3. Into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war.

Into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war.


  • See

    _Into the caverns, trough Oscura and further in. Three had died in the caves where the ettins had died and their souls had whispered to them to be saved, before being forced into the next realm. This often happened, and he had a tendency to ignore them. Let their own priests help them. But this time something was different. One of them had been the soul of Benji, a promising halfling tinkerer and crossbowman.. one of few in the land that had a faithful soul, even if the hin did not know it himself yet. This one may yet need to be brought back.

    He paused briefly outside the gates. He checked his belt, and found two potions of invisibility. One for going in, and one for leaving. And a small set of healing potions, just in case. He drank the first potion and ran into the kua toa cave, his heavy footsteps muffled by the loose sands. But somehow the fishmen could sense him wherever he went. And he was forced to fight them off, losing the protection of the first potion.

    Onward deeper into the caverns, into the wandering tunnels of the ettins. The giants were loud. Louder than the clanking of his own boots on the stone and the movement of his armor plates. He ran deeper and deeper, until he heard one ahead. Peering around a corner, he confirmed his fears. A shaman. He drank the second and last potion and moved unseen past the shaman, who could do nothing but swing at ghost sounds. First to find the hins' remains, then he would deal with that giant. If the hin had not been eaten yet, that is. Time was always short.

    The first corpse found was one he could not identify. Legion-colours. Human-sized. Irrelevant. Deeper in, the corpse of the Temposan. Burned from the inside out, with the remains of a trap nearby. Lightning. What a pathetic way for a Warpriest to die.

    The hin's corpse could not be much further in, yet the path was blocked by ettins and his potion had worn off. He quietly chanted his prayers, praying for strength and protection on what was likely to be a risky venture, at best. When he stepped out into the hallway, the first ettin came charging almost immediately. But its blows were clumsy and its size worked against it. Not ten counts later it laid on the ground, hacked apart and skulls split. Then a second, which fared no better. And a third. A glancing hit, but it died all the same. He peered around the next corner and saw the halfling's remains, along with another ettin. This one looked different, a leader of sorts. It carried a two-bladed sword in one hand, and a club in the other. It was heavily wounded though, and a single blow would likely finish it off. This would be another victory in His name. He focused, feeding his Inner Fire until it came forth and set his waraxe alight. He then strode into the hallway and promised quick death.

    The ettin exploded into a whirlwind of blades and blows. It attacked with the desperate fury of a cornered rat, hacking and slashing blindly in front of it. He dodged and weaved and moved back, raising his shield to block off the blows, but could not manage to pierce trough the cyclone. His armor started to give, and he felt his flesh being carved up, entire chunks being torn out trough the gaps of his plates. He gulped down potion after potion to counter the effects, yet it almost felt as if the giant tore him apart faster than the potions could pull him together. Finally, there were no more potions left. But it was not over. He gnawed his teeth, shouted his warcry in defiance and threw himself axe-first into the maelstrom. If this was the day to die, he would at least drag the abominable two-head with him to the abyss.

    For all the courage and determination he may have had, it was of little use against the savage fury of the giant. He was knocked away and smashed into the cave wall, feeling his ribcage shatter, collapsing to the floor. The giant roared triumphantly and stepped over to his broken body, raised his spear-sword and thrust forward. And in that last moment, in the falling of a single grain of sand..

    He saw his village, which he had left so young. He saw his parents, whose burial he never attended. He saw his brothers and sisters, now dead below the ruins of a fortress. He saw his mortal love, the woman who had given him what no gold could buy. He saw his son, his greatest creation yet and ever.

    He saw his follies, his vainful ambitions and his fears.
    And then he saw no more._


  • Strength II

    _Strength is too often seen as a trait of the form, while it is all the more a trait of the soul. Strength is Will. Will is Strength. Perhaps this is the nature of strength. That Strength is not the capacity to succeed, but the Will to succeed. The Will creates the Potential to reach the Capacity. The Will is the fire from which Faith is born. Faith means nothing without the Will to proclaim it. Without the Will to act. Without the Will, everything crumbles.

    And so perhaps to judge a man's Strength, one must judge their Will. A despot that sunders a peasant does not show Will, yet the peasant that would challenge the despot does. That is why one can never yield to fear and doubt.

    The Illmaterans would have all believe that virtue lies in those who willingly submit, and simply weather all evils. In essence, they proclaim weakness to be a virtue. To lie down and take abuse, and hope they will be spared is submission. It is admission of fear. It is weakness. To refuse to kneel to the powerful simply because they are.. to stand up again and again even if one's feet are swept aside… to stand tall and stare into the eyes of evil, and show no fear... to defy.. that is Strength. It is the Will to be free.

    Those cults who thrive on fear... Bane.. Cyric.. Shar.. Talos.. Umberlee.. Auril. Fear is the sole source of their strenght, and without it they are nothing. After all, what is a tyrant if every man in the land refuses to accept the iron fist for freedom, to the death if necessary? What is the strength of a stormcaller if they no longer elicit fear, but only disdain?

    Victory over evil will not come at the sword of a paladin. It will come at the universal defiance of the common folk against its power. When all show defiance to the fear, they will be nothing but figments of a past age. Alas, the world has been indoctrinated with the belief that there is no need to show courage, for there are others who do so. Why stand and fight when there is a knight to hide behind? Why rebel against opressions when the meek are made martyrs?

    Could it be that this is the purpose of the Sentinels, of His Keepers? Not to protect the common people from harm, but to inspire them to protect themselves and their families? To break a delusion that does nothing but continue to weaken the whole of creation?_

    The Others
    ((Please note these are IC thoughts confined by IC knowledge))
    _AZUTH: Respectable. Continue to categorize magic. We find it most useful.

    BANE: Fear is not an absolute, but a weakness. Weakness can be purged. No King nor Emperor nor Tyrant has ever ruled eternally and never shall. Why would one follow a godling which has done nothing but die?

    CYRIC: Shadows and mist. Daggers in the dark. What nuissance these lunatics are. What little importance they have.

    CHAUNTEA: Respectable. Hard labor and peaceful civility.

    HELM: Stand and watch and wait. Stand and watch and fade.

    ILLMATER: Respectable. If they would but strengthen the weak, not only sustain them.

    KELEMNVOR: And why not burn the dead? Or would his church have no more purpose without providing ample corpses for the undead legions?

    KOSSUTH: Fire is the way. Not the end.

    LATHANDER: Respectable.

    MALAR: Snarl. Caged by the Stormdeviant. How pathetic.

    MASK: Shadows and Mist. Part Two.

    MIELLIKI: Irrelevant.

    MYSTRA: There is no Mystery. There is cause, effect, duration.

    OGHMA: Respectable. Though his claim of lordship is laughable.

    SELUNE: Keep your mysticism, there is work to do.

    SHAR: The Cult of Self-Destruction. If only it was always this easy.

    SHAUNDAKUL: Respectable. Find us more ore and lumber.

    SILVANUS: Irrelevant.

    SUNE: Passion is fire. Love is devotion. Chocolates and Roses are neither.

    TALOS: We. Are Coming. For You.

    TEMPUS: If he would but pick a side.

    TORM: The Pompous Lacky on the White Steed. Such a waste.

    TYMORA: Luck is not a controllable force. Why do they claim so?

    TYR: How much does justice cost today?

    UMBERLEE: We. Are Coming. For You. Too.

    UTHGAR: Irrelevant.

    WAUKEEN: Gold makes no soul richer. Only softer._


  • Strength

    _There is no denying that overcoming conflict and trial creates strength in a person. A warrior may spend his whole life training, but without a baptism in the fires of war, he will never achieve his potential. Life on this far frontier is harsh and unforgiving, and the people here are strong and hardy. Yet I wonder that in protecting them, shielding them from harm, we do not weaken them. Of course, no man can learn and grow when he is dead, but some have become so dependant on others they can no longer break free. They have become accustomed to an illusionary sense of safety, while in reality they have enslaved themselves to the whims of their protectors.

    In taking on the defense of these people, we stand between them and many dangers. In overcoming these dangers, these challenges, we become stronger or we perish. This is the natural order of things. I know I would not be the man I am today had I not suffered my share of evils in my life. Perhaps my life would have been better, more at ease, but I doubt I would have the strength of body, mind and faith if that had been the case. The purpose of the Trials themselves is to create harsh challenges if non are naturally presented to an aspiring Sentinel. A final test, to weed out those lacking in strength, so that those who do possess this strength, this fire, remain. Better to have one bird in hand, than ten in the sky.

    Would it in the longterm not strengthen a people, if they are directly confronted with the dangers and challenges of living in these lands? Many would suffer and many would die, but those survivors would be strengthened by the ordeals. And this strength will pass on to their descendants, who are in turn challenged for their worth. By allowing the weak to be sundered, the group as a whole would be strengthened.
    The Sentinels are in essence a peasant guard, armed with zeal and shielded with faith. All have volunteered, which means that those who would become Sentinels have become aware of their strength on some level, and wish to use this strength in defense of the weaker.

    Strength, power, is a one of the keys of the great truth of Creation. The balance between those who have it, and those who do not. A balance that is constantly shifting. All things constantly strive for perfection, perfection in power and being. Some would have power for their own benefit, to dominate those who do not have it. Others would have power for the benefit of those without it. But why? That these charges may rise in power themselves, and ultimately rise above their protector? Yet how can they do so without the challenges and trials that said protector needed to overcome to achieve such power. Would it in the end not strengthen a people by challenging them?

    These are difficult questions, though the irony is that they challenge my Wisdom and Insight, and may grant me more Strength should I conquer them. That, or I shall fall to their challenge, and into obscurity._


  • Love and Hate

    _He sat down at the edge of the lake. Somewhat outside of the city, it was a place of peace. A sanctuary from the often tiring hive that was Peltarch. It was his corner.

    It had become theirs. Her love had come uninvited, but not unwelcome. With His Blessing, he had accepted her attentions, and commited to returning in equal measure, at least. It had been a path of learning thus far, and he prayed it would continue to be. She had already thought him many things of life.. of himself.. of Truth, that he had never otherwise been able to grasp. His love for her was a new devotion, yet one he continued to struggle with. Thus far he had managed to keep their relationship from causing too much havoc on his duties, and he continued to perfect and fine-tune the balance.

    But he had also come to a realisation. He did not wish her in battles of importance, when he came into direct concflict with the Hated One's minions, be they stormcallers, monsters, raiders or deviant Umberlants.
    In those encounters, his soul needed to be ablaze with devotion solely to The Lord, and lash out at His foes with the purity of rightious hatred. In those battles, there could be no distractions, no doubts as to her whereabouts or condition. In those battles ahead, he needed to remain focused.

    It was something he needed to speak to her on, and prayed she would understand the implications. He may be overcome and fall at any day. His duties may call him away, never to return, at any day. As a mortal man, he wished for nothing more then to devote himself to her. But as a Consecrated Artificer and Sentinel, he was sworn to devotion to The Lord of All Craft above all. The two would inevitably clash at one point, and he already knew the outcome of that conflict. Could she truly accept the inevitabilty of his choice? He prayed that she would understand.. that they should not live in fear of the future, yet in revel of the present.

    The sun was setting, and it was time to return to the city. With the Bitch Queen having marked him as a target of importance, and had begun to send her most powerful and mysterious minions, the damned souls of sailors enslaved by fear, after him… things were certain to become interesting, and challenging, in the future. He felt his fire stirring at the thought, yet cleared his mind of the hatred-inducing ponderings, and changed his thoughts to those of her, welcoming the warm touch of love as it spread over him, his fire growing ever brighter._


  • Retaliation

    _"PURGE THE BEAST!"
    His voice echoed troughout the cavern as he charged forward at full speed, his hammer alight with blessed flame. To his left, the half-orc Kull roared defiantly, joining the attack. Trough continued blacksmithing, combat prowess and no-nonsense action, the half-breed had earned Dentin's respect. To his left, the Legion General Thaeon. Though only of small size, he was more than capable of holding his own.

    The hobgoblin quickly realised his mistake, as he turned and ran into the next cavern. Taunting the three with stories of how he ate the survivors of the carrivan attack had not repulsed the Sentinel at all. Indeed, the sheer outrage had done nothing but fuel his Inner Fire, as he bore down on the wretched creature with terryfing rage.

    Around the corner, a large group of the more powerful hobgoblins awaited, and the supposed leader quickly took refuge among their numbers. He would find no sanctuary there. For even the veteran hobgoblin raiders could not stand up to the sheer tanacity of the Sentinel, the cleaving blows of the warrior, and the skilled swordplay of the general. One by one, they were cut and beaten down. When they moved to surround Dentin, a brief chant caused a wall of fire to erupt from the floor, causing them to nearly spontaniously ignite. It was a near pathetic sight to see the overconfident monsters now run about screaming as the Purging Flame feasted on their flesh. But all for non. Soon their charred remains laid among the rest of their tribe, and the three pushed on ever deeper, and into the temple of goblin's pagan god.

    What was left of the tribe's warriors had gathered here, and they quickly swarmed out as the three avengers stepped trough the gate. It was a terrible clash, as blood sprayed everywhere, bones were utterly crushed and the remains of the dead on the cave floor quickly formed a carpet of flesh, forcing the survivors to fight on continuously more unstable footing. And it almost seemed as if the three would be defeated and pushed out. A great many potions and powerful Mendings were used, but they stood firm. It was no longer retaliation. It was a matter of honour and determination now. To see which side would retreat first, and admit defeat, and non found this fate acceptable. After what seemed like hours of exhausting battle, the throne room was empty. What remained of the tribe scurried deeper into the temple, but the message was clear.

    Those who deal death to the innocent will face a terrible wrath, and those who aid them shall share their fate. For the time for compromise has passed, and The Purge has begun._


  • Essence

    _What is the essence of Our Lord's Teachings? What lies at the very core of The Word? What lies at the core of the core?

    Actions count. Intentions are one thing, but it is the result that is most important. Talk is for others, while those who serve Gond do.
    We are those who Act. We are those who work tirelessly to advance our knowledge and skill. We do not debate endless futilities, or concern ourselves with trivial details. Our focus lies now, and here. Not in the whimsical nature of magic, or the imaginary whispers of the wind. Ours is the domain of what Is and Can Be and May Be, not what Might Be. Only a fool and a pagan concerns himself with such things.

    Make new things that work. Become skilled at forging or some craft, and practice making things and various means of joining and fastening until you can create devices to suit any situation or space.
    To partake in the Glory of Gond, as all do, is to accept a responsibility. A responsibility to give back as well. To add to the Glory, that it may be offered to others in turn. Far too many take His Gifts for granted, because they are generously given. They refuse to repay their debt. They think it unnecessary. They are beyond such things.
    They only evade responsibility, because they are filled with weakness, and choose the life of a parasite. Only those who partake in His Glory as it should be, by accepting His Gifts, and honouring Him by replenishing that which they took… only then, can they truly prosper. Only then can they know true happiness. For those who evade their works, will never know true happiness. Even though they might seek it elsewhere, their soul remains restless. For though they deny it, they know well enough the debt they have, and that sooner or later it must be repaid. Such is Being.

    New inventions should be elegant and useful.
    What is "not useful".. "not elegant"? Which creation has no use? Which creation is to be shunned and condemmed as a waste of creative energy?
    The arts? Surely sculpture and painting have a place, if only to capture images of beauty, and to add to the Glory. But proze, poetry and song? Do they serve a purpose, or are they but the inane ramblings of beggars and vagabonds? Do they provoke reflection? Do they spread knowledge that is not already known? Far too often the arts are used for nothing but slander, and to coerce good people away from their works. A certain waryness is certain in order, when dealing with such "patrons".

    Practice experimentation and innovation in the making of tools and the implementation of processes, and encourage these virtues in others through direct aid, sponsorship, and diplomatic support. Keep records of your strivings, ideas, and sample devices so that others may follow your work and improve on what you leave behind and encourage others, such as farmers and hunters, to think of new tools, improved ways of crafting and using their existing gear, and new ways of doing things. Observe, acquire, and store safely the makings of others and spread such knowledge among the consecrated of Gond. Discuss ideas and spread them so that all may see the divine light that is the Wonderbringer.
    Spread His Word. Improve the Knowledge that was given. Support those who do. For together, with the blessing of His Lordship, all shall prosper. Ours is the future. Not abstract concepts, but concrete developments, are the Path. Protect His Gifts, wherever found, for they will form the foundation of others. These are simple commandments, and all can follow them. Those who do not, will fade away, a mere footnote in the pages of history. Those who do, will see tomorrow.

    Question and challenge the unknown with new devices.
    One line, yet it may be the core of the core. To tear away at the unknown, and reveal what lies beyond. To challenge what is known, to improve it for all. To accept no boundary, no limitation, and ever strive for new horizons.

    To make dreams real._


  • The Call

    _To Captain Charissa SeKore of the Lantanese Chapter,
    To Captain Dorn Telstaerr of the Cormyran Chapter,
    To Captain Morn Greyhide of the Waterdavian Chapter,
    To Captain Xandos Corynian of the Chessentan Chapter,
    To Captain So-Kehur Anskuld of the Mulhorandi Chapter,
    To Captain Aravilar Laelithar of the Battledalen Chapter,

    Brother-Captains,

    for more than a decade now, the shadow of the Fall of the Valley Forge has laid across our shoulders. Its loss is a constant reminder of the need for the utmost vigil, faith and determination. Yet every day the Valley Forge remains out of our hands, the cancer that has taken hold there grows, and further corrupts the history of our Brotherhood. The time has come to purge this stain off our banner, and to return this Hallowed House of Our Lord to His Glory.

    I say this, because in recent days and weeks, I have been sent visions of the state of the fortress. Its purpose corrupted from a stalwart bastion against the influence of Hated Talos, and a vault of Gifts, to a breeding pool of heresy and madness. Unspeakable horrors walk its corridors, and stride forth to bring darkness. Symbols of Purity and Progress lie shattered in blood-stained hallways, and bodies of the Elders before us lie broken and defiled. This, I have seen trough His eyes.

    I have spoken with the soul of Master Elias, Martyr of the Forge, who achieved Undying Glory in his valiant stand. His soul, and the souls of those who fell to the horde of monsters, cultists and traitors, are held from the Gates of Our Lord's House by the vile influence of the Abyss, that seeps into this world from the wound it has cut that day.

    This cannot be allowed to continue. We must bring all Flame to bear to Purge these vile creatures, and bring justice to those traitors. I call on you to join, that we may bring all Brothers and Sisters together, and cleanse the Valley Forge of the taint. This is our duty by Oath, which we cannot betray.

    To retreat from this battle, is to betray Our Lord.
    The Valley Forge MUST be cleansed, or we must die in the attempt.
    There can be only victory or death.

    In Service of The Lord,

    Dentin Strauss,
    Captain,
    Narfellan Chapter._


  • Why We Fight

    _Standing on the highest hill in the area, Dentin looks out across the crossroads. Watching the traders and adventurers below make their way, scurrying about from one errand to another.

    I have served my Lord for more than fourty years now. Without rest, peace or relieve. I have given myself completely to His divine cause and His church, forsaking marriage, children and a simple life of hard work during day, and peaceful joy at night. A life of farming, or blacksmithing perhaps. Without the burden of responsibility I carry now.
    If given the chance to redo my life, with what I know now, would I make the same choice? Would I choose again for a life of sacrifice?

    Snow begins to fall, renewing the already abundant white carpet that covers the pass. Aside from the muffled whisper of the northern wind, all is peaceful. The refugees have moved back into Norwick to rebuild, to prepare for the next challenge. There is always another challenge… another foe.. another deviant bent on destruction and mayhem.

    I could have found hapiness in those simple things. The feel of the sun, the touch of the wind and rain, the love of a good wife.. children..
    The simple satisfaction of cheese, roast and bread after a day of working the anvil, or the fields. Of sitting by the fireside and drinking to old and new friends. An uncomplicated life of peace. A life without orcs, goblins, marauders, demons and .. A better life. A life that does not need Sentinels, or other defenders.

    He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as the wind picked up, and something stirred. The sun was slowly setting, giving way to the night and the evils therein. The land seems to have an endless supply of them.

    And now I am preparing to set out.. to return to the Valley Forge…to face my destiny, and fulfill my Purpose. I pray that my Lord Gond will grant me the Strength to succeed. It will be the culmination of everything I have strived to accomplish.
    Personal strength, to better serve my Lord.
    The recruitment of more Brothers and Sisters, to better serve my Lord.
    Greater Knowledge and Insight, to better serve my Lord.
    All these things, will lead to this. One final battle, to restore light and hope to a desecrated place. To strike a blow to evil that will echo troughout the realms.
    After that day, death is no longer the obstacle it was. It will be the conclusion of a harsh life of service, and retirement, my works completed.

    A voice carried on the wind. A distant scream and the muffle of steel against steel. He took his warhammer and shield, and set down the slopes of the hill in its direction.

    Into the flames of battle once more, then. To ensure others will have the life I want. That they know what they have, and give thanks that they do.
    One day, there will be no more need for Sentinels. But this is not that day._


  • War

    _To Xandos Corynian, Captain of the Chessentan Chapter of the Sentinus Gondar.

    Brother-Captain,

    Once again I must express my gratitude at the Brothers and Sisters, and the equipment, you placed at my disposal. As you well know, the Narfellan Chapter is currently still undermanned, though new Initiates are steadily joining. The local population is too small to support a normal rate of recruitment though, and so I am forced to call on the reserves of other Chapters in times of great need.

    A time such as this, with an alliance of orcs, bugbears and giants having taken control of much of the south, and threatening the way further north. Though the general grouping of defenders has beaten back several offenses from the beastmen alliance since the begin of the war, the loss of Norwick has been a harsh one. Fortunately, one of the major powers of the alliance, the white dragon Sharn, has recently been slain, and we can expect the enemy command structure to at least suffer from this considerable loss. The projected outcome of the war has now shifted favorably, and the joined Troff Legion - Norwick Militia - Peltarch Defenders - Sentinels and various others are making final preparations to retake Norwick and push the orcs back out of the plains, and likely out of the land entirely.

    What this war does provide us with, is the experience that many of our Brothers and Sisters sorely need. Recently I have experienced a number of disturbingly clear visions regarding the Valley Forge, and my own relation to that holy place, that lead me to believe that the great battle the Sentinus as a whole has been preparing for ever since that cursed day, may be sooner than we think. Though I am not one for unsupported conjecture, I cannot deny the clarity of these visions. Perhaps Our Lord Gond deems the time right to begin our preparations.. much sooner than any of us had expected. If this is the case, than it must take priority over all. The Forge must be retaken, and the traitors therein must be Purged from very existence, for the Sentinels in the north to ever expand and succeed again.

    In Our Lord's Service,

    Captain Dentin Strauss
    Narfellan Chapter._


  • Inner Fire

    _"I ask you this then, Initiates.. who of you can grasp the fire and not be burned? Who of you understand the flame and knows it for what it is? Who of you can feel its heat and not fear?
    The Purging Flame must burn bright and hot within you, or you will find the rawest form of energy and life rejects you and consumes you."

    "Yes, life. What else is fire but a living thing? It breathes.. it feeds.. it grows.. it dies. Of all the elements, it is the one most living. It is the one that will most greatly affect its surroundings in the shortest amount of time. A fire's path may only be a short flicker in the life of a river, as it carves a way trough a mountain.. but is this not the very essence of our being.. of our humanity? The bright and short flare?

    Allow me to clarify by revealing to you the striking comparison between the Five Races of Creation, and the Five Elements.
    Dwarves, with their sturdy build, affinity for caverns and stone, and earthly demeanors and concern.. blessed by the Lord of Craft with metalwork, mining and stonecarving. Upon them, the element of Earth, has been bestowed.
    Elves, with their ancient and vast knowledge, the drive to ever wander and ever search for the hidden and lost, frail and flightly creatures, and masters of the bow. Blessed by the Lord of Craft with woodworking, bowyering and the other Crafts of the Woods. They remain true to the element of Wind.
    Gnomes. Rustic and peaceful, though swirling and ever-changing, they seek new paths and new things wherever they travel, and for this they are truly a favored people. Undisturbed by lesser offences, gnomes simply bear what they must and find a new path. The element of Water is theirs.
    The ancient and powerful Dragons, exist in many forms, colours, sizes and ideals. They fill beholders with both awe and terror, and legends are told as they become legends in their own right. They hold the element of Magic.
    And finally, the Humans. Short-lived, but we are more than a match for the others. Fire is our element and our blessing, and our Inner Fire burns bright and hot with ambition and drive. Some fires dull as they age, others grow to consume their hosts. Yet there are those who master their Inner Fire, and draw from it a strength unseen by the other races, and even other humans. These few will have their Inner Fire become a white-hot blaze of rightious fury, strength and devotion, and its heat burns outward, strong enough to enforce the obedience of lesser flames.

    So learn this lesson well. Fire an uncompromising force, that has no tolerance for the fearful or the hesitant. But to those who master their Inner Fire, and with it augment their radiant Faith, the Fire becomes an honoured ally, and the final custodian of one's mortal remains."_


  • The Hall of Giants

    _The wind was cold and harsh, blowing snow down the mountainside in a neverending torrent of shattering frost. So cold, it goes straight trough armor and flesh and into bones. Every breath taken is a breath of cold poison, freezing one's lungs more every time, exhaling less warmth every time. So intense, it flows trough your veigns.. your skin crumbles with frostbite.

    He loved this place. Near the summit of the coldstone mountains, now. Not even the frost giants left their caves during the frequent storms, yet he would not think the same of the mountains if the storms were less harsh. He took slow steps forward as the winds lashed at him, ever onwards towards the summit, ever further north, ever deeper into the storm. He was alone. He would not have any others on this.
    All need to replenish their soul once and again. Some feast, some read, some sit by the fire in thought. To him, it was wading into what may yet be the most vicious blizzard that could be found, even this far north. If he died here, non would ever find him.. he would die away from the very towns he was supposed to protect.. there was nothing out here but a windswept wasteland, filled with edges that led to razorsharp, frostcleft rocks. And he loved this place.
    He loved the city as well, as he did most cities and towns. Testiments to the people's determination to build, regardless of the conditions. But to be here now and again, was a challenge of his own will. To stand in the direst of conditions against anything the furies could throw at him.. a landbound Valkur.

    Valkur. An example to many, in his eyes. A mere mortal, he had challenged the fury of the Bitch Queen.. and won. Divinity was his reward. A god of sailors, though this was not why he felt a great respect for Valkur. It was the fact that Valkur spoke of rebellion against the Furies, of steely determination and defiance of their primordial might. Not to tremble in fear at their coming, but to stand tall and laugh in their face.. to challenge those dark gods. Where Gond opposes their Destruction with Creation, Valkur opposes their Fear with Courage.

    He turned to face the winds, staring into the heart of the storm and raised his voice, shouting defiance…
    Is that all, Frostmaiden?! Is this all you can bring to bear?! Are you truly this pitiful?! A godess of cold drafts?! Have you come to see the Truth?! Come for me!!
    The winds roared. The worst storm the mountains had seen in years grew greater still, shards of ice tearing apart trees and rocks and bearing down on the lone man with all the twisted fury of the godess._


  • Lesser Gods

    _Initiates gained. A few new potentials that may yet become Oathsworn Brothers one day. Though they still have a long way to go towards becoming true Sentinels, it is good to know that there are some on this frontier that see the necessity for the Sentinels, and that see the Glory of Gond. For too long I have stood alone in His service, and I would welcome new Brothers.

    Allies lost. Seperated from the Shield and from the Guardians, over a damnable scroll. There was nothing left but action. Words had failed. I sacrificed allies and friendship in one bold step. I do not regret my actions, as it would be pointless. I only regret the fact that Zoma and Ragnhild did not make the correct decision as soon as it was necessary to make it, and forced my hand. Both groups mostly ignore my presence now, which may be a fortunate circumstance. Last I need now is to have minions of lesser gods watching my every step, let alone act against me, or the Chapter. Let them the illusion that they are the right and just ones.
    Let them continue to hide behind their thin and ill-defined code. Let them make their claims of glory and victory.
    Gond knows the Truth. Trough Him, the Sentinus knows the Truth. Trough Him, I know the Truth.

    And the Truth is that they ultimately fail.
    Evil rises because Kelemnvorans command burial, not the cleansing flame.
    Evil festers because Tyrans allow it to hide behind evil-set laws.
    Evil acts because because Helmites stand, watch and do nothing.
    Evil prevails because Tormtar are united in a knighthood of incompetence, and duty to ignorance.

    Evil is laid low when common folk unite against their influence. Evil is Purged when His Sentinels, the People's Keepers, bring all their might to bear and Cleanse its taint, once and for all. No sword can be forged of rusted metal. No city can rise on rotten foundations. No man can grow when he is deseased. Burn out the rot, and right will prevail. Nothing but a complete Purge suffices, for even a single seed will spawn a forest of evil.

    Heed these words well, Brothers. I would rather stand with a dozen blessed of the Keeper than a thousand warriors of the lesser gods. The Others cannot be trusted, in person, words and actions. Steel your soul against their honeyed tongues that speak of all they do, and how necessary they are, and see in Truth what little they accomplish, and how trivial they are. For too long we have stood and tolerated their lies and incompetence, and it is time to rise up and take our fates in our own hands, for the sake of those we love, and the sake of those who come after us._


  • Corruption

    _The Sentinus is crumbling beneath the weight of its duties, the deaths of Brothers and Sisters, and internal strive. What was once an initiative filled with hope and promise has rusted into a standstill, desperately clinging to old ways that have proven faulty. Every moon another report of failures and conflicting orders arrives, only to deteriorate into yet another, worse, situation by the next moon.
    Though it shames me as well, I feel fortunate to be away from the main body of the Sentinus, on this eastern frontier, as I would only have been drawn into the petty politics and rantings that have replaced the Sentinel's calling. At least here, I can perform my duties in relative ease, staying true to the ideology and goals of the Sentinus, even if I do stand alone in doing so. Perhaps this, is why I have chosen to be squired, and ultimately knighted, into the Order of the Divine Shield. The title of Knighthood is meaningless to me, though it symbolises an accomplishment. I will have proven that Gond has a place amongst the Preserving Deities yet, and personally it will be a goal to accomplish, to Forge myself into yet a better servant of His Glory.

    Paladins. Their oath is both their strength and their weakness. It gives them easy guidelines, and they have learned to adhere to it without a fault, or fail in their Purpose. But it also blinds them. It seems almost Pride whenever one decides against working with others, because they have the impression their would-be allies are tainted by evil.

    Evil. Can they even define it? Half of who they claim to be evil are hardly so. Often eccentric and possibly a minor threat, they seem to fall more into a grey area. Yet paladins seem to see only in absolutes of light and darkness. If a person does not adhere strictly and completely to their morals, they are declared evil.. to be avoided, watched and if necessary, slain. How does this render them different from Banites, who would impose their will upon all free men and women, yet do so much more overtly? I have seen Banites fight as hard as any paladin to preserve their homes. Ultimately, what makes Banites more likely to be Evil by the True Definition, is their methods. The raising of undead and the ritual slaying of innocents for power. Aside from these crimes, they pose a relatively minor threat, aside from a few truly deviant members. Rulers rise and fall, yet ultimately our civilisation must be preserved, regardless of who rules it._


  • The Flood

    _"Stormcaller".
    Dentin gritted his teeth, bracing himself for another wave. He stood on the docks, as the wind roared about him and the waves crashed onto the docks, into the houses. Already, the water was sweeping into the streets. He heaved and pulled, calling to Gond for strength as he pulled the ship back against the dock. Some of the workers called back from the stone, calling him to the relative safety of the streets.. calling of what a fool he was.. was he really going to stand against what was likely the worst storm ever to come to Peltarch?
    Of course. He could do no less. He could not be everywhere, and already some ships had been lost, some sailors pulled out into the open waters. But this ship, would not be one of them. He braced and heaved, finally managing to pull the ship back against the dock, tying it down. Just in time before the next wave -the worst one yet- crashed into the docks, and smashed side of the very ship he had risked his life to save. Failure.
    He cursed Talos. He cursed Umberlee. And he cursed whatever deviant was chanting over the wind.

    The streets were flooding. Crates and goods were floating about everywhere, as the water flowed into the houses, and people made their way to high places. Defenders and guards scurried about, bringing sandbags to places not yet completely flooded. An almost meaningless struggle as the water continued to rise, the wind soared about the buildings and lightning flashed across the sky. He found a small raft, and dragged it back to the main street of the docks, to the line of men and women bringing in the sandbags. The sandbags were loaded onto the raft, and then Dentin dragged the loaded raft back, across the district. At this time, it was no longer a matter of wading. Several dwarves were swimming, desperately trying to find the nearest place that offered footing. Dentin managed to get a hold of one, dragging the raft with his left arm.. and holding the dwarf above water with the other. His aging muscles burned, crying out for mercy.
    "Gond.. meit Masplie splehn ish "
    He called for strength in the tongue of the Holy Land, yet knew that he would have to accomplish this by himself. He would have it no other way. Stormcallers may expect their deity to do their dark deeds for them.. but he was not as arrogant and lazy to assume this. Gond would not simply erect a great wall to stop the waves. He would not simply dispel the weather.
    As so many situations, this was another test of his faith. Would he abandon his duty, or would he carry on and work against the storm, until his legs would carry him no more, and the waters would swallow him…
    Finally, as dawn came.. the storm ended, and the waters slowly withdrew, leaving streets covered in mud. The city had endured. Though some had been lost to the storm, the people had united against the careless destruction. The buildings still stood strong, and damage was minimal. It filled him with pride, to be allowed to serve Gond. He, who had granted the people the knowledge of construction. Who had given the people strength, to stand against the storm.
    It will take more than mere water and wind, to bring down the Glory that is Gond.

    Not soon after, angry shouts. An umberlant priestess had dared to wander into the docks, proclaiming this to be the wrath of her goddess. Claiming that the only way to end the storm was to drown sacrifices to appease her. In response, a variety of vegetables had been thrown at her.
    Know your place, stormcaller. Those who bring Destruction invite it upon themselves.
    Oh, how he had wished to use his remaining strength to drown this woman in an act of pure irony. To show her the truth about the uncaring and spiteful deity she claimed to serve. Yet, he shook of those thoughts.
    The city stands, yet the people have suffered. To abandon them in favor of a quest of vengeance, is to abandon duty.. to betray Gond.

    He set out to bring supplies.. food, bandages, clothes, tents.. from the market to the docks. An aid station had been set up near the bridge. Many people were homeless, their houses flooded. It would take weeks before everything was restored to normal. And he would be there, every step of the way.
    "We have suffered a setback, yet we have done so before. It could be far worse, yet the city will endure and carry on. For being allowed to walk the streets freely, the Umberlants have attacked the city nontheless. Whatever happens now, is, as usual, for the Senate to decide. In the meantime, let us not cower in fear of the Bitch Queen. You have all accomplished too much to simply give it away now."_


  • On Magic and Invention: II

    _It has been noted that great use of magic power stresses the Weave, and can lead to fluctuations and disturbances known as Wild Magic. In areas where the abuse is extreme, the Weave may cease to function entirely, creating Dead Magic areas.

    The Weave does not only serve as a conduit to access raw arcane magic, yet is also used by the divines to channel their blessings and power into the mortal realms. Also, in Dead Magic areas, magical powersources of Invention cease to function, their power quickly drained by the surrounding null magic, in a process similar to the principle of connected bodies of water.

    Dead Magic areas can be disturbing for those focused on the use of the Weave, yet they are areas that give us a view of the future. With Existence no longer dependant on magic to sustain itself, the decline and ultimate dissapearance of magic, and the Weave, is a slow yet sure process.

    Life will still flourish in these areas as it can, and Invention and Knowledge will provide any and all solutions necessary to any problems that may arise. This change, however, should not occur over the course of a mere days, for an instant and complete loss of all magic would currently lead to cataclysmic results. Rather, a slow change will ease this change, and give us time to adapt to the change.

    Many can envision the non-presence of arcane magic, yet many consider what the result would be on the divines. Without the Weave, they would be unable to channel their blessings and power to their priests and servants, and most assume this would mean the end of the gods.
    This, however, could not be further from the truth.
    Firstly, a god's power is determined by the faith of its followers. Trough a process currently unknown, a god's power increases as the number of followers, and the strength of those follower's faith, increases. This process, however, does not include the access to the Weave, since the Weave can only be accessed trough a conscious effort. If the Weave would fail, the gods would still be able to exist, provided their followers hold true to their faith. However, the results would vary from deity to deity, and it is likely that deities focused on magic, such as Mystra, Azuth and Velsharoon would suffer greatly from the absence of magic, and would likely dissapear.

    Secondly, a deities power decreases whenever he or she channels her power, trough the Weave, into the mortal realms and onto her servants. It is for this reason that most priests should exercice an amount of restraint when requesting blessings, for doing so is requesting a deity to lessen the absolute existing power it has. Of course, a wise priest will ensure that the investment of power is not wasted, and will ultimately result in an advance of the deity's goals and power.
    If the Weave would dissapear, this would mean that deities could no longer channel their power into their priests, provided they do not discover another way of doing so. This would lead deities to posess only an "income" of power (trough faith), and no "expense" of power (trough their priests). The exact consequences of this are up to debate, and at this time too distant and vague to truly describe.

    The Conclusion would be, that the loss of the Weave would acceptable and not quite as disastrous as some devotees of magic would have one believe, provided the change is gradual, to allow for an adaptation of the mortal races to this change, and for Invention and Knowledge to provide suitable solutions or alternatives for problems which are currently solved by purely magical means._


  • A Question of Faith

    _To have come this far.. only to fail now?
    No.. it cannot end this way.. it -will- not end this way.
    The acid flowed into his armor, his flesh being devoured away, his body crippled.. yet he would not die. He would not die as long as he did not accept to die.

    What should have been an easy venture - a routine search for hidden knowledge or craft - turned to disaster. He and the paladin Elenwyd had punched trough the fortress' outer defenses with ease, yet at the inner sanctum, they were countered. A massive hobgoblin of obvious authority bore down on the two and cleaved trough armor and flesh with ease. Retreat was the only option. Dying in this battle would be pointless. Elenwyd ran away, out of sight.. he dragged himself back towards the entrance.. blood pouring out of the breaches in his armor, his vision blurred.. and then the sudden shift of gravity. He fell down into maze below, shattering his left arm.
    Bite down the pain.. there will be time for it later.. on your feet!
    He managed to rise to his feet, leaning against the wall of the dark corridor.. he could only see ahead for a short distance -too short-.. and already he could hear the closing snarls of the hunting cats closing. His blessings had already been spent..
    Damn that paladin.. And all their worthless kin.. Gond's blessings kept you alive, woman.. yet where is Torm to aid me, now?
    He shook off the thought, reaching for a potion on his belt.. spider blood. Ignoring its rank taste, he poured it into his throat, feeling it mix with the blood from his lungs, coughing and gurgling, yet managing to swallow most of it. He felt what little strength he had left doubled.. and set off to find his way home..
    Focus.. Stay alert.. that way… this turn now.
    Three cats appeared from the darkness ahead.. he gritted his teeth, clasping the handle of his warhammer. He may be crippled, but he was far from defenseless yet.. the first cat learned this, as it fell in one blow, its skull crushed. The second clawed for his leg, its claws leaving the tell-tale mark of a rake, yet took a fatal blow to the shoulder, and it limped off.
    The third one considered its position, before deciding to let his prey wear itself out in the tunnels, and retreating into the darkness.

    Finally, he managed to reach the end of the maze.. opening the door. He had been here before.. he remembered the way.. vaguely.
    The tunnels were empty.. fortunate… he advanced slowly, keeping his mind focused on the task ahead.
    Focus.. Stay alert.. that way… this turn now. Gond.. almost there now..

    He sped up his pace.. became careles… his mind was already outside.. he reached for the last door, hearing the tell-tale click only vaguely.. before realising he had made a mistake..
    To have come this far.. only to fail now?
    No.. it cannot end this way.. it -will- not end this way.
    The acid flowed into his armor, his flesh being devoured away, his body crippled.. yet he would not die. He would not die as long as he did not accept to die.
    I will not die here. My faith is stronger than that.. I am stronger than that.

    Am I?_


  • The Design

    _It should have been my battle. My victory.
    Yet apparantly, it was not to be, in The Design.

    The talassan priest, which had been raiding the village of Jiyyd for several weeks, sending storms and worgs to assault the villagers and those who would stand in his path. And every time he had escaped the Purge.
    This time he had come to the Sisterhood house.. sent his hounds, coming from the orc lands. I sought him out, alone.. left the care of the House to others.. left the main battle for others to fight. It would have been my fight.. and I would gain victory alone, for His Glory. Yet there was nothing to be found with the orcs. And when I returned to the Sisterhood House, the Stormcaller had already been slain. Nothing remained but a pile of ash, and an enchanted cloak, which one of the Sisters was all too eager to claim as her own. I remain wary, as this victory seems almost too easily gained, yet it seems that this Destroyer has indeed been Purged.
    It should have been my battle.
    –-
    There was the Creation of Master Wonderworker Fitzbingle Fernfernil, which was completed with the aid of Genevieve and myself, resulting in a soaring flight of counts, yet counts that shall be in my memory forever, Gond willing. Genevieve, insecure and youthful though she may be, is proving to be a greatly talented and skilled Technician, as she refers to herself. If not for her, our flight may have proven to be disastrous. Perhaps this is what Sir Elias meant when he told me "Youth would pass me by".

    The Chapel will soon be completed.
    I am a Sentinel. A priest -battlepriest-, yes. But I am a Sentinel. If Gond wills it, I will retire my Knighthood to serve Him, His faithful and The People as a temple priest.. yet the thought of leaving the Hammer for such a life, holding daily services to the masses, and spending the other hours of the day, tinkering and reading away in the library.. is almost unimaginable. I am a warrior of a holy cause, destined to fall on the field of battle, not to waste away in bed.
    Yet, ultimately the choice will be that of Gond, and His Design._


  • Shadow

    _There is a woman in this land, Linah I would believe she is called. Usually silent and unnoticable, she could stand dressed in black in a snow-covered plains at noon, and one would still not notice her. It is as if the shadows themselves warp and change to conceal her. It leaves me with a great mixture of thoughts. On one hand, she moves with undeniable grace, her blades a whirlwind of steel cleaving trough exposed flesh, striking swiftly and certainly, and then fading away again to leave only wonder. On the other hand, it is the stuff of nightmares, of shadows come to live to strike down the living, of an existence that lies around every corner and waits patiently for that one mistaken step.

    It is good to know that I have not yet faced her in battle, for to face her would not be a straight-forward battle of faith and strength. It would require guile, perception, deception and insight. I am not trained to fight such things, and the ways of shadows are forever foreign to me.
    And yet she has proven herself to be a capable, if enigmatic, aid. It was in the most recent attack on Norwick, as vast amounts of goblins and bugbears assaulted the town. As they scaled the walls, I ventured out, followed by Mark to dispose of the ladders, yet found myself quickly outnumbered by a great amount of bugbear warriors. Though I had no problem in dealing with one of their kind at a time, their sheer numbers battering away at my armor and shield was enough to give me pause and consider retreat. That is, had it not been for the timely intervention of this Linah, the woman of shadows. She seemed to step from one bugbears shadow into the next, fading in and out of the light and she cut and whirled her way trough the mass of Destroyer flesh. Those bugbears that attempted to face this new attack, found nothing but air, her form having already departed and reappeared on another flank. With my own strenght, durability and faith, and her shadowy skills and precise strikes, what had seemed an overwhelming mass of bugbears was reduced to nothing but decaying flesh within counts.

    I can do nothing but respect one of such prowess, and such exotic skill. Though I doubt I will ever master her shadowstep, and every experience of her leaves me with a certain hesitation, it is for the first in what is likely the entirety of my life that I feel a certain wonder, and indeed dread, at something that is not Craft, nor Creation._


  • On Magic and Invention: I

    _Magic is a raw force, that lays across the worlds of the many different planes, connecting them together. This force can be tapped trough a conduit known as The Weave. Merely trough an effort of will, any with talent or skill can use the Weave to create a variety of effects. To create a particular effect, one must focus on creating the desired effect, and doing so is aided by gestures and spoken words. Though often considered to be the foundations of any spell, they merely serve to focus the mind for the task at hand.

    Let us also be clear on the wording of the created effects. Fire created by spell is not magical fire, but is magically created fire. For all intents and purposes, it shares the exact same properties as a fire created trough non-magical means. Magically created lightning has the same properties as that which appears naturally. It is true, however, that at this moment magic still allows for many effects, such as instantanious healing, raising dead and planar traval, which are as yet not capable trough non-magical means. Though magic is an integral part of all of Creation, every magically created effect, even minor ones, disturb the natural course of things. And thus, use of magic should be limited, and should be accessed with care.

    Invention is using Knowledge and Understanding to create tools that allow certain effects to be created without the use of magic, or with limited use of magic, usually in the form of a power source. Where Magic is a stagnant force that has not evolved since its birth, Invention has been under constant change and evolution, providing solutions to problems. One must look further than the great gnomish creations to understand Invention.
    Even mere clothing is nothing but a basic Invention. Everything created by mortals has been an Invention. As new Knowledge is gathered, Invention follows in its wake, providing solutions to ever more complex problems, and reducing the need for purely magical solutions. Where magic was once a dominant force, it has dwindled to a position where it is usually responsible for more problems than solutions.
    Also, as Invention rises above the level of Magic in status, the balance of power will shift. Where once those gifted with magical skill were considered fit to rule, for the sole reason of the power they wielded, those of magic focus in these days have found themselves at odds with the wielders of Invention. Many examples of this can be quoted, and can be found in every single aspect of existence._


  • Dawn of the Metal Age

    _Much is happening lately. Almost too much to keep track of it all. First there was the adventure that Zoma, Ragnhild and others had had.. they had been chosen to pilot great machines into battle. Oh, how I had wanted to have been there. To become one and guide such an engine, to be safe in its metal womb, and lay waste to His enemies. It would have been glorious. Alas, it was not meant to be.

    Then the coming of the Machinist. A man, driven mad by grief. Dangerous yet to be respected, for his knowledge. The Machinist has given me a metal leg - adamantine even, it seems - to find a way to make his children immortal. I could not help wondering whether what the Machinist said was true and just. We have always depended on tools to elevate ourselves and overcome our natural flaws. If such a tool would aid us to overcome disease and death, would such not be a natural evolution?

    And then the Mechanists.. another faction, and of such great advances. Committed to destroying arcana and the divine alike. There may have been something to their actions against the arcane, yet their exact actions are what makes them a threat. The arcane is an aging and declining tool, and this will not change as more and more shifts to Invention. I was certainly impressed by their ability to fly. An old dream, realised only by magic. There had been a few Inventions, yet they did not provide the stability for any meaningful flight. Perhaps he would be able to salvage one of the devices and learn its secrets.

    And then there is still the progress with the Chapel, and the search for the crystal for the Amulet.

    Yes, things are indeed busy._