaos of the battle. One was particularly well placed. I suppose all that training is showing dividends. In the end the orc was slain and Baragorr injured only slightly.

    I now find myself carrying the orcs axe and armor. It took some effort to refit it and get out the smell but now it serves me well and hopefully better than it did the orc. We shall see I suppose or rather, should entries cease in this journal that will speak of the success of this new acquistion.

    Rhianna seems a pleasant and friendly hin and I am glad to have made her acquaintance. After seeing Baragorr in battle I am very glad he is on my side as well. I feel I have learned a great deal from all of this._**

    Summary:
    Level Change: Reached Second Level
    Gear Gained: Chain Shirt, Battle Axe, Light Crossbow, 317 gold
    Contacts Made: Baragorr the Outcast & Rhianna Bare

    ((At the end of each entry I will include an OOC summary noting the significant accomplishments such as levels gained or lost, new equipment/treasure gained, any new contacts/friends/enemies made, etc. Gear will only be listed if it is something of value to the character be it monetary or of actual use. This will be primarily for my own reference but should serve to make the progression of the character apparent even when the words in the journal do not. :)))


  • It was annoying knowing Troth was toying with him. Whenever he thought he might land a blow the aging warrior would twist, spin, suddenly parry or something. Always something. Sweat beaded on Valeran's brow as he considered his opponent. Then the day's training was over. Troth lowered his blade signalling the day at an end. Valeran frowned at another day without landing a telling blow. He saluted with the blade as he had been instructed before placing it in his pack next to a tree.

    Troth had set out east leaving Silverymoon and Valeran to return home alone. It was late and the sun was setting. Valeran wondered over what Troth had to leave the city for but he knew better than to ask. Valeran knew the back streets well and used them to get home quicker whenever training ran late. This night was no different. Still, dinner would be cold and his mother's glare colder. His thoughts were drawn back to the present as he came to the door of his home, the home he had known for the last eighteen years. The door stood open, splinters of wood were visible on the ground as if someone had forced the door open. The smell of roasting mutton escaped through the door and another mustier odor.

    The only weapon Valeran had was his dulled training sword. Removing it from his pack and setting the pack aside, Valeran slipped into the shadows and silently crept into the home that suddenly seemed familiar yet unfamiliar. The table was overturned, broken plates scattered across the floor, stew still boiled in the kettle in the firepit. A body lay strewn across the living room floor. Panic entered Valeran's mind for a moment until he realised the body was of a man. Then he thought of Troth and quickly moved to the bodies side. That was when it moved.

    The movement was odd and jerky as it rose. It was not Troth. It was not even alive that Valeran could tell. The dead, glazed eyes turned on him as the charred torso came into view. A spell of fire had ruined and killed this man, yet he was standing up. Then Valeran realised he was not only rising but advancing and the flesh was falling off the cropse to reveal the skeleton beneath. The undead creature reached out with its hand and instinctively Valeran struck the arm with his dulled blade. The dullness suddenly served well as the blade impacted the skeletons arm splintering it. A second quick blow to the skeleton's skull knocked the skull from the neck and the creature collapsed into an unmoving pile of bones.

    A few, brief moments of stunned silence passed before Valeran remembered what worried him. Dashing into the side room he could not find his mother. Upstairs, nothing. The cellar, again nothing. Whatever had happened had happened in the living room as his mother prepared dinner, an hour or so past. From the wounds on the man he had been hit with a spell of fire. He had been an elf though not one Valeran had known. He calculated and considered what he knew and realised it was very little. The elf could have been a guest or one of the attackers. How and why he rose was a mystery. Where his mother was was another. The sound of plated boots stepping into the door behind him alerted him to another possible threat.

    Spinning with the dull blade in hand, Valeran attacked with all his might to feel the sword land against a steel shield. Troth's eyes met his over the rim of the shield and Valeran sighed with relief. "Troth, someone broke into the house and mother is missing! That elf turned into a skeleton and attacked! I.. what will we do?"

    Troth looked over the room silently taking everything in. He grunted and returned his drawn blade to its scabbard. "It's time to take you to your father. The trip will be long and dangerous and.. I can not go with you."

    "But my mother… if not you then how... I.." Worries raced through Valeran's mind. His mother was missing. Troth was sending him to Narfell and suddenly he didn't feel as ready as he had been telling everyone he was.

    "I will find your mother. I have hired men to escort you to Jiyyd in Narfell. They are sellswords but good men. I have travelled with them before. Watch them, learn from them. I can teach you no more. You are as ready as you will ever be training with a dull practice sword." Troth smiled and handed Valeran a bundle. "Head to the eastern edge of the city where we trained. They await you there. Now go!"

    Valeran nodded, grabbed the bundle and rushed off. He didn't pause to consider how or why Troth had already arranged for him to leave until he got to the clearing. Then he was too intrigued by his new companions to think about it. They were a mixed group and not what he had envisioned when the word mercenary came to mind. He cautiously approached unsure what to say or where to begin.

    ((The story will continue once I have created the additional mercenary characters. Players who want to create applicants from the far west of Faerun would be ideal here and can be assumed to be travelling to Narfell with Valeran as hired escorts. After finding a few players interested in doing so the story will continue and include those who 'travelled with him'.))