The Disciple

[TermaForever]

What does it mean to be born again? Do we as mortals truly have the ability to shape our lives? Can we change the tide of fate and the stream of time? These are the questions that have entered my mind. I who walked away from life to achieve perfection. I who left my humanity in a pool of my own kin's blood. Terrible acts have been performed by my hands in the name of a belief more monstrous than righteous. I have gazes deep into the Abyss, and it has inturn seen the deepest levels of my soul...

But can there be a second chance? Can a man be so changed as to rise from the ashes of his own past? Can the empty heart be forced to feel again? I know only fear of the future, for I have seen in my dreams a terrible future which me and my predecessors have helped to create. Whether a demon of the future or merely of my own mind, its burning visage haunts me wherever I go. Perhaps it is punishment for I who was the disciple. Perhaps it is a warning...and a final chance at redemption.

I can only wonder again if such evil is preventable, or do I remain a prisoner of destiny? I left Candlekeep so long ago looking for something more...something greater. I fear I have only found oblivion...

I am Adelius Draken. I have ceased to live...

[TermaForever]

Life throws many strange things at us. The conflicts and questions are difficult at times to work through and understand. Of late I wonder if being in love with someone might do them more harm than if you hated them. A philisophical question to be sure, and one most would immediately answer to the contrary. But philosophy was and still is a strong point of interest for me, and I am not so quick to answer. What dangers could one such as myself bring? What comfort? I look at my past, and the acts I commited before, during, and after my time under the fallen Dawnbringer, Serrak. Sins which may yet return to haunt me. Indeed some of them already do...

The past is dead and buried, but the consequences on the present can so often be dire. I think of the dreams I have had...and still have thought with far less frequency. I have seen my former master risen from the dead, coming for me in my dreams, seeking to end my life...or worse forcefully return me to my old one. A frightfully real scenerio, for the power to cause such is all to real, as any warrior who has entered a crypt full of the walking dead can attest. When I think of the power he was capable of commanding in life...and realize how powerless I would be standing against him alone...unable to stop him and unable to protect others.

Many nights have lain awake, pondering whether I shouldn't seek to leave Cormyr...to leave all those I may threaten behind, however few there are at present. Always I leave in indecision. The thought returns to me even as I try to hide from it in study...even as I am here writing this entry. It should be an easy decision and even easier act to commit. Why must these things be so difficult? Dawn is breaking and my candle is growing short. Perhaps in the coming days an answer will be more apparent to me. Till then I tread carefully, and hope that I figure it all out before it is too late.

[TermaForever]

As I write, I ride in a caravan bound to meet my past. Twelve years ago, at the request of Master Serrak, I ended his life and buried him near a small village between Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate. I have come in recent days to fear that his rest may not be eternal...

I told only one soul that I would be leaving. I'm sure others will likely find out as well. Liadan was saddened to hear it of course, and worried as usual. I of course told her that I would not be gone long and simply wanted to find out for sure if indeed my old master has risen from his sleep. The journey is of course longer than I led on, and the end result I fear will be far from benevolent. While it pains me to have lied to her, I could not bring myself to lay the full scope of it all before her. The sadness in her eyes at the mere amount I told her was in itself too much. I catch myself again wishing I could be with her: wishing that we might have a future. But I know that it is simply not possible, even if she feels as strongly as I, which I can't bring myself to think that she does. She deserves a better life than I could ever bring, and I have every confidence that she will find it.

The light of day is ebbing, and I myself grow weary. I hope that this is not the last entry I make in this memoir. I have done terrible things in my past that I still hope to try and atone for. Perhaps I will, or perhaps I am fooling myself.

[TermaForever]

The sight was beautiful...the sun through the leaves above him, blurred though it was. It did nothing to ease the pain...so much pain. It felt as if someone was sitting on his chest: breathing was hard and painful. There was blood...blood in his mouth...in his eyes and ears...everywhere.

So beautiful...

The grave had been empty...how ironic he was laying in it now looking at the sky. He had buried Serrak, now Serrak had returned the favor. He wanted to move...it hurt to much. His muscles didn't want to listen. He could only gasp for air, trying to cry out, knowing it was in vain. He couldn't end it here though...not in a grave...but the trees were so lovely...

At last he moved his hand...a bloodied hand with the tattered remains of a sleeve visible. From some unknown source in the darkness of himself he found the strength to pull himself from that gateway to the hells...so much pain. He clawed along the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind him in the leaves.

No more...no more strength, no more clawing...just sleep...

He whispered to the wind, though it shunned him with a cold chill...whispered with a terrible gargling from his throat...

"Forgive me..."

---


"What do you think, mayor? Think the man will live?"
"The crone's done what she can, but he still barely hangs on. You said you found him in the woods?"
"Next to what looked like a fresh dug grave...thought he was of the walking dead at first..."
"Poor man may be before the day is over..."

The mayor stepped over to where the man's things were sitting. Bloodied garmets sat on the floor, next to a sword. Beside them were things that had been taken out of his room from the inn, including a fine suit of armor. On the table was a book, its leather cover stained with blood as well. The mayor opened it and saw it was the man's personal memoirs. The first page contained what he needed...

"Adelius Draken. From Cormyr? Can't fancy what he would be doing here." He closed the book and set it down, not wanting to invade the injured man's privacy. The mayor took a seat at his desk, thinking. The man lay like a slaughtered animal in the crone's house. That he was still alive was in itself miraculous.

"What do we do then, mayor?"
"Only thing that can be done, Lark. I'll have a message sent to Baldur's Gate and have them relay it to Suzail...they can do it faster than we can with their magicks and all. After that its in Suzail's hands to try and get hold of his kin if he has any. Least we can do for the poor sod."
"What about whatever did that to him?"
"I don't know...whatever could do that to a man is something to be feared though...maybe I could get the Flaming Fist involved..."

Lark nodded and walked out of the room. The mayor began to write his message to Baldur's Gate. With any luck and a bit of magic help Suzail could have word by the next day. He looked at the wounded man's things again and sighed. He pitied the man, and pitied more his family who would have deal with the loss. That was assuming of course he had any. In the end it wasn't his concern. All he could do was try.

[HeatherRae]

The response to the letter comes swifter than perhaps anyone expected, for on the next caravan from Cormyr comes a woman clothed in the colors of the sun. Her hair is a plain, unextraordinary brown, but there's a bit of slant of her green eyes and tilt of her chin that suggests Elven blood somewhere in her heritage. Across her cloak is emblazoned the symbol of the Morninglord, and she walks with the confidence of a warrior, though there is kindness in her eyes.

She heads for the mayor's office and once she finds the place, she asks but one question - without preamble and ignoring all polite conversation: "Where is he?" Her tone is one that brooks no interference.

[TermaForever]

The mayor sat at his desk, having just come back from the crone's house. The lady wasn't kin, but she wasn't about to take no for an answer either...and as long as she wasnt allowed near the belongings there was no lasting harm...not like she could do much worse to the poor man. His eyes drifted back over to the table where the man's belongings were. Sparkling in the fire light was the small, golden symbol of Lathander recovered from his pocket, shattered into several pieces. The man didn't have the look of a Dawnbringer, but then what did he know. Maybe he was one, and maybe she was from the same temple. His eyes looked over to the blood stained book. It might have answers...

He shook his head. He had to respect his privacy. Besides, he had other concerns. Like the soldiers the Grand Dukes were suppose to be sending up to scour the woods. It had been a couple of days, they should have been here...

"Mr mayor!" Lark busted into the room.
"Lark man what..."
"The soldiers from Baldur's Gate...five of them...all dead sir."
The mayor sank back into his chair. One man near death and now five soldiers dead. Now he was afraid. "What is going on..."

---

He could feel pain agan. He didn't want more pain...just the beautiful trees. He tried to open his eyes. They were stubborn and wouldn't listen. Stupid eyes...

So much pain...he didn't want it anymore. He wanted his mother...she always kissed his cuts and made them feel better. Where was she? Where was he...

He couldn't feel the pain anymore...it was there but he couldn't feel it. Time to sleep again...time to go. The decayed face laughed at him again in his head...

[HeatherRae]

Liadan does not brook interference, and is not one to take no for an answer. So perhaps it is no surprise that but a few days later she departs with a convalescing Adelius in tow on a caravan back to Cormyr.

The mayor is left with a sum of money in thanks for helping the injured man, and instructions to contact a certain temple in Waterdeep if the troubles with the guards continue. He is also left with the means to contact Liadan herself, should he require her assistance.

As for Adelius, he is bundled into a caravan wagon and nursed back to health along the way. With such a healer to accompany him, it's unlikely he will have any problems on that front.

[TermaForever]

The pain crept back...less than before though. There was a chill in the air...

He tried again to make his eyes open...they were still be stubborn. Where was his mother? He had to find her before father came...

They were dead. Both of them. He knew that. He thought he did. No it was the dead face that was coming back...

Where was he...who was he? His thoughts swirled in his head, trying to join together again...

It was cold...it hadn't been cold before...was he dying...

He didn't want to die...he tried to cry out to the world...just a groan...just a shaking of the body...

His eyes opened for a moment...opened to a blur. Everything danced...and there were people dancing...not people skeletons...he was leading them...

He wanted to be sick...time to sleep again...no more holding eyes open...time to sleep...time to hide...

Make the dead one stop laughing...

[HeatherRae]

Perhaps in Adelius's fevered state, he remains trapped in in his nightmares. But every now and then, perhaps the real world breaks through. Perhaps he hears the voice that sings to him quietly in the darkness. For Liadan comes to the house where he is kept nearly every night and sings to him through his worst fits of fever and hallucinations. She sings many songs - some in Common, some in Elven, some in Illuskan- and most of them go something like this...

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary,
When troubles come and my heart burdened be,
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence
Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong, when I am on Your shoulders.
You raise me up
To more than I can be.

There is no life - no life without its hunger.
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly.
But when You come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes I think I glimpse eternity.

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on Your shoulders.
You raise me up
To more than I can be.

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains!
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas!
I am strong when I am on Your shoulders!
You raise me up
To more than I can be!

You raise me up
To more than I can be.

She usually sleeps in a chair next to the cot where Adelius is.

[TermaForever]

A cold wind blew constantly outside, causing the shutters on the windows to rattle. The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon. An older women sat a quiet vigil over an ailing man, a work of knitting in her hands to pass the time between his fits. It was sad to watch him , but necessary. And slow signs of improvement began to come to light with each passing day.

She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on in. She looked toward the door: it remained closed. There was nothing else...

The floor creaked. Before she could investigate further a hand was wrapped around her throat as her strength was drained from her from within an inch of her life. She crumpled to the floor groaning slightly as the intruder stepped over to the bed.

Its wore a dark robe, though the slight bulk hinted at armor beneath. At the hip was a sword with a bone hilt, and a dagger to match on the other side. It leaned over the bed and brushed the ailing man's forehead with a decayed hand: bones showing out of tears in the dead skin.

"My child...disciple. You have strayed. You have let your weakness overwhelm you. Yet you live still...a testament to your ability to overcome the trifiling injuries I dealt you. You may yet in time come to understand that you cannot turn from your true place in the world."

The decayed hand moved away from the man's head and pulled the covers back to reveal his bare chest.

"For now, I leave you a reminder...one you will always carry with you." The figure placed his hand on the man's chest. The ailing man's eyes flew open, the pupils rolled back in pain as his mouth opened to let out a scream that wouldn't come. A sick crackling sound came from beneath the hand as smoke and blood passed between the decaying hand. At last he removed it, revealing on the man's chest a perfect print of its hand burned into his chest. He tumbled from the bed onto the floor, gasping for air, his body convulsing in pain.

"Let this scar remind you always of your true purpose. When we meet again, I hope you will have found wisdom at last." The figure in dark turned from toward the door, chanting something before seemingly vanishing from sight, through the wooden wall of the house, leaving his old disciple to his fate...

[TermaForever]

It is good to be able to write again, though I admit I return to my pen a far more fearful man. My old master, Asaka Serrak has risen from the grave, and I have already felt the sting of his power, stronger now than it ever was in life. I can only guess at who or what gave him life again and feeds him his power...or why.

This event marks a turning point, for what began as a nervous dread in the back of my mind has now become a very real threat. I am again reminded today of my love for Liadan, and the circumstances that keep me from being with her. With Serrak's return, any faint glimmer of hope I had is exstinguished. It is a difficult feeling to live with when added to the physical pain that continues to wrack my body through the scar on my chest; a scar which is an all too powerful reminder of what has happened. I tell myself it is for the best.

A short time ago I wished her a good night, before speaking with an elven wizard named Entori. While I know he meant well in the things he said, they only trouble me more in the end. As much as I try to prevent it, I'm starting to fear it is already too late to keep the love in my heart from causing pain to others. It only gets worse when I catch myself wishing I was the disciple again, or wishing that I had never met Liadan.

In these things I have none to turn to but myself. We fight the monsters we ourselves create. I can only wish things were different. Instead I wait for my inevitable end, and hope my passage from this world does not wound too deeply the few I care about.

[TermaForever]

I sat awake in bed last night, reminded curiously of a poem I once heard from a bard. The poem is not particularly good poetry (likely why he didn't get very far in his field). Never the less I found it intriguing that I should think of it as I did. It went something to the effect of:

Play ye children under the sun
Play and be merry till day is done.
Sleep ye in bed and dream of tommorow
Never knowing your coming sorrow.

Everyday life begins anew.
But only for a lucky few
We greet the day with a twinkling eye
From which we weep when we must die.

Be ye unruly or do ye behave
Still I come and bring ye a grave
And hear ye children through your screams
I come in death and broken dreams

[TermaForever]

Now I stand alone.

This is what I wanted of course. Now I can face my terrible future knowing that the only one my demise will harm is myself. Still, the hollow emptiness I feel inside is harder to bear than I had imaginied. Regardless, I must carry my head upright and ignore my heavy heart. Let not the one who would end me see my weakness. I only hope that when I am finished, he too will vanish with his purpose fulfilled and leave the world be.

If he does not, then I hope the information I have left over time in this account falls into the right hands and he is sent back to the grave he crawled out of.

This will likely be my final entry, as I soon intend to find safe hands in which this memoir can be kept. I leave the world with my deepest regret, and the hope that the terrible sins of the lost can be forgiven.

And to Liadan, to whom I have caused the greatest distress to, I hope you too can forgive me, and in time understand why all of this has been necessary.

I hope the end comes sooner rather than later. I do not like waiting for death. I will leave this place as I entered: alone, standing on my own strength and merit. The fate I crafted will come back, and I must stand tall. Beware always those who call themselves the Disciples. Though I will perish without a successor, another will rise regardless. Strike them down without mercy for they mean only great harm to the world, just as I did. Perhaps in time we will at last cease to exist. For myself, I will wander the lands of Cormyr until my enemy finds me at last. Perhaps I can still do some good in this world.

With great regret,
Adelius Varith Draken

The Regal Griffin was largely empty, most of its occupants having not yet stirred for breakfast. Only Kale were about readying for the day as he walked up to the bar carrying a bloodstained leather book in his hands. Kale looked up at him "Good morning sir. We're still..."
Kale silenced as the man handed the book to him. "Hold onto this for me. Give it to one of those who were my companions." Kale took the book and watched the man turn and walk out of the inn. Strange customers sometimes...

[TermaForever]

Adelius opened the letter, catching the ring that fell out of it as it opened. He recognized it as his mother's wedding ring. With a frown, he began to read.

Dear Adelius,

Honestly how long has it been now? I wrote many times to Candlekeep believing you still there. Those pompus old men never had the courtesy of letting me know you had left. An old friend of mine in Suzail became aware of your prescense in Cormyr, so hopefully this letter has at least a slight chance of finding you before I keel over.

I heard you were in bad shape: I figure if you are still alive then by the time this ends up in your hands you'll be recovered. Need to be careful of the crowd you end up in though. I won't ask why you left Candlekeep; the adventuring spirit runs strong in the family, I know. I'm fifty years old and still have trouble staying in one spot.

I was saddened to hear of your mother's passing. It seems foolish that it should take six years for me to learn of my own sister's passing. I'm sure it must have been difficult for you as well. She had wanted her possessions to go to her children, though unfortunately most of them were taken after she died. A friend was able to keep her ring safe however. Since your brother too has passed, I have enclosed it with this letter for you to keep safe.

I am currently residing in Waterdeep, enjoying a comfortable 'retirement'. If you ever find yourself on this end of the Sword Coast please come by and see me. If you're married and have a family now, bring them too: I'd love to see the little kiddies. Good forturne to you my boy.

Love,
Uncle Mel

He couldn't help but smile. His crazy, womanizing, adventuring uncle was still alive. Tucking the ring away safely, he immediately began a reply.

[TermaForever]

The rain poured down around him as he say beneath the stormy night sky in Isinhold. He didn't care. He didn't know how to care anymore. So much in the day...yet pulling it all away, she was the only thought on his mind.

The armor of anger that had filled his heart and mind was fading, giving way to something worse even than the burning pain the scar on his chest constantly gave him. It was emptiness. Loneliness. And he still didn't know...

"Why? What did I do wrong? Where was the breaking point?" he whispered to no one. One minute Liadan had been smiling. The next minute she looked at him...the smile gone...and hurridely boarded a caravan...leaving him...getting away from him. The word in his heart he had been ready to poor out dried up. Everything in him shattered. Even the wise words of Kyrion couldn't help how he felt.

Then the anger set in...the bitter rancor...the hatred even...hatred at the woman whom a day before he would have gone to the ends of the world for. Had he even loved her to begin with? How could he claim he did if he felt this way now...but in asking such questions did that not prove...

The pain in his chest spiked again, making his hand leap to his chest on its own volition, it seemed. He had been so sure...so sure he loved her...so sure she loved him. Was he really that much a fool.

He looked at the water, expecting to see Serrak's image grinning at him where his reflection should have been. At once he was startled. Where Serrak had for so long been, he saw his own face, stained with his tear...he hadn't realized he had been crying. The rain drops broke the imagine...but he could see enough...

The pain in his chest became a dull sensation in the back of his mind as a more terrible reality made its revelation to him. It was over. Serrak had won. He sat back against the tree, openly weeping. All his fighting had been playing into his master's hands...and now it was over. His life was over. His death, whenever it came, would merely be a formality...

[TermaForever]

The voice called him again. Why was it when he was finally able to get some sleep that random voices started calling to him?

"Awaken, child." The voice was ethereal, but far from unfamiliar. Adelius's eyes opened. The world was dark and blurry, save for a single candle lit in the corner of his small room in Redmist. A figure sat at the table, wavering between an old man in tattered golden robes, and a hideous abomination of the grave in dark robes.

"You stir at last..." Serrak's voice was calm, almost mournful.

"I was sleeping so well too..."

"Yes. Dreams of the future...dreams of joy. Long since I last knew those..."The wavering figure reclined.

"Despite my mark you continue to look ahead to the future...ignoring the doom hanging over your heart."
Adelius looked down at the black mark on his chest with Serrak's hand, blackest of all, at the center, now a nearly clinched fist.

"If I do not ignore it, then I might as well have already given in."

"Such a far cry from the frightened boy I met sixteen years ago. The world has changed you. You are stronger...yet you guide your strength in a direction that leads to a finite life...when you could reach for the immortal."

"Someone was kind enough to light a torch to help show me my way."

"Aye...I know of this..." The figure looked at him. Indeed his face was mournful."Such are feelings absent from me for more years than you have lived."

"Such was your own choice. As was my choice to turn from you and your...'teachings'".

"Indeed...we are very similar you and I. Yet why you find redemption, I find more hatred. When did fortune smile on you more than me?"

"Are you so sure it has?" Adelius said flatly.The figure looked at candle for a moment, silent. Then it was gone. Adelius's head hit the pillow. He wanted sleep...

---

He awoke again, quite sure it was morning. He hated nightmares, especially the life like ones. He sat up in bed, scratching his head, still groggy. His eyes fell on the table and on the melted candle sputtering out its last flames...

[TermaForever]

"Life's greatest moments are so very fleeting, aren't they child?" The voice startled Adelius out of his sleep. Instinctively he reached for his sword, which he usually kept by his bed. It wasn't there. Sitting upright, he could make out the form of Serrak stand in the corner, Adelius's sword in his hands, examining it.
"I have put stronger magic on a spoon." Serrak said condescendingly as he threw the blade to the ground.

"What do you want? If you expect me to kneel you might as well kill me now." Adelius tried his best to keep the fear from his voice. Terror raced through him; he knew if Serrak wished to kill him now he couldn't defend himself.

"You think me a common murderer? No I am not here to kill you. I had, however, hoped that I might convince you to cut out the senseless waiting and to simply give in and kneel, rather than wait till you can no longer resists. Apparently you are still stubborn."

Adelius shivered involuntarily. He had already been cold before, but now he felt as if he was encased in ice. "Perhaps I am simply beyond your ability to bend."

"You give yourself too much credit. Serrak stepped forward and pressed his finger onto the scar on Adelius's chest. Adelius gritted his teeth in pain, trying not to shout out at the burning sensation Serrak's touch created. Blood trickled out of the wound as Serrak removed his finger. "You are progressing nicely. Soon you will find the choice to no longer be yours. You have a role to fullfil. Even as your hatred for me grows, so too does the blight upon you. It will consume you, and you will be its slave, though it will be a much more painful process than might otherwise occur if you were more willing."

"I think you are giving yourslf too much credit. There is much less hate in me than you think."

"Is there? Then explain to me this." Serrak's hand motioned to the dying skin spreading out from the original wound he had inflicted. It was beginning to evelope Adelius left arm , reaching almost to the elbow. Adelius felt another chill run through him."It is a reflection of your hate, the darkness within you that you deny exists. The time is coming when you will again serve the cause of...perfection." Serrak reached into his robes and pulled out a golden trinket, throwing it to Adelius.

"From your Uncle." Serrak turned and left, seeming to pass through the wall. Adelius picked up the trinket and recognized it as a broach for a cloak: one that had belonged to his uncle. Blood tainted its golden sheen. Anger and sorrow welled up inside of him. He would kill that monster....

[TermaForever]

I was suprised to see my journal was still in the Griffon. I would have thought Kale would have used it in the fire (or the stew) a long time ago. Still, it is good to be able to write down my thoughts again.

The recent...healing I suppose...of Serrak's wound has been a great relief to me. Though my body still shows the damage it wrought, I have been assured that strong enough healing can deal with that as well. The point of it all being that I'm not going to become a zombie anytime soon.

My life has been a state of change lately, it seems. I no longer wish the complete and total destruction of Aria's feather; even going so far as to enjoy the occasional quip regarding that piece of plumage. In some ways it is amusing to watch her and Yven together. Though he and I have had our disagreements, such things are happily behind us, and to see him talk to a woman without tripping over himself is refreshing. I heckle him about when I can expect an invitation to the wedding. I hope he realizes it is all in good fun...poor guy.

Not all things can be right, however. Of late a man has burrowed his way into the deepest levels of my hate: Ranan. I have no desire to relive the details of what has happened in my writing, but it suffices to say that if I could kill him I would. Liadan has pleaded with me time and again to not confront or challenge him, and for this single reason I have stayed my hand. I would not bring suffering to her to add to that which he has already brought. Despite these things, she and I remain close, easily forgetting troubles such as Ranan when in each other's company. Seems I am finally experiencing the joyful side of love...here's hoping it stays that way. Even as I heckle Yven with taking guesses as to when his wedding will be, I wonder if maybe they shouldn't be heckling me? I won't go into too much thought there...no better way to jinx something I say. In the end, it is best to wait till matters with the Banite are resolved before I even consider such things (bit too late for that I suppose?) Still I will never let it be said Adelius Draken was a fool! Not too much of one anyway...

I had an ecounter with the elf, Marn, this last night. He stands alone with Serrak in seeing me as what I was rather than what I have become. I suppose he will never be able to admit he is wrong, or that a man can change. As long as he does not seek to do me or those close to me harm, however, I will simply have to ignore him and get on with the life which for so long has perched so precariously near the Abyss.

Though I am the sole survivor of my family, I can no longer look at life and say that I am alone in the world. That in itself is good feeling, to say the least.

[TermaForever]

Hoot is a good man. He is also insane at times it seems. His ideas for 'helping me' sound more like they would do a better job of throwing me on into the oven...

Part of me can't help but wonder if the situation isn't going to become more desperate. While traveling with Aria, Yven, and the dwarf Kyrion, I almost found myself effectively throwing myself onto my sword. I know I was under the influence of the orc shaman's magic and that I was not thinking clearly...but when I saw Ranan there I simply couldn't hold myself back. Had Yven not been there to restrain me (and had I not been weaken by the shaman's magic) I would likely have attacked him, and ended up a smoldering corpse for it. Desperate indeed....

On a side note, avoid the meat at the Griffon for awhile, I think they killed a bad batch of cows.

[TermaForever]

Alone...no other word describes how I feel right now. My father was right...dreams are simply a place to hide from cold reality. My dream has ended...

I hold no ill will toward her...indeed I suppose I am mostly to blame for this. That doesn't make this any easier though. I only hope she can find her way...and her happiness...

I resign myself to this end...what choice do I have? Though I am lost for now, I will find my way again soon enough...at least I hope I will. I must prepare myself for the possibility that I have known happiness for the last time in my life. Though I have a hard time thinking this is the case, I cannot be a naive fool.

I can only hope the coming days will be kinder...

[TermaForever]

Though I had my doubts, Hoot's party for Aria went off without a hitch (unless of course the dragons showed up after I left...and I don't mean the purple kind). I only wish I had been a bit more lively for it, but as I have never been much of a person for parties I was rather quiet to say the least. Still, it was good to see so many friendly faces in one room. I need to remember that I owe Aria a day wearing a hat. I'll never hear the end of it otherwise.

Liadan was there. If was the first time I had seen her since I wrote the letter to her. She did not regard me coldly, so I can at least say I have not alienated her further. Still, I cannot tell if I have done anything to soothe or comfort her either. Today made me realize the hard truth that I am simply not over her yet. Everytime I looked at her, I felt my heart pound, a mixture of sadness and love. Part of me wants to think that there is still very much hope alive for us: that all I have to do is scope her up in my arms and tell her again how much I love her and everything will be right again. It is fortunate I am able to check myself as well as I am, for when I actually stop to think I realize that there would be no action more sure to drive her away from me forever than that.

Ironic that someone who spent sixteen years not feeling anything would suddenly find it so hard to let go. Am I weak? Foolish? Must I truly have something to cling on like this?

Or perhaps I am doing exactly what I should be? I need to talk to her when she is finally ready to talk again. I have been unable to speak with her about things...a heart to heart may be just the thing at this point.

[TermaForever]

I woke up this morning in the Temple of Helm. I felt weak and also had this calm certainty that a dragon had sat on my head. I can only guess my prior raid on the orcs had not gone well. I remember setting out with Hoot...I wonder where he is?

While recovering I spoke at length to one of the priests (or perhaps the only one? I really need to pay more attention) at the temple about Helm. While the idea of dedicating myself to a faith is still somewhat unappealing, it did put the plain fact on the table that in many ways my present actions are already acting in His service. Still, if Max or anyone else calls me a Helmite again I will throw this journal at them.

I will say, it is nice to see that my actions are appreciated and may be helping, if only in a small way. People seem more at ease to have someone living in town fighting back consistently. While the orcs are no strangers to adventurers attacking them, I think such constant pressure as I have tried to put on them may be new. Still, the job is a long way from done, and try as I might it is not one I will be able to accomplish alone. Not that single handedly driving away an orc army was my goal, only doing my part to help protect these people and bring them one step closer to freedom.

Dhedluk is starting to grow on me. It is a quiet place, well suited to thinking. And not the kind of thinking that sends me into doom and gloom. My thoughts, though not necessarily filled with butterflies and flowers, are at least hopeful. Constructive even. Still, I do miss the company of being around Isinhold. After sixteen years alone I prefer to keep friends close, though my duty now (is such a self-inflcited task can be called 'duty') pulls me away from them. Still, I get the occasional visitor, be it accidental or intentional. I miss those I have not seen, and even those I have. Maybe I will have the opportunity to see them soon?

The weather outside is horrific. A raid now would simply be out of the question. My room in the inn is feeling quite cozy right now. Besides, I probably do need more time to rest all things considered. I really should take up a hobby besides sword swinging. I'll think on that another day. Right now my bed looks rather inviting.

[TermaForever]

It was only a small pin. It wasn't masterfully crafted...he had made it himself from the melted remains of some of the old weapons he had found on the road. There was a symbolism to it though. The raised gauntlet with the eye in the center, watching him and the rest of the world. The symbol of the watcher. The symbol of Helm.

He closed his eyes and reflected. He thought of where he came from. What he had become. The road he had taken to arrive there. He saw his mother's face, robbed of its youthful beauty by the hard world, her face framed by her dark hair, streaked with grey. He saw his father, eyes bloodshot and smelling of drink, looking the same when Adelius had been a child as he did the day he ended his life. A young woman who's name he had long forgotte; a woman whom, in his youthful passions, he had left with a son. An old man, well into his late years, his face framed by nearly white hair. Behind the cold exterior lay a darkness blacker than the Abyss: a man who would devour the world if he could. A man he had called master. He saw his own face, covered by the hard metal mask which blocked out the world around him as he stepped further down the dark road. Another young woman, clad in the colors of the Morninglord, the same lord whom his master had turned from. A gentle hand which pulled him from the dark road. And finally he saw the face of death, of a man consumed by his hate, risen from beyond. A creature which might well still be seeking him. Or perhaps simply waiting in the shadows for the time Adelius would die, to greet him in the hell to follow.

The past must be washed away... He thought to himself. Never again would he look down the cruel road which brought him to where he was now. A new purpose greeted him now, a purpose found in mortal combat with an enemy that threatened to destroy what had become his home. There was no looking back now. No more walking forward without faith. He looked at his face in the mirror, the lines of age beginning to show, yet even then he felt a new vitality in himself. Straightening the collar of his tunic, he pinned the little gauntlet onto his collar. A new path had to be walked. He turned from the mirror, grabbing his sword from the bed and strapping it around his waste, taking the first steps on to that new road...

[TermaForever]

Adelius sat wearily on the bed. It had been a couple of days since he returned to Cormyr, yet the weariness of his long journey was far from gone. He had been tried, tested, tortured. Through physical pain and mental torment had the price of a man's soul been paid. He had never realized the sacrifices that had to be made for such things to happen.

All the same, the feeling of unexplained relief and contentment made it worth it. He looked at the world with a clarity he had not known since his days in Candlekeep. It was the feeling of knowing that ones purpose was fulfilled, and that the remainder of life, short or long, was his to do with as he pleased. And he knew what he wanted: peace.

He looked at the sword laying next to him. He had never wanted to take it up in the first place; that had been the will and desire of anoter person. He knew though that he could never put it down now. Their were those who looked to him for help, for protection, and the sharp blade was his way of providing that. Even still, he wanted to leave it all behind: the wars, the hurt, painful memories of those he had hurt. But running would accomplish nothing.

He wondered for a moment if it was time to leave Cormyr for good; to seek a new life elsewhere. Indeed, everywhere he turned he saw fading joys and coming wars. But could he abandon those he still cared about to that? He put the decision off. There were still people to see, friend and enemy alike. Peaces still needed to be made. Hearts needed to be spoken. Laughter and tears needed to be shared. So many people...

He laid his head on the pillow. As he drifted off to sleep he thought of the last words of a man finally freed.

You've earned your life through fire and blood. You have earned the right to redemption.

[TermaForever]

*A journal entry, written over two pages, the first of which seems water stained, likely from rain.*


I'm convinced Cormyr is even more cursed than I am. Even as we breath a collective sigh at the Zhentarim pull back, a terribe new threat rises. This time an army of beasts that know no pain, no fear. The walking dead, under the command of (if rumor is true) illithid.

I hear also rumors of a great undead dragon (a dracolich?) which almost single handedly brought and end to resistance in Isinhold and Skull Crag. Though I was in Isinhold at the time of the attack, I made poor witness to what occured in my unconscious state. I am fortunate that the creatures that attacked me at the town outskirts took me for dead. I suppose given my condition when I awoke it was not far from the truth.

Blasted rain...will continue this later.


*at this point the page turns*


I've not seen Aria since the attack. Though I have little doubt that she is alright and likely raising up a storm over the matter, I suppose it is simply my nature to worry. I also worry for Kyrion, for I have not seen him in even longer a time, and though he is capable, I fear if he was present at the attacks that he might not have come through against such terrible odds. Certainly I will not make mention of these misgivings when and if I see Aria. It is the last thing she needs to hear I'm sure

I suppose in hindsignt it is good I have not removed the colors of the Evergreen from my armor. Seems they may yet be needed again. I'm sure it is only a matter of time before Liadan is screaming (in her quiet way) orders at me.

I wonder again why I did not leave Cormyr to its madness. I've had so many opportunities...sense of duty I guess to the people I care about. People like Aria, who I know would never forgive me for leaving, not now certainly. Will anyone forgive me I wonder? For all the things I have done. I know they say the past is the past and that I have become better since but...is that forgiveness?

Do you forgive me Riana? Aidan? Do you look down on me in contempt? Or do you do in death as you did in life and await my return with open arms? I fear when my death comes it will not be to your arms that I come. A very different fate awaits me in the next life I think. In death as in life I cannot come back to you...

Perhaps in time I...

*the entry cuts off abruptly*

[TermaForever]

There was no answer on the other side of the door to the room in the Wailing Wheel as the man knocked. The occupant of the room had paid up for a tenday. It was three days after now. Time to either pay up for the extra days or get out.

But the occupant was not there as the man forced the door open. The room was disheveled, the small table and chair overturned. The sheets on the bed were torn, with an occasional small fleck of blood staining the white cloth. Whatever possession's the room's occupant had brought were gone save one. A journal lay at the center of the bed, weather worn and battered. The first page of the inside cover denoted the name of the owner, Adelius Draken. Word written in a careful hand covered the pages, save the last.

On that page the words were written in a different hand. And it was not ink, the man realized to his horror, but blood that gave the letters existence.

Play ye children under the sun
Play and be merry till day is done.
Sleep ye in bed and dream of tommorow
Never knowing your coming sorrow.

Everyday life begins anew.
But only for a lucky few
We greet the day with a twinkling eye
From which we weep when we must die.

Be ye unruly or do ye behave
Still I come and bring ye a grave
And hear ye children through your screams
I come in death and broken dreams

And written beneath the poem.

Fate follows us in our shadows. To flee is futile. The blood of oath binds still. Let this testament be your lesson.

In fear, the man drops the journal and runs to find the guards.

//OOC: Don't ask me what happened...I'm not sure myself. Have fun folks. Its unlikely this is the end of Adelius