A Land Far Away

The first two stories listed below are background stories that a group of players here in ALFA wrote for a group of pc's that we will be creating to play in a campaign on a NWN 1 Server - Northern Cormyr.

After having a few people read the story, it was suggest to be posted here to allow others to enjoy. I am also planning to update this thread in a story style format as in game events move forward. My hopes here is that we can use this to help recruit or revive some old players desire to play in ALFA1.

I would also like to ask to keep the thread clean so that if others come to read that only the stories of this group's adventures are contain here.

Also, a great thanks to the contributors: (if I miss anyone I apologize)
OldGrayRogue, Nalo Jade, Chamu, Danielmn, Zelknolf, Ksiel

By Life and By Blade

“FLY!!” Her voice rang out above the din, echoing like some shouted plea to the gods. “FLY FRIENDS! FLY BRAVE FELLOWS!! She stood, as if on a bloody hill, astride the body of two huge ogres felled by her flashing blade. It pointed now towards the tree line some hundred paces distant, the westering sun glinting along its length like some guiding star. She waited. Expecting the horde to break around her like some holy island in a raging river of flesh, blood and steel.

Hard had been the fighting and devastating their losses the past few days and nights. Now, the remains of an entire battalion, reduced to a stumbling band of stragglers, ran desperate through the dreary rain to hide among the trees under the cloak of the coming night. If not for Ilana Mir’Lan, Blessed of Correlon and Sehanine, all would surely have been lost. Time after time her dancing blade had won them respite as they fled the field, her strong commanding voice urging dead men on to valor and a chance for life.

She stood now upon her gory isle, bright helm lying battered from the ogre’s blow at her feet. Her long silver hair unbound, flowing like moonbeams on the wind, and streaked with red by more than the setting sun. Her fabulous gold and silver plate, seemed to cling dented and hanging to her slight frame. But yet her noble, angelic face stood firm, set against the coming storm.

Mac lopped the pursuing orc’s head from its shoulders with a screaming chop of his great sword, turned and crested the hill at a dead run. Through soldier’s habit and training, he immediately picked his remaining companions out of the fleeing throng: Ilana, their leader, unmistakable like a beacon upon a gory hill. The wily elf Nailo, sprinting to his left, short sword in hand making for her, and in the distance, back from where he had come the hooded dwarf, chugging on stunted legs up the mud soaked hill towards the sound of her voice, that somehow rang loud and clear like a temple bell as if peeling “COURAGE! FAITH! SALVATION! THIS WAY!” Four only. Of their band of twenty that had joined the battalion under Ilana their Captain, only these four remained.

Turning to look back down the hill, what Mac saw brought foul curses to his lips and a red haze before his eyes. No, not four, five. There, astride a foaming charger rode the traitor – Kelos Mors, the half elven Lieutenant of their company, at the head of the advancing horde, his lance pointing the way after the fleeing band up the hill as the slavering orc, goblin, and ogre horde howled its blood lust and thundered up the hill sliding in the muck and gore. Turning to run again for Ilana fear seized his soul, as if out of some alien plane, suddenly before her floated a dread being of sorcerous nightmare.

Black robes billowed about what appeared to be a human form. A red dragon crested helm, wings cast back in full flight and claws extended, crowned the apparition’s head. A second set of wings, also blood red and vicious, swept out of the dark being’s back, the points meeting high above its helmed head. As he drew nearer as if in a daze, Mac could hear its baritone voice echoing eerily from deep within the helm: “ ... all this and more can be yours sweet Ilana, the relic you seek, riches beyond your wildest imaginings, you need only renounce your Lord and Lady and bow down to me.” “NEVER!!!!” Cried the paladin raising her sword before her. The demon shape let out an echoing laugh. “What love you have for your precious Seldarine elfling, is it as strong I wonder as that which grips your heart for my pet, or for that holiest of relics he promised you as he pledged his heart and soul to you each night?” Again the draconic being laughed flapping its wings as if in mirth. “MONSTER!!! screamed Ilana, tears now streaming down her golden cheeks “YOU SHALL BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR YOUR TREACHERY!!” She shouted, pointing her sword at the fiend, her voice regaining the steady ring of courage that her faith inspired. Laughing again the fiend swooped into the air high above her head, strange guttural sounds issuing from it, and dark vapors forming around its gauntleted fists. Ilana brought her sword up before her lips, a song of prayer issuing forth across it, and a bright white light springing from the blade to envelope her, just as the sun set on the western horizon. Then with an ear shattering crack, a blast of eldritch energy issued from the monster high above, striking Ilana head on and hurling her towards the trees.

Mac heard Nailo scream – “NOOOOOO!!!!” and saw the elf racing towards her. Without a second thought he ran towards her as well. Amazingly, she was rising shaking on one knee when they both reached her, using her sword to prop her up. With Nailo’s help she rose and they all turned towards the dwarf’s shout from the tree line: “This way! MOVE! NOW!” Grabbing Ilana by one arm to aid her, the three ran for the trees, when suddenly Ilana lurched forward and fell to the ground as if struck from behind. There, protruding from her back stood the traitor’s lance, hurled with such force that the razor point had punched through the plate covering her shoulders. Ilana gulped for air writhing as Mac turned with a primal roar, the muscles and veins bulging from his neck as his knuckles grew white gripping the great sword before him. “NO! Creed, no!. She still lives! Hurry, I cannot carry her!” The elf said as the dwarven ranger urged them on from the trees. Snapping the lance where it entered her body, Mac lifted Ilana and dashed for the wood, cursing his rage through clenched teeth as they followed the dwarf on a winding route through the trees. Darkness fell, and if not for the elf urging him right and left Mac would have lost his way a dozen times. The sounds of men being slaughtered around and behind them pounded in his ears, driving him ever faster as the pursuing horde finished off those that fled into the trees.

But the dwarf had skill, and as darkness continued to fall he led them deeper and deeper into the thickest part of the forest through winding ways until the sounds of pursuit grew far off and the night grew long, almost to the dawn. Ilana’s breathing grew labored, and Nailo pleaded that they must stop to try to give her healing. The dwarf led them into a small clearing of stone, hidden beneath an overhanging crag. There Mac laid her upon the lip of a large, flat low lying boulder, and Nailo began to remove her armor. What they saw unnerved them. Protruding from between her breasts was the tip of the razor point of the lance, blood oozing from it. Nailo brought a potion of healing to her lips and Ilana’s eyes fluttered weakly, the light almost gone from them.

She spoke then in elven to Nailo, which Mac could not understand, and he began to weep. ((“For betrayal and death I spurned your love” she said in elven to him)). Then weakly to them all she said in a voice heavy with despair, barely above a whisper, “Loyal friends, I am unworthy of your faith. I have betrayed you all for a false love and a fool’s hope.” Fumbling for a pouch at her hip she withdrew a folded paper and handed it to Mac. “A map *coughs* ... the rel ... the holy relic... she coughs, blood coming from her lips, and her eyes rolling skyward. “Oh Father and Mother I have betrayed them all” Tears and blood stream down her face as blood comes from her lips with each sob. Reaching to her shoulders she wrenches the symbol of Corellon on her right and Sehanine on her left and throws them from her. “Unworthy” she sobs “cursed I shall be, and never shall my shade come to Arvandor for my sins.”

The companions stood dumbfounded around her. Never before had they seen her so direly wounded or in such despair. Always had she been their strength and their succor in need. Then, her body began to tremble, as the sun began to lighten the sky with the coming of dawn. Her trembling ceased and her eyes fluttered open to the light. Looking to each of them as they held her crouched around the stone, she whispered “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me ....” and was still.

The companions stood silent, heads bowed over her. Then, not far in the distance they heard the sounds of their pursuers searching, coming closer to the clearing. The sun then rose full with the dawn, light streaming through the trees to fall as a beacon upon Ilana’s face in the hollow of rock. The dwarf spoke first: “This canna be. We canna let one so pure an good end so.” The elf looked up nodding, eyes streaked red with tears, unable to speak. The man took up his sword. Laying it across her breast he looked to the others. The sounds of the approaching marauders grew nearer and the light of the sun brighter. “By me life and me blade I swear, we’ll three set this a’right. Its bastards like us what deserve cursin. ‘Lana’s earned ‘er rest.” Looking to him the others drew their blades and laid them over his across her breast as the sounds of pursuit grew ever nearer. “We, shall redeem her, and in Arvandor the Blessed shall we meet again. By life and blade I swear it.” “Aye” said the dwarf “By life an blade, all three o’ us bound.”

A breeze then blew quickly through the trees, rising to a howling wind. The risen sun seemed to grow brighter through the thicket above them, and then slowly the disc of the moon moved across it in an eclipse. The orcs and goblins, very close now began to howl and cry out in fear. A soft glow appeared around Ilana where she lay, growing to a blinding light. The companions shielded their eyes and backed away, as the light seemed to grow like the very heart of the sun itself. Then suddenly all was blackness.

As the darkness receded the three dazed and shaken looked upon where Ilana had lain. Now stood only the rock, but its surface had been turned to crystal like some opaque glass. Within lay the paladin. No mark or wound upon her, her sword hilt clasped before her breast. The dwarf examined the rock, tapping it with his hilt, and pronounced it hard as diamond. The elf taking up the map and two symbols warns the others, “We should be leaving… those beasts are coming around and will be after us again in moments…” Nodding in agreement the three tried to run from the clearing with the howls of the waking horde behind them. Realizing that they would not make it they turned to face what would most likely be their last moments.

As the goblins and orcs made their way across the clearing, scrambling over the crystal tomb, and approaching the three companions a light began to glow again around the tomb. Seeing this the orcs and goblins slowed their approach. In a quick flash of light a transparent Ilana appeared floating above the tomb. The apparition looked at the three with tears streaking her face and opened her mouth as if to speak but a most dreadful sound issued forth. A wale so filled sorrow, a sound of complete and utter hopelessness nearly brought the three to their knees. Ilana’s soul kept her mouth open and lifted her face to the sky and the wale grew louder and louder until it was unbearable to hear.

Nailo dumbstruck stood watching, while Mac did the same. The trailing horde that was closest to the Ilana’s tomb flailed on the ground trying to cover their ears or ripping them off to keep from hearing the harrowing cry. It was only the dwarven ranger that yanked the two away from the morbid sight to escape into the woods using this last gift from Ilana to save their lives. The three made their way back lost in their own thoughts not uttering a word, but knowing that their oath now held them by life and by blade.

Nailo’s perspective leading up to the story captured in “By Life and By Blade” above.

The night was wet and cold, just as the last two nights before. Wave upon wave of goblins, orcs, and ogres charged through the woods giving the Battalion of the Free Companies, which is a group of mercenaries hired to support Cormyr, little respite. At first the companies were holding their line, until the eve that began this very night when over half of the companies turned on the others lead by none other than that traitorous Kelos Mor.

*Twang* Nailo releases an arrow and reaches back to his quiver that is half empty. Beads of water run down his face but he has neither the time nor the care to wipe them away. “Damn the cursed rain…” he states aloud and knocks his next arrow as he stands on a slight rise from the edge of the forest in which he can hear the howls of the approaching army. He held no doubt they had broken through the lines. Horns blaring in the distance sounding the retreat for the few companies left that did not turn and stayed loyal to the Crown.

Spitting Nailo raises his bow and takes aim waiting on the next goblin or orc to leave the forest’s protection. It only takes moments before a duo of orcs come bounding out charging up the slope their beady eyes focused on him in their blood lust. *Twang* Nailo releases his arrow catching the first orc in the leg causing him to slip in the blood and gore soaked mud. “By the hells…” Nailo curses as he reaches for another arrow. Thinking to himself, I don’t have enough arrows to be wasting them on legs… He releases the next arrow catching the second orc square in the chest. Satisfied that it was a killing shot, Nailo pulls another arrow from his dwindling quiver and waits for the first orc to gather his footing and present a better shot. As he waits in the brief moments he thinks again over the events that lead him to this place, this moment.

How did I get here in this damnable spot? Of course it would be a lady. Such a fool I am... granted, Ilana is no ordinary lady. *Twang* He release his knocked arrow and catches the rising orc in the throat. Knocking another arrow he goes back to his thoughts as he waits for his next target to exit the woods. I wish Kelos Mor would come through those woods… I knew he could not be trusted from the beginning, but Ilana would not listen. Thought I was blinded by my infatuation with her… Infatuation she called in no less... Nailo grits his teeth in anger and mutters, “I tried to tell her…” A sound behind him catches his ear and he turns to give a look just in time to see a scrappy looking goblin trying to sneak up behind him, which he had. The goblin seeing that he was spotted gave a hoot and lunged at Nailo. Nailo had just enough time to spin and get his bow up in front of him to trying to block the wild swing of the goblin and his axe. Though the axe cleaved his bow, it deflected the swing enough that Nailo’s spin brought him clear of the attack. In the same fluid motion, he used one of the splintered halves of his bow and jammed the jagged end into the eye of the goblin. Letting the goblin fall he takes a deep breath and mutters to himself again, “Damn that was close… I need a drink…”

Nailo begins looking for another bow to use when he hears the call of Ilana across the grove. “FLY…FLY FRIENDS!!! FLY BRAVE FELLOWS!!!” Looking to the other end of the grove where Ilana and the few remnants of his companions stood he decided she had the right idea. Leaving his vantage point he reached down and pulled a short sword from the hand of one of the traitorous mercenaries that he had downed earlier and started to make his way across the mud slick grove.

(This is where the other story above picks up)

Ksiel and I collaborated on the above. Since he thought to post the story here, I'll do likewise and post my character's meeting story with the paladin who is the former leader of our group. Enjoy.
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Mac Meets Ilana

The tavern door flies open with a crash, the body of a man flies past to fall with a thud on the stone cobbles right at an armored boot that seems almost out of place to the slender, delicate leg within it. The diminutive elven maiden looks to her companions eyes wide. Long silver tresses frame a face with skin seemingly brushed with gold. Half sun elf and half moon elf, Ilana Mir’Lan, paladin of Corellon Larethian and Sehanine Moonbow both, blessed by sun and moon, stands framed between the white hot orb setting behind her and the full moon just rising on the road before. Full pink lips purse in consternation at the sight of the clearly beaten and bloodied man. Just as she stoops to aid him the half broken door of the tavern slams open again. Out strides a tall and muscular man. Long dark hair flowing down past his shoulders, face twisted in a grimace of pain and anger as blood trickles down his face from a nice size gash in his forehead. “Step aside frail” growls the giant “dat son of a dog opened me ‘ead right wickedly, an I mean to stomp ‘is ‘ead into dem stones wit me good left boot.” Less than half the size of the striding warrior, the elven maiden does not flinch before him. Instead she rises up regally and states simply, in a kind and even voice. “No.”

The giant lets out a primal roar, spittle and ale stale breath sweeping across her face like a gale “STEP ASIDE I SAY!” shouts the man, his hand moving to his sword hilt and his voice lowering, “I’ll not ask ye nicely again.” With a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth the proud paladin moves to stand astride the fallen, drawing her long slender longsword with a quickness beyond the capacity of the human eye to follow, both setting sun and rising moon glinting off the blade at once, a halo of light seeming to frame her face. For a moment a strange terror, or perhaps awe, grips the man almost stopping him, then with a fierce cry he rips sword from scabbard and charges ........

......As the moon rises full above the road, Mac Creed blinks dust and blood from his eyes. Lying prone on his back propped on one elbow, his eyes dart to his blade some six paces away in the dirt beside the road. The razor sharp point of the longsword rests gently pressed against his throat, bright green eyes flecked with gold stare down along its length as the gathering crowd watches. With an almost resigned sigh Mac hisses through clenched teeth “Finish it then, ye she devil, I’ll not beg mercy if that’s what yer after. But strike true for Creed necks’re thick, and ye won’t get a second thrust.” Staring into the elf maiden’s eyes unflinching, Mac awaits the death blow.

Suddenly the needle is gone from his throat, the slender blade resting casually on the maiden’s mailed shoulder, as she shifts her weight to one hip relaxed, with a smile once again tugging at the corner of her lip. “You need not beg ... Mr. ... Creed ... is it? Mercy is yours whether asked for or not, more than you would have given the poor soul you crushed to the cobbles at my feet.” Eyes narrowing Mac rises to one knee, all the while watching the sword point as it taps against her shoulder in rhythm to her words. “Perhaps you will learn from this” she says in a musical voice, almost enticing in its tenor, then quickly turning away from him “Or perhaps not.” Then as she gathered her companions with a nod she walked on down the road, the risen moon seeming to beckon her, and called after him with laughter on her lips “You almost know how to use that sword Mr. Creed, and keep it well honed I see, come ... join us ... that is ... unless my frailty is too much for you.” Mac could hear the low laughter of her companions as they walked on down the road.

Mac slowly rose to his feet, the crowd dispersing, some jeering, others averting their gaze from the filthy, bloodied and bested warrior. Taking up his sword from the side of the road, Mac wiped it carefully clean on his pant leg and slowly slid it into his scabbard. With a long look to the tavern he finally turned for the road and followed the laughing voices as the night fell and the stars winked on overhead.

Of a Quest, Of a Meeting


Dorlanun remained silent, making the short trip back to the inn. His brothers would have expressed their anger and misgivings...but Dorlanun was not his brothers. The share turned out to be nothing...perhaps the gems might sell for something. But that was not all...

Thrice he saw others fall. Mostly because they rushed in...and the real swords chose to remain in the back, for some odd reason. No heed of the true danger that exsisted.....

His feet trudged through the snow back to the inn. A new cloak... this one was singed...and not by an enemy. He sighed as he lost himself in his thoughts...wondering if this were the right path. His mind wandered back...


He was in the highlands, far north of the capitol. Five days and six nights it had been since he had first found the trail, orcprints in the high snow of the peaks. He tracked them, hurrying along, catching up, before storms blew away or covered the evidence.

The trail had led into the lowlands. He feared frostbite on a finger or two...the color had returned, but blisters were forming. Not because he hadn't been protected...the peaks had been cold though, and he would not light a fire in case the orckin were close. Having found a deep hollow, he set in for the night, making a fire for his fingers.

He awoke to grunts, and a snarling face. Orcs...the smokefire had probably drawn them...he knew they were hungry, after what he had just been through following them. He grinned slightly as an orc spotted him, and then threw his handaxe at the lumbering beast, nailing it in the forehead. It didn't kill the beast, but it did blind it with it's own blood. He quickly grabbed the large axe, moving into a crouch, as four more poured into the Hollow.

He growled and charged the lumbering beasts, striking one as he ran straight through the group. He was lucky, and they were slow. The one he had stricken fell wounded, its leg missing at the knee. He kept running into the trees...but was met by an even larger group of orcs. Dodging and crawling and hiding and a Pointy Eared Lass on a steed with her followers slaughtering in the dark....

He killed four more that night. He remained hidden when the sun came and the pointy eared and her companions made camp. At some point he fell asleep. He awoke, looking up at the sky...and her face. She stood staring down at him, a slight smile crossing her face.

"A hard night, Master Dwarf."

He grunted, the pushed up with his elbows.
"Semmat lass, thah eht looks yeh've ahd a ged bout ah eht.

"You have a name?"

He watched her a moment...then nodded slightly.
"I beh called Dorlanun."

"Are you hungry, Dorlanun?"

He grinned slowly, nodded.

"Come and eat, warm yourself..."



He wiped his nose as he entered the inn, all doubt well away. She had not led them astray so far....and whatever she was after, she would not now.

A Rescue and Flight, Part 1

**Around a year after what has become Known as "The Slaughter", the Band of Oaths find themselves within the capital city itself. Arabel, with all of its bustle and business, had much to offer, including what was needed most, information. The band had been constantly on the move, shifting from place to place within the country, seeking towns and supplies when needed. Dorlanun had taken work at a stable in Masoner's Bridge for a time...as a scout as well for travelers heading toward the Dalelands at other times. But now they found themselves within the city walls, ears perked in some tavern with a griffon on it's sign.***


Dorlanun sat in the corner out of the light at the small wooden table. The tavern itself was plesent, not the hovels with sticky tables that he had grown accustomed to. The chairs even had padding. He looked toward the exit out of the corner of his eye as another patron stepped into the tavern...no one to be concerned with. He turned his eyes back to Dragun, Metalforger of clan Ironbeard. The dwarf nodded and continued talking in low tones.

"Aye, eht beh dark times...tha streets nay beh safe whit tha ole King gahn, I tells yeh. Ahn ehm son, tah young tah nah bettah, ehm."

Dorlanun nodded, talking low.

Whot of aht man Mors ehn?

Dragun spit on the floor. "Ehms been glarafied lad...gahts ehmself a seat as ehn ah ehm lawgivahs...Magistrate eh beh. All pinned ahn mightah."

Dorlanun frowned slowly, then nodded. "Keep eht undah yer elm lad."

Dragun nodded, and rose. Dorlanun looked up from his corner, almost cursing as he rose. So intent had he been on the conversation, he had not noticed the raised voices across the way. Too late did he see, some patrons were already swinging fist toward Mac and the Half Orc Zzarg. He growled...not even a day in the city and these two were exposing themselves. As he began to stride across the room to salvage what he could from the event, four purple robed guards poured in from the street, cudgels at the ready. One of the patrons went flying over a table, the result of Zzargs ability to hurl. Another two were laid to the ground by Mac, one with an extreme bleeding problem of the nose. As Zzarg reared his fist back hard for another swing at a new target...he elbowed one of the guards in the nose, opening his up as well. Dorlanun slowly shrunk back away from the mass of taverners...no salvaging this one...time to cut losses and wait out the storm.

It took another two guards coming in from the street to get the brawl under control. In all the tab for the poor innkeep that night was six broken chairs, two broken stools, a table broken in half, and the worst...four broken glass panes from a window. In use were ten sets of irons, including one larger set, for the brawlers. The guards marched them out and into the street. Dorlanun quietly got up and followed.

****

Darting in and out of shadows, Dorlanun followed the ragged band of ironed brawlers, until Mac blew a kiss to a girl with a grin as he trudged by. Dorlanun quietly slipped under the eves as it began to rain. The guards stopped for a moment, adusting the chains. Dorlanun watched from the depths of the shadows, behind the waterfall of water that rolled off the roof from above.

He heard Mac..."Yer green skinned son o an orc -- see what ye got us inta 'ere?"

Dorlanun couldn't help but chuckle quietly as the Halfbrute replied with a simple shrug.

The girl Mac knew spoke quietly, something he could not make out. He looked around the corner a moment...the lass was different...white skin....red eyes...Mac had spoken of this one before.

Close by, a female smallkin chuckled at the guards...plans were coming in and being discarded as quickly....how to get these two free before Mors saw them...recognized them...and cut off their heads.