An evening on the farm [18+ Possible]

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Lokan
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Counter assualt

Post by Lokan »

Dent, the woman and the guide, Aliz, arrived at the tent. The guards stopped the trio, and announced their arrival. Merkish the monk came out first. He looked at the three, motioned them in, and turned back to reenter the tent without a word. They all entered the tent to see Novander preparing his armor and weapons.

They do not have the boy.” Merkish said flatly, with no surprise, nor disappointment.

Please let the Helmites, and Tyrans know. We will approach the break in the wall tonight.” Novander instructed the monk.

Merkish nodded and left the tent.

“Sir, we did find this woman and this box” Dent could think of nothing else to say.

“No. Dent, it is alright. The Harpers who traveled with us were found dead just after you left, as it was reported to me. I am glad to see that you are alive. I was sure they had discovered our plan and created a trap for you. I am sorry we could not send out riders to warn you. We had to launch an immediate counter assault. The Loviatari attacked in great numbers and we have been fighting for days. There is a break in battle right now, but we have the advantage, we are finishing the assault tonight.”

“But, Sir, the boy…” Dent started.

“He is dead, good knight.” The woman finished.

Novander took a moment to consider the woman. She had taken off her cloak and was again only wearing a shear gown. Dent began to feel a bit uneasy as Novander took a few extra moments to gaze at the woman’s body.

“What do you know of this?” Novander asked sternly.

The woman paused for a moment as she looked back at Dent and Aliz, then crumpled to the ground before Novander’s feet.

“The boatmen….they killed the boy and threw his body into the river, Sir. I am sorry. I was helpless to stop them. They defiled me and tortured me.”
The woman cried.

“Do you know who that boy was?” Novander asked softly.

“The son of the Pasha of Keltar”
She answered.

Novander clenched his jaw, and looked down at the woman groveling before him.

“Where did you find her?” He asked Dent.

“…On the boat, Sir. She was chained and bruised.” Dent answered.

Novander looked back down at the woman, and placed her chin in his palm.

“What do you know of the Pasha?” He asked quietly.

“I know many things good knight, many things.” The woman quietly replied, again nervously looking back at Dent and Aliz.

Dent could smell the woman’s perfume, as he looked upon her, sobbing before Novander. He began to feel more and more anxious as he watched the conversation.

This is something I have not felt before. Dent thought.

He began to grow angry with Novander for being so close to the woman. His breathing quickened and he tightened his muscles. Aliz, put his hand on the warriors shoulder. Novander could see Dents distress and approached him. He placed his hand on both of Dents shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“Dent, please…look to me” He said calmly.

“I must ask you to fight for me again. I ask that you report to the command battle captain and ride with me into battle. Will you do this?” Novander said genuinely as if he was asking for a personal favor.

“There is something you must know before we go, however. I have word that a merchant by the name of Amstel has brought to you a letter from your friends. He is staying as a guest at the monastery because he will not divulge the message, nor approach the fighting. He has said that he would only give it to me, or you, and would wait for us to return to the monastery. If something were to happen amidst battle, and we were to separate, please remember that it is there, and make your way back to Keltar. I am sorry that I must ask this of you now, but please go and ready yourself, we will need you.” Novander continued.

Dent’s heart sank at the thought of his friends, and he regained focus.

“I will, Sir” Dent reassured the knight.

Dent followed Aliz outside, but not without one last look at the beautiful slave woman.
Last edited by Lokan on Tue Jul 06, 2010 7:55 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Current PC: IS NOT Dent Jars
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Lokan
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Here...I think you gamble [18+ Possible]

Post by Lokan »

Novender waited a few moments as the others moved away from the tent.

“What are you doing here? Who has sent you?” Novander questioned through his gritting teeth.

“…my knight? Please do not harm me. I am sorry. I have done nothing.” She threw herself to the floor and inched away from the approaching paladin.

“You are a snake. I sense your evil intent. It fills this room like a plague.”
He reached for her with his gauntlet-ed hand as if to strangle her.

The woman reached for the silver box. As she reached for it, a number of projectiles made of magical energy surged from the case, and struck Novander on all sides of his body. The top of the case flew open. Light began to flow from Novanders hands, and he placed them on his chest. The woman jumped to her feet, crouched down and drew, from the case, a whip with nine barbed strands. As Novander looked, up she struck at him. The strands of the whip seemed to extend longer than what seemed possible. The tails hit the knight at the leg, and sunk their barbs into his flesh. Novander began to charge the women. She skillfully jumped around the middle tent brace and used it as leverage to pull Novander to the ground.

Hearing the commotion, the guards rushed in to the tent, only to be struck dead as two arrows flung in after them hitting them precisely in the back of their necks.

Novander reached down and tore the barbs from his leg, and reached for his sword.

The woman struck at him again with the whip. Novander got to his feet, as the archer entered the tent and fired. The arrows struck Novander. He then turned and charged the archer.

Aliz?! He thought as he swung his blade. He completed the swing, and gutted the ranger. Aliz stammered back, and fell.

From behind him, the woman’s whip wrapped around Novander's neck and sunk its barbs. Fighting for air, Novander turned to strike at the woman, she flung herself forward and dodged his swing. She pulled down hard on the whip and tripped the knight forward. He hit the rugged floor of the tent. She quickly jumped on his back. She grabbed a dagger from his belt and sunk it through his neck.

Novander was dead.

Sounds of war began to roar from outside. The last battle had begun.
Current PC: IS NOT Dent Jars
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Lokan
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The Final Battle (part 1) [18+ Possible]

Post by Lokan »

Dent moved to the area where he had set up a shelter. He had left some armor pieces, food, water and some small items he had picked up in his travels. He half expected most of it to be taken or moved. He spotted the shelter, which had been torn apart. He assumed it was either wind or even perhaps combat had taken place near this area.

He picked through the shelter halves and found some armor pieces. He dusted them and affixed them to the pieces he was already wearing. He found a basket of fruit that still had some good pieces. He bit into an apple and grabbed a water skin. He turned back toward the hill of sand on which Novander’s tent stood.

Something urged him to go back.

As he looked to the dune, he noticed Aliz had broken into a run up the hill.

Something is wrong, he thought.

He ran up to the point where Aliz had started running. The ranger had dropped his pack, and some flasks had dropped out of it. The flasks were of the type that magical potions might be kept. Dent thought at first that they might be healing potions. He was in the practice of carrying as many as he might find with him, which usually wasn’t much more than three. He called to Aliz as he disappeared over the crest of the dune and moved into the tent.

Thinking Aliz had not heard him he snatched up the potions and quickly noticed a very familiar scent…the slave woman’s perfume. He opened a flask and waved it under his nose. He immediately felt a torrent of emotion. He began to sob uncontrollably, and then in an instant he could not stop himself from laughing. He tossed the flasks away, and fell to his knees. After a few long breaths he regained his composer.

Novander?! He thought to himself, jumped to his feet and ran up the hill.

When he reached the top it was too late. He saw the body of Aliz outside the tent. He checked to see if the man was alive, so he might administer a potion to him, but Aliz was already dead. Dent was surprised when he heard the sudden sounds of the battle beginning behind him. He took what seemed a long few moments to look out into the valley.

Indeed the battle had begun. Loviatari poured out of their fortress through the gaping hole in the wall that Novander’s army had created. They were like a river of killers drenched with blood. Dent stood for a moment in awe of the violence, as the river met with a wall of shining steel. The river of Loviatar’s followers were no match when meet directly with the combined might of the faithful of Tyr, Helm, and Illmater.

In that moment Dent felt a surge of pride, and hope like he had never felt before, but then he saw a dark mass crest over the top of the dune where he had earlier noted that there were no signal fires.

It was mounted knights. They dressed in black armor and wore red cloaks, and there was a great number of them. Their horses seemed to be enchanted and rode atop the sand as if it were a cobbled street. The cavalry quickly reached the fighting line, and cut right through it, Tyran, Helmite, Illmatari and Loviatari alike where cut down.

Banites!-Dent thought. He then turned suddenly, remembering where he was, and called out…”Novander!” When he heard no response, he took hold of his axe, presented his shield, and entered the tent.

He first saw Novander’s body, lifeless, on the tent floor. His eyes trailed toward the woman who had just pulled a cloak from the top of the silver box and threw it over her naked shoulders.

“What have you done?!” Dent screamed.

The woman giggled and rushed toward Dent.

Dent pushed his shield toward the woman. She dodged and rolled behind him, swiftly jumped up, kicked him in the pants and turned to run down the hill.

Dent stumbled forward, and swung his axe as he turned. At the end of the lunge he saw the woman moving incredibly fast down the hill toward a refuse and junk area. Dent was a fairly quick runner himself, and he gave chase. The women paused as she entered the refuse area, and looked back at Dent.

The area was full of wooden boxes and crates that had carried water or other supplies as well as broken wagons, and even some of the army’s dead animals, and rotten food.
Dent reached the area, and spotted the woman moving behind a stack of crates that stood about head high. He rushed toward her, but once he reached the crates she had disappeared.

“Stop toying with me. Stand and fight!!” He yelled.

“You would kill me?” The woman coyly responded, as she moved about the debris.

“Yes, I will kill you for what you have done!” Dent growled. As he said this, he spun his shield around to block the barbed ends of the whip that were striking at him from behind. When he looked up to counter strike… there was nothing.

“Very good…my lion. You are strong, and more powerful than you know. Your mighty paladin of the Broken One could not do as much.” The woman’s voice sounded soothing, and Dent had to fight himself from dropping his guard.

“I have had enough! Show yourself!” Dent roared.

He spun again, this time the barbs met their mark and latched onto Dent’s leg. Dent swung at the whip trying to cut it. His axe pinched the whip as he buried it in the sand, but it did not break. Dent then grabbed the whip and yanked the woman toward him. She hurdled toward Dent and struck at him with a dagger, Dent countered with his shield and both fell to the ground, but the woman was, again, too fast and jumped to her feet and disappeared amongst the rubble.

“I wish we could dance all night, my love, but there are things that are yet to be done and undone tonight.” the woman calmly said.

Dent searched the darkness. The hairs on the back of his head stood upright before he felt something hit him. Immediately, the woman was on his back and a dagger was poking at his neck. The woman bent down to Dent’s ear, kissed him and whispered.

“I am Talya, and we will meet again”

She then stabbed him in the rib. The poison took only a moment to take effect. Dent fell to unconsciousness for only a few minutes, but the woman, her whip, and her scent were gone.
Current PC: IS NOT Dent Jars
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Lokan
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The final battle (end)

Post by Lokan »

Dent took a long drink of water from his skin. He examined the wound that Talya’s dagger had made in his side beneath his armor. He tore some cloth from the sleeve on his undershirt, balled it up and pressed it against the wound. He considered taking a potion, but decided against it. He readjusted his gear and armor and turned toward the battle that raged a few hundred meters away.

The night sky was clear and bright, and illuminated the desert.

The Banite force appeared to have already partially encircled the Illmateri lead forces by cutting through a large portion of the already dwindled army, and separating it from the main camp where Dent still stood seemingly alone. Dent was now behind the enemy line, and they were pushing most of his force away from him. Dent knew that if he attempted to join the fight he would most certainly be killed.

As he started his first steps toward the fighting, he noticed a small contingent of heavily armored Banites on horseback split from their main effort and ride toward the main camp.

They are headed for the headquarters tent- Dent thought.
“Good, at least I won’t have to walk far to die”

He took notice of his placement in the battle. He surveyed the land, and looked for high ground. He approximated distances between the things he could see, just as Novander had taught him. He took notice of the junk, looked for large areas of brush, and looked up the dune toward the tent. He gazed into the night and looked for lurking shadows.

This technique served him well. He noticed another small group of soldiers approaching him from the opposite side of the refuse area. He counted five lightly armored but well armed fighters. He quickly tried to hide himself behind a pile of wooden boxes, and looked back to the mounted group. While he had been watching the foot soldiers the mounted group had slowed. There was yet another mounted group that had taken an angle of pursuit on them and was closing. It was the command battle group. Dent could see the banner of Helm being carried by the lead horseman. Merkish, the monk, would now be in command since Novander had been killed. Dent hoped he was with those horsemen.

At least I won’t have to fight all of these men alone, he thought.
“First, the footmen”, Dent confidently said to himself.

Dent frequently would talk to him self, especially when he was alone. This was probably an old habit he developed when trying to talk to the ghost of his mother.

He evaluated their approach. In the months Dent had trained with Novander and the time he spent fighting in this war, he had become a fair small-group tactician. They were not trying to be sneaky, and moved quickly. They marched at a brisk pace in a row, one next to the other. Dent discerned that they were trying to take the area in force, did not care who saw them, someone had directed them to move in this fashion in order to clear the area, and they were trained but not much more than beginners.

“...but there are too many for one man”, Dent said to himself.
“…and I’m not much good at hiding”
“…hells with it!”

Dent stepped out from the pile and presented himself to the approaching pack.

“You want a fight!” he shouted.

As soon as the men noticed him, Dent began to move laterally as if he were trying to flank the group. Once the men would adjust he would change direction. Soon the enemy soldiers had broken their formation and were planning their steps toward Dent individually. When they were almost within fighting range, Dent darted to the opposite side or two large wood piles. He had moved the men to make a line of them selves, one after another, and placed himself with the woodpiles at his flanks. The soldiers would be attacking Dent one at a time.

Dent hurled a throwing axe at the first man, and placed the cleaver directly into his skull. The next man charged. Dent swiftly drew his battle axe from his side at the same time he dodged the incoming blow. He swung the axe upward from his belt and cut into the man. He then swept his shield at the next man, and knocked him to the ground. He continued to move forward, and locked weapons with the next man. He twisted his wrist to bind the weapons together and pushed forward with his shield. He knocked the man into the soldier behind him. He unlocked his axe and swung violently at the necks of the last two and cleaved off their heads. He spun back round and parried a blow and cut into the last man standing. All five were dead or dyeing at Dents feet.

Dent turned back to the mounted groups, which had already met and were amidst combat. He began to run toward the fight. As he approached he was stopped in his tracks at the sight of the melee.

Dent could see strong dark energies pour out of the hands of the black knights, and into the knights of the triad. Most of the fighters of Illmater succumbed quickly to the evil onslaught.

Dent resumed his run, but it seemed as if he were running in a dream, and time slowed as he approached. He could see the horror and pain his comrades were suffering, and watched them being cut to ribbons at the hands of the Banite priests, until only Merkish remained.

The Monk stood before the tent. Dent watched, while somehow his movement was drastically slowed, as Merkish was struck a number of times by blade and dark powers before he finally was put to the ground. As the monk laid there dying, a Banite priest strangely knelt to the monk and healed some of his wounds. The dark figures stood around the monk a moment.

Dent was enraged, he pressed harder toward the group, and let out a growl as he swung his axe down at the Banites, but was quickly put to his knees as the same energies that had destroyed his friends hit him. Dent writhed in pain. Merkish quickly slid to Dents side.

“NO! Stop!” , Merkish cried out to the Banite priests.
“I have surrendered. The field is yours!” Merkish pleaded as he shielded Dent.

“It is done, Monk. We will now signal the withdrawal of our forces and take the black temple. You will have until sunset tomorrow to clean the fields of your dead, after then; all remaining will be property of our army. You will be wise and attempt no further violence. “ – commanded one of the Banite priests.

He threw a scroll at Merkish and continued…

“This is the edict of the Pasha of Keltar. By right of force and your surrender, as is law here, we now claim this area. Ours is the only sanctioned force on this ground. Any further actions on the part of anyone under your command will result in the continuation of conflict, and will be punishable by the laws of this land.”

The black priest signaled to one of his men and a horn was sounded. More horns replied to the sound and the battle started to quiet. The Banite forces turned and began to enter the black temple.

Merkish sobbed as he lay next to Dent.
Current PC: IS NOT Dent Jars
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CloudDancing
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Re: An evening on the farm [18+ Possible]

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This is excellent work! Simply Riveting.
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Lokan
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Prolog

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Dent retook his seat in the great hall. He had just given testimony as to the occurrences leading up to and during the battle. High level clerics from many different faiths were in attendance. The hall was large but simply adorned fitting the largest monastery of the humblest god. What was left of the Illmateri army and its allies had made it back to The House of the Broken God.

An investigation into what had happened had already begun. They had been back for almost a turn of the full moon when the assembly was called. Dent had already told them everything he remembered, but the clerics said that he would have to speak at the assembly. Dent blamed himself for the death of Novander, and the thusly the lost battle. He had been reassured on a number of occasions that there were things beyond his control. Dent had been exonerated and not found to be in league with the assassin Talya, but that did not matter to him. But, Novander was not the only death he had weighing on his mind.

Dent had received two letters from a merchant named Amstel. He had spent two days in a small library reading the letters over and over, until an Ilmateri priestess brought him food and water. He could not take his eyes from the letters even now in the presence of so many powerful clerics.

The letters read as follows:
Dearest Dent:

I hope you are well and clad ever in the grace of the Wounded One. It was with no small injury to me that I learned of your journey south unto Calimshan, for I do much miss our walks in the wood and the gentleness of your company. It was with great gladness I received tidings of your whereabouts from a good tradesman named Amstel.

He hath claimed to have seen you in the company of one goodknight Novander, and did offer to see this correspondence into Sir Novander’s care that it may be delivered unto you upon his next journey south to Calimport.

Amstel spoke of war and a vile horde of Loviatari. He could offer no greater illumination of your circumstance than that you were in the company of noble warriors and did seem well equipped. I pray it is so and that the vagaries of conflict do not misuse you greatly. I am no warrior, as well you do know, and my spirit is troubled that you are so far from our care and in danger. May the Doombringer deliver justice unto you and your host that you may return to us soon.

I know you held great love for Ragnus of Ironlung, even as he did for you, and it is with woe beyond words easily bound that I must convey sad tidings unto you of our house. Ragnus of Ironlung and Blaise Dawnbright are fallen.

Even as you read this letter they are long past interred unto the care of their patrons. Blaise hath been entombed with honour amongst the noble Dawnbringers in the crypt of Lathander’s temple in Beregost, and Ragnus hath been given unto the care of the dwarven cleric Talhund Oresniffer.

Would that I could enfold these injurious tidings in gentler words that you might be spared some of the pain visited upon us all by these sad events, but I have made many efforts to do so in these past months and cast each aside in despair. I can but quill the tragedy in starkness and rely upon your strength and forgiveness that you receive this news well.

As you did know before you journeyed south, our house has sought the destruction of the vile horde of the Undercellar vampire Lord. A means toward his possible destruction was secured after a hard battle with the orcs of the Black Arrow beneath the Cloakwood. Verily I did think we might all be sundered even then as that fell host fell upon us from all sides with ferocity, but the valour of Ragnus, Blaise, Merrin, and one William D’Arville did secure victory and the source of orc hordes foul power unto our care. It was a gem that radiated great magic, and when coupled with another relic of the church of Lathander by the scholars of Candlekeep became a powerful weapon against the forces of necromantic corruption.

I know you must chafe that I ramble about such matters and yet do not render unto script the circumstance of the deaths of our loved ones. Verily this task is difficult for me and my pen seems unwilling, but I shall see it done as I must.

It came to pass even as we made plans to assault the Undercellar that Lemuel Ogdenstorm of House Invinsible in Silverymoon came unto our city. He bore not the banner of his house any longer and did seem to have fallen unto some misfortune in service to his house that methinks he may have been severed that sustenance. Lemuel would not speak of this misfortune in any detail that might make it clear to me what the matter was, but it was determined his offered aid in our task should be foolishly spurned.

I admit I made no objection at the time, even though the affection I once held for this warrior had long since waned when he displayed himself a man of surpassing crudeness and companion of the vile orc Grull of Yellowtooth, and my disquiet was amplified when a vampiress materialized out of mist near Black Dragon gate and approached Lemuel in conspiratorial comport.

Indeed, Lemuel took secret counsel with the creature as we waited nearby uneased by any knowledge of what this relationship between Lemuel and the vampires beneath our city might be. When by and anon Lemuel did return to us he admitted that his allegiance had been secured by geas to this vampiress he named as Laryssa. Lemuel claimed he would sever this corrupt binding with the vampiress by performing a single task, and then slaying her himself.

This knowledge was unsettling, of course, but even as it was debated hotly amongst our house as to what should be done concerning Lemuel, our relic was stolen. Verily I did suspect Lemuel in this as he had admitted his mistress Laryssa had demanded he give it over to her, but he denied any knowledge of how it had been stolen or by whom.

The magus Shandalar in Ulgoth’s Beard did imform us that our relic could not only be used to combat the undead, but also as a conduit of terrible power to the Shadow planes. We had no choice but to recover it in all haste and journeyed into the Undercellar in hopes of finding it. We found the Vampire Mikarin there with a terrible company of giant shadow creature and the liche procurer of the Underlord.

It was clear that Mikarin had misused the relic in pursuit of his own dark agenda and had suffered from his proximity to it. He offered freely to return it to our care, and claimed to have used to to slay many of the Underlorad’s creatures.

Verily that vile chamber was strewn with the rotting remains of a vast number of undead and there was little doubt the vampire spoke some measure of truth. Merrin and I did counsel Ragnus that we take back the relic and retreat until more might be known of these queer developments, but Lemuel spake that he was tasked by Laryssa to destroy Mikarin and must do so at once. With no care for his own life in the face of the vile host arrayed before us, Lemuel charged the vampire with sword raised high and shield to fore.

Ragnus and Blaise could not stand idle by and watch Lemuel be destroyed by Mikarin and his host. They charged to his defense, and Merrin and I to the defense of our comrades. Forgive me that I cannot well bind in great detail the battle, for the magical energies released by the liche coupled with the smothering press of the giant shadows made it nearly impossible to see. Know that Blaise and Ragnus did as their hearts bid in this and I have no doubt they would do even so again were they given the chance.

They and Lemuel fought bravely and with such ferocity as would please even the Reaver himself, but alas..I was soon stuck from my feet and lost consciousness, and when I recovered all that was left our heroes were broken bodies amongst smoldering carnage. I could not recall the spirits of our brethren unto the ruin of their bodies. Only Merrin Allister yet possessed a pale flicker that I might rekindle him unto life, and we two only remained.

Merrin and I delivered Lemuel unto the care of the Helm temple, and washed and prepared Blaise and Ragnus for perpetual interment.

I beg you forgive my brevity, now that I have finally found strength to bind the passing of our beloved friends, but even now, these many weeks later it wounds me nearly beyond bearing to do so. Take heart in the knowledge they died with honour and unswerving earnestness of purpose…the Underlord’s horde is sundered.

I close with this humble rendering I penned to sing over our fallen:

Five were we when challenge was answered…
Brave were the four I followed down…
Into corrupted depths we ventured…
With sword and shield held to fore…

Ragnus of Ironlung in bright new armour…
Strode dauntless at Sir Lemuel’s side…
And swathed full in Lathander’s favour…
Sir Blaise made three our forward line….

Three warriors strong, who might oppose us?
And yet another strengthened our force…
My heart abides now with the magus…
Merrin Allister made warriors four…

We found the vampire’s horde at last…
Deep in the Undercellar’s darkness…
With lich and shadow creatures vast…
Came four warriors and a maiden…

Makarin gave up his stolen prize…
For he could not abide it’s power…
He offered then dark compromise…
But Lemuel would have none of it…

With shield to fore and sword held high…
Sir Lemuel charged the vampire’s horde…
Our heroes could not stand idle by…
And charged to Lemuel’s defense…

Arcane vapours filled the air…
Cries of agony and shattered arms…
But ne’er utterance of dispair…
Passed the lips of our heroes…

The lich was sundered in smoldering ash…
Makarin cleft into roiling dust…
Shadows were beaten back and back…
Until none stood yet but two of five…

Three heroes are dead, let none gainsay…
Ragnus of Ironlung and Blaise Dawnbright…
And Sir Lemuel on that fateful day…
Did die as heroes of Baldur’s Gate…

Let peel Three Thunders to mark their passing…
From brave heroes unto honoured dead…
Three in remembrance everlasting…
Take your rest now…Victory is yours


May Ilmater preserve you, Dent Jars…and return you to us in all haste,

Gwenevere
Dear Dent:

I hope this letter finds it’s way unto your care and that you receive it in good health. I know my last letter must have caused you pain and for that I am sorry. Would that Herrin and I had found the strength to sustain our brethren in their final battle, but by cruel chance or fell design we the weakest of our host remain and they do not.

Know that they were cleaned and delivered unto the care of their clerics as befitted their heroic deeds. We must dwell no more on tragedies past and look to a brighter future beyond these dark days.

Take heart, warrior, for believe Merrin is equal to the task that has fallen unto his care…our house shall be preserved and awaits your return.

I did review my last correspondence to you and saw that I had neglected to inform you that Ragnus and I did secure a manor house in the Palace District for our guild. Alas I have yet to lend what matronly ability I may process toward decorating the bare walls and softening the cold stone, and Ragnus and Blaise enjoyed little leisure or dignified repast before their fall, so hard-pressed were we by circumstance those last months since acquiring the manor.

I will find time to see it made ready to receive your happy return to us, however, only perhaps barring that your arrival doth joyously predates my ability to do so.

And know this, dear warrior, a footloose and misfortuned maiden who names herself Trapper Wind has come unto our care…and she bares glad tidings: Laque is said to imminently return unto Baldur’s Gate.
She claims she knows him well and that when he received news of the fall of Ragnus and Blaise he gave voice to his intent to return to the need of our house and began making preparations to leave the Silver Marches. Trapper is a troubled and ungentle maiden of the woodland, it seems, and has somehow fallen in grace to become pregnant outside the sanctity of union. But such mischance is frequent amongst the adventurer classes, and I beg you not judge her harshly in this.

Merrin has allowed her to stay in our home, and she is well cared for. She has spoken as well of two others whom she has said accompanied her from The Confederated Marches…an elven maiden named Zalanthe and a bard named Lettinius, if my notes be well bound. I have not yet been afforded the good fortune to meet them, as yet, but Trapper seems to believe they also mean to offer aid unto our guild.

I will send word as quickly as I know more of this apparent good fortune as I know it will comfort you to know Merrin, I, and our house are not forsaken sustenance.

May the Wounded God sustain and comfort you, Dent, and allow your swift return to us…

Gwenevere
Current PC: IS NOT Dent Jars
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Lokan
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Finale

Post by Lokan »

While Dent stayed fixated on the events of the war and the loss of his friends, clerics, priests and paladins all added evidence and speculation of what the Loviatari and the Banites had done. This had been an incursion planned by the largest group of Banites that the region had ever seen. They had used the Loviatari to lure the Illmateri into a conflict, they kidnapped the Pasha of Keltar’s son to win a sanction for their army, and withhold aid to the The House. Their goal had been a legal seizure of the black temple. They had accomplished that goal and had now tied the hands of the Illateri church and its allies.

That temple had gone unnoticed by the monastery. It must have been recently uncovered from the shifting of the desert as many mysterious on old things will in that area, and somehow the Banites had discovered its location and possibly its importance before the Illmateri.

At the time of the assembly, clerics had only been able to find two references to a temple that matched the description of that black temple. Both did not bode well.

The first one claimed that the temple could have held a long dead portal to the Black Bastion, as it once was known, which held the throne of the evil tyrant himself. The second was more obscure. It claimed that Bane himself had visited this temple as a mortal, and had left shards of a broken unknown relic there.

Whatever was there, one of the largest groups of Banites since Zhentil keep had entered the region and now had a legally sanctioned base of operations very near the largest monastery to the broken god in all of Fearun.

The Banites had also plotted to assassinate Novander. They had apparently learned of the presence of the Harpers once they had gotten close to reveling the Banites plot. They had captured the son of the Pasha and did plan to move him to Calimport. It had appeared as if some Loviatari had captured the Harpers and tortured them before the boy was moved. Once they had found out that Novander had this information they had placed the assassin on the boat instead of the boy. They had already placed Aliz in the command battle ranks near Novander. The plot had been quickly devised but effective.

The Pashas son had been returned and all attempts to reestablish contact with him by the church were ineffective. He had walled himself and his family up in the palace, and were not receiving anyone.

Nothing had been decided as to what action would be taken.

The assembly had been dismissed and Merkish approached Dent.

“Dent, you must know that Novander had a great love for you, and wished to show you a path to goodness and righteousness. You must not blame yourself for what had happened. He was a great leader and knew the risks he took. Because of his desire to see you whole, I wish to present to you the symbol of The Companions of the Noble Heart.”

It was a simple medallion with a rose engraved into it. Merkish handed it to Dent and hugged him.

“Thank you Merkish. I have spent much time thinking about what Novander, and my friends have taught me. I have decided that I should return to Baldur’s Gate, the merchant who gave me these letters is leaving in two mornings.” Dent said.

“I know of the sad news you have received, and I might ask that you stay here to heal yourself from this pain, but I can see that you will not. Also, if what you have said about this assassin Talya, she may be looking for you or even watching you. It may be wise to leave Calimshan.” Merkish answered.

“Yes, but I have one final request. I would like to take the pledge of the rite of the Passing. Would you ask the clerics to do this for me before I go?” Dent sadly but firmly asked.

The Rite of Passing is celebrated at the death of a devout Ilmatari follower, whether lay worshipper or cleric. It is a solemn chanting service that commends the passage of the departed soul to Ilmater's embrace. No Ilmatari cleric who receives this rite can be brought back to life on Faerûn, unless Ilmater himself sends him back. Most clerics take this as a vow during their adornment ritual. They choose to forego all attempts to be brought back to life, should clerics of other faiths attempt to do so. Lay worshippers decide on their own whether to undergo this rite. Most devout followers of Ilmater do choose The Passing. It is celebrated at the first dusk after death.

“Do you completely understand what you are asking Dent?” Merkish inquired.

“Yes, I do, Sir” Dent replied.

“Of course I will, Dent. This is a big step, and it makes me happy for you.” Merkish put his arm around Dent and lead him to the gardens.

The End…for now.
Current PC: IS NOT Dent Jars
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