I had a fantastic time playing in the Dwarf campaign with Fin for.. what was it? 2 1/2 years and 85 sessions?
Your story was epic and the little things, Fin's sword bursting into flame with the power of Haela's faith in her were just incredible. It was a difficult decision to retire her, such fun to play, but I missed the tavern rp playing someone so racist and unconcerned with life outside the Citadel. I'm glad you didn't mind.So I wrote this for you. A combo of bio, campaign and Finellen moving on.
Also, Dan, Acadius, SwordSaint, NES, Valn and others who dropped in for the odd session here and there. Thank you for the healing and the backup. ;-D It was a ton of fun.
--
“Lady guide my blade, renew my courage when it threatens to fail me, see me through the fray and victorious on the other side.” Finellen of clan Bucklebar, self orphaned daughter of High Home and Defender of Citadel Felbarr, always prayed some variation of the same words. She knelt, pious and rigid in the shrines of Citadel, before the stone statue of Haela, her monstrous sword kept wreathed in flames by the Citadel’s faithful, Finellen among them.
But these words were not enough. In the days that followed the overwhelming black grief that gripped the Citadel after the death of the Talhund Garlus, Finellen had prayed more fervently and more often, but the right words were always just out of her grasp. Finellen herself had been in the Sword Coast with the Talhund, just days before his fateful excursion and had immediately abandoned her planned trip home to the Moonshaes in order to accompany his body to its final resting place. After all that had happened beneath the Citadel, it seemed a cruel twist of fate for such an inspirational and heroic kinsman to go. To unleash her emotions, Finellen had engaged in a flurry of bar brawls, initiating many and intensifying the rest. She had even garnered a short term ban from the Dragon while chairs were replaced and bottles restocked and had raged in her own quarters instead. But her anger had been as shortlived as it had been passionate and she had returned again to the Lady’s statue to find her answer when broken furniture had failed her.
Finellen looked up at the statue, but it offered her nothing. The day she had found Haela Brightaxe was one of her clearest memories. Her family were not warriors, having fled the war to the enclave of High Home when Finellen was still at the breast. The young dwarf had never quite fit in with her peers on the Isles, taking a liking to violence early on and confusing her artistic parents. The Lady had spoken to her on a clear summer night when she had gone on a solo hunt for firbolgs. Again. Every time prior had been a failure, but this time she found one. In hindsight, it had been a test. The creature was far too big for her, despite how immature and feral young Finellen was. But despite the odds of the ensuing battle, she never backed down. Battered and bruised and angrier than ever, Finellen picked herself up again and hefted her blade in two hands, glaring down the monster. She spat blood on the ground and blinked it from her eyes, when the goddess spoke to her.
Fire of my fire… she whispered, startling the young warrior. Your passion burns with the brightest of all sparks, let me stoke it. The blade gripped between Finellen’s hands exploded into an inferno and the firbolg staggered backwards at the sudden explosion of light. Finellen never knew what gutteral battlecry uttered from her lips, but she felt its power erupt within her and threw herself into a frenzy at the beast, immolating it with a fury of slashes until it was dead and her body groaned with exertion. Fire had burned in the dwarf’s heart and she knew it would be eternal.
This was the day she had abandoned her given name and taken on her new name, Finellen. The good, solid name of a local dwarven heroine and warrior who had lived and died decades earlier.
Her exit from the Isles and to the home of her ancestors had come quickly afterwards. Her parents had already thought to answer Warcrown’s call to rebuild the Citadel and with their artistic and domestic skills, they knew they would be useful in the endeavour. Finellen’s enthusiasm to go to the Citadel only made their relocation happen sooner.
But now the fire seemed to have died with her mentor. Finellen had never called him such to his face, and could only hope now that he knew. Her friend, companion, inspiration and mentor. He encompassed so much and filled so many roles for her. Days ago she had placed two gems on his closed eyes so that he might see forever. His spirit had appeared, but so addled with urgency she had feared saying too much. The hottest flames burn the shortest, she knew she would meet with him again, sooner rather than later.
“Lady guide my blade…” she began away, the spark long gone from her words. The young dwarf had matured considerably since arriving at the Citadel. Finding likeminded warriors had honed her skills and focussed her mind. Her devotions had been shaped by the wisdom of her elders and the traditions of the Church of the Luckmaiden. Along with her peers and the accepted sammans of the Citadel, she had wielded her blade a thousand times over, every time for her goddess. The fray had been invigorating and inviting, the Lady’s blessing ever present and on occasion manifesting around her devoted, healing her wounds with the kisses of gentle white flames or turning her blade into an inferno to sear her anger into her foes. She had placed a treasure in Finellen’s hands, a blade relic of old Delzoun. Priceless in countless ways, and a constant companion to the fiery warrior. The importance of the sword was ever apparent to Finellen though and when the goals of the dwarves had narrowed down to the final crucial battles, Finellen had requested Garlus take it, should she fall in the coming battles. The grim irony in the wake of his death was not lost on her.
The path to those battles had been long and fraught with danger and puzzles. Even now, desperately trying to rekindle her spark, Finellen could still smile back upon them. The Thunder twins with their curiosity and penchant for the arcane, painstakingly examining endless dragonheads and combinations while Finellen’s patience grew thin. The enigmatic Silvernose and her revealled secret, the maze of Old Delzoun with its many doors and cryptic stones. Blackhammer’s stone had whispered seductive words only he could hear, and threatened to divide the group. Crystals… blue and white, mysterious yet meaningful.
“Fill my heart with courage…” she whispered up at the statue as she traced the intricate carved scars that decorated her arms. Courage was something that Haela had never skimped on. Finellen had fallen in battle too many times to count, her faith keeping her life flickering while her companions rushed to aid her. But there had been one time where they had been too late. Even now, Finellen brought her hand to her heart where she could still feel the soulstone’s weight within her. The rock had changed her, until she learned to live with it. But what had she come back for? A few final battles and now this… a silent goddess and sputtering spark.
The guardians had gifted her a new blade which she held up now to the statue of Haela. A truly breathtaking weapon and fiercesome, with crackling energy eager to taste flesh. It was with this blade she had cleaved a foul altar to the Deep Duerra clean in two, before kicking the pieces into a deep abyss. This blade had tasted deugar and relished their flavour, as Finellen relished providing it a filling meal. Its crackling energy sparkled next to the statue’s burning sword but the flames never jumped to caress it.
Finellen hung her golden haired head. “Lady, my path is fractured into many pieces, light the path for me, I beg you” She said finally. The flames of the statue’s sword immediately extinguished, dimming the shrine suddenly. Finellen looked up at the statue, wounded far more than a blade could ever do. She got up and left the shrine.
As she ascended the steps towards the busier part of the Citadel, she passed Alyra, a woman Garlus had taken upon himself to call daughter and they exchanged nods. She was samman to the Citadel, for worthy reasons reinforced many times over. Finellen found it difficult to trust in any non kin and had not the restraint to hold her tongue. But now, she accepted the woman easily, even if she would never confess it. Perhaps one day, the gnome mage would hold such respect to her too, he was well on the way, she had to admit.
The maze like steps led her in twists and turns through the Citadel, two braziers down to their embers suddenly roared into life again. The fire extending as high as the ceiling and gushing in a torrent over the cold rock. Finellen looked over. A doorway stood between them. A doorway she knew well, carved flames outlined the curve and glowed yellow in the sudden blast of light. Finellen smiled, a heartfelt smile and deeply grateful too. The doorway led to the Luckmaiden’s Church proper and suddenly, it was all very clear to the warrior.
“Thank you” She whispered as she stepped through the door. The Lady had beckoned and Finellen of clan Bucklebar, once of High Home and now of Citadel Felbarr, had answered. She knew she was ready to take up the full devotions and become a grounded, dedicated Kaxanar of the Church. Her flame would never sputter, it would burn forever.
