3. The long walk of Furian

The long walk of Furian


  • Chapter One.

    The long walk began late in the night when Furian woke up and headed for the ridge of the Dragonspire. He had every intention of returning to his home that morning, but the fate of his life would take him far across the Faerun to lands few of his kind had visited. As Furian made his way up the dark, rocky path, he clutched in his hand the Gyterun, a stone given to each of the priest of his sect when they had shown themselves worthy of their people. It was a precious gift of power and meaning, a gift granted only to the faithful that they might commune with their god and know their calling in the world. Furian had known a dozen priests to walk into the darkness with the Gyterun. Each returned the next morning and took their place in honor and glory among the leadership of their people. The journey from the great dwarven halls of Saluthai to the surface spires of the Dragonspire had been practiced by every man of faith for as long as anyone could remember. No dwarf feared the journey; it was always a moment of enlightenment and honor.

    Such was the feeling in Furian's chest when he came to the top of the path. The night was cool and clear, the great constellations of Seline and Shar entwined in their eternal battle in the sky above. At the crest of the ridge, he could look south into the great valley that stretched over the River Tesh. The land was dark below, with a thick feel of humid air settling in the expanse of land before the Moonsea. The great expanse of Cormanthor seemed like a heavy blanket upon the land. That great forest stretched as far as Furian could see into the darkness, the power eminating from it almost a palpable rush like the steady crashing of waves on a rocky shore. The light of the moon streamed down across the wet valley, its pale blue light sparkling on the wide streak of the Tesh that wove its path across the valley floor to the sea. There was no light of habitation to be seen, though Furian knew of the many enclaves of men and elves that populated the region. Since his return from the mouth of the White River, Furian had kept close watch on all the movements of men about the northern coast of the Moonsea. He had gained a deep understanding from his education and would not forget the importance of knowledge in the unfolding tapestry of the world.

    Finding a suitable perch above the world, Furian sat down upon the cold rock of the Dragonspire. The touch of the living stone was always a comfort to his inner turmoil, a memory of his people who had long lived and died within the rocky halls of its depths. The memory of his father and grandfather lept to his mind. Both had been priests, as well. Both had come as young adepts to the top of the Dragonspire to unleash their own Gyterun. Furian looked around and wondered about why he had chosen the spot upon which he now sat. Perhaps it is where my father came, he wondered silently. He had never came up this path before, nor had he heard of any others using the narrow path along the Wishwind Falls. The Zhentarim sometimes patrolled this high and they were to be avoided. But Furian knew that nothing more than small scouting squads from Citadel of the Raven would ever make it this far, nothing worse than a few boys with rusty swords on fools errands… no match for a dwarven priest with the love of his god burning within him.

    A cool breeze blew through his thick beard. Furian fingered the stone in his hands. The Gyterun was a small, completely nondescript stone of the most common grayish color. Its surface was smooth as if it had laid for ages in a riverbed or rolled softly on a surging seashore. Should he have dropped in on his long climb to the top of the ridge, there would be no chance of finding it among the thousands of like stones that littered the Dragonspire. Nonetheless, Furian could feel the power within the breathing stone, a power that reached out to him in a warm and resolute manner. More like a destiny, he thought, turning the smooth rock over and over in his thick hands. That his family had produced such a distinguished line of priests was of wonder to most of his kin, yet to Furian, it seemed little more than his birthright that he should come to this moment. A night atop the Dragonspire with the Gyterun, then a lifetime of honor and priviledge as the chief ecclesiastic of Saluthai.

    Furian continued to turn the stone over and over in his hands. Their had been no instructions on its use; rather, he had been handed the stone in ceremony by his father, and then in a series of proscribed rituals, delivered into the open air from the halls of the temple. Furian had not wondered if he would know what to do with the Gyterun. Such a thought seemed silly until now. But as he turned the stone and felt its radiating power, a sudden fear took hold within him. Perhaps he had been too proud, too confident, too careless... perhaps he was not ready... perhaps it was not meant to be...

    Furian seized hold of the communal stone with a tight grip as if to ward off the sudden feelings. Like a flash of brilliant sunrise, the power of the Gyterun erupted soundlessly across the still nighttime air. Faces and places flashed through Furian's mind as he seized the stone in his hand, fingers tightening convulsively around the small rock so rigid that they threatened to break in their strength. His mother, his father, his brother and sister, his people, the men he had known, the elves he had spoken with, his years at the Keep, the magic he had seen, the battles he had fought, the lives he had ended, the bodies he had healed, the dead he had raised... all the furious and turbulent moments of his life crashed upon Furian like the most severe hurricane. His chest was so tight he could not force a single breath into his screaming lungs. Pain and agony crashed through him as he lived his whole lifetime of sorrows and disappointments all renewed in the space of a few moments. Then came the elation. Wave upon wave of satisfaction, glory, honor, success, and victory. The growing mania felt more threatening the deepest pain, its fervor growing so intense that it promised to loosen Furian from his wits. Blood ran freely from his gripped fist as his nails bit deep into the soft flesh around the unyeilding Gyterun. Furian's mind darkened as his heart and lungs began to fail. A single thought finally seized him. No nobility or honor... simple necessity...

    "Breathe, you fool!" he screamed to himself, "breathe before you are nothing!" And so the moment was broken and Furian came to the first true breath of his life. With the rush of air into his stinging lungs came the crystalline commune of the Gyterun. It was not of himself as High Priest of Saluthai, a lifetime of priviledge, power, and honor amoungst his people. The message of his god was as clear as the mountain night or of the waters of the Tesh... an image of the great cold plains of Narfell where the Nars run wild. Furian knew the place of his commune immediately, though why he could not say. There he could see himself standing on the cold planes, surveying the valley below... there was fear about him... and weakness... a battle erupting? An empire falling? Furian could not say. But there he was... the god had spoken... Furian was to be in Narfell.

    Had he known the journey of the Gyterun was to be more than a single eve, Furian would have packed more sensibly. But such is the way of the Will, thought Furian to himself as he walked East across the ridge of the Dragonspire. That he had little about him but his robe and wits seemed somehow proper. He thought of his father and his mother and wondered what they would make of his disappearance. It would be a tremendous shock to all of Saluthai. A distant part of his mind urged him to return to the citadel before beginning the journey, but in his heart, Furian knew this to be only cowardice and sacriledge. The summon of his god did not go unheeded. He was to walk now. Foot in front of foot he crossed the dark ridgeline to the East.

    So began the first 190 days of Furian's long walk...


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  • Playername - Furian
    Login Name - Daeftan