Celdur Nuleftyln

[Duerbloodhammer]

Celdur Nuleftyln

Short and stocky by moon elf standards, Celdur keeps his hood pulled low. It is a vain and pointless attempt to hide the myriad scars that mark nearly every inch of his face and body. If not for his elven grace and blue eyes flecked with gold a passerby might just think he is a short and ugly human.

Kind of heart, always willing to help. He still has a tendency to act without thinking.

He strives for knowledge. To learn the arcane at arts, first taught to him by his adoptive father as well as information as to whom his father really was and from that he hopes to learn who his parents really were.
Race: Moon/Silver Elf
Age: 120
Height: 4’8”
Weight: 103 lbs
Eyes: Blue with Gold flecks
Hair: Black
Skin: It would be fair but the excessive scarring across his body and face mask it.

[Duerbloodhammer]

15 Nightal 1258, Year of the Wilted Flowers

The spittle on his robe contained blood. Dalmar could tell in the brightness of Selune. He figured as much, the blood spilling from the battered and broken elf in front of him was so much the room smelled of copper.

“You have lost Havard,” Dalmar stated.

The bleeding elf spit at him again. His hand reached into his bloody and torn robes. Dalmar saw the gesture and kicked the elf’s hand as it came out wielding a knife. The knife flew from Havard’s hand sticking into a nearby wall.

“You have lost,” Dalmar repeated, “Accept it. And be happy, your death shall gain me more power, more prestige.”

Elf and man turned their head as female screamed from outside the small cabin.

“And it seems my orcs have found your child and wife. “ Dalmar felt as though his face would break with how much he was smiling.

Havard stopped struggling, instead the fallen elf began to mumble.

“You will have to speak up Havard. Surrender?” Dalmar knelt closer. Havard whispered even softer. Dalmar grabbed onto one of his many protective amulets. He would give the elf the illusion of a chance. The elf’s spirit would break when this foolish last ditch attempt failed. Dalmar placed his face directly in front of Havard’s. His human nose no more than an inch from the broken nose of the elf. “Give in to me, I can make our death quick. Painless. Resist and I hold your entire family as my undead slaves. Thralls to me and to Thay.”

Havard spit into Dalmar’s eyes a mucus filled and bloody gob of spit. Dalmar wiped it away. Havard moved with a speed Dalmar did not expect the elf still capable of. Havard placed his hands on either side of the Thayan’s tattooed head. Dalmar let go of his charm and grabbed the small dagger he had hidden up his sleeve stabbing into the torso of the dying elf.

“You shall,” Havard spoke through bubbles of blood as they gurgled up between broken teeth and swollen lips, “raise my son as if he were your own.”

Dalmar’s final blow punched beyond the elf’s ribs, piercing the heart. But already Dalmar knew it was too late. He could feel the geas take hold. Feel the strands of the weave bend and twist around him.

The Thayan screamed. Beating the floor and the corpse of his enemy. His rage taken out on his foes corpse Dalmar stood up, adjusted his robes and walked out the door.
Once more he cursed the gods for his fowl luck. His corpse had savaged and killed the female left. He yelled for his minions to stop as they poured his special blend of alchemist’s oil on the infant and set the child to light.

Dalmar felt as though his mind and body were being torn apart. With a word and a flick of his hand an icy wind flew from his hands dowsing the flames and killing the orcs. The infant lay limp as Dalmar ran forward.

He ripped off his cloak and wrapped the babe’s blistered and burnt body, pulling out a steel vial he opened it with his teeth and poured its contents on the child. He set potion soaked bundle on the dirt and leaf strewn forest floor. His heart raced, he was unsure of what would happen should the child die. Dalmar clenched his teeth and tensed his every muscle in his body.
The infant cooed and Dalmar and let himself breathe.

“I suppose I should name you something,” Dalmar unwrapped his cloak from the babe and inspected it. The infant was scarred with bright red scars that would never heal; scars that would forever be sensitive to light and heat. It was his special formula. “You shall be Celdur, Celdur Nuleftyln.”

[Duerbloodhammer]

13 Hammer 1377, The Year of the Haunting

Dalmar Darktread smiled at his creation as it lay lifeless on the table before him. She had been beautiful in life. Undeath would make her a creature akin to a succubus. He checked over the hidden spider venom sacks he had placed inside her mouth, purposely triggering the retractable spider-like mandibles. They oozed venom as even in their inert state they craved his life.

Dalmar was very proud. He smiled at his creature, his yellowed and broken teeth and pale pasty skin made him look a corpse more than his newest creation.

Dalmar smiled until he smelled it. The room filled with the stench of a charnel house. He felt as though he were next to a desiccated corpse. He did not mind the smell, but he had been careful to never let a corpse achieve that level of ripeness less Celdur discover the true nature of his father's arcane studies.

"You can come out," Dalmar stated. "I can smell you."

The air in front of Dalmar wavered and revealed an old man. His yellow skin matching the yellow stain of Dalmar's teeth. The old man's head was shaved, revealing a tattoo in red ink, a color matched by his silken robe.

"Theln. I thought you would be dead by now," Dalmar stated.

"And most in Thay had thought you had died. Died over a century ago."

"As you can see. I have not. No Necromancer worth the name would let time control duration of his life." Dalmar folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands inside his simple brown robe.

"True enough." Theln replied. The words were simple enough but Dalmar could hear a challenge in Theln's voice.

"What do you want Theln." It was not a question. Dalmar had been Theln's master over a century ago, before a geas had forced Celdur upon him. He had no intention of relinquishing any of that authority regardless of the time that had passed.

"The Zulkir's have need of you in Cormyr. You were once versed in the customs of that kingdom. They would have use of you again."

"And what compensation shall be given to me." Dalmar was tempted. Celdur was nearly an adult, and would soon need to strike out on his own, find his own way in the world. Dalmar knew that he would have to let the elf go off at some point. The geas may have bound him to Celdur when the elf was only a babe, but he had grown truly fond of him.

"The usual,” Theln offered. “Wealth, power, a portion of Cormyr when the kingdom is finally ours."

"So Thay has given up the attempts at invasion? I am surprised. I was a long a proponent of subversion and coercion. I had thought my ideas had fallen on deaf ears."

"Not at all. Your writings on the infiltration of the aristocracy of Cormyr has been inspirational reading to many." Theln smacked his lips as he talked, his eyes wondering around the study and arcane Laboratory that was Dalmar's refuge inside the crude tower.

"Nice to know I am remembered in Thay."

"Yes you are remembered. When rumors began to circulate that you lived, many have been tasked to seek you out." Theln smacked his lips again; his eyes stopped wandering and focused only on Dalmar.

"Rumors?" Dalmar could sense a change come over his former apprentice. Dalmar reached into his mind, readying whatever spells he still had left to him.

"Yes. Tell me, is the elf here?" Theln smacked his lips. Dalmar could see toothless gums through his former apprentice’s thin lips.

"No. He left some time ago to be with his people." Dalmar lied easily.

"I think not." Theln smirked. The wrinkles on his yellowed face twisted into a horror grin. "I think you sent him to find something for your dinner. I think you sent him so you could finish your experiments without him knowing. But when he comes back, he will only find your twisted corpse and myself beside it. I will make his death last centuries."

"And what will you tell the Zulkir who sent you?"

"I will lie. Your skills always did draw the most unwanted of attention."

"Theln, you were a mediocre apprentice. I am surprised you lived this long." Dalmar Palmed a ball of guano and a pinch of sulfur from the pouch strapped to his forearm.

"And you were a cruel and capricious master. I shall enjoy killing you."

[Duerbloodhammer]

Celdur tied the two hares together with extra bow string before slinging them over his shoulder. He was barely proficient, but he always managed to catch something when he was sent out for food. It had taken him all day to catch the damn things, Tojan's playful antics scared away most of the game.

Tojan rested on Celdur’s shoulder. The marred elf tried his best not to wince. Not that the pseudo dragon was heavy, rather Celdur’s skin was sensitive. Had been ever since he was an infant. Or so he was told. A horrific accident that killed his parents scarred his body from head to toe. Celdur occasionally glanced at the shadow Tojan cast in the setting sun. it looked as though a massive dragon were peering behind him. Tojan flicked his tongue, enhancing the illusion.

His adopted father, Dalmar, had sent him out to find food for that night’s dinner. Having been forbidden the use magic or Tojan, Celdur expected a long a and grueling hunt. He was right. An hour long errand ended up taking nearly seven hours, made worse by a bored pseudo-dragon. A pseudo-dragon who insisted on playing riddle games or pouncing on unsuspecting squirrels and laughing as the small creatures ran and sacred away anything bigger.

Most of the morning was Celdur convincing Tojan that he would split his dinner with the small dragon. Tojan stopped scaring the animals though complained loudly about it the entire time.

The sun was high in the sky, and Celdur had used what few skills he had to field dress the rabbits, throwing one in the air for Tojan to snatch and grab. Tojan launched himself from Celdur’s shoulder. The young elf winced and clenched his teeth as the pseudodragon’s talons dug into his shoulder.
Tojan stuck his small forked tongue out at Celdur. The elf shook his head and continued on his way, hoping to beat the sunset, only to have Tojan swoop down in front of him.

“Smokes coming from the tower,” Tojan stated.

“What do you mean smoke?”

“I mean the Tower is either on fire, or Dalmar added a really big chimney.” Tojan flicked his tongue again as he hovered in front of Celdur. “We should probably hurry.”

Celdur nodded and dropped his pair of hairs, his bow, and whatever else he could to make himself lighter. His leg’s ached, and his lungs burned. The tower was not far, but he was not accustomed to running, his had been mostly a life of study, with the occasional longbow lesson.

He’d lost track of Tojan, the small creature was probably eating the hares he had dropped. Wouldn't be the first time the pseudodragon had lied for food, but he had never lied about something so serious.

And he hadn't lied now. The tower, once over forty feet tall, made of black obsidian that always managed to reflect the sunlight even on the cloudiest of days, lay in ruin.

“Dalmar!” Celdur screamed, vainly hoping that his mentor and foster father still lived.

“Oh, He can’t hear you now,” a raspy voice told him from behind.

[Duerbloodhammer]

Celdur spun around to see the broken voiced speaker, only to be blinded by the setting sun. The elf threw up his hands for shade only to be thrown from his feet and onto his back as darts of blue energy slammed into his chest.

Celdur felt his skin burn as the hood fell from his head and exposed his sensitive skin to the sun. He cried out in shock and mild pain as his assailant laughed. He rolled to his stomach, spit out blood and pulled his hood back up.

“Why?” The elf managed to cough out. “Why are you attacking me?”

“I made a promise to your master,” the voice sneered, “just before I killed him.”

“You killed him?” Celdur was trying to buy time. He could grieve later. And nurse his wounds. He winced as he stood. And maybe find something to help with these cracked ribs, “What did we do to you?”

“You did nothing.” His assailant answered. Celdur could see him clearly now. And he could tell his master had not died without a fight. The wizard wore the tattered remnants of a red robe. His skin had been charred in some places, bore the white of frost bite in others. One leg was obviously useless and looked to be made of pure stone, “but your master. You do not abandon your post and expect to have live a long and happy life.”

“The War Wizards? They want him?” Celdur recalled one of the few spells he had prepared that day. The wizard before him was injured. He may be lucky enough to kill him. He would do his master, his foster father proud.

“War Wizards?” Celdur felt the spell slip from his head with his on coming confusion. “Why would they go so far for a deserter?”

“What lies has he been telling you elf?” The wizard rasped. “No matter. You shall have the privilege of being killed by me. I am Theln. A Red Wizard of Thay, and you are nothing more than an insect beneath my booted foot. And now I shall step upon you.”

Theln raised one of his hands and howled in agony as he batted at his head and turned around his leg like a dog chained to a post. He batted at something on his head.

Instantly Celdur realized it was his familiar.

“Tojan! Be careful! Stop!” Celdur shouted, but knew it would be pointless. For all his teasing the small creature was intensely loyal and protective.

“Tojan! Fly!” A voice boomed from the rubble of the tower. The pseudodragon dashed off and fireball burned its way toward Theln. The red wizard struggled to move out of the way, his petrified leg holding him in place.

“NO! YOU WERE DEAD!” Theln raged as the ball of fire enveloped him.

Celdur leapt away from the flames, swearing as his cracked ribs pulsed with pain at his rough landing. Celdur waited for the flames to burn out and jumped up to look for the voice. He knew that voice. His master must be alive!

[Duerbloodhammer]

Celdur shied away from the heat as he watched the red wizard ignite. The human was a living pillar of flame. Celdur clenched his teeth.

Theln’s skin blistered and his bones snapped from the intense heat of the blaze. Celdur could see the flesh drip off of the Red Wizard’s fingers as he reached for a ring, its magic the only thing protecting it from the flame. The rapidly cooking wizard placed the ring on what remained of his finger and in a flash vanished from Celdur’s sight.

Tojan immediately landed and sniffed at the ashes that had fallen from the Red Wizard. The small pseudodragon breathed in deeply in an attempt to blow the ashes away. His intake of air was too strong and Tojan began to cough as he inhaled most of the ash.

“Tojan,” Celdur called as he struggled to get to his feet, “Do you see father?”

“Hadn’t really looked,” Tojan replied between coughs.

“Could you look?” Celdur knelt down and clutched his ribs. Sharp pains rattled through his chest. Tojan bobbed his head and flapped his wings, flying high into the ground. Celdur tried to follow his familiar’s flight path but his body ached as he moved. The world spun around him so he closed his eyes and tried to make it stop.

The elf felt something licking the blood from his forehead. At some pint something had cut his head, and in his haze the elf realized he was lying on his back, while Tojan lapped at a pool of blood on his forehead.

“You finished yet Tojan?” Celdur asked, his world spun, and he was unsure if he could stand but he was damned if he would let his familiar get fat off of his blood.

“Hey pointy ears, I was thirsty. You were sleeping on your face until I returned and pulled you onto your back,” Tojan said in between gentle laps of his tongue.

Celdur knew Tojan wasn’t realized Tojan wasn’t drinking, but was instead cleaning his wounds, “how’d I get on my back? Did you find father?”

“I found Dalmar, he gave me this,” Tojan produced a small steel vile and tried to unscrew the cap with his small talons and forearms. Struggling at first, the Pseudodragon managed to brace the vile with his arms and open it with his mouth.

Celdur did his best not to laugh, he didn’t want to hurt his familiar’s feelings, and he feared the red hot pain that would accompany any extra movement. Tojan tossed the small cap to the side and poured the liquid down his master’s throat. Instantly Celdur felt better as the healing warmth of the potion spread through his body and eased his pains. Tojan hopped off his chest as he stood up.

His legs were still weak and his head still felt heavy, but he had used the entire potion. Now time would have to heal his wounds, “where is he Tojan?”

“Gone.” He replied as he retrieved the vile lid and balanced it on his nose.

“What do you mean gone?” Celdur snapped.

“Gone. Left. Drank a potion himself, gave me one for you.” Tojan replied juggling the cap and a rock he had picked up, “Said he had to deal with his past before it dealt with him.”

Celdur stumbled, “Did he say anything else? Why did he not want my help?”

Tojan shrugged, “just said if any one asked about him he was dead. Easier that way.”

[Duerbloodhammer]

“What do you mean easier that way?” Celdur wanted to ring the scaly neck of his familiar, “why would he want me to pretend he is dead? I need stalrning answers!”

Tojan landed and hopped around the ground, picking up the occasional bit of rubble and tossing it aside, “well I don’t have any. Shouldn’t we find some shelter? Night’s coming and you’re cranky when you’re cold.”

Celdur rolled his shoulders and clenched his teeth, “fine. Use what daylight and warmth is left.”

“You and I can both see fine at night,” Tojan stuck his forked tongue out, “And I can see even better than you.”

“I need five minutes alone,” Celdur snapped. The elf rolled his shoulders once more, “give me five minutes, please Tojan.”

The pseudodragon bobbed its head and flew off. Celdur breathed in deep and let his breath out slow as he pursed his lips. His head felt heavy and his thoughts muddled.

What did a Red Wizard want with his father? Why did his father want hid death faked? A flutter of leathery wings and Celdur looked at the returning pseudodragon, “You find anything we can use as a shelter?”

“I found something,” Tojan’s mouth turned into a reptilian grimace, “it’s uh, it’s not pleasant.”

“What do you mean not pleasant?” Celdur asked.

“Follow me.” The small familiar fluttered its wings as if flew off, dodging in and out of ruined walls, and toppled masonry, “and try to keep up!”

“Slow down! My ribs just mended you overgrown iguana!” Celdur yelled.

“You’ve only read about iguanas, you cloistered eunuch,” Tojan retorted as he slowed down to a pace Celdur could follow.

“I am a wizard’s apprentice. Not a monk, nor a cleric, and I am not a eunuch.” Celdur said. His face was bright red and he could feel his legs grow heavier with every step. He needed sleep. Honest to goodness healing sleep. Not the reverie he could usually take in its place.

“Either way when was the last time you saw a female? Let alone kissed one?” Tojan said.

Celdur blushed and pulled the hood of his heavy winter cloak tight around his head, “what woman would want me?”
Tojan flapped his wings in a shrugging motion as he flew forward, “well with that attitude, none.”

“It has nothing to do with my attitude, and you know it.” Celdur stepped forward, almost tripping over a still smoldering beam of wood.

“Yeah, yeah, your scars,” Tojan landed on an outcropping of crumbled masonry, “we can go to Silvery Moon now and get them healed.”

“You don’t listen to me when I talk do you?” Celdur sighed.

“I drift in and out. You just talk so much,” Tojan replied.

“Father and I have tried healing, I have tried prayer,” Celdur could feel his heart beat faster, “I have tried every herbal poultice I could research. I am forever scarred, and because of these scars I am sensitive to the sun. That is my curse, though I am quickly starting to think that you are also my curse. So where is this thing you wanted to show me?”

“Over there,” the pseudodragon pointed with wing.

Celdur’s gaze followed the wing and grimaced. The shattered desks, tables, broken apparatuses, scorched books and other items helped Celdur identify where these items came from. But there was something not right about what else he found.

These items had once come from Dalmar’s private workshop. Celdur had never been allowed inside, and he respected his father’s wishes. As an apprentice he had too much of his own work to do to bother trying to sneak inside, but as an apprentice he knew the devices a wizard would use, and most of their functions.

What did not make sense, at least not to him, were the sheer number of in various states of decay and preservation littered the ground. Some were still strapped to tables.

[Duerbloodhammer]

Celdur stood and gazed at the body strewn ruins. The sun finished its descent and Celdur still watched as his vision adjusted. As an elf he could see better than average humans could in low light. But he was not sure he wanted to see this. Tojan had found two portions of walls that had fallen creating a small lean to. The pseudodragon curled itself into a tight ball.

“I suppose I have to admit it to myself,” Celdur finally spoke, his breathe blew puffs of white into the cold air. “My father was a necromancer.”

Tojan shifted but continued to sleep. Celdur let out a long inhale of breathe.

“I don’t expect you to answer,” Celdur continued as he looked at his familiar. “I expect you to stay asleep. I simply need to talk. My father, my foster father. Or should I just call him Dalmar? What do I call the man who raised me but has been lying to me? He never once referred to necromancy as something bad. He only explained it as another form of magic. All magic should be respected. Was all that a lie?”

“If you didn’t want me to wake up you should have been silent,” Tojan complained followed closely by a yawn and a stretch. “We should go someplace warm. We’re not too far from Silverymoon. We can go there. Get a warm pint.”

“I don’t know what to do. My entire life may have been a lie,” Celdur sat on the cold ground.

“I’d play the world’s smallest mandolin for you, but it is too cold,” Tojan snapped.

Celdur glared at his familiar.

“What?” Tojan said back to his master, an approximation of a smile on his small reptilian face.

“You are right about one thing,” the wizard sighed, “it’s cold and I don’t want either of us to freeze. Gather twigs, I’ll find some shelter. You can fly form any danger but I have to run and I am not in any shape to take on the things that stalk the roads of the Silver Marches at night.

“Why don’t you get the branches? I can stay here and nap,” Tojan yawned and stretched out across a pile of rubble.
“I may be an elf, but my sight is no match for that of a dragon,” Celdur did his best not to smile. He could feel his face begin to crack.

“Too true, too true,” Tojan stood on his hind legs and bean to direct as though he were in charge, “I will gather the twigs, You find something we can use as shelter.”

Celdur nodded and watched his familiar take wing and fly off. Pseudodragons could be prideful and at times that worked to his advantage. The young elf picked his way through the ruins of his home. They would need to set up a place to rest some distance from the rotting corpses and the remains of Dalmer’s workshop. If his studies had taught him anything it is that many awful things are attracted to the smell of death and decay.

Occasionally Celdur would over a piece of intact masonry, or push aside rubble that may have once been wall, floor or ceiling. He was hopeful that he may find something like food or maybe even a scroll that had survived. So far he had only scraped his knuckles twice and almost lost a finger to the still biting head of a zombie.

“Father,” Celdur spoke to the night in frustration, “I know you told me to respect all magic. But what good could come of this?” Celdur shook his head at the silence of the winter night. He had not really expected a response though one would have been nice. Large chunk or masonry in hand, Celdur destroyed the moving bodiless head. The last thing he needed was a head that had somehow figured out a way to reach him and take off one of his toes in the middle of the night.

[Duerbloodhammer]

14 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

Celdur had planned on traveling through the night. That didn’t happen. The snow fell fast and thick, and only worsened the cramps that had started to course through his body. Tojan had helped him find an outcropping of masonry that would serve as shelter for the night. The small familiar used his to warm some rocks and kept the two of them comfortable during the night.
The thickness of Celdur’s cloak and the heat created by Tojan’s rock provided ample warmth, but still Celdur shivered throughout the night. In his dreams he saw the bodiless head mouthing at him, then the head would become his father’s or even worse it would change into his own scarred visage.

Celdur poked Tojan awake as the sun crest the horizon.

“Five more minutes,” the small pseudodragon muttered.

“Stones have cooled and I’m going.” Celdur stated. “In five minutes it is going to be freezing in here. Unless you want to stay awake and keep the stone warm again.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose of me staying for five more minutes,” Tojan snapped. He spread his wings in a stretch and with a flap he took to the air. “Where we headed?”

“We’re going to find my father,” Celdur said as he picked his way through the ruins of his home. The snow had stopped falling during the night and a blanket of white hid the chaos that had ensued the evening before.

“But he said not to.” Tojan reminded him. The small creature landed on Celdur’s shoulder while flicking his tongue.

“I don’t stlarning care what he said!” Celdur turned on Tojan causing the pseudodragon to tumble off the wizard’s shoulder and nearly hit the ground. With furious flaps more reminiscent of a humming bird than a dragon Tojan avoided the ground and began circling Celdur’s head. The young elf sighed and held out his arm. Tojan eyed him a before landing, purposely squeezing the elf’s arm with his talons.

“Tojan, I’m sorry.” Celdur patted the top of Tojan’s head. “I have more questions than answers. Secret necromancy, red wizards, who was this man that raised me?”

“You have all his stories,” Tojan gripped Celdur’s arm even tighter as the elf started walking south again. “doesn’t that tell you who he is?”

“How do I know their true?” Celdur replied. “How do I know anything is true?”

“Why does it matter?” Tojan asked.

“I want to know about my scars,” Celdur clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. “And I want to know about my parents. And I want to know about him. I want the truth about everything.”

“Oh,” Tojan replied. “So where are we going?”

“Silverymoon.” Celdur replied.

“Why?”

“It is the best place to start,” Celdur explained, “it didn’t look like anyone was able to teleport after that spell battle. That was either due to a dearth of spells or destruction of enchanted items and scrolls. Leaving our choice as either Silverymoon or Citadel Felbarr.”

“Silverymoon it is then.”

Celdur nodded and the pair walked south in silence, only the crunch of dirt echoed as the stepped along the game trails toward the south.

[Duerbloodhammer]

14 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

Celdur spent most of the walk on that first day in silence, doing his best to go over his spellbook while Tojan would dive after the occasional rabbit or chipmunk that had dared to come out of its den in the middle of winter in search of food.

Studying proved difficult. The game trails were hazardous and when Celdur nearly twisted his ankle for the third time he decided it would be best to recommit his spells to memory when they could finally stop and rest. Though he was unsure of when that would be. Silverymoon was at least two and half days from his home.

Celdur shook his head. Two and a half days from the ruins of his home.

Nightfall would come early this time of year and though his elven sight would let him see the paths, it would not protect him from the elements. He had only just completed his apprenticeship under his foster father, this hardly qualified him to take this kind of journey alone!

Celdur took a deep breath. Anger would get him nowhere, and the grey clouds of the sky were growing darker as the sun set behind them.

“Tojan?” Celdur called out.

“Yeah?” The pseudodragon jumped out from a snow bank. The familiar had gathered snow on top of its head in the shape of a conical hat.

Celdur raised an eyebrow, but ignored the hat. “Can you scout out a place for us to sleep for the night? I don’t think either of us wants to be out in the open while we sleep. “

Tojan bobbed his head and flew straight up, only to come straight back down. “Think I found something but, not sure it is safe.”

“We’ll take out chances. Better than dying of the cold.” Celdur waived for Tojan to lead on. Tojan did so with a smile. Celdur kept up with his familiar despite the terrain, but he suspected that was more by design than any physical prowess he may possess. When they crested a small hill he understood what Tojan meant. A semi-sphere of what Celdur could only describe as energy or force sat between two small hills. It was white in color and seemed to be repelling the snow that had started to fall again.

“What is it?” Tojan asked as he landed and hopped on the ground near its base.

“I think I know,” Celdur replied, “but I am not completely sure.” He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and approached the white barrier. The arrow had been ruined for any sort of hunting or martial use during his fight with the Thayan but he would have felt naked without some sort of arrow for his bow. Celdur poked the arrow into the barrier and almost stumbled forward as it went through with no resistance. “A spell. I think I’ve read about this one, though casting it was beyond my ability.”

“SO what does that mean?” Tojan flicked his tongue toward the white, opaque structure.

“If I’m right, shelter and a place to stay for the night it’s just…” Celdur tapered off.

“Just what?”

“I don’t recall if the caster has to stay inside or not,” Celdur placed his hand just outside of the boundary of the semi-sphere.

“So there could be someone inside,” Tojan stated.

“It could be Father, it could be the Thayan,” Celdur replied.

“Or it could be no one at all.” Tojan finished his master’s thought.

[Duerbloodhammer]

14 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

“Stlarn it all!” Celdur cursed and stepped through the barrier, Tojan followed close behind. The interior of the hut was brightly lit and warm. The wall of energy was indeed a dome and reach 25 feet at its apex. Celdur could see out the walls, but knew none could see him within. The warmth inside the dome was causing the snow to melt and turn the ground into a morass of mud and grass. The walls of energy prevented new snow to fall to the floor, or freezing wind to harden the ground.

Celdur bit his lip as he spied the dome’s only occupant. It was a human male. He had been badly beaten with both blood and burns crisscrossing his face and what little of his clothing remained. The swelling was not bad enough, nor the burns and blisters severe enough for Celdur not to recognize him. The elf nearly tripped as he scrambled toward the man. “Dalmar! Father!”

He dropped his bow and tried to shake the older wizard awake. Tojan began hopping around the pair, occasionally sniffing the air and licking the older human.

“You can’t be dead!” Celdur started to shake him harder.

“He’s not dead yet,” Tojan commented. “But keep doing that and you’ll help him get there faster.”

Celdur turned to shoo away his familiar when he heard Dalmar grown. The old human opened his eyes and Celdur hugged the old man tight.

“Celdur?” Dalmar’s voice was hoarse and soft.

“I’m here father,” Celdur pulled off his own cloak and placed it under Dalmar’s head. He could feel wetness under his father’s head but was afraid to look at his hands for fear that instead of melted snow and mud he would find blood.

“I was wrong,” Dalmar coughed up blood. Droplets drizzled down staining his lips and chin. “I should have taken you with me.”

“It’s okay father,” Celdur did his best to comfort him though he dared not move him. “If you pass I will find a cleric. I will find some way to help you. I will find this man and punish him.”

“NO!” Dalmar grabbed a hold of Celdur’s wrist. It felt cold and clammy against his skin. “I cannot be brought back. I have taken precautions.” Dalmar tried to open his robe and reveal his chest but his free hand only half responded. Celdur broke Dalmar’s grasp and opened his father’s shirt. An abnormal sigil had been carved into the human’s chest. It was sigil made of scar tissue healed long ago.

“I do not recognize this?” Celdur covered his father’s chest again. Beside the sigil he saw swelling from blood and deep injuries beside skin that had partially melted.

“I have made many pacts,” Dalmar’s voice sounded weaker and softer, “I needed to stay around long enough to see you grown. There is no coming back.”

“Father you can’t die yet! There are too many questions! I still need you!” Celdur could feel tears well up from deep within. Long ago his father had told him the useless nature of tears. You could cry about the problem or solve the problem. But Dalmar had never prepared him for this. Celdur began to whimper. “I still need you.”

“Theln,” Dalmar whispered, “his name is Theln. Answers are in Cormyr.”

Celdur felt his father’s hands go limp and watched as the light went out of his eyes. The elf howled as he clutched the lifeless body of his father close to his chest.

[Duerbloodhammer]

15 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

Celdur was unsure of how long he had been clutching Dalmar’s lifeless body but when he finally let go the dome had finally collapsed and dissipated and night had passed. Tojan had gathered Celdur’s discarded cloak and turned into a small nest.

Celdur laid his foster father’s body gently on the ground and started to gather what dry grasses he could find.

“Hey Celdur, What you doing?” Tojan asked as he hopped out of his make shift nest.

“I can’t bury his body. I won’t leave it. So I am going to burn it.” Celdur answered he avoided looking at his familiar.

“Do we really have time for this?” Tojan fluttered his wings and flew ahead of his master.

“No.” Celdur continued to gather what little dried grass though it was becoming apparent that between the snow and the ice that was forming on the ground he would never have enough. Celdur sighed “Go through his pockets. Find his spell book and anything we can use.”

“Don’t you want to?” Tojan asked.

“No,” Celdur reached down and grabbed his cloak. The outside was thoroughly soaked and coated with mud but the inside was dry and had been made warm by the small pseudodragon. Celdur turned back toward the road and away from his foraging familiar. “Let me know when you are done.”

“Done,” Tojan stated.

Celdur turned around. He wanted to yell at Tojan for being so flippant and disrespectful but stopped when he saw Tojan balancing a coin on his nose. “What are you doing? Where did you get that coin?”

“Was in his pouch,” Tojan replied before tossing the coin in the air and catching it again by balancing it on his tail, “well what was left of his pouches. All he had was a few coins. No book.”

“Tymora’s teats,” Celdur cursed. Was it destroyed or did Theln have it?

“So where to next?”

Celdur sighed and scratched his head. Where to next? Where should they go? His home was long gone. But there were still a few days from Silverymoon. “Near as I see it. We die of exposure here, at the ruins of our home or in the attempt to make it to Silverymoon.”

“So I have chance of being a frozen dragon treat for some random wildlife regardless of the choice?” Tojan stretched his wings and flapped his way up to Celdur’s shoulder.

“Hardly,” Celdur smirked, “nothing would want to eat you frozen or thawed. You’d just give them indigestion.”

“Funny, elf. You should go and become a bard.”

“You want to fly ahead or stay with me?” Celdur asked. He started walking back to the road before giving Tojan a chance to speak. The small familiar caught up to the elf and made space for himself on the elf’s shoulder. Celdur reached up and scratched under the pseudodragon’s chin, he smiled as he knew what would come next. Tojan would make a noise similar to a cat’s purr and if he ever pointed it out his small friend would act insulted. Then he would apologize and all would be well. It was a comfortable routine they had, and one that would provide some entertainment on the trek south.

[Duerbloodhammer]

15-19 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

What should have been a two day trek turned into an unending ordeal. The snows only fell thicker and the winds only blew harder as the road south disappeared. As far as Celdur was concerned road was a complement that these rugged game trails didn’t deserve. With Tojan’s help they struggled from makeshift shelter to make shift shelter. Tojan managed to hunt small game for the two of them, though this was hardly enough to keep their bellies full and more often the nights would echo with the sound of grumbling stomachs. Celdur was finding it easier to sleep and harder to slip into Reverie, always a bad sign.

It was in this sorry state that Celdur and Tojan finally found relief. Celdur stumbled and nearly dropped the pseudodragon he was carrying while it slumbered, as he regained his footing the hairs on the back of his head stood up. The elf pinched his familiar’s leg and was rewarded with a retaliatory bite.

“What’d you do that for?” Tojan snapped.

“Quiet,” Celdur hissed, “We are being watched.”

“More than watched friend,” a voice called out from nearby tall grass. A woman a full head taller than Celdur stepped into view. Her chain shirt shone with an inner bright light and the tabard declared an obvious allegiance to Silverymoon. She gripped the hilt of the blade at her waist and her stance was solid. Even to his untrained eye Celdur could tell this woman knew what she was doing. “There is a body a ways north of here. There’s a trail that leads from it to you. Do you know anything about it?”

Celdur swallowed hard. How would she react to his explanation? “He is my father.”

“Likely story, but you don’t look much like a half elf,” She loosened her blade in its scabbard. “And I know half elves.”

“Dalmar was my foster father!” He tried to explain. He knew he could get a spell or two off before she slew him. But who knew what sort of protections she had? “We were attacked by a Red Robe of Thay! Please! I just want to find out why they killed my father! I just need to get to Cormyr! Please by Mystra’s Star you have to believe me!”

She looked at him, and narrowed her eyes. “What is your name?”

“Celdur.”

She let go of her blade and Celdur let out a great sigh of relief. She removed her helmet and Celdur could see slightly pointed ears beneath short cropped hair. Celdur took a closer look at her eyes.

“You’re a half elf!” The wizard blurted.

“Nothing gets by you kiddo,” She smirked. “Here.” She reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out some sort of dried meat. Celdur smiled and took it, smuggling a portion of it to Tojan who had climbed onto the elf’s shoulder and curled up to preserve heat.


“I don’t get out much,” he explained as he chewed the meat.

“I suppose not,” She nodded. “I only ever knew you by name from your father.”

[Duerbloodhammer]

19 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

“Wait? How do you know my father?” Celdur asked as the warrior woman handed him another piece of dried meat. “And who are you?” Celdur realized he knew nothing about this woman, and that she could be feeding him poison, but at the same time if she wanted to kill him she could have at any time.

“Lydia Brightchain,” she replied, “I’m a Knight in Silver. Your tower is within patrol range of the city.”

“Was,” Celdur corrected before delving into how he ended up hungry, cold and more than a little lost. Lydia nodded in understanding though her face was a mask Celdur could not read. “I was unsure I was going to make it until now.”

“I can bring you to the city,” Lydia replied, “But this Thayan you describe has me concerned. You don’t know what became of him? Nor what direction he went?”

“I wish I did,” Celdur spat, “Then I would have some direction instead of just going to Cormyr.”

“Calm your anger,” Lydia placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder, “you’re just an apprentice. Approaching him now would just have gotten you killed, and revenge is hollow.”

“I know,” Celdur. “But what else do I have?”

“I feel for you, I really do. And I may be able to do you a favor.”

“What do you mean?” Celdur asked as he swallowed the last of the food Lydia had offered.

“Silverymoon is a beacon of learning. Colleges, arch wizards, libraries,” she said, “what if I set you up with either a master or at one of the colleges. You can learn some skills and then make your way to Cormyr.”

“But what if the trail goes cold?” Celdur replied.

“It doesn’t look particularly hot right now,” She smirked.

“But why?”

“I did not know your father well,” She said, “When I first found him constructing his tower with the help of earth elementals I was dubious. He claimed to be a former war wizard I doubted him. But he had you to look after, and he did so. We met every time I passed by on patrol and more than once he provided shelter.”

Celdur furrowed his brow. “I still don’t understand.”

“Read between the lines,” She chuckled, “we were lovers.”

“But you said you didn’t know him that well and how did I not see you?”

“You can be lovers and still never really know each other,” she replied. “As for why you never really saw me? That was a decision of his I never understood. I offered to take you, most humans don’t live that long. He said no and kept you hidden. He protected you like a wild animal protecting its young. I would ask about you from time to time but nothing more than that. So to answer your question as to why I am willing to help you. I cared for your father, and by extension you. Speaking of which.”

Lydia reached into her pouch and pulled out a heavy cloak much too large for the pouch to have held. “Here take this. I always carry an extra cloak. It will keep you warm until we reach Silverymoon.”

[Duerbloodhammer]

20 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

Lydia of the Knights in Silver guided him back to her horse. Celdur knew little about horses outside of the parts of beast he may need in spell components but the animal looked swift and well cared for. He expected her to want o set up camp, instead she mounted her steed and pulled Celdur up behind her and heeled forward at a break neck pace.

No words were exchanged as they galloped on. Though it was just as well as he was sure she wouldn’t have been able to hear him. As the city came into view it became clear just how close and just how lost he had become. He had been on its proverbial door step and had not even realized it. He would have wondered until he died and his frozen corpse just another body lost to the savage north.

Celdur had never been to Silverymoon, at least that he remembered. Dalmar had told him they had stayed there for a while before he selected a site for the tower, and that he had seen a cleric there about his scars. But the gods would not grant leave to remove them. At least that it was Dalmar claimed every cleric had said. Celdur was unsure if that true at all. But he had known know other face than his own scarred visage. It was his face and he would trade it for no other.

He had once read that Silverymoon was called the Gem of the North. He could see why. Lydia had slowed to a slow troy and allowed him to take in the full view of the city. The city was a bustling center of commerce with stone buildings of stunning design, the buildings curved and bended as if they had grown from the very earth itself. Some even coated in layers of royal blue or emerald green glass. Every building had curving stairs and balconies, every windowsill, railing, and newel-post were adorned with herbs and flowers.

Yet amidst the stone buildings and cobbled streets trees still dominated. Ancient oaks, shadowtops, and duskwoods soared high into the air. The bare branches of blueleaf trees stretched over flagstone walkways. He could see cleared paths that in warmer months would have been covered in grass, leading off to hidden and beautiful, private places. If not for the ebb and flow of people you would only find in a city of its size Celdur would have thought he was riding through a series of elaborate gardens.

After what could have only been a few minutes Lydia stopped her horse and turned her head toward Celdur.

“Suppose I should be the first to say it, welcome to Silverymoon.”

[Duerbloodhammer]

20 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

“I expected it to smell-“

“Worse?” Lydia interrupted him. “That’s the mythal. Dampens the sound as well. Fewer cities will smell nicer, or stay quieter.”

Celdur didn’t want to disagree with her, but he had never smelled so many bodies in one place. And had never encountered smells nor noise of this magnitude outside of Dalmar’s lab.

“A mythal?” Celdur asked. “You mean like in Myth Drannor?” Celdur was both curious and horrified. He knew well the stories of Myth Drannor, and had dreamt of delving its depths for lost secrets when he was s child.

“Sort of,” Lydia replied. “Every mythal is different. And ours, while formidable, couldn’t be compared to that one at its height.”

“What does it do?”

“Reducing rank odor, and helping the gentle breeze to mute the mind numbing hum most cities have? That not enough for you?

“No. It’s not that. Well. Not that that isn’t important,” Celdur stumbled over his words.

Lydia laughed pushed the horse forward. “I’m teasing you. It regulates the weather, preventing random showers and some of the extreme temperatures summer and winter can inflict. It also provides some defense against some of the worst creatures the North can throw at us.”

Celdur nodded. “So where are you taking me?”

“An Inn. I have to report in, and then talk with a few friends so I can get you set up some place. “ Lydia pushed forward through the crowd . Celdur was happy to have her bringing him someplace. He was already lost. Amid the many different forest districts they road through many of the trees were still lush despite the time of year. He found it nigh impossible to keep track of where he was, or where he was going. He only at last figured out which direction was north from arrows graven in the top of cistern covers.

“You alright?” Lydia asked.

“Yeah, “Celdur was once more lost in the sights and smells of the city and hadn’t realized they had stopped. “Where are we?”

“Nice little place,” she pointed to a sign with the portrait of a rotund woman tucking a child into bed. “Called Ryga’s Rest. I know the owner.”

Celdur nodded. The sign looked old and worn by time, and repeated paintings. It was old but well cared for. The building matched the sign in that regard. Celdur and Lydia climbed off the horse as an old dwarf tottered out to take the reins. Lydia nodded to the dwarf and handed him a few coins. The dwarf smiled as the half elf squeezed his shoulder the same way Celdur thought a daughter might reassure a father or grandfather.

The inside of Ryga’s Rest matched the exterior. A place that had been around for many years, and had seen decades of use. Warm and weathered wood, polished thoroughly, contrasted with grayed stone. Celdur could see repairs both ancient and recent. The inn smelled of fresh bread and hearty stew, it felt like it could be home.

[Duerbloodhammer]

25 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting

In the still of the early morning, when the soft wafting breeze that coursed its way through the city halted for a time and before the throngs of city goers and merchants filled the streets the city had a song all its own. Celdur knew it was little more than the gentle hum of the dwarven-built cisterns and piping that ran throughout the city. Even more the hum was more likely in his head, as he had not even heard it until he had learned they were the source of fresh water and flushing privies in the city. He knew this on an intellectual level. But the imagined hum still brought him comfort. It was a reminder that he was someplace warm and safe and also a place of learning.

That is what surprised him most about his new situation. Lydia had pulled some strings or called in some sort of favor and had him enrolled in The Lady’s College. Celdur had thanked Lydia and thought nothing of it until his last night at Ryga’s Rest. He had been taking his meals with the dwarven owner Ryga. She was a rather rotund dwarven woman who always smelled of yeast and fresh baked bread. The first night she forced him into a bath and bought him new clothes, while making one of her sons construct a nest for Tojan to sleep in. She woke him every morning with hot breakfast and always wanted to hear about his time exploring the city at dinner. If Celdur had never known his mother, but if she was even half as kind as Ryga then he knew he must have truly missed out.

His last night within the Inn had been his most memorable. The tables in the common room bowed low with platters of food and drink and Ryga hugged him close as if he were her own son, her actual sons clapped him on the back as if he were there brother who just happened to be an elf that dwarfed them all. He was confused at the lengths of celebration and the sincere nature of their goodbyes, and when he could stand it no more Celdur asked, “I am flattered. I really am. But it’s just a school. Can’t I come back and visit?”

“Oh you don’t know?” Ryga guided him to a nearby chair and heaped rasoted potatoes, lamb, and legs of turkey onto a plate, “you are going to The Lady’s College.”

“Yes,” Celdur picked up a fork and heaped a hunk of meat chunks of potato into his mouth.

She patted his head as he ate. “You know what the Conclave is right?”

“It’s the university made up of schools of magic, music, learning and so on,” Celdur said in between bites.

“The Lady’s College is the heart of the Conclave, with a waiting list that some would injure or kill to move up.”

Celdur stopped eating. “How did she get me in?”

“She vouched for you,” Ryga heaped more food on his plate as her sons took seats next to Celdur, “you have a scholarship. That coupled with the work load..”

Celdur nodded at last understanding. His work load was going to be unimaginable. He had to prove his value to the school not just for himself but to uphold Lydia’s vouching for him.

[Duerbloodhammer]

25 Hammer (Deepwinter) 1377, The Year of the Haunting


He wasn’t sure how she did it, nor was he entirely sure why, but Lydia had arranged for him to attend The Lady’s College. Celdur found himself in the early morning streets, and listened to the hum only he could hear.

The revelation of the evening prior had been lost amidst the food and drink offered to him Ryga and her sons, only to hit him hard in the morning. Celdur pulled his hood down low and pulled his gloves tight. They were gifts from his new found family, as brief as his stay had been they felt like kin to him. The dim light of sunlight just beginning to peak through the many trees and past the stonework buildings gave Celdur reason to make haste.

He had promised to be there before the sun fully crested the horizon. It was an odd way to indicate the time for an appointment, and after talking with Lydia he had the feeling that it was unusual in general. He hurried through the streets; still very new to the city he kept track of north using the marked cistern covers. Even in the deepest winter Silverymoon still had a lush and vibrant feel and that coupled with what he could only describe as manicured forests but were in fact districts Celdur knew he could easily get lost.

The young elf started a light jog, though keeping up this faster pace was growing more and more difficult. He had spent most of his life in study and as a result he could already feel his lungs begin to burn. The crowds in the streets had grown thicker and Celdur had to start dodging Silvaeren. He felt his stomach drop as he reached one of the last major obstacles: The Moonbridge.

The Moonbridge was a magical construct of silvery force that rose into a gentle arc, spanning either side of the River Rauvin. It peaked at sixty feet above the river and at any other time Celdur would have gladly stood and stared at what was tantamount to a semi-permanent wall of force.

The silver span was fourteen feet thick, and two feet wide, smooth, railless and packed with those coming and going. Celdur rolled his shoulders and pulled his hood down and gloves tight one more time before he pushed and jostled his way across the bridge. He was sure the mythal or the bridge would have some way to protect people from falling into the water below, he just had no wish to find out for himself or be the cause of someone else finding out. He did his best to push through the center of the Moonbridge and ignored the occasional curse, and evaluation of his breeding. Even when the occasional hurler of hurtful epithets started to get creative about any relations Celdur’s mother may have had with a troll, an ogre, or sometimes both.

Celdur only hoped he didn’t bruise anyone important, or that if he did they would never remember who he actually was.