Post by Emerald Snow on Oct 26, 2009 14:15:44 GMT -5
I found myself wandering aimlessly . . .
I had no idea exactly where I was, I just knew that I was somewhere between the Dalelands and the coast. That's a pretty big tract of land to find yourself lost in. I had no solid memory left to guide me . . . just flashes. Pictures of a life I had forgotten. I was dressed in some kind of ceremonial armor; mostly black and gray, and I carried in my hands an odd sort of weapon that boasted a blade on each end, but was otherwise staff-like. My name . . . that much I remembered at least. My name is Kethra. Kethra Nightmane. "Nightmane" . . . what a strange name. I'm not sure if it's really even my family name; I doubt it.
I had to get my bearings . . . find out who I am, and what I was doing in this part of Faerun. I found a simple trade route and decided to follow it to its destination, hoping it wouldn't take me somewhere hostile. For three days I followed that road, until it took me to a small valley where it came to an end at a T intersection. Left . . . or right? Looking down each direction, I saw a small house to the right (which was north), so I decided to go that way. Just beyond this small and simple home was a small, walled village. "Well, it's time to find out if this place is friend or foe . . ."
As I approached the gate I was greeted by a guard wearing local militia type garb, which was a relief. He told me that I had found the town of Isinhold, just south and east of the borders of Cormyr. After a brief but awkward unofficial questioning, the guard allowed me entrance. I walked into town, not knowing anything of my surroundings or what to expect. I found an inn there, run by a stoic old man named Kale. I had a few coins on me (Cormyrean Lions to boot - I have no idea how that happened), so I rented a key to the commons in the basement.
From this place, I would stage my quest to rediscover my identity. The next few days consisted largely of me familiarizing myself with Isinhold and the surrounding lands. I discovered that I knew a language the others I had met called "Mulhorandi," and that meant that I was likely from Thay. I heard about an enclave of Thayans to the south, in a fortified township called Proskur, so I went there and discovered enough to jog some of my memories to the fore. I am indeed Thayan.
The next couple of weeks was spent much the same as the first couple of weeks, and I remembered that I was once involved in some sort of church. One not widely sanctioned. I was a ceremonial guard for a clergy of Talos, the god of storms and destruction. I took this rememberance with a grain of salt, as I felt no fealty to this god anymore. Something happened to me, I just couldn't remember what.
One evening as I was practicing my combat form with the help of the militia's combat dummy in Isinhold, I was observed by a rather . . . unique lady. As I ceased my mock-assault on the dummy, I looked over to find her sitting on a nearby log, her red draconic wings folded neatly behind her. After some small talk, she introduced herself as Sharteel, a figure of importance at a wizardly bardic school somewhere. She took me, quite literally, under her wing for a time. She took me back to Proskur and introduced me to some figures of importance there, most notably a handful of Red Wizards.
I had something just beneath the surface in my mind this whole time; a kind of hatred . . . violence. I was reckless in battle, flinging myself, both blades spinning, into the center of combat. No discipline, no concern for allies, no thought of tactics. The Red Wizards and their knights, Sharteel, and other allies taught me better ways to fight. They taught me how to control myself and put my energy to more efficient use in combat and other endeavors. Sharteel was the one who introduced me to a new way of life . . .
One evening, I was sitting at a table among others in the Standing Stone inn in Proskur when Sharteel decided that she wanted to partake of the firepools in the nearby temple, which was dedicated to the Lord of Flames, Kossuth. I followed along with the few others present and we entered this temple. Immediately upon setting foot in the door, I was nearly taken aback with a heavy gust of heat. The source of this heat became apparent once I took a few steps within the temple's caustic atmosphere . . . there, on both sides, were pools of purest fire undulating beneath a narrow stone bridge that spanned to the center of the temple. We all went to an outer corner of the temple's interior and stood between several of these magmic pools. There, Sharteel disrobed and gingerly hopped right into one of the pools, immersing herself like a swan into a pond. As she bathed amid the pools' fiery glow, I was hit with another series of memories. I knew what happened to me.
I was once a ceremonial guard, as I had already stated. It was my responsibility to guard a clergy during their ceremonies and summoning rituals. The last summoning ritual was flawed somehow. Something went wrong. The energies released when the clergy lost their grip on the weave of the portal reacted quickly and violently. The entire clergy was consumed. Burned to nothing. I was struck by these energies as well, but they did not consume me . . . they just knocked me out cold; burned away my identity. Made me forget.
As I stood there, staring into those flames, I felt something. A calling. I knew right then that it was the will of Kossuth that sent the flames to destroy the clergy; to free my mind and soul and purge me of impurities. It was by the will of Kossuth that I tread where I did. It was by the will of Kossuth that I was found by one so familiar with the element of fire. None of this happened by chance. I followed my calling without hesitation, and learned all I could about this Firelord.
After a few weeks, which were spent learning about Kossuth and increasing my familiarity to fire by bathing daily in the scorching breath of Sharteel, I kneeled in the temple of Kossuth in the presence of Thazar-De (the attending priest at that temple), Sharteel, and lord Kethoth (a Red Wizard of great repute). I then cleansed myself of all obligations, expressed or implied, and dedicated my entire being to the path and teachings of Kossuth. I was on my way to realizing my true destiny.
I was travelling through a wooded area just north of Isinhold called the Bramblewood, when I came across a small encampment of bandits who were hiding out from the law among the coveys of the forest. They didn't like the idea of being found, so they attacked me, and I killed them. I killed them all. After killing them, I was so enraptured by the frenzy of battle that I decided to destroy even their camp. I took a torch and lit it from the campfire they had made, and set their tents ablaze. I stood back, quite satisfied with myself, when my expression turned to one of near panic; the fire was spreading fast, and I had no way to stop it. I fled. I returned later to help put it out, but several of Isinhold's local heroes already responded to seeing the smoke and were putting out the last of it when I arrived.
That evening, as I prayed to Kossuth for guidance, Thazar-De approached me and indirectly reprimanded me for the fire I had caused, saying that it is not the teachings of Kossuth to spread fire haphazardly and without control. It is, in fact, the teachings of Kossuth to create and use fire to either destroy or create in a controlled way. One must become fire's master, lest it become the master. Fire is an element. Kossuth controls that element. As a follower of Kossuth, I needed to assert control and discipline into my life. So, I corrected my erratic lack of control by replanting the trees in that area over the next few days; after all, a fire must have fuel for tomorrow.
The next few weeks were quite interesting as I remembered more and more of my strange weapon, the two-bladed sword. During one particular outing, I and the party I was with stumbled upon a small army of ogres and ogre-magi on the southern road to Redmist. We returned to Isinhold to rally a force to deal with this threat and headed back out to battle. That battle was short and brutal; we utterly destroyed them.
After this great battle (the first battle I showed restraint and attention to discipline in), I returned to Proskur to pay my respect and gratitude to Kossuth for such a mighty victory. Something happened that night within the walls of that temple that would change my life forever and forge me as a new woman . . .
Before, during some of the times that I talked with Thazar-De, he expressed the notion that he doesn't believe that the Firelord actually listens. This filled me with distraught and pity for him. It also introduced a hint of an element some could call doubt. It was fleeting for me; I took this inkling of doubt and crushed it beneath my heel. I knew that Kossuth not only listens, but watches as well. How else could the path of my life lead so directly to this? That evening when we decimated the ogre army, my faith was rewarded, and Thazar-De's faith was renewed.
I prayed . . . then . . . I was touched. Not the common blessings one feels from the power of a temple dedicated to a god, no . . . this was the hand of Kossuth himself that coursed through my being as I prayed there before his likeness. His will enshrouded mine . . . his power washed through me like fire over a bed of kindling. So intense was his direct blessing that it left me wounded. Wounded but powerful.
After Kossuth released me from his embrace, I was unstoppable in battle. No weapon could touch me . . . spells failed against me . . . arrows and bolts shattered on my form. For all this power, I knew the better of it, for I had learned my lessons well. I returned immediately to the temple and spent the rest of that day in silent and controlled meditation, focusing all that power back to the source instead of being reckless with it and going out to senselessly slaughter any enemy I came across. I passed his test. I am in control of myself.
There is no emotion in fire . . . only in those who wield it or those who feel it. There is no good in fire, nor is there evil; it simply "is." I can now begin to truly follow Kossuth, for he has chosen me by his own hand, not through the decision of any mortal. He has coursed through me to my very core.
He has brought me pain, that I might deliver it unto his enemies. He has brought me warmth, that I might deliver it unto his allies. He has stoked the fires within, that I might taste power.
He has burned me through, that I might know control.
Kossuth the mighty has cast me into trials, that I might be drawn from the forge by his very hand, for him to wield as his perfect weapon . . . forged by his will and tempered by his law.
I am Kethra Nightmane, Templar of Kossuth . . . and *this* IS my destiny.
*the remaining pages of Kethra's journal are flame licked and display very interesting artwork created by mildly burning images into the pages*
.
I had no idea exactly where I was, I just knew that I was somewhere between the Dalelands and the coast. That's a pretty big tract of land to find yourself lost in. I had no solid memory left to guide me . . . just flashes. Pictures of a life I had forgotten. I was dressed in some kind of ceremonial armor; mostly black and gray, and I carried in my hands an odd sort of weapon that boasted a blade on each end, but was otherwise staff-like. My name . . . that much I remembered at least. My name is Kethra. Kethra Nightmane. "Nightmane" . . . what a strange name. I'm not sure if it's really even my family name; I doubt it.
I had to get my bearings . . . find out who I am, and what I was doing in this part of Faerun. I found a simple trade route and decided to follow it to its destination, hoping it wouldn't take me somewhere hostile. For three days I followed that road, until it took me to a small valley where it came to an end at a T intersection. Left . . . or right? Looking down each direction, I saw a small house to the right (which was north), so I decided to go that way. Just beyond this small and simple home was a small, walled village. "Well, it's time to find out if this place is friend or foe . . ."
As I approached the gate I was greeted by a guard wearing local militia type garb, which was a relief. He told me that I had found the town of Isinhold, just south and east of the borders of Cormyr. After a brief but awkward unofficial questioning, the guard allowed me entrance. I walked into town, not knowing anything of my surroundings or what to expect. I found an inn there, run by a stoic old man named Kale. I had a few coins on me (Cormyrean Lions to boot - I have no idea how that happened), so I rented a key to the commons in the basement.
From this place, I would stage my quest to rediscover my identity. The next few days consisted largely of me familiarizing myself with Isinhold and the surrounding lands. I discovered that I knew a language the others I had met called "Mulhorandi," and that meant that I was likely from Thay. I heard about an enclave of Thayans to the south, in a fortified township called Proskur, so I went there and discovered enough to jog some of my memories to the fore. I am indeed Thayan.
The next couple of weeks was spent much the same as the first couple of weeks, and I remembered that I was once involved in some sort of church. One not widely sanctioned. I was a ceremonial guard for a clergy of Talos, the god of storms and destruction. I took this rememberance with a grain of salt, as I felt no fealty to this god anymore. Something happened to me, I just couldn't remember what.
One evening as I was practicing my combat form with the help of the militia's combat dummy in Isinhold, I was observed by a rather . . . unique lady. As I ceased my mock-assault on the dummy, I looked over to find her sitting on a nearby log, her red draconic wings folded neatly behind her. After some small talk, she introduced herself as Sharteel, a figure of importance at a wizardly bardic school somewhere. She took me, quite literally, under her wing for a time. She took me back to Proskur and introduced me to some figures of importance there, most notably a handful of Red Wizards.
I had something just beneath the surface in my mind this whole time; a kind of hatred . . . violence. I was reckless in battle, flinging myself, both blades spinning, into the center of combat. No discipline, no concern for allies, no thought of tactics. The Red Wizards and their knights, Sharteel, and other allies taught me better ways to fight. They taught me how to control myself and put my energy to more efficient use in combat and other endeavors. Sharteel was the one who introduced me to a new way of life . . .
One evening, I was sitting at a table among others in the Standing Stone inn in Proskur when Sharteel decided that she wanted to partake of the firepools in the nearby temple, which was dedicated to the Lord of Flames, Kossuth. I followed along with the few others present and we entered this temple. Immediately upon setting foot in the door, I was nearly taken aback with a heavy gust of heat. The source of this heat became apparent once I took a few steps within the temple's caustic atmosphere . . . there, on both sides, were pools of purest fire undulating beneath a narrow stone bridge that spanned to the center of the temple. We all went to an outer corner of the temple's interior and stood between several of these magmic pools. There, Sharteel disrobed and gingerly hopped right into one of the pools, immersing herself like a swan into a pond. As she bathed amid the pools' fiery glow, I was hit with another series of memories. I knew what happened to me.
I was once a ceremonial guard, as I had already stated. It was my responsibility to guard a clergy during their ceremonies and summoning rituals. The last summoning ritual was flawed somehow. Something went wrong. The energies released when the clergy lost their grip on the weave of the portal reacted quickly and violently. The entire clergy was consumed. Burned to nothing. I was struck by these energies as well, but they did not consume me . . . they just knocked me out cold; burned away my identity. Made me forget.
As I stood there, staring into those flames, I felt something. A calling. I knew right then that it was the will of Kossuth that sent the flames to destroy the clergy; to free my mind and soul and purge me of impurities. It was by the will of Kossuth that I tread where I did. It was by the will of Kossuth that I was found by one so familiar with the element of fire. None of this happened by chance. I followed my calling without hesitation, and learned all I could about this Firelord.
After a few weeks, which were spent learning about Kossuth and increasing my familiarity to fire by bathing daily in the scorching breath of Sharteel, I kneeled in the temple of Kossuth in the presence of Thazar-De (the attending priest at that temple), Sharteel, and lord Kethoth (a Red Wizard of great repute). I then cleansed myself of all obligations, expressed or implied, and dedicated my entire being to the path and teachings of Kossuth. I was on my way to realizing my true destiny.
I was travelling through a wooded area just north of Isinhold called the Bramblewood, when I came across a small encampment of bandits who were hiding out from the law among the coveys of the forest. They didn't like the idea of being found, so they attacked me, and I killed them. I killed them all. After killing them, I was so enraptured by the frenzy of battle that I decided to destroy even their camp. I took a torch and lit it from the campfire they had made, and set their tents ablaze. I stood back, quite satisfied with myself, when my expression turned to one of near panic; the fire was spreading fast, and I had no way to stop it. I fled. I returned later to help put it out, but several of Isinhold's local heroes already responded to seeing the smoke and were putting out the last of it when I arrived.
That evening, as I prayed to Kossuth for guidance, Thazar-De approached me and indirectly reprimanded me for the fire I had caused, saying that it is not the teachings of Kossuth to spread fire haphazardly and without control. It is, in fact, the teachings of Kossuth to create and use fire to either destroy or create in a controlled way. One must become fire's master, lest it become the master. Fire is an element. Kossuth controls that element. As a follower of Kossuth, I needed to assert control and discipline into my life. So, I corrected my erratic lack of control by replanting the trees in that area over the next few days; after all, a fire must have fuel for tomorrow.
The next few weeks were quite interesting as I remembered more and more of my strange weapon, the two-bladed sword. During one particular outing, I and the party I was with stumbled upon a small army of ogres and ogre-magi on the southern road to Redmist. We returned to Isinhold to rally a force to deal with this threat and headed back out to battle. That battle was short and brutal; we utterly destroyed them.
After this great battle (the first battle I showed restraint and attention to discipline in), I returned to Proskur to pay my respect and gratitude to Kossuth for such a mighty victory. Something happened that night within the walls of that temple that would change my life forever and forge me as a new woman . . .
Before, during some of the times that I talked with Thazar-De, he expressed the notion that he doesn't believe that the Firelord actually listens. This filled me with distraught and pity for him. It also introduced a hint of an element some could call doubt. It was fleeting for me; I took this inkling of doubt and crushed it beneath my heel. I knew that Kossuth not only listens, but watches as well. How else could the path of my life lead so directly to this? That evening when we decimated the ogre army, my faith was rewarded, and Thazar-De's faith was renewed.
I prayed . . . then . . . I was touched. Not the common blessings one feels from the power of a temple dedicated to a god, no . . . this was the hand of Kossuth himself that coursed through my being as I prayed there before his likeness. His will enshrouded mine . . . his power washed through me like fire over a bed of kindling. So intense was his direct blessing that it left me wounded. Wounded but powerful.
After Kossuth released me from his embrace, I was unstoppable in battle. No weapon could touch me . . . spells failed against me . . . arrows and bolts shattered on my form. For all this power, I knew the better of it, for I had learned my lessons well. I returned immediately to the temple and spent the rest of that day in silent and controlled meditation, focusing all that power back to the source instead of being reckless with it and going out to senselessly slaughter any enemy I came across. I passed his test. I am in control of myself.
There is no emotion in fire . . . only in those who wield it or those who feel it. There is no good in fire, nor is there evil; it simply "is." I can now begin to truly follow Kossuth, for he has chosen me by his own hand, not through the decision of any mortal. He has coursed through me to my very core.
He has brought me pain, that I might deliver it unto his enemies. He has brought me warmth, that I might deliver it unto his allies. He has stoked the fires within, that I might taste power.
He has burned me through, that I might know control.
Kossuth the mighty has cast me into trials, that I might be drawn from the forge by his very hand, for him to wield as his perfect weapon . . . forged by his will and tempered by his law.
I am Kethra Nightmane, Templar of Kossuth . . . and *this* IS my destiny.
*the remaining pages of Kethra's journal are flame licked and display very interesting artwork created by mildly burning images into the pages*
.