Delawyn ran hard, his breathing ragged, arms and legs aching from the strain. He knew his path instinctively. It had been more than a century since he first traveled it, but everything was different this time. The sound of birds singing had been replaced with the sounds of arrow flight and the screaming of his cousins. The warm afternoon sunlight that drifted through the canopy was replaced with a faint, bleak moonlight that could barely light the path before him. Then he heard it, someone running through the trees off to his right. He struggled to make out a form as he ran, but the light was too dim, the figure too far away. Suddenly they burst through the trees, almost simultaneously into a small clearing in the woods. Their eyes met, and Delawyn recognized the face of his love just in time to see her hit in the back with an arrow. He had not even time to cry out as she collapsed before he was hit in the back of the shoulder with another arrow, spinning him around and knocking him off his feet. He landed hard on his back, skidding a few feet through the tall, dewy grass, crying out as the impact drove the arrow through his shoulder.
Delawyn shook his head, clearing the image from his mind as he stepped through the trees of the Cormanthor. There was no point going over the old memories anymore, as if he might somehow forget the images burned forever into his mind. He looked slowly around the forest, taking it all in. The moonlight was a bit brighter here, though he did not know his path. He walked on, listening to the sounds of the night birds. His steps were slow, measured and deliberate, for he was in no hurry. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, steadying it to stop it from knocking against his armor and disturbing the quiet peace of the forest.
He stopped in a small clearing, not unlike the one from that night, he thought. He bowed his head in prayer, but it was not Corellon to whom his prayers went this evening. Tonight was not about protecting The People, their lands or their allies. It was not about the war, it was not about the Dale, and it was not about the villagers. No, tonight he would pray to another, the one who understood loss. Tonight was a special occasion, after all. It was an anniversary, one to be celebrated in blood.
His head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes as he scanned the forest around the clearing. The night birds had gone silent. Delawyn reached for his sword, and it was then he noticed the first pair of glowing, red eyes watching him from behind the trees. He held eye contact as he drew Orell's Legend from its scabbard, listening to the quiet roar of the holy fire that wound it way around the polished blade. It seemed his guests had finally found him. He swore he could almost see the overconfident sneer on his opponent's face through the darkness. He looked quickly over the clearing, apprising his situation. They would strike in a few moments' time, but he had set his wards in place earlier. He was ready. As he heard the first rush into the clearing behind him, he felt relieved. He would lose himself in the battle, and for some small time, assuage the insufferable guilt for those he had let die.
Body and Soul at War
-
Legionnaire
- Githyanki
- Posts: 1387
- Joined: Mon Oct 11, 2004 11:23 pm
- Location: NY, USA (GMT-5)
- Contact:
Greaaaaat!!
NWN1 PC:
Now (2017): Bran, naive servant of Lathander, currently thinking about opening a potion shop.
circa 2000: JenWa, proud mother duck and half-crazed sorceress of Shadowdale.
NW2 PC: Kasil Trueforger, dwarven scholar of Felbarr.
Garlus Ironbeard: [d] I was sure there was a reason we brought you along.
Kevorn Trueforger: [d] I'm da funny one and ye're da smart one.
Now (2017): Bran, naive servant of Lathander, currently thinking about opening a potion shop.
circa 2000: JenWa, proud mother duck and half-crazed sorceress of Shadowdale.
NW2 PC: Kasil Trueforger, dwarven scholar of Felbarr.
Garlus Ironbeard: [d] I was sure there was a reason we brought you along.
Kevorn Trueforger: [d] I'm da funny one and ye're da smart one.
Nice to see Orell's Legend in game yet.
Have the Drow knocked down the you know what yet? *winks*
Very cool to get some insight into Delawyn. My PCs haven't gotten to know him well but Glorfindel would have approved of the area's present senior cleric of Corellon. Not to mention the near gaggle of lower level clerics about. The poor lad would have been delirious over that. Elven clerics following the Seldarine, it's nice to see it's not a novelty anymore.
-Bill
Have the Drow knocked down the you know what yet? *winks*
Very cool to get some insight into Delawyn. My PCs haven't gotten to know him well but Glorfindel would have approved of the area's present senior cleric of Corellon. Not to mention the near gaggle of lower level clerics about. The poor lad would have been delirious over that. Elven clerics following the Seldarine, it's nice to see it's not a novelty anymore.
-Bill
- Currently NWN1 ALFA: Ryld Ky'bler
Currently NWN2: Gwindor Faelivrin, still not actually dead!
Formerly: Timyin Tim, Glorfindel Inglorion and Beleg Thalionestel amongst others.
Delawyn's head swam in a sea of grief, confusion, terror, and anger. So many questions ran through his head in an unending loop: what was going on? Why? Who was doing this? Why was it allowed to happen? He staggered through the forest clutching his shoulder, but everything seemed alien and unfamiliar. The warmth he had known previously was replaced by a cold sense of loneliness. Up ahead, he saw the flickering of light, and he pressed forward. As he broke through the tree his legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees as a raspy gasp escaped his lips. The flickering lights had been the dancing of flames. The sky began to lighten with the approaching dawn as Delawyn surveyed the scene before him, his stomach churning. Bodies everywhere, dead kin. Homes, buildings and trees burned. The flames had mostly died, and those left clung to the sparse remains of the once peaceful village like vultures to the last of a predator's kill. His shoulders convulsed in sobs as tears began to stream down his face. His mind focused on one question: Why was this allowed to happen? For the first time in his life, the flame of faith that burned in the acolyte's heart begin to waver like that of a candle caught in a breeze...
Faith is enough.
The adage, carved into the base of Orell's statue, flashed through his mind as he looked over the sword he held in his hand. He exhaled slowly and looked up to the night sky above, watching the clouds pass slowly across the face of the moon. Such sentiments were cold comfort from a man who died at his enemy's hand. Delawyn sauntered back to the center of the clearing he had been training in and took combat stance for what felt like the dozenth time this evening. The evening breeze had died down and everything seemed deadly still as Delawyn stood tensed, and completely unmoving. He closed his eyes, sensing out every muscle and making the most minor of adjustments to his stance. This time, it would be perfect. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood there, then launched himself into the same training routine he had been practicing all evening. He moved fluidly from blow to blow, using his footwork to accentuate every strike. It seemed as if he were involved in a deadly dance with an invisible opponent. He froze at the end of the last strike and closed his eyes again, going over the exercise in his mind. His calm expression slowly evolved into a scowl; he had made mistakes, and each was an opportunity for a real opponent. It had not been perfect. He stood up straight again and glanced toward the horizon. The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn approached. Delawyn sighed and shook his head as he returned Orell's Legend to the scabbard, his hand lingering a moment on the hilt as the thought passed through his mind again...
Faith is enough.
Delawyn walked over to the edge of the clearing and grabbed his shirt off the low branch he had hung it on. He thew it on, not bothering to button it or tuck it in as he headed back toward the river bank. In some sense he know Orell was right. He knew Corellon would give him everything he needed to see the enemies of The People driven before him. Settling parallel to the river, Delawyn stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle as he let one hand trail through through the water as he leaned back on the other. As he turned his gaze to the horizon and the sun began to rise over the trees, the question so many had asked him burned in his mind: When the time came, would he be ready? He had always said yes, that was what they needed to hear. His lips said yes, but his heart was uncertain. This was the question he could not answer. This was the faith he did not have. After all, he had stood by helplessly as his own people were killed, what was he really going to be able to do for the Dale? Sure, he had become more powerful, but would increasing the skill of the same uncertain creature make him any more effective? He knew the others believed in him, but that only made him uncomfortable. Their faith made him second guess himself more than he already did. How could they believe in someone who didn't even believe in himself? He shook his head and looked down to his reflection in the river. In many ways, he still saw the same frightened acolyte in his eyes, hiding behind the mask of the priest he had become.
Faith is enough.
He whispered it aloud this time as he looked back to the morning sky. The sun had risen fully above the trees by now, and he needed to go. Faith was enough, but was victory still possible without it? Delawyn sighed as he got to his feet and brushed a bit of grass from his pants and shirt tail. He turned, lingering for a moment, still watching his reflection in the river, then set off toward the Tower of Ashaba, buttoning and tucking his shirt in as he went. There was something he had faith in. If he could not win this fight, at least he would not live to suffer the survivor's guilt once more.
Faith is enough.
The adage, carved into the base of Orell's statue, flashed through his mind as he looked over the sword he held in his hand. He exhaled slowly and looked up to the night sky above, watching the clouds pass slowly across the face of the moon. Such sentiments were cold comfort from a man who died at his enemy's hand. Delawyn sauntered back to the center of the clearing he had been training in and took combat stance for what felt like the dozenth time this evening. The evening breeze had died down and everything seemed deadly still as Delawyn stood tensed, and completely unmoving. He closed his eyes, sensing out every muscle and making the most minor of adjustments to his stance. This time, it would be perfect. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood there, then launched himself into the same training routine he had been practicing all evening. He moved fluidly from blow to blow, using his footwork to accentuate every strike. It seemed as if he were involved in a deadly dance with an invisible opponent. He froze at the end of the last strike and closed his eyes again, going over the exercise in his mind. His calm expression slowly evolved into a scowl; he had made mistakes, and each was an opportunity for a real opponent. It had not been perfect. He stood up straight again and glanced toward the horizon. The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn approached. Delawyn sighed and shook his head as he returned Orell's Legend to the scabbard, his hand lingering a moment on the hilt as the thought passed through his mind again...
Faith is enough.
Delawyn walked over to the edge of the clearing and grabbed his shirt off the low branch he had hung it on. He thew it on, not bothering to button it or tuck it in as he headed back toward the river bank. In some sense he know Orell was right. He knew Corellon would give him everything he needed to see the enemies of The People driven before him. Settling parallel to the river, Delawyn stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle as he let one hand trail through through the water as he leaned back on the other. As he turned his gaze to the horizon and the sun began to rise over the trees, the question so many had asked him burned in his mind: When the time came, would he be ready? He had always said yes, that was what they needed to hear. His lips said yes, but his heart was uncertain. This was the question he could not answer. This was the faith he did not have. After all, he had stood by helplessly as his own people were killed, what was he really going to be able to do for the Dale? Sure, he had become more powerful, but would increasing the skill of the same uncertain creature make him any more effective? He knew the others believed in him, but that only made him uncomfortable. Their faith made him second guess himself more than he already did. How could they believe in someone who didn't even believe in himself? He shook his head and looked down to his reflection in the river. In many ways, he still saw the same frightened acolyte in his eyes, hiding behind the mask of the priest he had become.
Faith is enough.
He whispered it aloud this time as he looked back to the morning sky. The sun had risen fully above the trees by now, and he needed to go. Faith was enough, but was victory still possible without it? Delawyn sighed as he got to his feet and brushed a bit of grass from his pants and shirt tail. He turned, lingering for a moment, still watching his reflection in the river, then set off toward the Tower of Ashaba, buttoning and tucking his shirt in as he went. There was something he had faith in. If he could not win this fight, at least he would not live to suffer the survivor's guilt once more.
I'm such a big Delawyn fan!
Incidentally, "Faith is enough" has been on Jen's mind for a long time, ever since we've assembled the you-know-what. And everytime she passes by it.
Great story!
NWN1 PC:
Now (2017): Bran, naive servant of Lathander, currently thinking about opening a potion shop.
circa 2000: JenWa, proud mother duck and half-crazed sorceress of Shadowdale.
NW2 PC: Kasil Trueforger, dwarven scholar of Felbarr.
Garlus Ironbeard: [d] I was sure there was a reason we brought you along.
Kevorn Trueforger: [d] I'm da funny one and ye're da smart one.
Now (2017): Bran, naive servant of Lathander, currently thinking about opening a potion shop.
circa 2000: JenWa, proud mother duck and half-crazed sorceress of Shadowdale.
NW2 PC: Kasil Trueforger, dwarven scholar of Felbarr.
Garlus Ironbeard: [d] I was sure there was a reason we brought you along.
Kevorn Trueforger: [d] I'm da funny one and ye're da smart one.
((End of the war, woohoo!))
Delawyn strained his eyes to keep the Isle in view as he leaned on the stern of the ship. He was somehow afraid to lose sight of it. Everything he had ever known was slipping away as the ship cut a course through the calm waters. As his world finally faded completely from sight, Delawyn sighed heavily as his head dropped. He stared down at the water as thoughts of people and events past played in his mind. He would always hold these memories close. He scowled as he looked up toward the front of the ship. The young acolyte had never been to Faerun, but already something in his mind hated it. Yet... he thought, as he turned his attention back to the dark waters, he was still running of his own volition. No on had forced him to go, he just could not handle things on the Isle any longer. The death, the destruction... he had no idea how to respond. He felt guilty to have survived. He should have died with his cousins, or been strong enough to save them. Home no longer felt like home. He hated Faerun, but he could not continue on the Isle... he was homeless, and worst of all he was alone. Delawyn closed his eyes and clutched tightly at the holy symbol around his neck. The Coronal was all he had left. He opened his eyes again and stared off in the direction of the Isle. He had to to move on; he had to let it go...
The spell released its grip, and Delawyn scrambled to his feet and charged Mel'vir, closing the distance between them quickly as he drew back his sword. Mel'vir easily parried the first blow, and then they were locked in a deadly dance of blades from which only one would emerge. It was quickly apparent that Mel'vir was the better swordsman. He struck faster, and moved more quickly, though Delawyn's strike were more precise. As the two danced, the sound of the others fighting for their lives behind the walls of force drifted to his ears, and for a moment, he looked away. Mel'vir seized on this and pressed his attacks harder. Delawyn, caught off guard was put on the defensive, parrying blows with both sword and shield as he was forced back. As the fight wore on, Delawyn knew it was only a matter of time before Mel'vir could pierce the last of his wards and the fight would only get worse from there if something did not change. And just like that, there it was. Mel'vir misstepped. This small error in his footwork was enough, and Delawyn planted his back foot and stepped forward through Mel'vir's strike, throwing off the magister's balance and putting him on the defensive. Delawyn instinctively started the series of attacks he had practiced time and again in preparation for this. Fueled by Orell's power coursing through him, he went on the offensive. The dance was now coming to a close, but no one had told Mel'vir how it ended. The magister played along, parrying blows as he could, unable to break Delawyn's momentum. With the final blow of the sequence, Delawyn ran the drow through up to the hilt. He whispered to Mel'vir, “Your power is broken”, then twisted the sword in his gut before pulling it out. He watched as the poor creature coughed and gasped, then dropped to his knees, and fell to the ground, dead. Moments later he heard the walls of force drop, and the others come rushing forward...
Delawyn shook his head, dispelling the memory as he looked around the tree top in the bright afternoon sunlight. He paused a moment to examine the spot where Mel'vir had fallen. A small bloodstain could still be seen where the drow had died. The war was over, and things could finally return to normal. The Dale had been saved, and he had been strong enough this time. He glanced over toward the edge where Adellie was staring out over the forest and smiled a bit to himself. He walked over and put an arm around her shoulder. It was time to move on, to let it go. It was finally time to let it all go...
Delawyn strained his eyes to keep the Isle in view as he leaned on the stern of the ship. He was somehow afraid to lose sight of it. Everything he had ever known was slipping away as the ship cut a course through the calm waters. As his world finally faded completely from sight, Delawyn sighed heavily as his head dropped. He stared down at the water as thoughts of people and events past played in his mind. He would always hold these memories close. He scowled as he looked up toward the front of the ship. The young acolyte had never been to Faerun, but already something in his mind hated it. Yet... he thought, as he turned his attention back to the dark waters, he was still running of his own volition. No on had forced him to go, he just could not handle things on the Isle any longer. The death, the destruction... he had no idea how to respond. He felt guilty to have survived. He should have died with his cousins, or been strong enough to save them. Home no longer felt like home. He hated Faerun, but he could not continue on the Isle... he was homeless, and worst of all he was alone. Delawyn closed his eyes and clutched tightly at the holy symbol around his neck. The Coronal was all he had left. He opened his eyes again and stared off in the direction of the Isle. He had to to move on; he had to let it go...
The spell released its grip, and Delawyn scrambled to his feet and charged Mel'vir, closing the distance between them quickly as he drew back his sword. Mel'vir easily parried the first blow, and then they were locked in a deadly dance of blades from which only one would emerge. It was quickly apparent that Mel'vir was the better swordsman. He struck faster, and moved more quickly, though Delawyn's strike were more precise. As the two danced, the sound of the others fighting for their lives behind the walls of force drifted to his ears, and for a moment, he looked away. Mel'vir seized on this and pressed his attacks harder. Delawyn, caught off guard was put on the defensive, parrying blows with both sword and shield as he was forced back. As the fight wore on, Delawyn knew it was only a matter of time before Mel'vir could pierce the last of his wards and the fight would only get worse from there if something did not change. And just like that, there it was. Mel'vir misstepped. This small error in his footwork was enough, and Delawyn planted his back foot and stepped forward through Mel'vir's strike, throwing off the magister's balance and putting him on the defensive. Delawyn instinctively started the series of attacks he had practiced time and again in preparation for this. Fueled by Orell's power coursing through him, he went on the offensive. The dance was now coming to a close, but no one had told Mel'vir how it ended. The magister played along, parrying blows as he could, unable to break Delawyn's momentum. With the final blow of the sequence, Delawyn ran the drow through up to the hilt. He whispered to Mel'vir, “Your power is broken”, then twisted the sword in his gut before pulling it out. He watched as the poor creature coughed and gasped, then dropped to his knees, and fell to the ground, dead. Moments later he heard the walls of force drop, and the others come rushing forward...
Delawyn shook his head, dispelling the memory as he looked around the tree top in the bright afternoon sunlight. He paused a moment to examine the spot where Mel'vir had fallen. A small bloodstain could still be seen where the drow had died. The war was over, and things could finally return to normal. The Dale had been saved, and he had been strong enough this time. He glanced over toward the edge where Adellie was staring out over the forest and smiled a bit to himself. He walked over and put an arm around her shoulder. It was time to move on, to let it go. It was finally time to let it all go...
