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Post by kashard on Sept 26, 2019 12:07:36 GMT -5
Custodio – 1.(adj) to guard, to protect; 2. (n) a substitute member of a clergy, to take the responsibilities of his senior in his absence.
BANNERLESS 10 years ago
The cold sweat running down a young archer face drips down his trembling chin. As the bow string bends the oak wood of his bow, he stares into the empty green void of the rainy woods ahead of him, a thick mist veiling those high trees of the border of Cormanthor with the lands of Battledale. The child, alone in the mossy darkness, does not dare to blink as his fingers clench tightly to the arrow’s tail, a drop of blood drips down those clenching hands, from the wounding gash caused by the constant friction of string and skin on youthful fingers. As the seconds seem like hours, he senses a cracking sound coming from the dark woods, and in instinct, he aims and releases, still unsure of what he would try to hit. The flying arrow cuts throw the rainy night, and no other sound is heard other than the sound of water raining down the forest. He must have hit something, he must have. Releasing his long kept breath from the focused aim, he stands up together with the vaping mist rising out of his nostrils and into the cold night. Crouching across the plants and thick leaves, he searches for his invisible foe, or at least a track of blood, any proof that his arrow found it’s mark. A few steps ahead into the dark, he does find it’s arrow mark, although it was far from what he expected. A green, tattered robe lies nailed to a thick tree trunk by his shot, and he immediatelly knows he fails, even before the thin, long glistening blade spawns from the dark and rests on his shoulder, as peaceful as death. As the rain keeps coming down hard at him, he grunts a murmuring complain as he hears words coming from the dark, whispering in a duet with the howling wind: “- How does it feel to know you’ve just died holding your bow wrong?” The resting blade draws back, and in it’s place, the swing of a sound, harsh slap comes down to the youngsters head, followed by a loud groaned “Ouch!” released by the scolded child. “- Sorry, Elawyn...”- murmurs the kid, rubbing the aching lumpy spot he just received his scolding lesson. From the shadows, a short, hooded figure nods, yet as his blade shone, a sly yet gentle grin shines under his hood, reflected by the tall moonlight that breaks thru the raining clouds at that instant. As he removes his hood, his pale silvery complexion and slender elven features are revealed, as suddenly the menacing aura of the dark woods becomes a warm, even though a bit violent, moment between teacher and student. He messes the young kids blonde hair, that tries in vain to swat his hand away. As the elf laughs at the scolded boy, he finally says: “- Come, boy, let’s report today’s training to the old man...seems like someone’s missing dinner tonight!” “-Not fair!!” And they step deep further down the tall woods, as the high moon shines it’s silvery lights down their path.
A few moments later...“- USELESS! UTTERLY USELESS!!” yells out the old man. The young boy glares down to the marble tiled floor, soaked in rain and youthful shame. He frowns his brows in silence as the harsh words of his tutor beat his eardrums, and takes it in. In fron of him, a grizzly of a man, pale white beard and few strings of hair left, his back bent by the coming of his age. He seemed so old, the elf Elawyn, who witnessed the scene by the passageway, always wondered if any human could really live that long. Their surroundings were lit by candlelight, a moderately sized chamber, very well hidden amongst the moss and roots of the Cormanthan woods. The ruined structure still give away an aura of grandeur, statues and tapestries picturing ancient warriors and battles of old. In the center of the chamber, a ragged red flag of Tempus, the Foehammer, resists the passage of time and history. No scholar could state the timelessness of such symbol with any precision, yet there it stands. Behind the old, roaring old man, another banner, much younger than the central Tempuran one, yet just as tattered. In it’s center, the symbol of a silver lion, contrasted by white and red colors, biting the handle of a long blank flag raised towards the heavens, and is directly to that fiercely pictured lion that the old man would point and rant. “- Don’t you have no shame, bringing such poor display of archery to our banner!? Do you wish to disgrace us all? Disgrace yourself as a Dalelander? Your ancestors spit on your performance, boy!” “-But I prefer swordplay!!” before the boy can finish his sentence, a smacking stick, not brutal, but swift enough, swings from the old man’s hand and swats the boys head, silencing his protest. “Ow!” “- Silence!” “- Old Fart!!!”- shouts the rebellious youngster. The old man tries grabbing him to reinforce his scolding ways, yet the small kid rushes past him, almost dropping the old man on his arse as he runs between his bent legs,yet the old man stands thanks to his walking, and swatting, stick. Between the painful groans of the old man trying to keep up with the youth of the boy he fruitlessly try to chase, Elawyn covers his face, and can’t hold his laughter much longer. The boy, slipping past the marble cracks of that old, secluded shrine, hidden by the green moss and plants, vanishes down the woods, away from the dangers of further scolding and punishment. “- What a disgrace...our only recruit!”, mutters the old man as he sits by the steps of the shrine. “- A young recruit, Wilheim… he will learn.” says Elawyn, stepping closer as he adjusts his bow on his back. Looking over to the silver lights penetrating the cracks of the shrine, the elf ponders for a moment, as he speaks… “- How long will you keep telling the boy he’s commonfolk from Battledale? You even taught him Chondathan years ago...”, says Elawyn in a stern tone. “- For as long as I must...fortunate are we that his memory of anything is long gone.” “- Perhaps...” “- He will know once we have reached our goals, and reconquered these lost lands. He will know, once the other Lions return...but he is not ready yet”- The old man stands up aching, yet firmly, and steps towards the lion banner on the wall with the aid of his walking stick. Ragged and torn, true, but in his eyes, old Wilheim sees nothing but the triumphant symbol of glory of past days. He turns to the elf once more, with a genuinely concerned look ins his eyes . - “We must make him ready, Elawyn. We must make him ready for it all, when they return...” “- Yes, old friend- answers the elf, with a hint of melancholy in his words, as he stares at the same banner as the old man, though the difference in the glimpse in their eyes show they both see entirely different things. “When they return...”, the elf concluded, and left old Wilheim by himself in the shrine, shaking his head.
5 years later...
“- Who are the Bannerless Lions, boy?”- is what can be heard from inside the shrine. Outside, the faint yet warm glittering gold onf spring sunshine kisses the verdant moss and trees, as life takes over every crack on wall and statue alike. As the light embraces Wilheim, the boy, now almost grown into a man, sits on the back of the chamber facing his teacher, with tomes and parchments regarding the Tempuran faith lying scattered across the floor. Wilheim voice seems stern and dry, but now, the young one expects that. The training have truly honed him into a prideful youngster on his prime, and wouldn’t seem likely that the young man would try to escape his teacher now. In fact, he would share the same stoic glimpse in the old man’s eyes, which stares at him patiently, awaiting a response. “- The Bannerless Lions is a flag for all commonborn people, a company dedicated to fight the turning wheel of war for those that cannot do so themselves. We fight for all and for no one. We bring honor and protect with our steel those who know neither. We tip the scales of the rules of war to protect the people and the meek. So they may see, and learn the true meaning of strength and war.” “- And what is the true meaning of war?” “- Change.” “- And what change must we bring?” “- To change the weak into the strong, against the lies of the cowards.” “- Who are the cowards?” “- Those who mistake tyranny with strength.” “- Who are the weak?” “- Those that do not know they are strong.” “- What is strength?” “- To fight with honor, to share with pride, to turn the wheel of change in unity, to fear no death.” “- What is death?” “- Cowardice.” “- What is life?” “- Struggle” “-What are you?” “- A banner for the bannerless.” ... The peaceful singing on humming birds breaks the silence across the chamber. The faint glow of the spring light glimmers on the eyes of student and teacher alike. For just one moment, they both could feel, in the world’s entirety, that no drop of blood was being shed at that moment. No abuse, no brutality, no savagery. Just the spring. Silently, the ancient Wilheim brushes his sandals across the mossy marble floor, and stares out the crack of the shrine, as a window to a bright future ahead of him. “- What will you do when our fighting is over, young one?” … The young man glares down to the ground. He couldn’t begin to muster how to answer that. Such a thought never seemed to cross his mind. “- Once the Bannerless reach their true goal, the Bannerless themselves are to become useless. We fight an impossible fight, as war is eternal, as it should be. Nevertheless, we pave ways for better warfares to come, for a brighter future, in exchange for our petty dreams of glory and pride. Pride becomes vanity. Vain warlords are bound to be tyrannical. And we are bound by oath to bring them down. That is our part in the eternal wheel of war. We don’t fight for peace alone. We fight for better wars...” The youngster sinks it all in, sitting quietly and still like a statue. His gaze locked at Wilheim’s wandering across the shrine, as he steps away from the cracks and moves towards the big banner on the wall. He caresses the rugged linen stitching the tattered banner, as a father would cares the face of his newborn child. He stands there for a few moments, and then turns around, and for the first time the young man broken memories, he sees Wilheim smile, and for a moment, the old man’s eyes become younger than his own. “- You are ready, boy. Rise as a Lion.” The young man promptly stands up straight, clacking his boots together in military discipline as he salutes his teacher. Wilheim walks down the steps and returns the salute, face to face with his prodigy, honed by his old calloused hands. Lowering his hand in his salute, it slowly moves above the young blond’s, as the old man speaks to him. “- From now on your name is Custodio, the Protector. Last Guardian of the Banner. Take on my place when I die, and serve on to our purpose. For that day approaches every passing morn, and as long as the wheel keeps turning, it can be turned to any given way. Fight hard and fight well, so our ideas live on!”
3 months later...Elawyn and Custodio stand under the starry night amongst the trees, as the pyre of wicker burns high to the darkened skies of the night. Custodio wipes a few tears on his tunic, in a failed attempt to hide them from Elawyn, but this time, the elf says nothing. He just witness the flames consuming the remains of his long lost friend, and finds out the hard way the downside of befriending humans. A fateful choice to which he has been warned many times over by his elders, and which he solemnly ignored many times more on his days as an adventurer. To find the mature truth is to add that extra sting to the pain. Yet he mustered, for it was his choice, and he regretted none of it. No, regret couldn’t more afar from what he was feeling at that moment. They stand together silently, side by side, as long brothers would say their departures to their own fathers. Indeed, it was painful to admit, but in many ways, that grumbling old man watched over the both of them in many different ways. And now he was gone. Custodio already felt the weight of the Bannerless tunic on his chest, but now his weighing heart would add to the burden. This was the first farewell he has ever reminded, and one he would never forget, until his last days. On the next morn, a cold damp breeze blows between the trees, hiding the faint sunlight from it’s surroundings. It would appear that inside the forest was already nightime. Inside the secret shrine, Custodio readies his traveling bag, strapping his boots and grabbing his sword and shield. As he’s about to set off, Elawyn words sneak past him from behind and stop him like a stone wall. “- He told you to wait.” Custodio glares down, as if the next words would be hard to come out. They have been stored deep inside for years now, and still he could never muster the courage he needed to say it aloud in the presence of Wilheim. He felt ashamed of letting them out now, as it would stain this day with a hint of his cowardice before his teacher. Yet, it needed to be said, and so he said it. “- ...I don’t think anyone’s coming.” “- Are you just going to...-” “- I’m not abandoning my oath, nor my teacher!”- Custodio interrupts Elawyn’s question sharp as an intercepting arrow. Elawyn smirks, feeling the first time ever to be hit by the boy. Custodio turns around, and looks at the elf with a firm, stern look, but then, as a thawning summer dawn, he smiles brightly. He puts his hand on the elf’s shoulder as he glares deep into his eyes, as he starts speaking in Elawyn’s native tongue. “- I know...we know Wilheim was living a forsaken dream...but a good dream. A worthy dream. Worthy to bring many others under him. Their deeds are unquestioned, for either gain nor valor. And I won’t let the Bannerless legacy be forgotten in the ashes of a burial pyre...”
Elawyn glares back at the young man, and nods, as he lets the young Custodio continue. “- I will raise the Bannerless once more...I’ll make the Lions march again. And I’ll begin by searching those who deserted my...*our* teacher behind enemy lines. I will hear them. If their reasons are true, may I be wise to judge to accept them back into our ranks or not. But one thing I’m certain...I’ll restore the Banner of Commonfolk to it’s former glory, and unite the meek into the strongest company Tempus has ever seen! The wheel *will* turn to our favor!"
Elawyn listens, and as Custodio stops speaking, the elf smiles, and hugs the cub he sawy turn into a lion before his very eyes. Humans are notable indeed, and he would not regret knowing this mysterious blue eyed young man. They embrace themselves farewell a while further, and Elawyn blesses his departure. “- Tempus thanks you.” “- And I thank Tempus.” With those final words said, Custodio turns back to the exit, walking firmly, without looking back, always forward, with his eyesight locked on the horizon. From afar, standing on top of the hidden shrine, Elawyn witnesses the steps Custodio leaves behind, and cannot help but to smile once again. There goes who may be the Last Lion…a fated seeker, a dreamer and a fighter. The Bannerless.
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Post by kashard on Sept 30, 2019 13:32:28 GMT -5
CHARACTER DESCRIPTION  Name: Custodio Age: 20 Hair: Blond Eyes: Pale Blue Base Attributes: STR 19 DEX 13 CON 12 WIS 10 INT 13 CHA 14 Physical Description: A young, gentle young man with a very well trained torso, and strong arms and legs to withstand the weight of a fullplate armour and a tower shield. Quite tall (1,96m) , despite not inhumanely, many could mistake him for a veteran fighter due to his appearance, if not for his youthful facial features. He is very, very young for a full fledged fighter, but methodical with his gear and weapons, always neatly assembled and polished, despite his tunic and cloak remaining clean, yet tattered with the signs of extreme usage. His face has finally gained a few prized scars of his fierce battles during his time in Cormyr, yet still remains quite an innocent and charming look on his young handsome face in general. He also carries the cloak and signet ring of the Hornbow House of Cloudstone, being recently nominated one of it's retainers. Misc. Information: -T ries to be formal at all times due to a harsh education, secluded from the rest of society. But, every now and then, his heartfelt rebellious nature comes forth, most of the times against his wishes. -Has spent enough time with other adventurers to loosen up, maybe too much, being overly friendly and informal to everyone he meets -Enjoys the smell of blood and the adrenaline of battle more than anything, and feels a very well hidden guilt for it. -Despite his heavy plated, tower shield wielding profile, he actually is quite lightfooted when he fights, much more than any traditional heavy armor fighter. -Is well versed in music, knowing a few different instruments, singing, battle related tales and even dancing, which he uses to practice on his style of fighting. -Initiate and enthuasiast of Bardic Magic and Arts. -Has discovered a passion for sweets in Shallybrook. -Very unlikely to start any sort of confrontation that he sees as unnecessary and fruitless, but will not stop until the fights he picks are won. -Is extremely shy and clumsy when it comes to social interaction not regarding adventuring or battling. He is improving daily on his social skills, however. -Hates and is scared of bears, due to almost being eaten by one on his earlier hunts in Cormanthor, when he was still a child. -Extremely religious and stubborn, but will not be deaf to reason as he appreciates a good debate. -Somewhat cocky and arrogant, very much due to his overgrown confidence and lack of experience. (UPDATED 22/09/2020) |
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Post by kashard on Oct 7, 2019 12:09:39 GMT -5
 Greatgaunt![]() A very tired Custodio goes through the village gates of Greatgaunt, and takes a moment to breath in as he travelled down the dusty road. He sees the golden arrows of Amaunator pierce thru the valleys in the horizon as dawn breaks, gently sparkling it's reflections on the stream that goes through Greatgaunt, dressing its waters in a golden veil. In that moment of solemn peace, the warrior is interrupted by memory, crashing down behind his contemplative eyes. He rushes across down the road, the sound of the clanking plates of his armor awaking the any nearby villagers. Deaf to the protests of the innkeeper, the rather loud and a tad clumsy armorclad tempuran opens the door to his room and promptly shuts it locked. He drops down his backpack on the room floor, slowly glowing brighter with the coming of a new day. Emptying it over his bed, he searches for something, long forgotten, thru the deepest pockets of that bag. Finally, he grins reliefed as he finds what he's been searching for: A small notebook, still sealed shut by leather straps, seemingly brand new. He breaks the seal and skims thru it's blank pages and smiles. Sitting by the desk on a simple wood chair, Custodio uses the light of the morning sun to have a clear vision of the blank page, and takes a piece of charcoal from his belt pouch, as he begins to write down, after appiointing the proper date: --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Greatgaunt, Day 20
Thank you for reminding me, Elawyn. Today the dawn broke quite a lot like springtime back at home, and the sun breaking thru the faraway mountains reminded me of the light strains that penetrated past the shrine rocks, right where you used to recollect your memories. Reverie is what it's called right? I remember when you tried to explain it to me, but I am as clueless now as I was then. But, you did remind me, Elawyn, of the importance to remember. Every piece of memory can be part of something that fills in an empty space in the future. Like a timeless puzzle.
I was foolish to believe that it would be fast to find them all. There is no trail, nor they have been heard of yet. I've been in Cormyr for a few weeks now, and I must admit, I feel a bit overwhelmed by how big this world is. I thought Cormanthor was as big as the entire universe, and the shrine was the entire world. It's weird how the mere size of things can abruptly change your perception of things, may it be by measurement or quantity.
I say quantity because I had no idea on the infinite possibilities that any other being can be. I've met elves, half-elves, half-orcs, halflings, even dwarves and gnomes! And no one is the same as the other, despite many of them acting all the same. I truely feel somewhat unprepared for this, but still more excited than ever. The life of an adventurer may be hard, but I've never enjoyed myself like this before!
I'll keep writing, asserting my memories, put them in order, to better organize my thoughts while I look for the companies...there are absolutely no clues, the only thing that reffers to the Bannerless Lions that I've heard at this moments are these scribbled records and the posters and panflets that I've already scattered amongst some cities and villagers, specifically Greatgaunt, Thunderstone and Suzail. All great, amazing places, each in their own sort of way. Well, who am I kidding, the cities are amazing! They are HUUUUGE! So many buildings, so many people! How can there be so many different people in one place!? That's unbelievable!
Well, I guess I'm just too excited to organize my thoughts properly. I'm digressing, a lot. Enough to get smacked by Wilheim at any given minute for losing my focus. Still I want you to know how incredibly gigantic all fells for me right now. I've never been more scared and happier in my life.
I hope to see you soon, my friend, once I've completed my first, self-appointed mission as a Lion. Who knows how long for now. As soon as it shall be. I miss you greatly, my brother, and hope you could just see the world now the way I see it.
Send my best to the drow. Give them hell."
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Post by kashard on Oct 8, 2019 4:26:04 GMT -5
 Outskirts of Suzail Sitting in a boulder laid peacefully on the grass, a few paces away the Low Road, Custodio would treat himself to some berries as he beared witness to the overwhelming greatness of the Capital of Cormyr, Suzail, that rose on a near horizon as shining diamond city. As he sinked in the majestic structures and castles from afar, he swallowed the berries while rummaging his heavy backpack, to find his treasured journal. As the cool wind breeze runs through his golden hair and the green grass around him, he smiles contently, as he makes another entry to his journal: --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Near Suzail, day 25
Here I am again, Elawyn. I've grown quite fond of these lands, I must admit, even though I'm not even near of knowing all of it. But I must say, a lot has happened since I've arrived, and I met some incredible people, as I wrote earlier. Let me tell you a little about them, friend.
Some of the first people I've met in these lands were none other than gnomes! And rather distinguished gnomes, I should add. There is Kasma, a rather odd, yet friendly and amusing gnome, that loves to wear green, and Radoc, a charming, warm sorceress with a big, kind heart. The two fo them were collecting donations to build an orphanage, and that has really warmed my day! War and skirmish rages on this land, as I would think of any other, and many unprepared commonfolk die in these roads, assaulted by ogres, ruffians and all sorts of cowardly highwaymen. Their deaths also means more hardship to their families, but a new orphanage would certainly diminish their suffering. I offered a donation of 1,500 lions, although much by my standards, still not nearly enough to what they need. But I trust they will make it work. Besides, I had the condition of providing some basic training to the young ones so they can at least familiarize themselves with combat on an early age, I think that could ease their burden, even if a little. And, on top of that, the Foehammer might grant it his protective blessings once he sees that potential fighters will have their first contact with combat in said orphanage. I would certainly hope so.
Another quite curious gnome is one that answers by Tak. A monk, just like the ones in the books! They really to charge into the fray, with no armor or weapons, and come out victoriously against all odds, with a very strange but effective way of fighting with their hands, feet, even elbows and head. If that wasn't enough for the exotic appeal, Tak himself is quite the curious character. Amusing in a cranky, feisty sort of way, not the calm, serene and spiritual warrior I saw in the books, however. And apparently, he loves fancy hats and adorned clothes. Go figure!
But if I was to talk about said monks, I could not forget to mention Lady Norah. She was amongst the first people I've seen in the village of Greatgaunt, when I still had neither a decent armor or sturdy boots (which I actually got to myself rather quickly. The adventurer life can be quite profitable, it seems!) I didn't have the honor to see her fighting seriously, but I catched a glimpse of her training on a combat dummy in the depths of the village, and I was astonished. I could even see most of her movements, but the result would be of a tattered dummy in a matter of seconds. She also has the quickest feet I've ever seen, she truly moves like the wind. Despite that jaw-dropping prowess, she's actually one of the humblest people I've met so far, amongst other travelers and adventurers. She'll make a great friend and ally, I'm sure of it.
There is also Korg, the Giant. A big man, with a bigger axe. Despite somewhat crude and brutish, he also fights with great prowess and skill. That axe is almost an extension to his arm. I wonder if he had any formal training? Regardless, he has proven to be a valuable companion in battle more than once, and adding that to a keen sense of right and wrong and his devotion to Uthgard, we've became friends rather quickly. If I ever see myself in bloody combat, and I see him by my side, that would be a fair sign that Tempus has blessed our fray. How many men of such valor there can be in battle, after all?
As to valor, a particular man has raised me quite a fair amount of questions about ethics and honor. Sir Thraden, a competent priest, with great dominion of the Power, and a honorable, clear sight ahead of him, towards what he believes should be done to help the others. He has helped me, and as I'd hate to admit, he has also saved my life more than once, so I owe him a debt, even if deep inside me it worries of what that might mean in the future. The reason I say this is because Thraden is one of the central priests of Velsharoon in all of Cormyr. I never thought I'd shwo empathy for a necromancer. I promise you that I am quite confused by him myself. I still seem him as a man of honor, yet a voice in my head always echoes the same as I meet him, he works with dark bidings. I would be lying if I said it did not scare me, because it does. Could it all be just a ruse? A way to trick unknowing naives like myself, who still has so much to learn, into trusting him, so he would discard later as one of his raised, mindless aberrations of death? That remains to be seen...still, I will keep my word to him, and harm no follower of the Lich God with the blade he has forged me. I have spare blades for that, if it ever happen...
I also cannot forget to mention Lady Helga. She's the first tempuran I've met after Master Wilheim. Meeting her was one of the highpoints of my time here! She had a strong accent, I would not know from where, but still, she has counceled me with wisdom and kindness. it was her idea to spread posters with descriptions of the Bannerless across Cormyr, she even helpéd me some lions to pay for the caravan fees. But as we talked, when I mentioned Thraden (even though not by name, I'm sure she was aware of who I was talking about) I witnessed a glimpse of her fury, and held my tongue. The worst enemy and best ally one can have is a Hammer, and by all means, I want to have as many blessed by the Lord of Battles as I can muster by my side. I hope that by angering her, I have not angered the Foehammer himself...
There are still many companions and potential allies for me to talk about, but I shouldn't keep myself much longer. Right now, I'm bound to a village called Eveningstar, where I'll meet Radoc. She said she had an offer for me, something about a place called Cloudstone. I hope I can be of use, and am anxious to see what awaits me there. Either way, I won't know what awaits me, until I see it for myself. We shall see." |
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Post by kashard on Oct 10, 2019 10:08:03 GMT -5
 Custodio sits by the dark desk in the corner of his darker room in the Regal Griffon. His face is caressed by the slow, faint glow of candlelight, as he would now write on his journal with proper ink. Several scrolls and parchments would be scattered and spread chaotically, amongst them, the letter of Sworn Oath that he has been offered by the Lord of Cloudstone. He'd rub his eyes, fighting the urge to dive into a deep sleep right there, but he had to keep writing, there was still much to record, much to tell. In the pages of the leather covered notebook, his latest entry would write the following: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Greatgaunt, day 30
Hello again, Elawyn. When I think that's it's only been a month since I've been in Cormyr, it overwhelms me. So much to tell, after so little time. No, no signs of any of the Lions or any descendents in sight, but the search goes on. I've been going out daily in several expeditions and quests to aid this troubled land, trying to resolve and fix things without delay, trhough direct action, as Wilheim taught me. Taught us. I don't know if he would be proud or not, but my blade rings true, and with all honesty, I'm doing the best I can, no more, no less. Still, the people that I meet here and there seem always seem to carry me that extra mile that is required. No one wins a war alone, that much is certain. Although, now I realize how much the war that rages daily outside of the battlefield is something that I'm very poorly preopared for. Wilheim never taught me any of this! Gladly, there are those in here that do.
Temptress Kira. This woman is something else. One of the most beautiful creatures that I've ever laid my eyes on. She helped me in ways I didn't even know existed, until the day I spilled half a bottle of Cormyrian Ale all over a girl that wanted to talk to me. Actually, now I know that this woman, Mischa, is not one to be taken lightly with. She serves the Lady of Pain Loviathar, and would most certainly bring me a world of physical anguish, or so I have been warned. Still, I must admit that I tend to forget such dangers as I find her form very...(some words would be scratched over as he would try to find the right one)... distracting.
Either way, back to Kira! What a woman! She has shown me a side of me that I never have dealt with head on directly. A battle with myself of sorts, maybe the costs of living my whole life in a hidden shrine, worlds away from other people other than the three of us and the ghosts living in all those stories, legends and history books. I've learned how wonderful the female form can be, in ways that to caress it can be a hidden, subtle battle, where every move is important. I've never thought of how much I yearned for it, but now I can't seem to stop thinking about it. Even though we did not laid together, she showed me what it means to bed someone in Marsember, when she paid a woman to do so with me. Apparantly it is a very old profession in every lands, it's called "prostitution". Still, I wonder if I could ever be able to know what sex was if Kira hasn't presented a solution herself. Still I would be lying if the thought of doing so with Kira herself hasn't crossed my
And now, although I still find hard to communicate and assimilate in a natural way the female form around me, I feel like a barrier has been broken. No more tembling and panicking, although some stuttering still occurs, I need to check on that. For example, I've met an even more appealing and attractive person. And asides from being astonishingly beautiful, she is also a skilled, resourceful and intelligent warrior. Bellesca is her name, with skin blue as clear water from the Ashaba. She seems to enjoy venturing and hunting by my side, although I doubt if for the same reasons as I do. She also has a tormented, scarred past, like the scars that run thru her lvoely slender neck. Her voice has been broken and thorn by cowardly torture, but still, I still like it when she speaks my name. None of these feelings would be possible if Kira hasn't, well, initiated me, in a way. It's weird how attraction happens isn't it? Not only Belle or Kira, but I've also looked at women I meet differently now...and also loook at the people relating and mingling in each other's carnal desires in a very different way today as I did a tenday past, for now I can relate to it. And it's been a colored world behind this new lens, joyful and frightening in ways that I cannot put in words. But I believe that you can understand what I'm trying to say.
Another very important thing that Kira's guidance pointed me to was the study of Bardic Magic. I figured, with the assistance of the Art inherent on folk lore and song, I could maybe find some hint or clue regarding my fellow Bannermen, places of interest where they could have gone, and disappeared. Still, it's quite hard to get a hold of recent folklore from the past 20 years, as I have to search for these tales and song directly, straight from the source, so every new place, every drunken sailor or humming cleaning lady, I have to keep my ears and eyes wide open, to see if I can learn anything. i can tell you now, friend, to be constantly aware in mind like this can be as tireing as a 4 hour-long sword and shield drill. Maybe more, in some ways. I've certainly grown exhausted of it.
Now I am due to review the Oath that the Lord of Cloudstone has offered me, in case I was to offer myself as a retainer for the name of his House, by vouching of Lady Radoc herself. This is what she wanted to meet me in Eveningstar for, a few days ago. From the cold frozen reaches up north, we walked and climbed steep stone, as I could actually see how fearsomely powerful that small gnomish body can muster. Fearsome. I'm certainly glad to have her as an ally. And still, despite I am very grateful and even joyful to think that she has thought of me for this position, I can't shake of a certain feeling of distrust from the highborn House leader. I've been thaught to use my shield to defend the commonfolk, and my sword to slay it's foes. But now, If I pledge myself to a highborn, could that betray my firmest stepping stone, that would be my oath as a Bannerless Lion? I wish Wilheim was still alive to council me on this, he would know what to do. For now, I look in parchments and scattered records about information regarding Cloudstone and its leader's House, it's history, if that is a cause worthy of the common pledge of a Bannerless. They have very few commonborn in the city as it is, no farming lands, and too much a steep, dangerous road for common traders and merchants. I do believe, however, the rebuilding of their halls and palace will most certainly draw the laborers of the neighboring cities and villages for the construction and works. And these people are definetelly worth of my protection, as they had nothing to do with the attacks that the city has suffered recently. Of those attacks however, it's motives and causes are still foggy to me. Sometimes, having no information seems like showing up for battle and forgetting your own sword at home. As foolish as it is disastrous.
I should be looking into it some more, but many thoughts come to me in my tired mind now. Thoughts of Belle, Kira, my trusting allies, (a scribbled name here would be scratched over as well) Mace, Korg, Aniril (this one is quite an interesting elf, you'd like him very much. Sadly he would not be likely to remember you in the following hour, as he seldomly remembers me at all, or any one for that matter. I'll tell you more about him later), even Shar, the skilled yet somewhat reckless and foolish swordfighter with white hair. All people worthy of mention, though there's so much to deal with, so much to learn, that I often don't even have time to write anything about them. Maybe Wilheim never told me of the importance of relating to other people, so I could solely focus on my mission and Oath as a Bannerless Lion. However, with the coming of every new friend and the discovery of every new feeling, I can feel the importance of his teachings, and the goals of our order, to grow considerably. Maybe, relating to people is what gives us all a reason to fight for, for having things we can believe in. If not to better understand each other with true honesty and warm empathy, then why to fight for a better world, for the commonfolk, for anything?" |
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Post by kashard on Oct 14, 2019 8:17:10 GMT -5
 In the depths of an Orcish Lair, Cormyr At the dim lighting and foul loins of the dark stony tunnels of a cave, the sounds of battle raged on. The shades of three large, brutish orcs would print themselves on the solid rock walls, as steel clashed with steel, bringing forth sparks that would shine on the cave's tunnel like lightning. On the other side of the grimly dark tunnel, one single knight, sword and shield in hand, fending off each strike directed at him. Outnumbered, the knight patiently waited for the right moment while the orcish brutes, taller and stronger than him, would push him forth more and more against the cavern walls. The lightning sparks birthed from crude orcish steel would reveal the knight's red tunic, the white and red collors of his tunic, with the Bannerless Lion's crest on it, and the silvery shine of his adamantine armor, all of those tainted with the splattered black blood of other defeated monsters, and yet, no human crimsom blood in sight. As well as the knight managed to avoid the the vicious charges of the orcs, he could not see, in that dim light, that a pile of mangled corpses would lay beneath his feet, and one step back too late, he would trip on it. The orcs grinned viciously to the opportunity, and swung their crude weapons at the fallen warrior. He could easily fend off more strikes still, as he was taught well to use his shield in any given moment of combat, but the cold glassy eyes of the innocent dead would drain all his attention, as they stared at him in frozen horror, as a dark abyss would. In one of those lifeless eyes, he'd recognize a pesant that crossed paths with him not too long ago, on his way to Suzail, and remembered they both greeted each other, with smiles as bright as the sun. The tempuran could swear the dead simpleton was his exact same age. The orcish blades drew blood from the fighter in that split second, axe and spear clashing on his sturdy armor, yet now penetrating it's cracks. He grimaced as he was injured, red blood joining the black at his marked tunic, and to the orcs, victory now didn't seem so distant. As the vicious trio would ready themselves for the final blow, the knight knew what he had to do. Waiting for that exact moment as the weapons would come down at him like diving hawks on it's prey, His plated greaves would violenlty find it's mark, stomping on the orcish unprotected ankle with all his strength and weight. The sound of cracking bone would echo through the tunnels, as the pain of his broken limb would cause the orc not only to miss his blow, but deflecting his orcish companion's swing to the side as well, leaving the Tempuran only one blow to deal with, to which he fended off easily with his guarding shield. Rolling over to the side, away from his corpses, he's taken over by violent fury, the look in his eyes not so different as the foes he faced. His shield lays down to his side, as he has decided he has only defended for too long. Growling like a beast, his first kill comes swift like a gust of wind, his side swing swiftly separating one of the orc's thick neck from it's body, as his head makes a wet, cracking noise as it went flying straight to the stoney wall, splattering it's brains on it's spikey rocks. The second kill would be more troublesome. The Tempuran charged bravely, but blindsighted by his own rage. His shiny steel tabs deep on the orcish bowls, vomiting that black blood on the warrior's armor, but the weapon is plunged too deep. The warrior would try to gut the monster, but the very bleeding orc would hold the blade, giving the chance of victory for his third companion on his final, gfoul breaths. The knight was without a choice, he had to leave his weapon plunged deep in the orc's gut as his intestines would hang out from the wound, and yet, the orc opens a wide, tusky grin as he stepped back, the last grin he would ever show. Releasing the weapon would allow the warrior to avoid his foe's axe, but somehow the orc would predict that. That sorry excuse for an axe would reveal it's rugged bruteness as it clashed right at the side of the Tempuran's helm, and with just a tad more of strength, and were it not for the Tempuran's reflexes, it would be the knights head, instead onf only his helm, that would be tossed down the tunnel. His blonde locks of hair would come down on his face, dripping blood from the gashing wound on the side of his head where the blow was dealt. The orc could not help himself but laugh, a horrible, squeeling sound. Amusing himself for finally drawing blood on that now disarmed human, he didn't even see him charging when his heavy, plated gauntled would come down furiously at him breaking it's already deformed nose together with it's adorned tusks. The orc grimaces and chokes on his laugh, stepping back as the blow pushes him back, and as he'd try to open his eyes, his own blood would blind him as a second blow would bash gruesomely on his face, not only breaking every putrid, crooked teeth in the front of his face as it was brought to the brink of being smashed in, but also a blow so violent it would cause those broken pieces of bone to get stuck between the adamantine plates of the gauntlet. The orc would fall back on his back, choking and drowning on his own oily blood.
Custodio would glare coldly down at the squirming, drowning orc, and actually savored that moment for a few seconds. The orc brought his hands to his destroyed face, his jaw barely standing in place as it was more hanging than attached, urtterly destroyed. The knight knew then, that the most fulfilling, raging violence, is a patient and cold one. he looks at the destroyed and twisted corpse of the peasant on the pile, still staring straight at him, as if awaiting for him to finish the job. Custodio would comply, mounting the agonizing orc, and holding his shield high over his head, his blue eyes staring at the orc as he managed to finally open his eyes. Custodio wanted him to see what was about to happen to him. And he did, yet insted of the expected fear, his eyes would show only that same fierce anger, as his thick orcish hand would rise to grab the knight by his neck.
The edge of that plated, heavy adamantine tower shield comes down hard on the already destroyed orcish face. The first blows would break thru the big bulky hand that would cover his wounded face, and hammers down on the fallen creature. At every gorey blow of his shield, Custodio's grunts would become louder than the orcish screams of crushing pain. He wouldn't even realise that he was now banging the lower edge of his shield on a crushed pile of brains, bone and hair. He pants, dropping the shield next to him, and growled so fiercely that the orcs that tunnel would confuse the sound with the one of that patrolling trio, and grinned to the thought of feasting on some more fresh adventurer meat in that dark night. Custodio pushes the orc's cold gripping hand from his neck and sits by the dead peasant once again, panting, his face black with orcish blood. His shaking hands, would reach inside his backpack, and takes a quill and his journal. With no inkwell in sight, as he has not really looked for him, he'd find his ink in the pool of black blood than was forming close to his feet. And so, he'd write the following, on his defeated foe's blood with no date, and shaky handwriting:
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"Cowards. All of them who lay waste and despair on the innocent are, above all, cowards. Some confuse cowardice with fear. That simplistic view couldn't be more far from the truth. To be a coward, in it's definition, means to take that fear into another depth, to be so deep in dwelling in it that it turns into something else, something dark, petty, vulgar and twisted. What most Garagosians do not understand is that the fierce battle frenzy they admire and worship, mistaking it with valor, can turn into nothing more than a product of fear, that could easily be turned to cowardly acts with the right push. They are not all cowards, but they do dance on that thin rope that separates valor and frightfulness. Cowardice is something that shows a mortal being just how low he can get himself to be, to go that extra mile just to cause pain, suffering, and taking pleasure in it. All a product of the darkest fear that sleeps in our loins, for all men and women show fear. It is part of who we are. To sink in that fear until it is shaped into dreadful, relentless violence, that's the worst kind of cowardice there is, specially when cast on those weaker than oneself.
I say this because I fought cowards today, and with that, I must pay penance to Tempus, for I turned to cowardly acts to best them. They dragged me to their vengeful, weak world, and I spoke their language fluently. Their fearful anger reached inside my own, when I saw the result of their brutish behaviour against those that had no part in it. They brought War to those that would not fight it, destroying and crushing them to unreckonizeable shadows of what they once were, and they have the nerve to call this strength, might...bravery! Utter cowards, all of them. To be brave enough to show mercy and respect for the enemy in front of you, that's the valor I seek, fearless unharmed and unhinged by the dark ugliness of the world... but I did not find it today.
Tempus, forgive me for what I must do. But, I must..."------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Custodio gets himself up as he sealed his journal shut, scribbling no date on that entry, as something he wrote down to forget. Puting it and his quill back in his backpack. Holding his shield back up, he would wipe away his tears before fetching his helm and strapping it back on his head. Stepping on the dead orc corpse, he reclaims his sword from it's corpse, and marches down the dark tunnel, as he could hear the stomping steps of another patrol coming, probably to check on those vicious growls he launched into the darkness. The orcs laughed and grinned like demons, anxious for the spoils, or better yet, the bloody acquisition of them from the knight's dead body.
No orc in that cave survived on that fateful day. |
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Post by kashard on Oct 16, 2019 9:37:17 GMT -5
 Dead Man's Pass, Stonelands Custodio sits by a boulder as the howling winds and falling snow dance above his hooded head. Wearing a deep dark red adorned cloak, it's fabric trembles with every gust of chilly wind, as the warrior steps his Stormhornian boots on top of a beaten, bleeding giant. His tempuran steel plunged in the deceased giant's chest like a standard, as the knight sits just by the entrance of the Dead Man's pass. He has a quill in his hand, his notebook in another, and as he grimly looks at his last entry, he shoves his guilty thoughts aside, leaving them for a later time, before turning to a new blank page, and restoring his excitement, begins to write:----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stonelands, day 43
"Elawyn, great news! This is comming from the newest appointed Retainer for House Hornbow of Cloudstone! That's right! I made an oath to keep and protect a honored noble house and it's subjects, directly to the House Lord, Duncan Hornbow, himself! I did my homework, read about the house's history and relationship with it's people, and decided that they have the commonfolk's best interest in mind on the rebuilding of their city to it's former glory. There is, however, much to be done...the palace has been occupied by none other than liches, and even though they have been vanquished, it has been brought to my attention that their philacteries were not (in case you're wondering, it seems a philactery is something a lich places his soul inside, so that he doesn't really die when his body is destroyed. I've only learned that recently myself. Damnable cowardly undead scum!)
Even after we deal with whatever is left of vile and harmful inside their rebuilding palaca (Lord Duncan is planning an expedition to explore the whole palace's quarters soon to make sure there's no more danger from within the city walls), we still have to secure the icy, dangerous roads and paths that lead to Cloudstone. There's not even an actual road! Giants and white-furred Gnolls roam these hills and steep climbs, who knows what else, any common trader faces great danger to get to the city. The safety of the commonfolk surrounding and living in Cloudstone comes first, we must work on that as soon as possible. I'm already diminishing the ettin's and gnolls numbers by myself whenever I get myself in Eveningstar.
I should thank Radoc for this opportunity. This little gnome really does have a big heart, and has placed great faith in me by appointing me for the position of Retainer. I'll make sure I don't let her down. The Illmateri Siphanien, who has a great domain for the Power granted by her Broken God, also assists the Hornbow House as their official healer. A very reliable and kind hearted elf who has saved me in the crypts near Valkur's Roar a dozen of times, and I'll make sure to repay her as well by keeping their patients safe and away from harm. Kasma, naturally, is also with Cloudstone and Radoc, though I'm not sure if she has any official position in the Household. Still she's determined to build their orphanage right here, as the Hornbow oath states, 'to build stone upon stone'. I'm still concerned, however, if these troubled times are really the best to build it...the city faces the danger of siege as we speak, I do not trust the peace treaty made with the orcs from the Stormhorns, that sit not even a day's travel away from the Stonelands. Maybe it would be better to set a temporary settlement for orphans and children in need in a safer location, perhaps Shallybrook, the hin village, and transport them back here once the coast is clear? Still, I'll support their decision, regardless.
I'll make sure to keep this place safe, and bring Aniril and Tess here. Maybe they could even help! I could certainly use good people here, so could Cloudstone. I'll ask Tess first, maybe her Helmite nature will lead her towards enforcing some order in the city. Aniril's prowess at the Arts would certainly be of use as well, though I'm not sure how to approach him for this, considering his broken memory...
In the meantime, I'll honor my honor to the Bannerless Lions and the Hornbow House, and use m y sword to defend these people with all I can. We'll drive every vile creature from these lands, and fight for the safety and prosperity of the people!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shutting his journal, tying the leather straps on it's cover, he puts it back on his backpack pouch, and walks towards the defeated giant, swinging it off to swing the thick blood off it's steel, spraying the snow beneath him red. He grabs hold of the trembling cloak by the Hornbow brooch that pins the cloth over his shoulders, and steps down the Dead Man's pass, resuming his patrol. |
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Post by kashard on Oct 17, 2019 10:40:01 GMT -5
 Bramblewood, the Undergorund River Custodio took cover behind his adamantine shield, yet could not contain the torrent of acid that all those serpent heads regurgitated down on him, burning his clear skin as it penetrated through the cracks of his armor. Were not for the warding amulet sold to him by Snaer not long ago, all that acid would eat through flesh and bone, certainly killing the warrior on the spot. Still, even with the artifact's protection, the creature's breath was more than harmful, and weakened the Tempuran's movements. His shield getting heavier as his wounds cried crimsom tears, Custodio knew he had to retreat. So, he reached for the tangerine vial by the many potions on his side pouch, and as he takes it, the creature hisses and growls as it's prey disappears. As it's many necks bulge with the coming of yet another rain of acid from it's loins, Custodio would be already on the opposite, safe from the coming of that cone of acid.
The creature had a few wounds herself, enough to have made it as furious as it was, and it would not settle until it's assailant was dead. As furiously as it was aimless, clawed and bit the rock walls of the underground tunnel, crushing stone with every mighty blow. Behind the enfuriated creature, Custodio took his time to heal himself, carefully not to call the creature's attention, and taking advantage of the sounding echoes of the tunnel to not call the creature's attention as he warded himself. He opened his scroll case, finding bardic scrolls for Mage Armor, Shield and Bull's Strength. He read one scroll after the other, and as the weave materialized the magic wards around the warrior, Custodio adjusted his closed helm on his head, as he readied himself to charge at the monster again. As he turned to face it, the creature hears his clanging armor finally, as it finally stopped it's blind pummelling.
Custodio charges, steadfast steps carrying that Heavy armor and shield across the shallow waters of the tunnel, fearlessly towards the deafening roar of the 8 headed creature. It spat yet another heavy torrent of acid, but the warrior would endure, shield ahead of him. Two sharp monstruous clawswould come at him to follow, and would be stopped by that sturdy shield, which deflected each blow with the help of the Tempuran's skill. Once he's close enough, he waits for the bites to come down on him, and before those sharp long fangs could tear his body apart, one wide swing of his blade would strike 5 of the 8 heads at the same time, intercepting the creature's attack. As it roared in pain after feeling that Tempuran steel gash at it's scaley face and yellow eyes, it would roar again as that steel finds the opening it needs to plunge itself on the smoother underside of one of it's long necks. The Hydra tasted it's own blood, as one of it's head collapses. There were 7 more to go.
The battle raged on, fierce on both ends. The hydra's heavy claws would not penetrated the focused warrior's defenses,as the magic shields and wards assisted his prowess. Undermining the creature bit by bit, selected, patient gashes and steps would make the Hydra bleed everytime Custodio saw an opening. His shield arm refusing to go numb after the first 3 minutes, yet he could feel himself growing tired. That monster was too resilliant and sturdy, no matter how deep the wound he would inflict on it, it always kept charging back with asbolute anger. Being impossible to fend off every single move of that giant monster, Custodio felt the hard way that one connecting paw of the monster counted as 10 of his swordblows. Blood would drip from the side of his armor as the creature's claws managed to slash at his torso. He knew then he might as well be facing his death, but at that same moment, he see's an opening.
Ignoring the sharp pain deep in his ribs, the Tempuran musters all his strength to dive low, as he sees the Monster gathering more acid for another stone-solving breath. Just as it's reading to spit, Custodio drops his shield, and using both hands, he stabs the creature deep, with all the strength he could muster. The sword pierces thru its rigid flesh from under it's emerald scales, and finds that forming pool of acid just a palm or less under from where all it's necks would connect. THe stab makes the acid gush out, bathing and harming Custodio deeply, yet he did not falter. As he growled from the pain of the burning on his skin and flesh, he could hear the monster scream as well as he twisted the blade sideways. Roaring with the Bannerless Lion within, Custodio, gathering and focusing every cell of his body, forces on the leather of the sword hilt, slowly and painfully pushing the sharp balde against the tense muscles of the Hydra, until, in a gorey display of power, Custodio Manages to rip his sword off the creature's side, half-decapitating all it's heads at once.
The massive scaley being collapses on the tunnel, almost blocking it fully, after wailing it's final breath. Blood gushed out of his open wound like a fountain, painting the rocky ceiling red. The sound of rock hissing as it was corroded by the mix of blood and acid spraying for the monster's corpse was the only sound to be heard, until the red rain stopped. Custodio would pant hard, falling down on his feet, as the faint smoke caused by the contact of the acid on his skin would slowly fade away. He took his time to stand up, exhausted, as he lifted his sword high above his head, and shouted as loud as his lungs could bare. His greates challenge yet, defeated, single handedly. He was sure that Tempus watched over him.
On the next day, after a well deserved rest at the Regal Griffon in Greatgaunt, he wrote a new entry on his journal, with a pleased smirk stamped on his confident face.
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Greatgaunt, day 50
"Elawyn, I did it! All by myself!! I have slain a Hydra!! Big and scaley, 8 heads and all! I really did it!
I remember the day me, Siphanien the Healer, Tess, Aniril and Mara, a quite scary but extremely skilled and unpredictable adventurer, raided on the cursed temple near Valkur's Roar. That was the fiercest battle I have ever faced, until this day. Of course, a horde of curst spirits, vampires, Bodaks and demons is also not something to take lightly, but now I can say that I have proven myself, and solely on myself, with no ally to save me if I fell. No Siphanien to tend to my wounds, no Aniril to ward me, no Tess by my side to share the bourden of the beast's blows, no mara to flank the foe. I put myself to that taks, and did it!
I am worth something! I can beat a giant monster with 8 heads, that spits acid! My skills have grown a lot, and I'm exhilarated! I wish you've seen me, Elawyn! I wish you've seen me!"
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Post by kashard on Oct 28, 2019 6:35:23 GMT -5
 Custodio with a few adventurers, scouting the Northern reach The abandoned inn in Cloudstone valley was dark, filled with rubble and broken furniture, it's walls scarred by fierce battle. And yet, the ruined building would still give the scouting party a peaceful haven to rest. The city was still getting back on it's feet, and since, there were not many travelers headed to Cloudstone, the repairs on the inn were left aside, for the moment. Still, it was a roof, and it got warmer as the embers of the bonfire, that Custodio assembled, would light the room. As the others slept, Custodio would get that small notebook out of his rutsack, and would start writing on his sleeping mattress:
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"Cloudstone, day 62
Travelling in the snow can be a real challange on it's own, Elawyn. As my first mission for Cloudstone, not only as a retainer for House Hornbow, but also to ensure the future of the Orphanage Kasma and Radoc are putting together, I've assembled a scouting party, to clear some of the monsters that lurk between here and Eveningstar, so a proper, safe road can be built and make way for a brighter future for this gem of the Stonelands, before the vile orcs try get a claim of it. I'm actually learning to enjoy the snow and hard stone of the Valley, it has so much potential, I truly believe it can become a beacon of hope to the North, with a lot of hard work. Even though I'm pretty sure you'd hate it here. Almost no trees around, and no animals aside from big, scary scorpions.
Either way, with this group I've assembled, scouting has been much easier. This is the first exploration party I've assembled since Kasma told me of her ideas to organize this project to make the northern reaches of Cormyr safe to travel, and I believe this one will be a tough party to best. First we have Sylus, a Red Knight. That alone would be fit to hint his capability in battle, his great strategic mind kept us all safe during the expedition. It was a great honor to see the way he behaves himself in a fight. Then we had Tess joining in, who's finally answering to her real name by now. Her unique combination of abilities with holding the line and also flanking our enemies gave us quite a versatile front line, which remains unbroken. Then, the lovely Aeribelle, with her powerful conpendium of summoned creatures. She is a true army of one, sort of speak, due to the many creatures she can call forth magically to her aid. And besides, I must admit, it's good to have her around, even without any fighting...for morale purposes, I mean. *Custodio would clear his throat and blush as a reflex after writing that last part down* Finally, we also counted with the assistance of an elf named Tat'yeana, or Tat for short. A skilled archer and friend of Sylus, and proved to be the best flanker we could as for. Not even we could see her arrows coming, then you can imagine the gnolls and ettin's surprise on their faces when they fell with a pair of arrows across their skulls.
We've covered most ground already, more than I could ever do in a day's travel on my lonesome patrols. We even found a Gnoll hideout in the mountains and slain their Chieftain, that should send a message to the other raiding tribes that lurk there that we mean business, and that the path between Eveningstar and Cloudstone Valley is not theirs anymore. They seem organized enough to realize that this hostility is directed straight at them, now we just need to wait for their response, until negotiations can be made for these monsters to move elsewhere. As for the Ettin's, since they seem to have absolutely no organization at all, seems like we'll just have to scare and fence them off until they realize they are dying more than they are raiding, and naturally flee somewhere else. Then, there are the giant scorpions on the stonelands. Truly fearsome creatures, and good luck trying to parley with an insect. We'll just need to either destroy their nests nearby the paths and trails, or create a way around them, because we cannot possibly slay them one by one.
Still, I'm confident that these expeditions will suceed, and we'll make a safer passage to Cloudstone in no time. People will be able to return to their homes, and people without a home will be able to make Cloudstone their own, and help it prosper. I truly believe that it can become more than just a gated ruin on the top of a mountain, and become one of the greatest cities of Cormyr. The commonfolk of these lands endured enough trhoughout their History, and they deserve a sturdy, reliable city that can keep them safe, in the middle of one of the most dangerous and fierce regions of the Realm. This is all thanks for Radoc and Kasma, I wouldn't be able to fight this good fight if it weren't for them. Once the orphanage is up and running, I'll train those children on their honor, as to the honor of Foehammer. I expect great things to come from Cloudstone!"
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The warrior awakes as daylight break between the clouds, shining on the harsh lands of the Valley. Custodio meets his companions by the gate and ventures off to return to Eveningstar, making the way back of the scouting mission. He smiles as he waves a fellow Hornbow guard goodbye, and rushes to keep up with the group. Inside his helm, his hopeful smile would last for hours on end.
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Post by kashard on May 23, 2020 20:11:13 GMT -5
 Cloudstone, The Unicorn's Door (under repairs)As the final nail is hammered down, Custodio wipes the sweat on his forehead, result of an entire day of clearing rubble out of Cloudstone's future best, and only, traveler's Inn, The Unicorn's Door. The young man beats the dust out of his calloused hands, and grins to the deformed gentle Procks as he climbs down the ladder he stands on. Grinning brightly, he exchanges gentle words to the hunchback as they share a humble loaf of bread and a refreshing bottle of Ale from Eveningstar, Custodio's favorite. They both rest, pleased with the results of the day's work. Custodio's strength and goodwill even made Procks think that, if there were 4 more men like that young knight to help him repair the Inn, it'd be done and ready in less than a tenday. The dusk fades, and night time steps in the starry sky. Procks waves goodbye to his new friend that walks out the front door, who returns with warmth tenfold. Closing the door behind him, Custodio walks down the Cloudstone central square, glaring at the settler's houses, warming up their fireplaces and sharing the food from their pots, and grins to himself, feeling, after a long time, he stands where he belongs, witha people that has accepted him, and that he'd give his all to protect. He truely believed that, to his deppest core. In this depth of self-pleased thought, he reminds himself of old Elawyn and his letters, and like the first time, he felt the sudden urge to share it with his old friend, tutor and mentor. He sits by the fountain, taking a thin piece of charcoal from his backpack, and casts a crafty cantrip on it, as it stands up straight against the piece of parchment on his lap, and scribbles the following words on it's own: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Cloudstone, ...Sorry, missed the day count!
It's been too long since I've written, Elawynn. Sorry about that. I really am. It's not like I've forgotten about you, or Wilhelm, or my mission to find the other Lions. I've left comyr a few months ago, seached further away from the northern borders, heading west. When it became clear to me that I wasn't gonna find anything, I came back, Cormyr again. It hurts to admit it, specially after I giving my word and oath to so many people in the Forest Kingdom, but I thought about heading back to Cormanthor, see the shrine maybe, and the old clearing where I used to practice swordplay with the old man. But something in me kept me from it, something more than my word as a man. I felt as if my return would mean that this was over, and that I've failed irredeemably on my mission. I'd guard that shrine like the old man, 'till the day I died. That's not the way a warrior should spend his life. No way! I'm still too young for that...
Been a 50 days or so since I've came back. Cloudstone still getting back on it's feet, stone by stone. I don't see miss Radoc or Kasma as often as I did, but guess what, Tess and Siph are now a couple! I've written about them before, right? If not, I'll make sure to tell you all about them when we meet again. Specially Tess, she reminds me of WIlhelm. Simply no way around that thick skull!! I really care about her though...But not just her! I've grown to care about so many people in Cormyr, l've actually lost count. Or maybe I'm just a dumb knight trying to protect everyone I see. It's just so many different people, so many different stories...it amazes me still. There's even this -and trust me, this is NOT MADE UP!- a really cute dragonkin girl named Alexandria! She's awesome, really strong fighter, and has this great smile and she's really cool and stuff! I'm starting to think I really like this one! Maybe you can even meet her someday!!
Now I've just finished helpin' Procks revitalize the inn here in Cloudstone. Prock's a nice guy, although you can tell just by lookin' at him he's had it rough. But I think he really means well, though. He works hard, and will eventually be an awesome inkeeper. I just hope he cooks good though! Lord Duncan and his family are still welcoming as ever. You'd really like mister Duncan too, he's a great guy!
Anyway, it's getting pretty late, and I think I should start getting my way inside, to get a good night's rest and head down the snowy hills at sunrise. Miss you Elawyn. Stay safe!
Custodio-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sharp flint of charcoal drops lifeless at the end of his name, and Custodio grabs it before it hits the floor. He folds the parchment and keeps it inside his wrapped leather-cover notebook, next to all the other leathers. With a long sigh, he gives the night stars another dreamy gaze, before standing up, and heading back in the hornbow Manor. |
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Post by kashard on Sept 22, 2020 6:29:15 GMT -5
Under the dim flickering candlelight that breaks the darkness, laying all by himself, a small blonde human child turns the pages of a dusty old tome while storm rages outside this ruined, forsaken shrine he called home. The child would be no older than 7, but the dreams he glimpses through the colored pages of the book felt like one thousand years old. He was accompanying the tale of a group of children who went playing into the woods one day, but got lost. "Other children....playing..." the thoughts echoed in the back of his head, as he dreamed while awake with joining them in their adventures, his feet tumbling and bouncing in excitement. He could be their inside man on the woods, guide them to every cranny and corner amongst the best, mightiest trees, the best views of the virgin ladnscape, the best spots by the lake to have a swim. He smiles broadly as daylight as he turns another page eager to find what games his friends would play, but the smile slowly curls down to a frown, as the picture of a shadowy beast takes over the pages, hovering over the clueless children with glowing blood red eyes, and a furry mane as black as night. It lurked behind the trees, his sillouette only lighted by a swift crack of thunder that cut through the sky. "My friends...they are in danger!" was the immediatte thought of the friendless little one, unable to do nothing but to witness their imminent demise, since he was on the wrong side of reality to do anything about it. He motions his fingers through the rustic paper reaching for the next page, hoping for the children's safety, but to his crushing disappointment, he would not find it. The condition of the book was so precarious that the next pages crumbled to dust, probably many years ago, and it was a miracle that what pages he had read so far were even readable at all. He gritted his small teeth, and with watery eyes reflecting the bright lightning outside, the storm intensified, and the child's dreams ran wildly in his head. Those kids needed a hero. A hero like Wilhelm. A hero like himself. He needed to do something about it. He needed to save everyone, so then everyone and every child would be his friend, and he would never be alone in the dark again. He glances fearlessly at the roaring thundering skies that banged it's drums across the black blanket of clouds, and as pure and foolish as a dreaming child can be, he bcame to believe in the depths of his pure heart that those children were out there, in the cold windy night, clueless to the red eyed danger that lurked behind them. He tiptoes his way near the mossy wooden door that lead out of the safety of the shrine, reaching for his mighty hero sword, which would be nothing but a small steel dagger with the Bannerless Lion's crest engraved on it's blade, and slides the door open. The poor old man Wilhelm, oblivious to it all, was in deep slumber, and did not see the child charging out into the dark woods, under the protests of Talos's thunder and lightning, and rushed to rescue of his friends, that existed only in the pages of a dusty old tome, and still the only ones he had. His own ageless dreams that kept the crushing loneliness he felt at bay. Meanwhile, out there, the cruel harsh world awaited to devour him and his dreams, mercilessly.
The mossy and grassy paths and nooks of the woods were much harder to go by under that heavy rain, but the child shows knightly dilligence to overcome the slippery mud and the crashing tree branches that broke under the heavy gusts of wind. He shouted out in the dark for his friends, the sound coming deaf out of his mouth, muffled by the thundering roar of the night skies, as he distances himself from the shrine more and more. He holds on the pommel of the dagger with his tiny hands as his eyes blindly scan the darkness for the sight of his pals, and then it is revealing to him, by another forked crack of lightning sent from Talos himself, the silhouette of a large furry mane black as night, and red eyes that glowed in the dark, glaring down at the boy with murdering anger. The blood of the child freezes him into stone, unable to scream or move as the beast, several times larger than the scrawny kid, charges through the puddles of mud and runs over fallen branches, turning them to splinters with brutish force, straight forward, unstoppable towards it's prey. Another lightning reveals the creature, with a gashing wound bleeding out on the side of his gigantic head. A grizzly bear, wounded, hungry and ferocious, roars to the child, bringing down reality into his blue teary eyes. As real life immitates the pictures of a dusty old tome, the beast comes down at the oblivious child as it did to the children of the story, to which the young boy would never know the ending of. His mind is taken over by terrible, horrible pain, so much more than any child should muster, as the bear plunges it's mighty jaw on the boy's right arm, ripping it off him in gorey savagery. And suddenly, the boy's mind, scarred forever, goes black.
He spends a long time once again in the dark, but this time, no candlelight to break it away and give him safe haven. Instead, just the image of the bloody monster sinking it's fangs at him. Yet, as he has the feeling of sharp teeth tearing through his flesh, a light breaks, and he's back at the shine, the dawn gently passing through the crevices and broken walls of the place of worship to kiss the boy's face. Then, he sees the blurry image of a dark-haired man, standing next to him. The scents of several acnient herbs and incense takes him over, numbing his mind from the fear and the pain. The image of the man becomes clearer with time as he sees Elawyn, with a few bruises on his face and claw marks across his shoulder, placing a wet piece of cloth on the boy's feverish head. To his surprise, on his side, the boy would see that the arm that was ripped off was back to it's right place, yet still badaged and numb, and his fingers numb and motionless. His elven parent lays gentle fingers onto his small chest as he speaks softly to his cub, calming him down: "you are safe, little lion, go ahead and rest...", and with a soundless snap of his fingers, the child is sent to the oblivion of the world of dreams again, but now, the conforting words of one of his fathers guiding him there, making sure he is safe in the dark, like candlelight.
Custodio wakes up agitatedly, stretching out his right arm as the memories of that vivid dream ran back across his mind. He seems lost for a second or two as reality slowly finds it's bearings around him once again, and he sees the arm that Elawyn saved. With his right hand, he rubs on his eyes, and sits by his bed.
"It had to be bears...", he says.
Elawyn fighting the Grizzly
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