Tales of Faerun

[Ithildin]

"Lady Rhaine's 'final weapon' ... what a weapon it was," Echo said, watching Tannin's face. "Among Ravenna's many victims were Lady Aricia, who died only this morning, while I was asleep. I wish I'd known. I am very sorry I missed her service." She felt the sudden sting of tears in her eyes and blinked them back; looking down at her own clasped hands for a moment, she found she was able to continue. "Ravenna also killed Mahira, my dearest friend ... but it seems death truly is not the end, for any of us." With a glance at Rhaine, she added, more forcefully, "Though I must say I hope it has brought that witch to the most painful end imaginable."

[Macman253]

Bard looked up to see the Drow woman, he smiled at her compliment. He was good with a bow and as a child often hunted the meals his mother cooked for the patrons of his fathers tavern. "I hunted a lot as a kid, got me out of my chores..." He said as he tapped his bow. "I learned how to use this much later...." He added as he reached up and coated the hares in honey. On his forearm was a militia brand, something they branded on recruits for a nobles personal army so if they deserted they could be spotted by authorities. Bard breathed on the ink to let it dry and closed his tome. He offered her a seat, "Take a seat..." He said as he added spices to the meat, the meat sizzled and browned as it came close to being done.

 

Bard reached into his pack and removed a deck of cards, he began to frill the cards and shuffle them. He rearranged the deck in his hands and flipped the Angel card from the middle of the deck to catch it within the deck again as it arched high into the air. He performed the card trick as if by magic, his hands moved with practiced precision. He pulled his hands apart and the deck strung out like an accordion, he slammed his hands together and fanned out the deck in his right hand. The only cards facing Nawen were the face cards, The Angel, The Devil, The Noble and The Bard. the remaining thirty four cards all had their faces to Bard. He chuckled at his little trick and closed the deck and reopened it again, this time the face cards were the only ones not visible to her.

Edited February 1, 2013 by Macman253

[Flipout6]

Weyland was happy to have a bard-named Bard, apparently- along for the journey, and greeted him warmly as he climbed aboard one of the caravans. The music Bard played along the way Weyland enjoyed, and although he was not nearly as sullen as most of his fellows (he never knew any of the deceased.) the music still brightened his mood. Amendale was also happy to have some music along the way, but his expression didn't change much. He nodded at Bard politely as he climbed aboard.

 

Later, once they got to Llorkh, Amendale sat down by the campfire and stared into it, while Weyland helped with some of the heavy lifting (Amendale wasn't exactly strong.) and savoured the smell of the meal cooking on the fire. Once he finished what was asked of him he took a swig of water and listened to the tale of Ravenna, as did Amendale.

 

"Hm, that's why they were so sullen when we met them...." He muttered to Weyland.

 

"Sounds like she got what was coming to her. The fact she nearly killed Sune, however, disturbs me." Weyland added his bit.

 

He drank a bit more water, and then set it down on one of the wagons. It was then that his eyes fell on Tak'We, and he yelped in alarm.

 

"By Tempus, you surprised me, sorry." He exclaimed. Despite being quite startled, Weyland wasn't bothered by the Thri'Kreen. He'd proven himself to be kind long before now. The next thing Tak'We said completely surprised him. "Well, happy belated birthday, then. But only eight winters old? The youngest among us here, Sori aside, are in our twenties. Amendale and I have lived 24 winters. Some of the others here look to be around the same age."

 

Amendale said nothing, and instead opted to simply listen, interested. He had no experience with the Thri'Kreen, and was eager to learn more about them.

[AurianaValoria1]

"Sure!" Sori exclaimed, hopping up onto Tak'we's shoulders without any trouble, "I know lots of stories! Like the one time mama accidentally pushed our dog down the well..."

 

"Sori!"

 

"Sorry, mama..."

 

The smell of good food permeated through the camp; that, along with the group's lightened mood, gave a homey atmosphere to the gathering. It felt like they were family.

 

Rhaine put her arm around tiny Echo's shoulders, "I do believe that Ravenna will see her fair share of punishment at the hands of the devils...they are more ruthless and cunning than even she, I think. But enough of her...is there anything else you wish to ask me?"

Edited February 1, 2013 by AurianaValoria1

[josh900]

"I see." Tannin said listening to them. "Well let us hope that she's not the type to claw her way back from the hells to seek revenge then. Those types have a nasty habit of doing that. Knew a few particularly troublesome fellows that broke out of the both Hells and Abyss! Took over a level of the Abyss while they were down there too. Cleared it out and set up shop, Raised an army of demons and fought their way up through the levels until they escaped. Rough bunch those fellows. But no matter, don't mean to cause you any worry. Doubt this.. Ravenna woman has enough power for that." He said with a reassuring smile.

"Aaannnd ummm.. if.. you will satisfy my curiosity once more lady Rhaine. I have to ask and i hope this isn't too intrusive, buuut... Whyyy did you choose to worship Kelemvor? I never could understand the draw of him. Lets worship the lord of death." He said with a confused look on his face. "That which takes away from us what we love the most.. Seems like an odd choice. I mean i suppose it makes the passing easier but... still. Sorry i mean no insult. Just haven't come across many that follow him is all sooo.. I'm curious." He said innocently. His own personal feeling and experiences making it hard for him to understand why anyone would worship him. Then again he felt that way about most of the gods.

[AurianaValoria1]

Rhaine smiled, "'Tis not intrusive at all. I am happy one would seek to understand my religion, rather than judge it and never truly know it."

 

She sighed, "Yours is a common perception of our faith...one that has only recently begun to be reversed by my lordship's rule. To emphasize, the god of the dead is not the same as death itself...he is the Lord of the Dead - the ruler of the City of Judgment.

 

"You see, four gods have held the position of the Lord of the Dead: first Jergal, then Myrkul, then briefly Cyric, and finally Kelemvor. The first three perpetuated a belief of fear in the afterlife and nothing but pity for the dead - it was a terrifying kingdom. Jergal was the beginning of this terrible reign...he alone possessed the three aspects of Death, Tyranny and Murder. His main faith base, however, was in Netheril...and when the ancient empire of shade began to crumble, so did his faith. In an effort to preserve himself, he stepped down from his offices and turned them over to three liches. Murder became the sphere of Bhaal...Tyranny, the realm of Bane...and Death went to Myrkul, the Lord of Bones.

 

"Myrkul devised punishments even worse than Jergal had before him. He reveled in the power of his reign, and he promoted fear of himself and his servants, who worshiped death as the highest form of existence. It is said that to spread the fear even further, the avatar of Myrkul himself would often appear at funerals, leering at the survivors as if to emphasize that any one of them could be next. This would last several thousands of years, until the Time of Troubles, when all gods were unseated by Ao himself. Myrkul was ultimately defeated by the new Mystra, and his throne passed briefly to the mad Cyric. Ten years later, Kelemvor would rally the spirits of the dead and overthrow the Prince of Lies, becoming the newest and youngest of the death gods."

 

The Doomguide paused, "It is my lord's wish to reverse this ancient perception of death. He wants mortals not to fear their end, but to simply accept it. As the sun rises, so does it set. As life begins, so does it end...and from that end, it begins anew. Ours is not a faith of tyranny or morbid obsession. For the first time, under Kelemvor, the god of the dead is in opposition to the undead. We Doomguides fight to stop this horrid perversion...the chaining of a soul to this world against its will is one of the highest crimes in our eyes. When we do not fight the spread of necromancy, we are sworn to comfort the dying and the grieving. It is our duty to make every passing from this world into the next as comfortable and as safe as possible. We remember and revere the departed, and as we do so, we recount history. We learn from and honor the deeds and sacrifices of those who have gone before us, because we cannot have come to where we are today without them. Finally, we also believe that no one should ever die alone.

 

"As for why I joined, it was partially to get away from my foster father," Rhaine grinned, "I was twelve years old when I decided to become part of the Kelemvorite clergy. A cleric named Dunstan came to visit my village, looking for recruits for the temple in Waterdeep...the first chance I got, I went with him. It is a decision I have never regretted. At that temple, I finally found people who shared my beliefs and values...people with whom I could actually identify. It was also there that I discovered my abilities as a Favored Soul, and..." she shrugged, "the rest is history."

Edited February 1, 2013 by AurianaValoria1

[Macman253]

Lokii pulled back on Ruin's reins. The dreadmare stopped suddenly as the scent of the vampires became overwhelming. Their lair was nearby and he planned on rooting it out. He dismounted Ruin and slapped the steed on the hindquarter, the dreadmare reared up and took off at a run. Soon afterwards it vanished into thin air. Lokii drew his sword and began to walk north, following the scent. The sky was dark and full of stars. The moon was full and high, a low fog covered the ground but from the piles of stones that stood up to four feet in perfect lines he figured he was in an ancient burial site. In the distance the trees appeared to snake their way to the sky, growing no leaves and harboring no life to them. Their bark was black and molded and the scent of decay filled the air, he could feel dark energies radiate from the earth.

 

He bent down and took a clump of grave-earth and sniffed it, it stank of necrotic flesh and moss. Something evil was being performed here, often enough to corrupt the earth so heavily. He continued on through the graveyard cautiously. Barabas appeared in his physical form next to him. He floated with his arms tucked under his head and he licked his fingers as if he had finished a fine meal.

 

"Those vampires you sent me were delicious.... please send more." He taunted, being imprisoned for eternity left him with little to do then converse with Lokii and devour a plethora of evil souls. Barabas looked around at the scenery and took it in. He was genuinely concerned now, necromantic energies were nothing to idly toy with and this place was ripe with it. "Necromancers, and active at that... this area is bathed in it." He said as he hovered next to Lokii. Lokii's eyes darted back and forth on the horizon, he was alert and ready. His palms began to sweat as he grasped his sword tighter to keep it from slipping from his hand. As he crested the hill he saw a lone church, the church was kept in disarray and the roof caved in decades ago. Vines creeped up its sides but an odd light emitted from the tower next to it, Lokii's eyes locked onto it and then darted back to the door. He quickly flipped his sword around in his grip and ducked behind a pile of stones when the door opened.

 

A man stepped out of the door, he was naked and his face and chest were coated in blood. The scent of the vampire filled the air, he recognized it as one of the vampires that escaped from him earlier. He must have fed on a local to regain his strength. Lokii peeked around the pile of stones and watched as a naked woman walked out, she too was coated in blood. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him in a bloody exchange of tongues.

 

"Tobias, come inside... our guest needs your attentions." She spoke, he smiled and followed the woman inside. Lokii saw it as his chance and stood, he ran for the church. As he did he tripped over a rock hidden by the fog and crashed into a pile of rocks, knocking them over. The earth shook as a decayed hand burst from the grave, around him the other graves began to open as zombies and skeletons burst from their resting places. Lokii growled in anger at his mistake, it donned on him that the earth was cursed to summon the dead at the disturbance of a resting stone.

 

The eclectic group of undead were that of soldiers and peasants, some were fresh and others were long buried. Their eyes glowed a pale blue with the dark energy that moved them. He struck down the first zombie that rose as his head burst from the ground, the skull exploded in a shower of rotten brains and bits of bone. He looked up to see he was surrounded, undead on all sides of him. His gauntleted fist wreathed in eldricht energy and he lashed out with it, the purple lightning bolt arched through three of the skeletons and dropped them. His sword also was wreathed in the dark energies, he sliced the first two zombies with a mighty cleave that cut them both in half. His martial and magical skill was great but he knew he had to get out before he was entirely consumed. He frantically looked around but only saw more of the undead, he had gotten himself into a fine mess.

 

Barabas laughed as he floated above him, unable to do anything he just enjoyed the show. "See you in hell Lokii..." He said, Lokii growled in rage and decided the best place to be was in the church itself. He charged his hand with energy and slammed it into the earth, the eldricht energy radiated from him and tore the closest undead to pieces of flesh and powdered bone. He took this slight reprieve and dashed for the church, cutting down or blasting any undead that got in his way. He kicked the door off its hinges but instead of meeting a coven of surprised vampires he met a large metal club to the face instead. He slipped into blackness as he hit the floor.

[mythicdawnmaster]

Many days earlier...

 

Maydiira coughed as she hit the floor of her cell again after being thrown into it. The hunger pains had ceased long ago, but she was still dehydrated. There was moisture on the dank walls, and the urge to crawl up to one and lick the water off was almost unbearable...

 

Mireth awoke with a silent cry as sunlight poured into her chambers. Her body was slick with heavy sweat, her silken bedrobe stuck to her skin as though she had been dropped into a pool, her hair was matted and tangled, stuck to her face with perspiration. The elven champion panted heavily, slowly crawling out of her tangling of covers, it was clear she had been thrashing in her sleep. She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. A dream about Maydiira? and such a dark one at that. It had to mean something. Nightmares were something the Eladrin seldom suffered, and when she did they were for good reason.

 

She slowly stood up, her red-hot feet cooling as they touched the white marble floor. She made her way over to the window and peered outside. It was a clear day, the clouds dotted the sky in clusters of tiny little shapes, and the sun's morning rays illuminated the dew that had settled upon all of the plants. Mireth smiled slightly, but her mind soon drifted back to the dream- A dream or a premonition? She thought with a scowl. Her gaze turned to the mannequin that donned her armour, the skimpy outfit gleamed and shined in the early sunlight- The acolytes must have polished it for her. Her blades sparkled wondrously as light filtrated through it's diamond-tipped edge, and azure pommels. The blade had never failed her, and made sure she stayed safe. "Wash time." Mireth said aloud with a yawn, while her kind technically didn't need sleep, she found it the best way to meditate.

 

After a lenghtly wash in the bath-chambers, washing away her night's sweat, and bringing the smell of floral wonders to her body, Mireth brushed away all of the knots from her hair, and got about adorning her outfit. She started from the bottom and worked her way up, leaving her silken hair until last. She styled it into it's usual high ponytail, and bound it in-place with her golden adornments. She retrieved a small pot of glossy pink matter from her vanity table, a special blend of honey and other mixtures, and applied it to her lips. A form of pre-invention lip-gloss if you will.

 

With her weapons strapped to her side, she descended the stairs of the temple, and made her way over to the High-father, a man who styled himself after their patron god, Corellon- as was custom for his brave and noble priests.

"Father, i am afraid i must take leave of you." Mireth spoke in her first language, elven.

 

"What ever for my child?" The man replied, his brows raised in worry.

 

"I am afraid my friend is in grave danger... i received a dream last night of horrifying images. I must take my leave and seek her out- Carinth is my trusted friend, and you know her to be able, she will guard over this temple in my place, father." Mireth spoke, her mind already made up.

 

"While i cannot keep you here, i ask you meditate on this dream some more- perhaps you misinterpreted it's message?" The high father suggested softly.

 

"No, it was too vivid, to clear to have been interpreted wrongly, she is imprisoned, i believe... dying. I have to make sure that it is but a dream, and not reality- either way i must travel ahead to the Dalelands." Mireth responded.

 

"The Dalelands? But they are so far away- past the great desert! You will need supplies." he paused for a moment, and called forth a servant. "get Lady Celetheelen supplies for a long journey, have the stable hands saddle up her horse, and pack the supplies there." he ordered softly, the servant responding immediately. "I must ask you are careful, Mireth. You are too valuable to this faith to be lost."

 

"I will father, thank you for everything." She said with a smile.

 

"One more thing... take this amulet, i believe it will serve you well in hours of confusion." The father said, handing her an ornate pendant, bearing the holy symbol of Corellon.

 

"I... thank you father, may out lord be with you."

 

"May he be with you too."

 

Mireth left the temple upon her white steed, and began her journey to the Dalelands....

 

-------

 

Present time:

 

Mireth's steed trotted carefully along the cobbled path, that lead away from the sleepy town of Loudwater. She had stopped off to recover some supplies, as her water reserves were a little short, and was met with tales of banshee-slaying adventurers who were headed in the same way she was. She shrugged these tales off as simple exaggerations- it was not uncommon for a common deed to be inflated among the common folk, for what else did they have to provide hope and sustenance. Thanking the shop-keeper, she left Loudwater with many thoughts racing her head.

 

In her state of intense concentration, she did not notice the ruffians gathered in front of her, at a turning in the road. There stood a pair of them, a Half-Orc and a human male, both wearing little more than crude leather armour, and wielding tarnished iron blades, the human, who had the better literature of the pair, spoke up with a deep, undesirable voice. "Your money or 'ya life!" he warned, waving his blade at the elven woman. They had neglected to ambush the caravanners- Rhaine and her companions that were huddled just down the road.

 

At first Mireth didn't notice the voice, but as she focused back on the real world, her brow dipped in anger. "You dare to threaten me? I shall give you but one chance." She dismounted her steed, and drew her ornate blades "leave or die." She spoke firmly, looking at both men.

 

"Get her!" The human male shouted, his large companion rushing forward. he lunged at Mireth with his crude blade, brutish strength carrying the blade towards her exposed stomach. The elven blade-mistress parried this attack, and brought the hilt of her left blade crashing into the Half-breeds head, and splitting his skull. He reeled back in pain and disorientation, but suffered for mere seconds. His dead rolled on the ground as her weapon swung back around for a decapitating slash.

 

The Human was too late to pause his charge, his face turning to one of doubt as his companions head rolled before him. The right blade of Mireth's arsenal swept low, cutting open the legs of the human, and he fell forwards with dangerous force, the power of his run still behind him, and as his bearded chin made contact with the cobbled floor, The elven blade slid through the back of his head like butter, pushing straight through his brain, and coming out between his eyes. As Mireth sunk low, pushing the blade in further, it burried itself in the dirt.

 

After a few moments, sure her attacker was dead, the Elven champion withdrew her blade, shook off the gore, and sheathed it, leading her white steed by the reins, up the path to Llorkh. She turned her head as she slowly drew near to the party, regarding them as simple caravanner's, not taking note of Rhaine and the other exotic members of the band.

Edited February 1, 2013 by mythicdawnmaster

[GrueMaster]

Tak'we chuckled as the softskin hatchling climbed unto his shoulders, his lower arms helping keep her from falling. He heard a yelp from Weyland and turned to see the man looking startled and apologizing for his reaction. "Don't worry," the thri'kreen reassured the softskin, "thisss one iss ussed to sssuch reactionsss."

 

He began to thank the mercenary for the birth"day" wishes but paused when the softskin spoke of his age. Tak'we looked at Weyland in disbelief. "Twenty-four?! Mossst thr'kreen rarely reach thirty birthmoonsss! You ssoftskinsss are sstrange..." Shaking his head in bewilderment, the thri'kreen went back to listening to Sori's story as he sorted out his pack, chuckling as the girl told him about her mother pushing their dog down a well one time.

 

Tak'we started to share a tale about the trouble he'd gotten into when he was a hatchling when he heard the sound of clashing metal and looked towards the commotion. He saw a pointy-ear being attacked by two other softskins, but before he could call out, she had dispatched both bandits. "Ssori, sstay behind thisss one," the thri'kreen said as he set the girl down beside him. He picked up his gythka and held it defensively, eyeing the pointy-ear female. "Rhaine," he called out, trying to draw her attention, "Sssomeone iss here..."

[Macman253]

Bard noticed the noises of battle, he leapt up to his feet. His hand grasping his Bastard Sword and pulling it free of the scabbard concealed in his bedroll. He watched the elf dispatch the two bandits effortlessly, he admired her grace and technique but despite her beauty and skill he did not know her. He reversed the grip on his sword to conceal the blade behind his shoulder. He looked her up and down, admiring her assets. His last encounter with a elven woman lead him to falling out a second story window when her husband came home. He was left without his coin and his trousers but he had his life.

 

Bard chuckled at the thought and soon his mind returned to reality. He watched the woman but saw no hostility, he figured it was best for Rhaine to handle this encounter so he sat back down to his meal. He pulled a loaf of bread from his pack and ripped off a piece that he munched on as he hate the honeyed hare. His canteen was full with mead that he had filled back in Loudwater. He drank at it heavily as he ate, the alcohol made his head swim.