Post by Thrym on Apr 12, 2006 12:43:59 GMT -5
Excitedly he stepped through the dark passage. He could feel his heart pound quickly in his chest as he slowly walked down the stairs. The smell of old air and rot was everywhere around him. All was silent, and no light passed far beyond the entrance some feet behind him. Jorinar closed his eyes, listened inside till he could hear the soft, melancholic melody in his head. His mind reached out for a single note, carrying it towards him. Speaking a small phrase in celestial he moved his hand over the blade of his sword, sheathing it in light. That should be enough to see in here. He stepped farther. How long had he waited for this day. Finally, Sire Galnorrin had deemed him worthy to head out and do Kelemvors work, alone. Today, he was what he wanted to be… a knight of the eternal order. A Paladin.
How long had he waited for this. His mind drifted to his parents. Good people they were, hard working farmers, and he would most probably be one himself now if they were still alive. Alive. He could still remember it. The Zhent priest crushing through the door, his father trieing to fend him off. A weak smile showed on Jorinars face for a second. He had died a heroic death. But no good death. The smile faded as he could see the Zhent pulling out the small, black gem from one of his pouch before his inner eye. His fathers corpse had lifted from the ground again, and what he had seen in the next minutes was not meant for a childs eyes.
He and his sister had hidden during all of the attack as his father told him. Fortunately the old Ferrington, owner of the local tavern, decided to take care of them. The smile showed on his face again as he passed another grave in the wall. The old Ferrington. A stout, hearty man, and always smiling. He had been like a second father to them. But Jorinar had never really thanked it him. For years he mourned their death. Until that one night. The calling.
He remembered the dream he had that night. He was standing on the end of a gargantuan, golden scale, lifted far above a huge, featureless plane by a skeletal arm. His body was covered in a black plate mail, various parts of it showing symbols of the arm and the scale. In his hand one hand rested a huge, black shield and in his other a beautiful, yet heavy blade. He had lifted his hooded head up and stared at the other side of the scale. Another man stood there. The Zhent. Behind him… legions. Tortured souls, animated, half rotten corpses and things those names he should learn years later first. He stared at him. Then he charged. They both charged, and the undead legion behind the Zhent. They passed each other, Jorinars blade cutting deeply into the Zhents chest. Then they stood on different sides of the scale again. Turned to each other. Then the Zhent dropped, and his legion with him. The fell till they reached one of the scale pans, shaking the whole construction. They quake ripped Jorinar from his legs and he dropped into the other.
The scale started to move, the weight of the Zhent and his army pressing his side down and Jorinars up into the air. He could see the ground open below the Zhents side, but then he felt something. Next to him in the air levitated a man… no, no man. He could feel deep inside him that it was none. The man smiled and nodded to him. Then he awoke, not finding sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, old Ferrington told him to help a guest carry up his possessions. Some strange looking knight he said. Desinterested he stepped outside, and looked at the knight. ‘Ferrington said ye…’ His eyes widened. That armor. The symbols on it. Like the one he was wearing in his dream. The grey haired, old knight grinned. ‘Ye look like one that is seeing a ghost, boy’.
Galnorrin. He had told him of his dream, and spent almost all of the time the knight stayed in town with him. Then his path was clear. Much to old Ferringtons disapproval, he left with Galnorrin. To become a knight of eternal order. A Hunter of the dead. A Paladin in service of Kelemvor.
Many years had passed since. Galnorrin had tought him not only to fight. A paladin needed to know other things as well. Tactics, weaknesses of fiends and the living dead, manners, the tongue of the heavens, knowledge of the afterlife and the planes, and even some things about both the magic of allied priests and wizards as well as about those of their foes. It had been good years. He had learned much, and he had travelled the Dalelands with Galnorrin, battling Zhents and putting the dead to rest wherever they could.
And now he was ready. His first task, alone. They had heared of this lost crypt in the woods some villagers had found long ago. In the last days though, they could hear strange sounds out of it. The dead here were not at rest. Galnorrin said he needed to attend to a meeting with a priest in Shadowdale though. A ruse to test if he could deal with this alone only, of that Jorinar was sure.
He reached a door. Till now everything had been silent. Carefully he opened the old door and peeked inside. A smirk showed on his face. Zombies. He hid behind the door briefly, reached out for the melody again. The glow around his sword increased. It would hit hard against the living dead. Slamming the door open he called out Kelemvors name and charged. And again. And again. The crypt was huge, far bigger below the surface then he and Galnorrin had thought. After sending dozens of zombies to the afterlife, he reached a long, dark stairway. Further down? The crypts were huge up here already. A smile showed on his face. Kelemvor demanded it. He stepped downstairs, till he reached a huge doorway. Whatever he found behind this certainly was important.
Carefully he pushed it open. He blinked. Someone sobbed. He stepped inside and looked around. In the corner, sitting on a pile of books he could see her. His heart seemed to stop for a moment. Almost white hair fell down into a face like only a goddess should have. She had pulled her legs up against her body and her arms wrapped around them. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. ‘I bid you to leave, noble paladin. This is no place for you.’ Jorinar blinked again and shook his head. A ‘Who are you?’ left his lips, almost a whisper. He stepped towards the woman, his mind spinning. What could such an angelic being do down here? He sat down next to her. Under all her sobbing, he could figure out that she had called the dead here back. This was their family crypt. Men had come and robbed its riches, she said. She had called the corpses out of their graves to drive them off, but she could not get herself to kill them. The graverobbers had realized the zombies would not harm them, and just went on.
Jorinar looked down at himself. Thinking about it, it was true that the zombies did not really seem to intend harming him. He sighed. It was his duty to put down the undeads here, and those who dared to call them back were to be punished. If he’d take care of the graverobbers though… he was sure this woman would send them back to the afterlive then. ‘Do not despair, M’lady. I shall take care of the scum that robs your ancestors.’ He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. ‘You should get out of here though. You are horribly cold, you’ll catch a disease. ‘I – I will stay here. Till you return.’ She nodded. Jorinar shrugged and stood up. ‘As you wish… but send your ancestors to their rest now. Soon this place shall be save again.’ She nodded again. ‘I thank you, Sire… ?’ ‘Jorinar. Jorinar Kerneth, Knight of the Eternal Order, Paladin of Lord Kelemvor.’ She smiled meekly. ‘I am Myja.’ Jorinar nodded. ‘I’ll return soon, Lady Myja.’ He turned around and hurried out.
Some days later he had found the robbers. They were not many, and no good warriors either, and soon he had overwhelmed them and handed them over to the local guards. Quickly he headed back to the crypt with what they had stolen, climbed down till he reached the room he had met her in. He headed inside again and looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to call for her, but then he looked around again. The last time, she had completely drawn his attention to her. But now that he looked around… this room was not normal for a crypt. There was a small fireplace, desks, bookshelves, chairs, carpets on the ground… someone lived here. He blinked. Why should anyone live here. He closed his eyes, pushed away his sense of smell, of hearing, everything, concentrated on something else. His head started hurting as he felt something to his left. He opened his eyes and hurried to the desk. Reaching for a small box. Quickly he opened it and pulled something out. He dropped the box and stared at it. A small gem, covered in magical runes. He had seen a drawing of this in an old tome once. A phylactery, home to the soul of a ... lich.
He heard steps towards him and turned around. Myja stepped through a doorway near one of the shelves, humming and carrying some tomes with a sad smile on her face. She blinked and looked over to him. The smile faded and the book dropped to the ground. Jorinar froze for a moment. Not even with Galnorrin together he’d stand much of a chance against a lich. He could crush the phylactery of course, but that had no use as long as she still had her body and he could not hope to defeat her. But… the lich did not know that after all, and Kelemvor prevented his fear to cloud his thoughts. He started to speak in a firm voice. ‘You are a lich, Myja. And a good actor.’ A smirk showed on his face. The lich looked down ashamed. ‘I am no actor. They really robbed my ancestors, I just…’ ‘Yes, yes they robbed, I saw that.’ He threw down the bag with their loot. ‘But you are a far bigger abomination than anything that you animated to drive them back, you are a… ‘ She sunk down to the ground and returned to the position he had found her in. He blinked and stopped. ‘You are right. I am a monster. You are no threat to me, Paladin, I have watched you.’ She sobbed. ‘But I can not stand this anymore. Crush the phylactery and end it.’ She looked down.
Jorinar was confused. This just made no sense at all. Why should the lich want him to destroy her? She sobbed again. ‘I don’t wish to harm you. Sitting down here all alone for centuries is bad enough without the blood of another being on my hands’. Without the blood of another being? Liches were evil. How could she not already have the blood of another being on her hands? Again he blocked out his senses, concentrating on another sense, one not possessed by normal men. He blinked and opened his eyes. The magic in her body was evil, but herself she seemed pure. ‘You can talk as much as you want lich. A lesser undead I’d maybe believe that, but a lich you become by choice.’ She nodded and sobbed again. ‘I did not want to… I had to.’ ‘You had to?’ He smirked. ‘What could force one to seek undeath, if not the lust for power and eternal life?’ She sobbed and talked. For hours. Told of her youth, so many centuries ago. That she had been a powerful mage. Told of another mage whose love she denied. He had become angry, and placed a curse abover her family, to lead everyone they loved into doom. She did not believe it till her beloved ones died like flies around her. The curse would hit her descendants should she go on to the afterlife. She told how she had seeked a way to break it, but his magic was to powerful. So she had walked the path of lichdom to prevent the curse from passing on till she could break it. She had hidden herself down here, so that she’d meet no one and could lead no one into doom.
He did not know what to do. He believed her. But she was a lich. It was his duty to put her down as a Knight of the Eternal Order. But wasn’t it also his duty to protect innocent live? Could he risk killing her and giving the curse on to her innocent family? Could he kill this innocent woman at all? ‘I will… have to think about this, lich.’ I will let you ‘live’, for now… but I will take this with me.’ He stuffed the phylactery into one of his belt pouches. She nodded briefly and wiped a tear out of her eyes. He looked down into the angelic face and shook his head. ‘I will return. Soon enough’ Quickly he turned around and headed out.
Two weeks passed. He had left a message to Galnorrin, that there were complications, and that he’d meet him later. Now he stood in the doorway again, his pack full with old tomes about cursed he had gathered from various libraries. If he could help her lift her curse, she’d go into the afterlive, and no innocent would get hurt. He stepped inside the ‘living room’ silently. He could see her sitting near the fireplace, turning a page in an old, dusty tome resting on her lap. For some seconds he just watched her. How perfect she was. He blinked as he realized his own thoughts and quickly shook his head. He cleared his throat and stepped towards her. She looked up at him insecure. ‘You have returned, Jorinar. I had not thought you’d come back’ He handed her the bag. ‘I have brought you what I could find about curses. I will help you to break it, so that you can go to the afterlive, lich.’ She smiled at him and stood up, picking up the bag. Then she stepped forward and hugged him.
It was overwhelming. The warmth of the fire made her feel like a living being, her form pressed against him. Quickly he gathered his thoughts. ‘Ehem. I appreciate your thanks, undead.’ She nodded and stepped back again smiling meekly. ‘I am sorry.’ Slowly he moved his head up and down. ‘It’s alright. We… have much to do…’
In the next weeks he travelled around much. Visited every library, every temple, every wizard tower and every old ruin he could find, seeking for knowledge about the curse. Whenever he found something, he hurried back to her, to look into it together, to see if it could be the solution. But his thoughts started to discomfort him. He knew it was his duty, but his heart did not want her to leave to the afterlife. And despite how much he tried to deny it, it became clearer and clearer to him that he loved her. Loved Myja. Loved the lich.
Once again he stepped inside her room and walked over to the fireplace. Carefully he sat down next to her on the carpet near the fireplace. She looked sad today. ‘Hey, what is wrong with you, l… Myja?’ She sighed and leaned against him. He was happy the fires red glow masked him blushing. ‘You should leave me. You helped me enough. You know of the curse…’ He blinked. ‘I thought you only lead those that y…’ His words were stopped by her lips pressing against his own softly.
He opened his eyes and looked around. He stood on … the scale. He blinked. The calling? Why? He lifted his head up and looked at the other side. His heartbeat stopped for a moment. Galnorrin. He had no control over his movements. He charged. Galnorrin charged. Passed him, his sword cutting deeply into his side. He stumbled to the other side of the scale. Turned around. Galnorrin turned around on the other side. Jorinars legs felt weak. The power to carry him left them. He tripped over and fell, down towards the scale pan. He turned in the fall, and far above him he could see the man. Kelemvor. He seemed sad. And angry. Jorinar crashed against the ground, felts his bones breaking, dozens of them. The scale moved, Sending Galnorrin up and himself down, down into the opening ground below him. Mist surrounded him, and something hit him into his side.
He opened his eyes and looked around. The mist was gone, but there was… Galnorrin. Standing in front of him, one of his boot touching Jorinars side. He seemed sad. And angry. He carried his blade, sheathed in holy fire in the one, and the phylactery in the other. The blade pointed down, against the liches throat. Quickly Jorinar reached for something to cover them both. ‘Gal…’ ‘Be quiet! I do not even want to her whatever explanation you could have!’, Galnorrin shouted at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. His arm rushed forward, driving the blade through her. ‘NO! Galnorrin, don’t!’ His blade rushed back, followed by a violet light streaming towards the phylactery. With a flick of his wrist, the old knight smashed the blade against the gem. The fire went out. ‘You have disappointed me and Kelemvor, Jorinar Kerneth. You are not worthy to call yourself a Knight of the Eternal Order or a paladin.’ The old knight turned around and stormed out.
Paralyzed he stared at her corpse. Slowly he raised and reached for his clothes. Everything seemed so surreal. He felt so alone. The melody, the melody was gone. He dressed up and donned his armor. Wiping his tears out of his eyes, he wrapped a piece of cloth around her body and picked her up. His whole body shivering, he carried her up, till he found an empty grave. He placed her inside and closed her eyes. ‘Rest now… my love’. He mumbled a short prayer and headed out.
Weeks later, Jorinar Kerneth left the ship he had travelled with and glanced over Isinhold from the docks. He had sinned against his god. It was not Myjas fault. It was not Kelemvors fault, Jorinar had known what he did after all. It was not even his own fault, but it was his guilt. He had heared of vampires threatening this place. Maybe he could wash himself clean in his own and Kelemvors eyes by offering his help.
The hope dies last after all.
How long had he waited for this. His mind drifted to his parents. Good people they were, hard working farmers, and he would most probably be one himself now if they were still alive. Alive. He could still remember it. The Zhent priest crushing through the door, his father trieing to fend him off. A weak smile showed on Jorinars face for a second. He had died a heroic death. But no good death. The smile faded as he could see the Zhent pulling out the small, black gem from one of his pouch before his inner eye. His fathers corpse had lifted from the ground again, and what he had seen in the next minutes was not meant for a childs eyes.
He and his sister had hidden during all of the attack as his father told him. Fortunately the old Ferrington, owner of the local tavern, decided to take care of them. The smile showed on his face again as he passed another grave in the wall. The old Ferrington. A stout, hearty man, and always smiling. He had been like a second father to them. But Jorinar had never really thanked it him. For years he mourned their death. Until that one night. The calling.
He remembered the dream he had that night. He was standing on the end of a gargantuan, golden scale, lifted far above a huge, featureless plane by a skeletal arm. His body was covered in a black plate mail, various parts of it showing symbols of the arm and the scale. In his hand one hand rested a huge, black shield and in his other a beautiful, yet heavy blade. He had lifted his hooded head up and stared at the other side of the scale. Another man stood there. The Zhent. Behind him… legions. Tortured souls, animated, half rotten corpses and things those names he should learn years later first. He stared at him. Then he charged. They both charged, and the undead legion behind the Zhent. They passed each other, Jorinars blade cutting deeply into the Zhents chest. Then they stood on different sides of the scale again. Turned to each other. Then the Zhent dropped, and his legion with him. The fell till they reached one of the scale pans, shaking the whole construction. They quake ripped Jorinar from his legs and he dropped into the other.
The scale started to move, the weight of the Zhent and his army pressing his side down and Jorinars up into the air. He could see the ground open below the Zhents side, but then he felt something. Next to him in the air levitated a man… no, no man. He could feel deep inside him that it was none. The man smiled and nodded to him. Then he awoke, not finding sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, old Ferrington told him to help a guest carry up his possessions. Some strange looking knight he said. Desinterested he stepped outside, and looked at the knight. ‘Ferrington said ye…’ His eyes widened. That armor. The symbols on it. Like the one he was wearing in his dream. The grey haired, old knight grinned. ‘Ye look like one that is seeing a ghost, boy’.
Galnorrin. He had told him of his dream, and spent almost all of the time the knight stayed in town with him. Then his path was clear. Much to old Ferringtons disapproval, he left with Galnorrin. To become a knight of eternal order. A Hunter of the dead. A Paladin in service of Kelemvor.
Many years had passed since. Galnorrin had tought him not only to fight. A paladin needed to know other things as well. Tactics, weaknesses of fiends and the living dead, manners, the tongue of the heavens, knowledge of the afterlife and the planes, and even some things about both the magic of allied priests and wizards as well as about those of their foes. It had been good years. He had learned much, and he had travelled the Dalelands with Galnorrin, battling Zhents and putting the dead to rest wherever they could.
And now he was ready. His first task, alone. They had heared of this lost crypt in the woods some villagers had found long ago. In the last days though, they could hear strange sounds out of it. The dead here were not at rest. Galnorrin said he needed to attend to a meeting with a priest in Shadowdale though. A ruse to test if he could deal with this alone only, of that Jorinar was sure.
He reached a door. Till now everything had been silent. Carefully he opened the old door and peeked inside. A smirk showed on his face. Zombies. He hid behind the door briefly, reached out for the melody again. The glow around his sword increased. It would hit hard against the living dead. Slamming the door open he called out Kelemvors name and charged. And again. And again. The crypt was huge, far bigger below the surface then he and Galnorrin had thought. After sending dozens of zombies to the afterlife, he reached a long, dark stairway. Further down? The crypts were huge up here already. A smile showed on his face. Kelemvor demanded it. He stepped downstairs, till he reached a huge doorway. Whatever he found behind this certainly was important.
Carefully he pushed it open. He blinked. Someone sobbed. He stepped inside and looked around. In the corner, sitting on a pile of books he could see her. His heart seemed to stop for a moment. Almost white hair fell down into a face like only a goddess should have. She had pulled her legs up against her body and her arms wrapped around them. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. ‘I bid you to leave, noble paladin. This is no place for you.’ Jorinar blinked again and shook his head. A ‘Who are you?’ left his lips, almost a whisper. He stepped towards the woman, his mind spinning. What could such an angelic being do down here? He sat down next to her. Under all her sobbing, he could figure out that she had called the dead here back. This was their family crypt. Men had come and robbed its riches, she said. She had called the corpses out of their graves to drive them off, but she could not get herself to kill them. The graverobbers had realized the zombies would not harm them, and just went on.
Jorinar looked down at himself. Thinking about it, it was true that the zombies did not really seem to intend harming him. He sighed. It was his duty to put down the undeads here, and those who dared to call them back were to be punished. If he’d take care of the graverobbers though… he was sure this woman would send them back to the afterlive then. ‘Do not despair, M’lady. I shall take care of the scum that robs your ancestors.’ He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. ‘You should get out of here though. You are horribly cold, you’ll catch a disease. ‘I – I will stay here. Till you return.’ She nodded. Jorinar shrugged and stood up. ‘As you wish… but send your ancestors to their rest now. Soon this place shall be save again.’ She nodded again. ‘I thank you, Sire… ?’ ‘Jorinar. Jorinar Kerneth, Knight of the Eternal Order, Paladin of Lord Kelemvor.’ She smiled meekly. ‘I am Myja.’ Jorinar nodded. ‘I’ll return soon, Lady Myja.’ He turned around and hurried out.
Some days later he had found the robbers. They were not many, and no good warriors either, and soon he had overwhelmed them and handed them over to the local guards. Quickly he headed back to the crypt with what they had stolen, climbed down till he reached the room he had met her in. He headed inside again and looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to call for her, but then he looked around again. The last time, she had completely drawn his attention to her. But now that he looked around… this room was not normal for a crypt. There was a small fireplace, desks, bookshelves, chairs, carpets on the ground… someone lived here. He blinked. Why should anyone live here. He closed his eyes, pushed away his sense of smell, of hearing, everything, concentrated on something else. His head started hurting as he felt something to his left. He opened his eyes and hurried to the desk. Reaching for a small box. Quickly he opened it and pulled something out. He dropped the box and stared at it. A small gem, covered in magical runes. He had seen a drawing of this in an old tome once. A phylactery, home to the soul of a ... lich.
He heard steps towards him and turned around. Myja stepped through a doorway near one of the shelves, humming and carrying some tomes with a sad smile on her face. She blinked and looked over to him. The smile faded and the book dropped to the ground. Jorinar froze for a moment. Not even with Galnorrin together he’d stand much of a chance against a lich. He could crush the phylactery of course, but that had no use as long as she still had her body and he could not hope to defeat her. But… the lich did not know that after all, and Kelemvor prevented his fear to cloud his thoughts. He started to speak in a firm voice. ‘You are a lich, Myja. And a good actor.’ A smirk showed on his face. The lich looked down ashamed. ‘I am no actor. They really robbed my ancestors, I just…’ ‘Yes, yes they robbed, I saw that.’ He threw down the bag with their loot. ‘But you are a far bigger abomination than anything that you animated to drive them back, you are a… ‘ She sunk down to the ground and returned to the position he had found her in. He blinked and stopped. ‘You are right. I am a monster. You are no threat to me, Paladin, I have watched you.’ She sobbed. ‘But I can not stand this anymore. Crush the phylactery and end it.’ She looked down.
Jorinar was confused. This just made no sense at all. Why should the lich want him to destroy her? She sobbed again. ‘I don’t wish to harm you. Sitting down here all alone for centuries is bad enough without the blood of another being on my hands’. Without the blood of another being? Liches were evil. How could she not already have the blood of another being on her hands? Again he blocked out his senses, concentrating on another sense, one not possessed by normal men. He blinked and opened his eyes. The magic in her body was evil, but herself she seemed pure. ‘You can talk as much as you want lich. A lesser undead I’d maybe believe that, but a lich you become by choice.’ She nodded and sobbed again. ‘I did not want to… I had to.’ ‘You had to?’ He smirked. ‘What could force one to seek undeath, if not the lust for power and eternal life?’ She sobbed and talked. For hours. Told of her youth, so many centuries ago. That she had been a powerful mage. Told of another mage whose love she denied. He had become angry, and placed a curse abover her family, to lead everyone they loved into doom. She did not believe it till her beloved ones died like flies around her. The curse would hit her descendants should she go on to the afterlife. She told how she had seeked a way to break it, but his magic was to powerful. So she had walked the path of lichdom to prevent the curse from passing on till she could break it. She had hidden herself down here, so that she’d meet no one and could lead no one into doom.
He did not know what to do. He believed her. But she was a lich. It was his duty to put her down as a Knight of the Eternal Order. But wasn’t it also his duty to protect innocent live? Could he risk killing her and giving the curse on to her innocent family? Could he kill this innocent woman at all? ‘I will… have to think about this, lich.’ I will let you ‘live’, for now… but I will take this with me.’ He stuffed the phylactery into one of his belt pouches. She nodded briefly and wiped a tear out of her eyes. He looked down into the angelic face and shook his head. ‘I will return. Soon enough’ Quickly he turned around and headed out.
Two weeks passed. He had left a message to Galnorrin, that there were complications, and that he’d meet him later. Now he stood in the doorway again, his pack full with old tomes about cursed he had gathered from various libraries. If he could help her lift her curse, she’d go into the afterlive, and no innocent would get hurt. He stepped inside the ‘living room’ silently. He could see her sitting near the fireplace, turning a page in an old, dusty tome resting on her lap. For some seconds he just watched her. How perfect she was. He blinked as he realized his own thoughts and quickly shook his head. He cleared his throat and stepped towards her. She looked up at him insecure. ‘You have returned, Jorinar. I had not thought you’d come back’ He handed her the bag. ‘I have brought you what I could find about curses. I will help you to break it, so that you can go to the afterlive, lich.’ She smiled at him and stood up, picking up the bag. Then she stepped forward and hugged him.
It was overwhelming. The warmth of the fire made her feel like a living being, her form pressed against him. Quickly he gathered his thoughts. ‘Ehem. I appreciate your thanks, undead.’ She nodded and stepped back again smiling meekly. ‘I am sorry.’ Slowly he moved his head up and down. ‘It’s alright. We… have much to do…’
In the next weeks he travelled around much. Visited every library, every temple, every wizard tower and every old ruin he could find, seeking for knowledge about the curse. Whenever he found something, he hurried back to her, to look into it together, to see if it could be the solution. But his thoughts started to discomfort him. He knew it was his duty, but his heart did not want her to leave to the afterlife. And despite how much he tried to deny it, it became clearer and clearer to him that he loved her. Loved Myja. Loved the lich.
Once again he stepped inside her room and walked over to the fireplace. Carefully he sat down next to her on the carpet near the fireplace. She looked sad today. ‘Hey, what is wrong with you, l… Myja?’ She sighed and leaned against him. He was happy the fires red glow masked him blushing. ‘You should leave me. You helped me enough. You know of the curse…’ He blinked. ‘I thought you only lead those that y…’ His words were stopped by her lips pressing against his own softly.
He opened his eyes and looked around. He stood on … the scale. He blinked. The calling? Why? He lifted his head up and looked at the other side. His heartbeat stopped for a moment. Galnorrin. He had no control over his movements. He charged. Galnorrin charged. Passed him, his sword cutting deeply into his side. He stumbled to the other side of the scale. Turned around. Galnorrin turned around on the other side. Jorinars legs felt weak. The power to carry him left them. He tripped over and fell, down towards the scale pan. He turned in the fall, and far above him he could see the man. Kelemvor. He seemed sad. And angry. Jorinar crashed against the ground, felts his bones breaking, dozens of them. The scale moved, Sending Galnorrin up and himself down, down into the opening ground below him. Mist surrounded him, and something hit him into his side.
He opened his eyes and looked around. The mist was gone, but there was… Galnorrin. Standing in front of him, one of his boot touching Jorinars side. He seemed sad. And angry. He carried his blade, sheathed in holy fire in the one, and the phylactery in the other. The blade pointed down, against the liches throat. Quickly Jorinar reached for something to cover them both. ‘Gal…’ ‘Be quiet! I do not even want to her whatever explanation you could have!’, Galnorrin shouted at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. His arm rushed forward, driving the blade through her. ‘NO! Galnorrin, don’t!’ His blade rushed back, followed by a violet light streaming towards the phylactery. With a flick of his wrist, the old knight smashed the blade against the gem. The fire went out. ‘You have disappointed me and Kelemvor, Jorinar Kerneth. You are not worthy to call yourself a Knight of the Eternal Order or a paladin.’ The old knight turned around and stormed out.
Paralyzed he stared at her corpse. Slowly he raised and reached for his clothes. Everything seemed so surreal. He felt so alone. The melody, the melody was gone. He dressed up and donned his armor. Wiping his tears out of his eyes, he wrapped a piece of cloth around her body and picked her up. His whole body shivering, he carried her up, till he found an empty grave. He placed her inside and closed her eyes. ‘Rest now… my love’. He mumbled a short prayer and headed out.
Weeks later, Jorinar Kerneth left the ship he had travelled with and glanced over Isinhold from the docks. He had sinned against his god. It was not Myjas fault. It was not Kelemvors fault, Jorinar had known what he did after all. It was not even his own fault, but it was his guilt. He had heared of vampires threatening this place. Maybe he could wash himself clean in his own and Kelemvors eyes by offering his help.
The hope dies last after all.