Warrior In the Middle

[*artemitavik]

Derik pulled Warwake free of the deadweight of Yuani-ti Abomination archer, rolling his shoulder slightly. The blood on the blade sizzled and burned off from the fire that enshrouded the weapon.

He paused a moment to reflect as he looked down at the now deceased opponent. Almost a 10-day now he had been at this nearly non-stop. People usually called it "hunting" or "training", but let's face it and call it what it is, it was a raid, pure and simple. Striding into a sentient being's home, claiming their possessions, and putting down anyone who attempted to stop you. Certainly, a goodly number of these things that was being claimed came from the Yuan-ti's own raids into surrounding countryside or hapless adventurers and explorers that were unlucky enough to find themselves in their territory at the wrong time, but that's not the point. Adventurers did to them exactly what we all claimed was wrong to be done in their own lands. Of course, motivations varied, but that didn't really change what it was. It was a raid, pure and simple.

In this case the raid wasn't even about glory, or retribution for crimes, or anything of the sort. It was about profit. He needed coin and a great deal of it for the Bladestone Foundation facilities and for the renovations of the Last Anchor that just took place. Resources were as good a reason as any for a battle, they'd sparked more than one major war, but these Yuan-ti had done nothing to him personally to deserve his wrath. Neither had the Sharptooth Orcs, the Yeti, Lizardmen, and Frost giants up at the Cloudpeaks, the Gnolls, the goblins in the mines near Beregost...

Hm... Wrath. No, that was wrong. There was no wrath here. This was cold, calculating, they had something he wanted and he was going to take it. He needed to provide for those depending on him to raise this money so things could go forward, so he was going to do it by the only way he really knew how.

He was going to fight someone for it. The Yuan-ti just happened to be today's lucky choice.

There was a noise around the corner and two zealots and an abomination warrior rounded into sight, drawn by the sound of the conflict a few moments ago. Derik hefted his shield and lifted his sword, taking a few steps towards them to meet them head on. They stood no chance, but they didn't know that. They were protecting their home against a lone intruder, so he had to give them credit for that...

… and it was over almost as soon as it began.

Derik stepped over the now fresh corpse of the last zealot to fall as he made his way towards the chamber with the Hydra. Sorry fellas, it's nothing personal, this time it's just business.

[*artemitavik]

((Thank you for reading so far.  The previous post ends the transfers from Baldur's Gate journals.  This post begins to include events that have taken place on Sigil.  As Derik ICly travels back and forth regularly, both places may continue to receive mention.))


Derik Ranloss sat in the dark in the suite of the Last Anchor, the inn he and his wife owned in Ulgoth's Beard.

He sat next to the bed, leaning forward on his knees, the only light in the room the dim glow of the low-burning fire in the hearth, now mostly just embers.  Under the covers lay the red-headed, blue-eyed woman that was the most dear thing to him in all of existence.  Lannia Ranloss, his wife.

And she was very, very ill.

They had gone to Sigil to surprise their friends, Ronja and Vala.  But something was wrong... something was terribly, terribly wrong.  They had expected some adjustments with her powers and the local spirits for the shamaness, but as she started to reconnect she had fallen ill.  Weak.  Exhausted.

They had stayed as long as they could, but she wasn't getting better.  He had then brought her home back to their inn, hoping she would recover.

She simply stopped getting worse.  Something was the matter.

Something happened in the Planes, and he had to find out what so it could be fixed.  He had wanted to go there to meet with Ronja and Vala.

This was his fault.  

And now he had to fix it.

"Lylan was asking about you, Turtledove."  He whispers to her sleeping form.  "She was terribly worried.  And Dove still needs your help, so you have to get better.  You're the strongest spirit I know.. you have to get better..."

Brushing the sleeping woman's cheek and kissing her forehead, he stood up and glanced at the huge spirit-wolf that lay by the fire, watching him with glowing eyes.  "Keep her safe.  I'm going back to find what has done this and put an end to it."

Na'qpote, or Cider as they often called him, gave Derik a sound as if to say "well duh" to the man.  The wolf's eyes stayed on Lannia as Derik left the room.  In the meeting room outside the suite and through the office he encountered Mara.  Mara was the middle-aged cook for the Anchor.

"Keep her from being too bothered."  He instructed her.  "But keep her fed, and healthy.  She's not getting any worse it doesn't seem."  Mara nodded as Derik continued.  "I'm going to head back to where she got ill.  Cider knows where that is, if something happens before I come back, he can be sent to get me.  Otherwise, I'll return every few days at least to check in."

"What's wrong with her?  What happened?"  Mara asked, the motherly woman's eyes filled with concern.

"I don't know..."  was the only reply as the large warrior strapped on weapons and walked towards the stairs.

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"Did you get some rest?"  Tasha asked as Derik strode through the Bazaar Square of Sigil. 

"A few hours."  Derik replied, getting an ale and returning to the fire.

Marie and Lance were doing some joking dance about who got to sit on a chair while James had apparently just put another bard down hard in an impromptu contest.  It was all actually pretty amusing and Derik did his best to put on a cheery tone to his actions and words, joking with all sides as he was able.

Eventually though, he had to leave.  On his way towards a portal to do ... something... look for the Tortoise... look for... ANYTHING really... 

"Derik?"  A familiar female voice rings out from behind him.  Not Lannia's though.  He turns around and Ronja Leonhart stood some distance from him.

"RED!" He let out, dashing over to give her a crushing bear hug, to which she appropriately giggled.

"You look terrible... are you alright"  She asked afterwards.  Derik just shook his head.  A brief explanation was offered, and Ronja decided Derik needed to relax some, and his Blade-sister dragged him off through the nearest Beastlands portal and, ironically, to Karasuthra.  Which is where he was headed anyway.  But she wasn't there to gather resources, she wanted to talk.  So he escorted her to the cliff and waterfall.





And chat they did.  About many things.  Lannia.  The Planes. Plans and the future.  And Derik slowly relaxed for the first time in a week at least. He gave her the gifts he had been holding onto for her and Vala.

Eventually James arrived to, and there was more talking.



Derik stood after a while, disappearing into the woods after words of departure.

.... the Tortoise was out there... somewhere... and he had to find her...

[*artemitavik]

Danae made her way from the Clerk's ward to Chirper's with a waddle. Walking up to Sunny, she'd inquire when 'Derik' might be about. Danae would go to sit at a table to wait for a time, spying if the man would walk in.

The clerk would answer that Mr. Ranloss is in rather sporadically, but believes he was in last night.

After another 20 minutes or so, the large, armored man does make his way from the upstairs apartments to the main room, ordering breakfast.  It is indicated to him that Danae is waiting, and he wanders over to her, sitting down across from her.  He still looks completely exhausted.

"Good Cycle." he would greet her in as perfect of Toril Elvish that a human can have from the nuances of the language.  "You are looking for me?"

"Good Cycle" Danae answered in kind. "I am. Sharon was telling me about your wife last cycle. I think I may be able to at least offer some 'medical' advice. I'm a healer and see the spirits of lands and the dead. As I'm told your wife did as well. - Though I cannot cast spells as of late, Tasha may be able to help that front if it is needed."

Bringing out a journal and flipping to a crisp clean page and some charcoal she continued.. "If you.. don't mind me asking, I had some questions about her and whats happened."

*Derik nods*

Sure ask away.  *he replies, still in Elvish as he begins to eat* Pardon my breakfast... I've not eaten much of late and I'm starving.

The basics are, we're from the Sword Coast on Toril. We've traveled before, and she's had a time where her powers were weakened as she readjusted to the local spirits.  But never more than a couple days.  This seemed more so, she couldn't hear the spirits at all at first, but I'm not sure if that's because they didn't want to talk to her, or there was so many she couldn't sort out the voices.  After a while, and focusing, she was able to speak to a few, managed to reconnect to her spirit wolf companion in a lesser form... and then, suddenly got worse.

"Eat away. If you ever get the chance, the Greenhouse in the Lower ward has an amazing bakery for breakfast pastries." 

The half elf wrote down the recounting. "The nature of this place is certainly a shock to those who are attuned. There is no natural spirits here. Nearly everything is artificial, compared to home. What spirits are here, are normally travelers or spirits of the dead. And many of them can be clingy.. It's incredibly difficult to connect to the type of nature that Sigil is. Sure as you've seen, the city is dirty in about every way." She gave a small smirk before falling to a more serious demeanor. "Druids been known to fall very ill or just not themselves when around. Concerned if something similar is happening to her. Can you describe how 'worse' she got?"

*Derik considers as he continues to eat* It isn't really something she could describe... but she felt disjointed, weak, exhausted all the time.  After a while there were physical symptoms too.  Pale, loss of apatite and energy, listlessness.  She complained that she still couldn't understand the spirits.  Not even when she was in the Beastlands, which is about as  nature as you get.

I know when we first explored the area around the portal, she recognized Karasuthra as a place from her visions where she met her spirit guide, the Tortoise.  I was going to see if there was a way I could find her... ask her what could be done....

When I got her home, Lannia stopped getting worse, but she doesn't seem to be getting any better either.

"Has it been her first journey to the Outer Planes before? Or even off Toril? - And do you know anything of her methods to try to talk to the spirits?" After writing the next tidbit of information, the Kelemvorite started to sketch out what seemed to be the Tortoise, or at least just a basic one.

"Think it is best to seek out The Tortoise for answers, though I'm concerned if they may not reveal themselves to you. Possibly could be something your wife may have to do. Or attempt communication from where she is now."

"Often times she just... talks to them.  She's made trips to Avernus before without being too effected, but this is the longest we've done any planar traveling."  Derik finishes up his breakfast.  "Sometimes she has communications with them in visions or dreams."

He looks at the sketch and nods. "She'd described it to me a few times... I'll see if I can find something in the Beastlands that can point me the way.  As for her conversing with the Tortoise herself, that's part of the problem, she doesn't seem to be able to..."

He stands up.  "I've got to run a few errands.  Thank you for your insight on this, at least I know that her situation may not be unique if other druids and shamans have had similar problems..."

"I have GOT to be known to the Tortoise by now, I know her spirit companion knows of me and all... I'll look into ways that I may be able to find her in the meantime.  If anything comes up... I'll let you know."

[*artemitavik]

Derik watched the Blood Bowl matches, losing money on his bets, but that was ok.  Money is just a thing.  After the Holy Smotes, the team of angels and archons decidedly defeated their opponents in the final match he bid farewell to the rest of the spectators and wandered back to his hotel room.

Once there he took out the pole he had ripped from the ground during the dream and set it on the table.  He then simply sat across the room in the dim light, sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at it a while.  Memories processed through his mind.  Yes, the Carnival had been a good distraction, probably necessary.  But it was time to figure out the next move.

He had spoken to Danae, Tasha, Argent, and Trin just before the Carnival.  He had described the dream he and Ronja had seemingly shared.  A Dreameater one of them had called it.  It was trapping the Tortoise for whatever reason, possibly feeding on Lannia's energies through it.  A creature that lived in their own world of walking dreams, and it was using his wife to grow stronger.  The process may have been delayed by Derik drawing the post from the circle of posts, maybe weakening the trap it kept the Tortoise in... but ... clearly didn't stop it.  They would have to fully disrupt the trap to let the spirit escape... the posts that were set up in the dream... 



Yes... the dream...  Derik's mind drifted further as he thought further back....

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"You know, you shouldn't spend too much time out here alone by yourself, it starts to affect people."  Derik said to Ronja as he plopped down next to her on the grass in her camp at the banks of Karasuthra.

"I know, but it's so lovely and peaceful right here."  Ronja had replied, offering the warrior cookies that she was snacking on.

"Yes, but that's kind of the point, they may be a moment you don't want to go back anywhere else...."

The two sat, talked.  It had been a long time since they'd done that.  They used to do it so often, this pair.  Even before Derik had met Lannia.  They were like siblings, he even called her Blade-sister, and she him Blade-brother.  Through thick, thin, arguments, agreements, skirmishes, and battles, they had covered each other's backs.  And they had often talked.  Plenty of times they had talked each other back from the edge of despair or just sought friendly council. 

Derik needed both right now...



Suddenly, the night was alive with butterflies, more than could really be seen or counted.   They swirled and danced to the pair's amusement.  And just as fast they were gone.  Except a concentration around the nearest wisp of light.  They seemed to dance in and out.  Curious, Derik had stood and moved over to the light.  He reached out and touched it.  Suddenly, he felt exhausted, beyond tired.  Ronja, also ever curious did the same.

Unable to keep their eyes open, both ended up laying down in the grass and passing out... but then they woke up.  The land was sickly and green, trees were stark and dead.  Shadows moved about, but seemed not to see them.  Nor could they really see each other.  Derik called upon his ability to see the unseen, able to give him the outline of Ronja, faded though still. 

"Derik?  Are you here?  I can't see you!" She called out.  "Where are we?"

"I'm right here."  He assured her.  "We need to look around, I don't know what this is or where we are... there's almost a path of butterflies it seems.  Everything else here is stark but them, they're out of place.  We should follow them."

"I'm not armored!" she protested. 

"Then get armored."  He replied, though she made him turn around while she changed.  This elicited a chuckle from the large warrior, as if he'd have watched her anyways.

Soon though, they began to follow the path.  The shadows ignored them, even passed right through them as they traveled... though it seemed their steps moved the ground underneath them rather than them moving over it...



Soon though they came to a sight... a hole.. or crater... bottomless.  In the middle there was a small island floating.  A dark figure of a hulking shadow stood across from a creature trapped in a red nimbus.  Its hand held out towards the trapped creature, and small tendrils of shadows connecting the two, writhing and pulsing.  The butterflies led them to a post around the edge of the crater with a torch on top.  They flitted around the light, then flew into it, winking out of existence with a puff.

Derik took a closer look.  The creature in the nimbus was a tortoise.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT TORTOISE, YOU BASTARD!"  he yelled!  But there was nothing, the creature ignored them.  It didn't even seem to heed them.  Derik and Ronja started to look for a way across, all the while trying to get the thing's attention.  Failing horribly.  



Then something... the Tortoise turned her head, looking.... not at them.  At the torch.  It had to be something....

Ronja took a jog around the edge, counting nine total torches in a circle while Derik examined this one, seeing if there were runes or something to maybe teleport them across.  Nothing...

While Ronja continues to look for a way across, Derik began to panic.  He regarded the post again, and on instinct reached to grab it.  It was ice cold to the touch, almost too much to grip as his gloved hand closed around it.  But, it was also loose, and with a yank the post came free, stone tip no longer holding it in the ground.

That changed everything.  The creature turned to regard them.  They could feel its hatred, like a blanket.  And the shadows took note of them now. Dozens of shadows... maybe hundreds... as they began to rush the pair.  Derik barely had time to get mind protection wards up through his Invigorator blade before the battle was fully joined in earnest as the pair fought back to back for their lives.  Maybe for their very souls...









It was a losing battle.  No matter how many they struck down, wave upon wave assaulted them, soon the pair could see larger, stronger shadows coming.  Shades and Nightwalkers.

"Wake up."  A gentle female voice reverberated through his mind.  Instinctively he knew it was the Tortoise.

"She wants us to wake up!"  Ronja called. 

"Then do it! Go!  I need to save Lannia!"  He replied.

"Not without you! There are too many, you can't win this fight!"

"Fine, go, I'm right behind you.  Wake up!"  Derik conceded to his Blade-sister.  

The sickly green world faded, and the pair found themselves outside on the grass of Karasuthra once more, below the wisp, next to Ronja's camp.  Just where they had fallen asleep.  But something was different.  In Derik's shield hand was the pole with a stone tip.  The one he had pulled free.

It had come with him.   It wasn't just a dream...



"What is it?"  Ronja asked.  

"I don't know..." Derik responded.  They sat down to discuss a bit more before departing each other's company for the time being.  Derik noted to her that he would speak to Danae about it...

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"LANNIA!!"  Derik shouted as he sat straight up, hand instinctively going to where she would normally be next to him on the bed.  She was not there however, she was back at the Anchor resting.  And he was here, in Sigil, looking for answers, where he had passed out due to exhaustion in his musings.  For how long, who knew?  Long enough for the lights to burn down on their own, leaving the room dim.

The patron next door knocked on the wall.  "Quite, you piking berk!" came the muffled shout.  "Some of us are tryin' to sleep!"  Derik didn't bother to reply.  Instead, he looked across the room at the pole on the table, his eyes adjusting to the dark so he could even see what seemed to be insubstantial blood dripping from the tip and vanishing into air

"I'm coming for you, you bastard."  Derik spoke to the air.  "You are attacking what is precious to me, and I am coming to end you..."

"But you know that, don't you?  What do you feel about it, I wonder?  Amusement?  Fear?"  He leaned forward, resting elbows on his legs, falling silent a while before again speaking to himself.  "You're attempting to steal from a dragon that which he holds most treasured and precious above all things... I will find you, and I'm going to acquaint  you to why that is a bad idea..."

He then laid back down, looking at the empty bed next to him.  "I will end him, Turtledove... and then I will be home... I promise..."  He closed his eyes, and was once again asleep.

[*artemitavik]

Derik stood on the shores of the lake in Karasuthra where the first dream had taken place, near the whisp that had been the channel.  He held the pole with the stone tip in his hand and watched the placid waters as people showed up.

James and Belle, Tasha, Sharon, Argent, Altair, Leyana, a halfling he didn't know, and some other woman eventually.  They discussed the plan... find a way in using the spear as a focus, find the other poles and knock them over.  They were likely walking into a trap, the creature had to know they were coming.

Sharon, Altair, and the halfling all opted to stay and watch the sleeping bodies as the ritual was prepared.  Derik had no idea what the other woman going on about occult, or whatever, was doing.  The 6 that were going linked hands, Derik readied the spear, Argent said the words, and they all closed their eyes....

When they opened them it was in a nothing... just black... no light, no sound.  A form approached, possibly even blacker than the emptiness around them and everyone made ready.

"Did not expect thisss one back so soon."

"Then you made a mistake... and you are?"  Derik replied, hand gripping his weapon and readying himself.  The others also preparing

The creature moved about the party, his obvious jubilance dripping off every word.  "He does not recognize Twi?  I have been away from the mistressss too long."

It all suddenly clicked for Derik.  Twi, the creature Lannia had told him about from her visions.  She had met him ... her..?  Derik's mind settled on "it".... when Lannia was regaining her memories.  It had been there as a hindrance, a tempter to let the status quo be, but Lannia had not chosen that path, and so it had been struck from her presence.

The conversation continued.  Twi had become strong, obscenely so, through whatever it was doing, which was demonstrated by simply causing Belle to be... elsewhere... and then returning her.  It had been stalking, waiting, biding time, and when Lannia came to Karasuthra, her powers diminished, he struck.  Now he sought to replace the Tortoise as Lannia's spirit guide, to infiltrate her soul, to enslave her memories once again.

One by one, the group was taken to their past, Twi offering to lock away unpleasant memories, that which caused each person pain.  A memory of regret, due to an action taken, or inaction.

Argent was taken to a memory of not retrieving a book for an instructor, a decision which had threatened his future with Danae...

Leyana taken to a house where the nymph had kept a thrall, a thrall who's wife and child had died...

James, to the home of his mother years ago, when he had been captured as a pirate and put on trial, the tax man threatening to take her home now that she had no income because of what her son was...

Belle was a child in her parents' home, a prank of good intention leading to financial disaster for her merchant family...

Tasha was led to Karasuthra in a confrontation with her sister Chandra, the succubus refusing to be "redeemed" by her sister, choosing the darker path and forcing forevermore a wedge between the siblings...

One by one the creature offered to take the pain from those that came with.  One by one they refused, the shattered vision resulting in one of the poles being revealed and taken up.  Time and time again, Twi attempted the same tactic and failed to realize that these decisions had made those present who they are.  Regrets, yes, but to change them, to forget them, would destroy the person each was now.  Destroy what was precious to them, what each had accomplished and become because of the motivation of those regrets.

But for Derik, there seemed to be no vision.  Or was there?  When his turn came it was simply the sickly-green landscape of the ritual once again.  Twi's voice echoed through the air, "Please, go no further.  The mistress will be happier once I am done.  It's almost complete, you wouldn't want to see her get worse would you?  Twi give you one more chance... then Twi will have to remove you from the dream!"

"TWI!"  Derik shouted.  "I'M COMING FOR YOU!  TWIIII!"

The air giggled, "YOU'LL NEVER GET TO ME!"

And the battle was joined.  Wave after wave after wave of shadows and such creatures broke against the group.  The magic users summoned their wards and prayers, the others struck with their weapons.  Finally an opening was made and Derik made  a mad dash for the crater, James hot on his heels, the rest of the group soon to follow.

During the fight, Twi had tried to make his offer to Derik, to give up the pain of leaving the first time in failure.  To forget he had failed to save his wife that day and the pain in had wrought him.  However, the words did not make it to Derik's ears.  The Tempurian now battled for that which was most precious to him, to be reunited with she who was being kept from him, and the gods have mercy on whatever stood between them...

... because he would not.

Soon the battle raged with Twi itself on the edge of the crater, only one pole remaining, steadfast in the ground despite attempts to dislodge it. However, when Twi fell with a cry, turned to dust, and blew away, the rest of the spirits stopped fighting and simply wandered way. the pole fell to the ground.  So did the nimbus keeping the weakened tortoise in place.

"Phew. Had more fight in him than I expected....but...what now?"  Tasha asked, followed by the observation of Argent, "There is still a wound..."  referring to the landscape.

"Now... we wait to see if the tortoise escapes..."

The pole wobbled in the ground and simply fell over.  The last of the nimbus cage that was holding the tortoise winked from existence.

"Thank you..."  a nearly silent whisper reaches all their minds.

"... I will always protect you."  Derik said to the air in reply to the voice "Always."

The spirit took a few moments to regain it's composure before it slowly fades out, or perhaps back into existence.

"... We're done here."  Derik declared as the party relaxed.  The party helped themselves to their spoils of battle, and then simply grouped together to wake up...

And were once again in Karasuthra.  The stories were told to those who had diligently guarded the bodies, some time relaxing was had, drinks, conversations of other things.

Then the time came for Derik to catch the ship in the Astral plane that took him to the portal that led him home.  A teleport scroll after that, and he stood outside the Last Anchor.

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Lannia barely lifted her head for weeks, milling about in an almost zombie-like state.  Sometimes she got up and did Lannia-like things such cooking in the kitchen, or fishing.  More often than not she seemed to forget what she was doing, leaving goodness knows what mixed together on the counter top, or burning on the stove.  She would then be seen swinging her fishing poll toward the water and either forgetting to release the line or put any bait on the hook.  Since the shaman was renowned for her hunting, fishing, and cooking skills, the onlookers at Ulgoth's Beard watched with morbid horror, worried, and unsure of what to do.  Lannia had long been a light in the sleepy hamlet, bringing healing to their sick and the blessings of Chauntea to their crops.

So everyone watched.  Dove, who had come to the near-famous shaman for spiritual healing got worse without care.  Other such pilgrims showed up for guidance and turned away when empty, listless blue eyes looked at them but could not seem to see them.  They all watched and shook their heads in despair.  What would come of the girl who walked into their lives as a scared, lost child, and became a warrior, a priestess, a great shaman, and the heart of her community?  

Near three years had built the name of Lannia Ranloss, and knitted it firmly on the hearts of those around her.  Those that couldn't help but miss the love that radiated in her presence, now gone cold.  Empty, and hollow she always sat unblinking and lifeless while still breathing.  She had helped saved Baldur's Gate from three great seamonsters.  She had helped to free the demon silver mine slaves.  She had helped track and put down a demon bear menace, and helped the druid circle reclaim it's magic acorn relics.  She was a legend of sorts, and people felt that they were watching the legend fade before their very eyes.  

But most of all they missed her laughter.  They missed the motherly figure that always pulled them into her inn and fed them ridiculous amounts of food.  To Lannia, once you were met, you were family, and you felt it.  The mood in the fishing village grew dimmer as she did.  Seeing her moving about no longer brought hope that she would recover.  It was only a ghost that shuffled among them and reminded them of who they were losing. 

They watched her husband come and go.  He looked more haggard and tired by the day.  Mara, the inn's cook when Lannia wasn't around, reported that Derik would sit beside her bed and watch Lannia sleep.  When she was up and about he would talk to her, and her eyes would trace the sound of his voice and then wonder off again.  It was heartbreaking to see.  He never stopped talking to her, for just the empty glances it won him.  He would pack up and go somewhere... Mara couldn't say where.  She could only offer that he was looking for a cure.  Few remained hopeful he would find one. 

Then as Lannia stood staring at the bay, with a fishing poll in her hands that she wasn't even bothering to cast, a blinding blue light shot across the sky.  It was not common for people to see things of a spiritual nature, and they could not have told you what they saw.  Just a blue light that ran right into Lannia Ranloss' chest, radiating out to her fingertips, toes, and into up through her eyes, and then sunk into her.  She collapsed forward into the water, and Bob drug her out before she would drown, sending a runner to the Last Anchor for help.

She was carried to her home and dressed in dry clothes by Mara.  Mara covered the shaman with blankets and began to weep, fearing that the end was near.  Then Lannia opened her eyes, looking wearily around the room.  It was not the empty, almost dead look she'd been giving.  Her eyes searched.  They were directed and present. 

-Warrior?- Lannia's weakened voice lifted in draconic.  Her draconic was a bit messy.  She learned it later in life from her husband. -My love? I'm so cold.-

And she immediately fell back to sleep. Mara wept for joy to hear Lannia say anything.  Mara didn't know draconic, but she had heard the couple speak to each other in it. She patted Lannia's hand and muttered, "Oh thank the Gods... It's such a treasure to hear yer voice, Lani. Rest now."

The women left the shaman sleeping, hopeful for the first time in weeks that it might just be okay.

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He entered his home, moving through through the main room with slow, tired movements.  In the last 4 days he had perhaps a total of 9 hours of sleep.  The staff greeted him, but did not stop him as he descended the stairs to the meeting room, then through the office to the suite he shared.  There he found Lannia, wrapped in warm blanket, asleep on the bed.

"Na'qpote."  He addressed the empty room.  "I know you can hear me.  It was Twi this whole time.  I don't know if you could have told me that earlier, but Twi was trying to force his way into her soul as her spirit guide.  He's weakened now."

"And he's all yours..."

He pulled a chair over to the bedside, taking Lannia's left hand in his and kissing the fingers of the sleeping woman tenderly.  

"I'm here, Turtledove..." he whispered to her.  "I will always be here..."  Holding her hand, his eyes closed, and soon he was asleep in the chair.

Her left hand closed around his gently, though both were soundly asleep.  A howl was heard, echoing across the spirit realm as the great hunter, Na'qpote, began his vengeful hunt.

[*artemitavik]

Since beating Twi to save Lannia's soul, a fair amount had happened.  The fight at Tyrmount and the party in the Ducal Palace in Baldur's Gate for one.  Sharon and Leyana getting full on married and a new house, James and Lewre's new house and house warming party for others.  

Leaving Lannia covered by blankets in the next room, Derik would put on some water for tea, sitting down at the table in the rented apartment in Chirpers.  He would take out a long bundle and set it on the table, unwrapping it.  In there is a sword, a red blade with multiple engravings along with a gold-colored crossguard and fine, leather-wrapped hilt.  Normally the blade would be glowing a bright red, but now it slowly and barely pulsed.  

Running a finger along the flat and tracing the engravings, he tilted his head.  "Warwake, old friend..." he said to himself in a quiet voice to not awaken his wife in the other room.  "... what is wrong?  What has happened to you here?"  Of course he didn't really expect the blade to answer.  That would be silly anyhow, right?

He leaned back in the chair, looking at the weapon, the symbol of Tempus easily visible in the center of the crossguard.  "The man makes the warrior, not the weapon, but that doesn't mean I don't miss you when I'm here.  You work well enough on the Coast in Toril still, why not here?  What is different?"  He taps his fingers on the table, watching the weapon sit there and pulse weakly.  He sighed.

"It's time I stopped screwing around with this.  If I'm going to be here so often in the Planes, I need to find a priest or something who can tell me why you aren't doing what you should.  Not sure if reforging you to have planar materials will help, but before I do that, I need to ask.  And then we will find a way to get you back in the fight."

As the kettle started to whistle he got up and took it off the heat quickly as to not wake his wife.  He poured some water to start brewing some tea, and cut some rolls to make toast for himself.  "And then I need to figure out what the fight is and why it needs to be fought..."

[*artemitavik]

As Derik strolled back to Chirper's from the housewarming at Violet's, he considered the day's events.  First, there was the housewarming itself.  Apparently there had been a baking contest between Loth and Violet, though Derik only had caught the aftermath.  After that, there was a little bit of cooking done by that one halfling Derik had only met a few times... Lyra or something.  Overall, the food was good, the people were having good times.  It was good to see Violet relaxing as well, she seemed to be on edge of late.  People need to relax and play, play is good for the soul.

The morning part of the Cycle had been just as interesting.  Gunthar had finally made an appearance, and Lannia's reaction had been predictable with the pounce-hugs.  Sorry, John.  He was calling himself John now.  Despite all that he stated he'd been through, at least some of which Derik actually believed, he didn't really seem to have changed much.  Still a fairly smug, self-righteous know it all who believed he was beyond any constraints of morality beyond what was in his head at that particular time, now stating he served no god but just Divinity itself, the ideal thereof.  And he hit it off fairly well with the Athar near the Shattered Temple.  That's fine, but Lannia seemed to be interested in deep discourse with them too, and he hoped she wasn't deciding to become godless herself but just rather discuss things with them.  He didn't know what he would do if Lannia suddenly decided to become godless.  Derik paused and shook his head for a moment, then continued down the road a moment, refusing to consider it further for the moment.  As for John, time will tell if he's truly changed as much as he said he has.

Also this morning just before John had shown up, the boy had delivered that message from Balian Hardcastle, a Tempurian who wanted to speak to Derik.  This seemed rather fortuitous as Derik had literally just been discussing finding a way to the Warrior's Rest to speak to the priesthood regarding Warwake, his sword that didn't seem to be working very well in the Planes.  Ronja wasn't there, which would have been nice, but Derik was accompanied by John and Lannia to see him at the Shattered Temple.

He had been sent by the priesthood at Warrior's Rest to specifically seek Derik out.  A task was being offered to him, a test as it were, connected to the issues with Warwake's waning power in the Planes.  A Winter-court fey by the name of Maolsneachta had taken other Winter fey and established his own minor court in the Plane of Shadow in an old, run down fortress.  Disturbing in and of itself, and usually the Winter Queen, Mab, would just crush them herself, but there was an issue keeping her from doing so.  The theory was some sort of shadow-aligned Power was keeping their full destruction at bay, though for how long was unclear.  Regardless, if Mab moved forces to attack the several hundred fey kept in this new "court", the battle would be massively destructive.  Normally, for a Tempurian, this is fine.  A rebelling noble put down by their queen, perfectly acceptable in the Rules of War.  However, in this case, the battle would easily spill into the populace of the Shadow Plane, not to mention the town of Undersigil, which has a portal near the ruined fortress that Maolsneachta has set up shop.  The potential for collateral damage is beyond massive.  The rogue Winter court were also turning to raiding and pillaging for resources, which can and will become a worse problem as their victims set up for reprisals, causing even more collateral damage.  They needed to be stopped before the conflict escalated to a point where in enveloped all the non-combatants and innocents around them.

Options were discussed and it was decided that for this instance, Derik would be granted the ability to act on behalf of Warrior's Rest officially.  The Rest was part of the locations that this rogue court was raiding, and while it wasn't a major concern of them being able to do much there, it did give the inhabitants of the Rest the right to request a meeting, so a meeting it will be.

Derik was given a map of the last known status of the run-down keep in the Shadow Plane, as well as the information that Maolsneachta was an incredible swordsman. Still, to pull this off, it is thought he was being backed by another force or power.  The strategy at this time is to get in and see about finding a way to cut the head off the snake.  A frontal assault was likely simply folly, but a surgical strike in some way may end the fight before any major collateral damage was done.

Then there was the discussion about Warwake.  Warwake was empowered, Hardcastle had said, within Toril because Derik had proven himself worthy of wielding it there, of championing Tempus.  This struck Derik odd, he certainly didn't feel like any champion.  Regardless, he had spent nearly a year purifying Warwake through the various trials.  Now would be no different it seemed.  Now he would have to prove himself worthy of wielding and unlocking the powers of Warwake within the planes.  To do this Derik would need to take actions, like he had on Toril.  He would also need to reforge the blade somewhat with planar materials and refresh the blessings that had been placed on the blade.  Ruathite blessings.

Fortunately for him, he knew where to find a Ruathite shaman who may be able to help with that part.  It was important that in this process the origins of the blade's powers be respected, otherwise it would disrespect all the warriors who had carried it before him, and that would just not do.  It would not do at all.

He opened the door to the rented apartment, hanging his cloak and moving over to the bed that his young, red-haired wife rested in.  Lannia Ranloss, last shaman in the Tannen line of the Ruathym.   The one thing most precious to him in all the Multiverse.  He stood there for a moment, marveling at her before bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek in her sleep.  "Hello, my beautiful Flame, my Strength of Purpose..." he whispered, trying not to rouse her as he brushed hair back from her face a little.  He smiled.  No matter where he was, if he was with her, he was content.

[*artemitavik]

Derik arrived home at the Anchor and went downstairs to remove armor and get cleaned up before heading to the Upper Parlor with a bottle of wine and a goblet. Once there he sat in the couch directly across from the fire and watched the flames as he drank said wine with a mildly annoyed look on his face. 

Ok, so he was just straight out sulking....

---------------------------------------------------------

The group of adventurers assembled at the Arena outside Baldur's Gate and the Fist Battle mages opened up a portal to the High Moors, the sacred hatching grounds of the Lizardfolk tribes. There the large group met with Orbis of the Shadowy Cloak and several groups of Lizardfolk preparing for the imminent attack of the Dragonspear forces. This was the help that had been promised to the Lizardfolk to keep them from being overrun by the Devils and their thralls. They had to hold long enough for the Lizardfolk shaman to summon the guardian of the hatching grounds.

Orbis showed the group the two choke points up the hill at the steam vents and the far side of the crest, as well as the siege engines that had been put on the crest to help repel the attackers. Everyone was briefed, wards were set, and places taken. Then they waited.

And they didn't have to wait long. Soon Devils and Trolls hit their positions, skirmishers then heavier infantry. A few small flier attacks were launched on the siege engines. All broke on the defenses of the adventurers. There were some wounded and casualties, but these were taken back to the triage area and dealt with easily.

During a lull, a massive form is seen to fly overhead out of range. The enemy general taking stock of the line's defenses. This could be bad. However, as the creature landed there was a massive sound and an earthquake. A cry went up that the Guardian had been summoned. A massive serpent broke ground in the Devil lines, as large as the general itself. At the same time, through a magic portal a huge golem appeared. The gnomes hailed it as a creation of their own nobility that had been in the area. The two great things struck the Devil line with earth-shaking and devil shattering force, and the Dragonspear line dissolved into chaos.

At least for a moment.

The Devils regrouped and swarmed the golem and the guardian. Derik's side of the line advanced, having to cut through some lesser devil infantry. The main line watched just out of range as the devil General tore the guardian apart while its soldiers destroyed the golem, then crashed against the line of adventurers. Derik and his team were too slow...

However, weakened as it was, the Devil line buckled. The General fell, and the line broke. The remainder scattered and stragglers were picked off. Derik fumed at himself. He should have acted sooner. Now the guardian was lost, as was the golem. He turned and went back to the tribes to face their representatives.

He met Qist Glimmerscale, the Lizardfolk ranger who he had spoken to before. The Guardian was lost to them, it was not a spirit in the traditional sense and could not be recalled. Derik questioned Sane from the Elder Circle, who would take it to discussion to help the Lizardfolk find another Guardian. In the meantime, the Lizardfolk were grateful. They had survived, and will continue to now. The adventurers left as the Folk went on their hunt for stragglers, the Folk shaman tending to their own wounded.

----------------------------------------------------------

"DAMMIT!" Derik, tossing the empty goblet across the room for a moment. "Dammit, I screwed up..." He talked to no one in particular, just to himself. "Now the Lizardfolk are safe from immediate threat but vulnerable if Dragonspear commits another force. Should have acted sooner. Should have supported the Guardian sooner. Dammit..."

He sighed, picked up the dented goblet, and went downstairs.

[*artemitavik]

In the Apartment he and his wife were renting at Chirpers for the time being, Derik sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed.  The lights of the room had been dimmed and all around him sat various crystals of multiple styles and sizes that winked and flashed with various colors of lights.

Mood crystals, cheap little "magic" souvenirs he had picked up multiple styles of over a year ago.  They "read" the mood of the user and reflected a color.  However, for each mood, each style and shape of crystal reflected a different color.  In these exercises he had devised for mental discipline, he would get all the different styles to line up with the colors that he wished, even though they disagreed on what "mood" that was.  It was to prepare him for certain battles.  It was to discipline his mind so that he could fight as free of emotion as he would dare, bloodlust not clouding his judgment or strategies.

This time it was to prepare to keep his head clear and focused through a set of atrocities and nightmares that he would soon witness.  He had offered help to his friend Violet regarding her past and troubles.  She had come this morning and asked for that help.  He will give it.  But first, they had to do a dreamwalk through Violet's waking and living nightmares to find the enemy to bring battle to.

Taking a long breath, he exhaled.  All the crystals slowly turned red one by one as he remember his last three battles.  The first of the three was on Toril, the battle to save the Lizardfolk.  Not a win, but not a loss.  He felt as if he had failed to live up to his word, and now the Elder Circle was assisting the Lizardfolk to regain what they had lost.  He had sulked for the better part of two days after.  Let the distraction go.  Let it be done.  Remember the experience of the loss and what brought it about, but do not let it cause irrational decisions now.

His mind moved on.  The Fey.

-------------

A man named Highcastle had come to him to help resolve a situation.  Normally the Tempus Priests of the Warrior's Rest would not interfere in something that would result in a grand battle, but this time the battle would spill over to more collateral damage than actually any combatants.  This was not acceptable.

So Lannia, himself, and Trin had gone to the Plane of Shadows to ask what was transpiring with this errant Fey Lord who's forces were now raiding across the planes.  The party was grand really, and Lannia got a bit wound into it through the feywine.  A few spells managed to take care of it though.

Through talking and such the trio had learned that the Lord had taken up residence in this keep with the backing of some patron whom they thought would help when Queen Mab's forces moved to squash the rebellion.  That they were safe from the force Mab was forming.  They were wrong, the battle would not be one they could win and would spill into the the nearby portal to Undersigil causing untold death and destruction.  Further investigation led to the discovery that one particularly shroud-covered fey looking creature was the influence behind it.  Derik made his pleas to the Lord, to move to the Warrior's Rest from the Shadow Plane.  There if and when Mab came calling she would be forced to deal with him on even footing.  Further, his people could raid about in the Rest and no one would care, it was a home and place where battle thrived and lived.  The Lord seemed interested but the lady protested.

Trin and Derik went to discuss further terms with her while Lannia stayed with the Lord to talk to him about options.  There it was revealed she was a massive shadow dragon and later in the service of Shar.  She told Derik to remove his offer or die, so he went back inside and informed the Lord that she had told him she did not care if Mab wiped him out, that help was not forthcoming from Shar in this case.  His people were fodder, a power play.

<picture here eventually>

The Lord banished the dragon from his Court.  Derik had made an enemy that day, but had saved unknown numbers of both warriors fighting the wrong enemy and collateral damage

Derik let this triumph settle in his mind.  Lessons from this, just because you have beaten an opponent does not make that opponent vanquished.  To do that you must fight on.  A battle is not a war.

And speaking of wars, his mind moved on further.  The Shards

-------------

Derik and Lannia had been requested to assist in a war on the prime of Aria.  A bit of an odd ball place this, magic and technology starting to fuse in many ways.  Airships and cannons employed while magic still flows through weapons and mages.

The elves there, at least one of the races of elves, had been trying to employ shards of a stone that had held the essence of a now-dead god creature to defend themselves from one of the races of humans and the orcs of that world.  The problem was that someone from another race of elves had stolen these shards and hidden them so they did not fall into the aggressor's hands.  The fear is that the power might still hold essence enough of this dead god to bring it back or corrupt the entire race.  Meanwhile, the rightful owners of the shards fought losing battles on all boarders.

This expedition was to retrieve the shards and remove them from study so it could be determined if it was safe to give to the owners to wage their war.  Sharon shielded the team from scrying from the elves that owned the shards so that they would not show up at an inopportune moment and thus come to blows before the shards could be studied.  There was also the goal of trying to ally one sect and people of humans with the besieged elves against the other, larger human nation.  They ended up having the opportunity to do both.

The shards were in the lands of the "friendly" human nation, hidden in a pocket of magic.  On the way to the shards the group encountered a hostile group of humans from the invading nation and dealt with it.  This brought them to the attention of the natives, and to a leader's camp.  A camp where a delegation of the invaders were suing for "ending the hostilities".  Long story short, no one believed them, and the group ended up infiltrating one of the landed airships to gain proof of their deception.  When this was done through a combination of intense combats and cleverly quick reactions, a short trip back to the native camp showed that the delegation was deceiving them.  While allies had not yet been won for the besieged elves, the party went to retrieve the shards, where they were ambushed by the human invading force, locked from teleporting out.  It was a grand fight, in which the corrupt emissary was struck down as native reinforcements arrived.  A good fight.  An honorable fight.  A fight against the right enemies at the right time.

Here the lesson was simple, a battle and victory in the right way can boost hope, and hope can do more in the long run than any weapon.

----------------------------

The door opened and his wife stepped through the entrance to the Apartment.

Lannia comes in and lofts a brow... She's not seen him do this in a while

He opens his eyes part way at the sound of someone entering "Hello Turtledove." closes them again "How was the market, or wherever it was you went?"

"Ummm... It was interesting... Interesting enough that I went to the Beastlands instead" She pulls a stringer over her shoulder with a few fine looking fish

"Yeah, gotta love the market." opens his eyes again letting the twinkling lights of the mood crystals go dark. "So, Violet asked me to help in a dreamwalk. Apparently, she's under a shamanistic blood curse from someone."

"A blood curse..." she frowns

He closes his eyes again "She is hoping that the person who did the curse is somewhere in her worst memories that keep cycling through when she sleeps, which seems to be what the curse is. To drive her slowly insane. I figured since it was blood magic, and the curse seemed intimate, it was someone who knows or knew her fairly well."

She nods "That would make sense... Or someone who at least knows her well enough to know she's had a rough life"

"They've tried dispelling it, but it won't be so, so it's a fairly deep one. They tried scrying and the person called back all manner of unpleasant it seemed without revealing identity, so... it's someone significant. Once we've figured out who it was or is, then the only thing thought of is to kill the curse-giver."

She nods "Someone giving out blood curses probably ought to be stopped."

He nods "Ok. We're going to do the dreamwalk or at least the set up for it in the evening or the next day it seems. Then set up a time to go after the instigator."

She takes a breath "Be careful... Shaman's that use blood magic are a rare and powerful breed."

"I am aware my love" he opens his eyes "This is gonna get to be a mess... After the dreamwalk, I may be asking advice on how to kill one of your brethren."

she nods slightly "Quickly and before she has a chance to shift or call anything nasty."

"At this point, that may be moot. She or he knew of the scry against them the other day. The shaman knows we're coming, eventually."

He begans to collect his things and put them away, standing and moving over to Lannia to give her a kiss "Bless me, shamaness, some of us soon go to find an enemy so that we may bring battle to it, many placing themselves in danger to save one."


She smiled gently "I "blessed you" three times yesterday, twice last night and once this morning." cheeky thing she was

He smiles and gives her a kiss anyway with a nuzzle "Gods, I love you. Don't ever let me forget it."

She smiled "I won't." She kissed him again tenderly "Return to me, warrior."

Derik brushes her hair "After this dreamwalk. After the battle it will bring. And every time after that..."

[*artemitavik]

Derik and Lannia spent a few days preparing for the trip to Ruathym.  Ronja had agreed to come with the pair as moral support, though Lance was still recovering from the whole being-dead thing and was not able to come.  Derik regretted that, as it would help in the task if he was there.  The task to reforge his most prized possession.
 
His sword, Warwake.  Relic Blade of Tempus.
 
The trio gated from the Astral plane to Toril, then teleported to Ruathym, the island of raiders and pirates, some distance from the town itself.  They then set out.

Lannia looked around and her expression softened, growing distant and somewhat sad "Here we are... My homeland, sometimes I think what my life would have been if there had been no Marius... She then smiled and hooked the other two by the arms But then I wouldn't have you."
 
Derik smiles slightly, taking her hand and kissing it. "Well, let's go anyhow, hm?"
 
Ronja's eyes crinkle into a smile at that looking at Lannia, then both of them, before looking out again. "Whenever you two are ready. You lead the way."
 
Derik then starts down the hill towards the coast visible from this elevation. The ground is covered in hardy, short brushes and some animals, goats, rabbits and the like, skip away from them. It is a harsh, still wild, mountainous land and going isn't always smooth.
 
Lannia began to speak a few blessings over them, extending their effect with a ritual as she drew runes in the air.  "Can't be too careful."
 
As they walked she finished with a prayer, eyes going a milky white as she entreated the blessing of the local spirits to protect them from spiritual attack and make their attacks against maligned spirits more effective. She walked as if she was making room for something unseen and walking along her right side.
 
the trio approached Ruathym City soon enough, though slower that normal pace to make sure Ronja is alright over the rough terrain. As the approach the wooden-walled sprawl, they meet more and more folks, mostly who give them glares and mumble about outsiders as Derik and Ronja clearly are. However the trio is heavily armed so there is little direct trouble.
 
Lannia was known in Rauthym; Famous to Tempites, and infamous to Umberlants. To the south, through the only real farmland on Rauthym, a revered priestess of Chauntea to the few scattered faithful among Tempite settlements that protect them to keep the flow of crops steady. Her demeanor changes completely on stepping through the battlements. Her stride is even and sure, her head is high, and she takes her helmet off, securing it to her pack. Her eyes lose all warmth and child-like mirth. Her smile becomes thin and more a greeting than a sentiment. Lannia Tannen, grand daughter to the last known great seer, Arlen Jerogeon... Was home.
 
Derik lead the trio through the town, pushing his hood back as he does, copper colored armor glinting in the spring sun as he approaches the temple of Tempus... here, no small structure. Before the temple, as their last visit, stood the stone brazier, large and round, fire burning in it. The downward facing sword, twice as tall as a man, stood in it's stony vigil before the temple, the statue's blade seeming "on fire" from the flames of the brazier in which it stood.
 
As she walked, Lannia rolled up her sleeves, even in the cold, exposing tattoos of broken manacles with an inscription in draconic. Broken chains twisted up her arms, and on her left arm was wrapped the tattoo of a copper dragon. She looked upon the temple and then to the sword on Derik's back. "Your birthplace as well, Warwake."
 
She took a moment of nostalgia and then looked to Derik
 
For a pregnant woman, Ronja keeps a healthy pace as she walks with them. Her eyes does browse their surroundings with interest and facination, however the glares and mumbles makes her look around warily, that one arm resting over her bag protectively which is against her stomach. She is not too uneasy though, and seems to be mostly enjoying the new scenery and to be following the couple.
 
Derik paused in front of temple and the statue, silently looking at them for a moment. The ever-present confidence in his eyes waivers for a moment as he debates things in his mind quickly, his right hand fidgeting slightly.

Lannia's hand slid into his as it twitched and she squeezed it(edited)
 
"Maybe this isn't a good idea..." he mumbles to her, squeezing her hand back, eyes still on the flaming sword of the statue.
 
She smirked, the light returning to her sapphire eyes "Warrior.."
 
At this point there is a voice behind the group.  The old high priest of the temple, met some time ago when looking for Lannia's family, had crept up behind them. 
 
Derik opened up his mouth to reply but winces slightly as a voice is sounded behind the trio  "Hail to you, Daughter of the Shaman, and to you, Warrior of the Burning Blade."  it is an older voice  "Welcome in your return to Ruathym."
 
"<dammit...>"  Derik mumbles quietly in draconic, now unable to back out if he wanted to.
 
The trio turned to see an old man leaning heavily on a staff, a man who had clearly been a warrior of some power and strength in his youth and was known to the trio from their previous visits to Ruathym as the leader, or Warlyon, of this Temple, a blade still on his hip despite his advanced years and white beard.
 
The man regarded the trio.  “"For what purpose does the Shaman of the Tree, her husband, and his blade-sister come to visit us?"
 
Ronja tilted her head to regard the old man while Derik answered with a slight wince.  "We.. have come to use your temple's forge if it is permissible."
 
Lannia nodded, adding “Warwake is needed to stand between in far realms and needs to be reborn to fit the task.”
 
“Hum” The priest replied with a tilt of his head, regarding Lannia and Derik. “Is that so?  How curious.”  He regards the very pregnant Ronja for a moment, then returned his attention to the pair.  “"What is it that makes you believe Warwake must be reborn for this task?  Perhaps it is a task not meant for it."
 
Derik took a breath and exhaled slowly.  "We have been traveling the planes of late, yet when I go there, Warwake lays inert in my hand, I can't hear it, nor does its flame burn.  When speaking to one of the Warrior's Rest, a priest named Highcastle, he suggested new trials were necessary, and perhaps reforging the blade with planar materials could help better attune it...."  seeming to falter just a tad he glanced at Lannia.
 
She nodded  “A priest of Tempus, yes, and Derik has already represented the missions of Tempus given him.  He is the champion, and Warwake is his blade.”
 
She squared herself to the priest.  “Warwake is the spirit of battle.  Do you presume to say that is does not wish to face the challenge?”
 
"Wish to... meant to.  Two different things, as the grandaughter of Tannen should well know.  Your grandfather certainly did, as was evidenced by the many conversations had with him."  The priest looks at Derik. "He is the champion?  Does he know that?"  a look was given back at Lannia and even Ronja.
 
Derik, meanwhile fidgeted a little, despite the fact that he is easily several inches taller and significantly larger than the old man in the courtyard
 
Lannia smiled softly. “I don't think he does.”  She nodded, talking about this right in front of Derik  “Every time I have called him such he has refuted it.  He holds the blade, he purified it when no one else could.  Warwake and Derik are a team... They must become stronger together.
 
Champions do not always know they are champions.  They are called to a challenge and they answer it.  It is action, not arrogance that makes such a hero... However, perhaps we should bring the blade before the forge.  I will commune with it, and see what Warwake's desire is?  What a person or thing is meant to do is, after all, very much shaped by their desire to do so.”
 
“How often did you speak to my grandfather?  He was not known to frequent Rauthym city because of his brother...”
 
"Child, not all who are too old to travel now always were, and not all who live in a town stay there always, even when they return to it."  the priest chuckled quietly at her final question, answering that first.  "We spoke enough.  Enough to know the thoughts of each other regarding many things, and perhaps even see the other one act a time or two."
 
He looked back at Derik for a moment  "You may use the forge, of course, Warwake will either permit it, or it won't."  he looks back at Lannia.  "At least your chosen husband has grown a beard finally.  The measure of a man it is."
 
With a smile, Lannia answered.  “My measure of a man is his deeds, but it does look good on him.” She winked at Derik
 
“Were you present when my grandfather broke the dying curse on the child in the forest?  That story is legend.”
 
"I was, as a matter of fact." the priest replied.
 
Meanwhile Derik mumbled under his breath about beards, measures, and such.  But  not very audible or understandable.
 
Lannia motioned for everyone to head in and walked over to the elder, scrunching her nose with an impish smile much like her grandfather's. She hooked his arm as they walked in. “Tell me everything.”
 
"In due time, child, in due time."  the priest replies as the group moves into the temple.  "For now, it seems you have another task at hand."  he would extricate himself from the young shaman's arm, give a little bow and move move off to attend to duties.  "The acolytes will see to your needs for the moment."
 
The temple itself is a large-ish affair.  Significantly larger than the one in Baldur's Gate they are familiar with, though much the same in concept.  The main room is solid, well built stone, built to withstand punishment of weather or battering rams.  There is a shrine and statue to Tempus on one wall with scriptures posted about here and there.  The roof is held up with solid stone columns and there are benches placed throughout like pews.  The group can see into an attached, fenced yard where people are training with weaponry in various levels of armor, being drilled almost like soldiers.  There are a few doors leading out to various other locations in the temple.
 
An Acolyte approached “Welcome to the Temple of the Foehammer.  Can I help you?"  she is a large, well muscled, but young woman.  Small tusks protrude from her lower lip to betray orc blood in her heritage at some level.
 
"Yes,"  Derik replies.  "We have been given permission to use the forges.  Where might they be?"
 
Lannia falls back with Ronja, pointing about the hall and explaining as much as she can.  She let's Derik do the talking to get them to the forge.
 
Like in Baldur's gate, there are also shrines to Tempus' exarchs, the Red Knight and Valkur, though these are full alcoves not just corners.
 
The acolyte noded to the trio.  "They are through that door and  out to the right.  They have their own out-building for safety reasons.  The smiths will be able to attend you."
 
Ronja squinted in scepticism toward the strategically placed benches, as she murmurs to herself. "I am not falling for that again...."
 
She walks along with Lannia with interest to her detailing of the place, and would linger by a figure of the Red Knight to trace a finger over it. Ronja occasionally throws a glance back at Derik and the acolyte, to see how the conversation looked to be going along.
 
Lannia waited for Derik to take the lead.  She cast him an encouraging smile.
 
Derik gaves Lannia a smile back and glanced at Ronja with a slight chuckle.  He turns and heads out towards the forges.  Here is a full on smithy, fit for making weapons and armor for several at a time.  Some large, some small. The area is quite warm despite being open to the Ruathym air.  An apprentice came over to the group
 
"May I help you?" she looks at Ronja oddly for a moment
 
"Yes, we are here to reforge a blade." Derik replies.  "At the permission of the Warlyon"
 
With a nod, the apprentice led them to the Master of the Forges.
 
Lannia kept her focus on Warwake as they near the forges.  It's never fully clear just how aware the sword is at any given time.  She attempted to feel out any anxiety or turbulent energies around it.  She looks for anything that would indicate the sword knew the intent and was averse to it.
The grizzled Smith looks at the outsiders.  “what is this that the Warlyon said ye could be using our forges for?”  his tone was a bit incredulous.  Until Derik draws Warwake from his back.
 
"This."
 
His eyes widened for a moment. “you wish to reforge a blade such as That?! You lot are mad.  But if you are determined, you'll need to use the grand forge, only one that will get hot enough.  I'll get the other workers off it."
 
He lead the group to the largest forge in the yard, shooing several now disgruntled folk away.
 
"It's yours to use.  I assume you know how."
 
"I do." Came the reply, starting to set some materials out.  The man nods and wanders back to his tasks.  Derik takes a billet of beshyk and starts to heat it as he removes the pommel, handle, and crossguard of the blade, leaving only the tang.
 
"The plan is to remove the outer layers around the core of the blade.  Not much, just some of the surface.  Then forge-weld the beshyk around the core. Hopefully that will leave the blades enchantments intact..."
 
Derik pulled up his hood, armor still on, as he stoked the fire hotter and hotter to deal with the extra planar metals and relic blade.  The group can feel eyes on them as many have stopped their tasks to watch. The heat from the forge is beyond intense, though Derik's armor enchantment shields him from it."
 
"Love, you may want to put an immunity to heat on yourself and Ronja.  Its only going to get worse."
 
He took the billet out of the heat, starting to work it to a length.
 
She nodded and cast protective blessings on Ronja and then on herself. She noticed a man gaping and moving in to look at Warwake; a grand relic of the Rauthite tribes, tribute to Tempus and the blade to which this entire building was dedicated.  The level of reverence for it could almost constitute idolatry and the man's face was turning red from being too close to the heat in his stunned ogling.  She casually protected him from elemental damage.  Just enough to cover him from minor pains and advised him to move back a bit.
 
She then returned her attention to the spirit of the blade and began her communion with it.
 
Curiously a pebble bounced off Ronja's shoulder.
 
The pebble clearly was not Derik's doing, as he is pounding out the beshyk billet, both hands in use.
 
Ronja blinked and looked around for the culprit as a journeyman smith approached.  “Miss, would you like a chair or something?”
 
Lannia batted her big blue eyes at Ronja innocently... Yeah... She's not smooth. It was totally her. “Oh thanks, and can you get a stool for her to elevate her feet?  I'm sure they are swelling by now.”
 
"Oh yes, of course."  And by him getting these things, we mean he turns around and tells a couple apprentices to do it.
 
Lannia blew a kiss at Ronja hoping the other redhead has thus been fully distracted from that pebble... wherever -cough- ahem, wherever it came from.
 
Ronja flitted her hand under her chin in a scoff, nose high in mock offence at Lannia. Her cold exterior doesn't last long however, as an air kiss from her “one true love” propels toward her. She does catch it with a bright smile, pocketing it obviously enough for everyone to see it, particularly Derik. Who probably doesn't see it. But none the less, she took the opportunity to gloat.
 
“Ooo, a sea-“  Slow squint of her eyes “This isn't a setup is it? Some priest won't come out to flog me for sitting?”
 
The apprentice bringing the chair looks confused “why would someone do that?”
 
Lannia snickered, remembering their encounter at the temple in Baulder's Gate. “ A very strict head of the temple elsewhere thought her desire to sit in the provided pews lacked discipline.”
 
"But... she's pregnant..."  the acolyte responds, still seeming confused
 
“I am no slacker as well! A woman just needs to recharge is all... “ Some grumbling as she waddled toward the chair and sits in it, swinging her legs up on the stool if it was there.  Ronja sighs into a relieved smile.  "Amazing. Sitting is great.” Is just lamenting at this point, salty salty... – “Thank you for the chair!” To the acolyte.
 
"Of course miss."  the acolyte retreats as Derik continues to hammer away on the beshyk billet, elongating it  and flattening it out so that it will be ready to heat and wrap over the core of the blade when Warwake is ready.
 
Using the tongs, Derik eventually sets the flatted piece of metal aside.  He has opted, it seems, to make two sleeves of the beshyk to forge weld, one for each edge of the blade of the enchanted mithril core of Warwake.
 
He took up the blade now by the tang in his gloved hand, he looked at it, pulsing with magic and life.  He glances back over his shoulder "Ok, this is it.  This is where I put Warwake into the forge so I can remove some excess enough so when I add the beshyk it doesn't make it some massive, unwieldy chunk."  He looks back, stoking the fire even hotter to deal with the heat-enchanted relic.
 
"Lannia, you know what you need to do, make sure I don't destroy it.  Ronja, Warwake has a mental connection with me.  While Lannia keeps it calm, you're going to need to make sure I don't do anything insane if Warwake lashes out..."
 
"Mh." Ronja noded with reassurance to Derik, letting her feet drop to the ground as she leans forward a tad in her seat to watch what happens next intently.
 
Derik noded, hefting the blade and looking at it for a moment, then the flames of the forge's furnace, then the blade again.
 
"I'm sorry... " he says aloud to it, moving to shove the blade into the heat.
 
Lannia is already communing with the sword.  Cider becomes visible.  The massive wolf telthor wraps around Lannia's feat and lays down, looking on as if to bare witness.  Lannia chanted lowly, and drew runes in the air, asking the good spirits present for a blessing, and attempting to provide calm to the spirit of the sword.
 
“I call upon the power of my ancestors and the spirits of the veil.  I invoke the Earthmother's calm, silent patience.  Here present are three aspects to represent her mortal servants;  The Leviathan, the unicorn, and the pack.  Like the Leviathan the sword must now die and be reborn to greater service, enchanted and mysterious as the unicorn, witnessed and made whole by the strength of our mighty pack.”
 
Cider rose his voice in a haunting howl of tribute.
 
As Derik moved to thrust the blade into the fires of the furnace, something tried to jog his mind into stopping the motion. There was no anger felt from the sword. If anything, there was a sort of curious detachment. Nor was there any intent to cease the apparently defensive reflex.
 
Lannia hmmmed  “Explain to it, Derik.  You have the bond.”
 
She formed her hand into a cylinder and placed it against her forehead. 
 
“Komar al-Anni, I name you and invoke the spirit of the brave warrior's oversight and strength.  I call upon the spirits of the blue flames, great weapon relics of justice which share the spirits of the nine, to act as kin and guide the spirit blade known as Warwake.”
 
Derik seemingly unable to move his hand fully towards the forge, even if he switched hands the blade is in, spoke to the weapon at the prompting of his wife.
 
"Warwake, my friend, my ally.  You have seen me through many battles.  But you know where I travel now, your power wanes and you cannot aid.  I do this to try to bring you to a place where I can wield you properly again, so that we may meet our enemies once more together."
 
In response to the words, the mental block seemed to fade. In its place, a silent, wordless feeling seeming to be asking if he thought he was worthy enough. And to dare the attempt if he so chose.
 
Derik took a long breath, looking at the blade, completely tuning out the rest of the crowd that watches and the sound of hammers of those that don't.
 
Lannia smiled an all too knowing smile and continued her blessing.
 
“Remnis, skybird of the planes, bare this holy relic from Toril upon your back to the battles that lay beyond...”
 
Derik starts to speak to himself quietly, eyes still on the weapon as he talks, almost a chant in Draconic.  "<By the blood granted to me and by the Foehammer, who leads my hands to battle and teaches my fingers war, do I claim strength for the upcoming task...>"  he pauses  "<For I am the Blade that Burns.  I am the Bulwark.  I am the One Who Stands in the Middle.  My enemies face me at their peril, and for those who seek to harm my family and home, am I become War itself against them.>"  his eyes seemed to focus on not-there, as he speaks, possibly not even aware what he's saying.
 
Then a little louder, at a "normal" volume.  "<I am the Blade that Burns.  I am the Bulwark.  I am the One Who Stands in the Middle... I wield Warake, Holy Blade of the Foehammer.  It is mine by right of battle, and right of purification.  It will be mine by right of renewal...>
 
He plunged the blade into the heat.
 
 
As the blade is thrust into the heat...well, nothing impressive seemed to happen. Not yet, anyway.
 
Derik turned the blade over and over in the heat, watching it intently.
 
As the metal begins to heat up, slowly a glimmer of white light began to build as the core of the blade is gradually exposed. It's faint at first, but soon the whole length of metal becomes difficult to look at.
 
Lannia continued to entreat the spirits.  She touches the seashell necklace dangling over her collar bone  and increases her focus and will.
 
“I am Lannia Ranloss... Favored of the spirits, spellbow and spirit who walks.  I am the legacy left by the great seer Arlen Jerrogeon.  Our names are carved into the tree of power.”
 
She lowered her voice just slightly and privately whispers “Watch over us, gramps.”
 
Raising it again “Let the blade that burns bring its light to the outermost planes.”
 
As the core of the blade is exposed finally, Derik withdrew it, pulling the heated Beshyk plating over to where he sets the blade on the forge.  Here, he begins to beat the planar metal to envelop the edges and mithril core of Warwake, regularly stoking the weapon into the heat to keep the metals pliable, seeking to forge-weld the weapon with the extra-planar materials.
 
Derik worked fast and hard, jaw clenched as his hammer rings again and again on the blade of the weapon.
 
The blade seems to be silent as Derik works. The white glow slowly dims as the weapon is reforged with the purple-colored metal.
 
Ronja watched quietly in awe as her hands held the arms of her chair tightly in anticipation.
 
As time passed and Derik pounded the metal into place until it is solid and uniform across, he put his hammer down, stepping back and taking the tang in both hands.  “Forgive me...”   Inverting the whole blade towards the ground, he raises it up and submerges it tip first in its entirety into the oil-filled quench-barrel, flame roiling across the surface of the fluid and the blade.
 
Lannia shook her head “You shouldn't simper so, warrior.  The blade can take it.  It knows no fear or pain.  What it can sense in breaches in your resolve.”
 
She then returned to her chanting, drawing more runes through the air as she continues her ritual.
 
There didn't seem to be any reaction on the part of the sword as the process was finished.
 
Lannia nodded and her hands fell to her sides, "It is done..."
 
“Now we will see what trials it demands...”
 
She took in a breath and looked around, noticing a few people gawking at not just the reforging of a famous Tempus/Rauthym/Holy relic, but the massive spirit wolf curled around her legs and impeding her movement. Cider...  she grumbled as if just now noticing he chose to become visible.  The wolf's translucent eyes looked up at her like... "What?"  Then he groaned and faded away.
 
Derik turned around to seem to notice the last few hours worth of audience for the first time.  He leans over towards the women.  "What's going on?" said quietly.
 
He moved over to the bench at the forge, while waiting for a reply form the women,  taking out the pre-shaped Dragonbone he had made for a handle.  Slipping on the crossguard, he follows that with the handle itself, fitting it snug over the tang.  He then replaces the cold-iron pommel and counterweight.  Taking out treated dragon sinew, he wraps it around the handle like a leather gripping.
 
The blade reassembled, he hefts it in his hand, looking down the length of the un-sharpened, and un-polished edge.
 
The blade, reassembled, looked like it was in dire need of a good cleaning, but even as it was being admired, Derik felt the blade's will once again. Stronger than before, as if it had been tempered along with the physical object. Challengingly demanding to know if he was worthy of more than he already was given.
 
Holding it out, watching as the glow of the blade once more began to pulse through the outer layers of metal, Derik's jaw clenched.  He stared down the edge of the blade, unmoving, unflinching.
 
The blade itself seems to measure Derik up for a good minute in what outwardly looked like the man simply staring at the sword. Eventually, the blade seems to come to a decision. The familiar sensation would return as it seems to grudgingly accept him to continue wielding it - but it doesn't feel like it's offering any more power than it had before. Though given the intensity of the initial scrutiny, Derik would know it was capable of doing better. If it so chose to.
 
The half-dragon's rather formidable will held the contest with the weapon, staring down the length of the extended blade for who knows how long as this take place.  All at once he blinks, lowering the sword as if he were suddenly exhausted.
 
Lannia offered no reply,  watching the turbulent clash of spiritual energy swirl around the pair for a moment.   As he lowered the blade she placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured a few supportive spells.
 
Finally she answers “Oh... You know.  A man walks in with a famous shaman, a pregnant lady, and reforges a holy relic of Tempus, and the pride of this land while a giant spirit wolf makes himself visible to witness?”
 
“... You draw a crowd ...”
 
Ronja couldn't help but chuckle at Lannia's comment as she watched.
 
Ham that she is, she turns to the crowd and bows with a flourish.  “May the spirits guide and protect you all, Tempus grant you strength in battle, and Chauntea's bounty find your table.”
 
Derik slid the unpolished and unsharpened blade into the chainmail and leather scabbard  "I will do the finishing touches at home, there is no need to take up more of their space and time here."  he turned and regards the  crowd with a small chuckle as Lannia bows to them, then looks at the women.  "Either of you want to do anything else while we're here?"
“I have plans to travel to the sappling of the world tree.  A bit of a pilgrimage since I am recognized as a guardian.”  Lannia replied, letting it hang in an odd way and then continued.
 
“I have many things I need to check in on before I may return to the Anchor or to Sigil. But you knew of my plans beforehand, and I needn't drag Ronja about to such places while she is making me a niece.”
 
She glanced to her left at the air and made a face at... something... maybe?
 
Derik looked over at Ronja.
 
Ronja looked a long moment at Lannia, as though attempting to read the sentiment behind her expression.
 
"Well, as much as I would like to explore the entirety of Ryathum, I think I would hold you both back." She smiled "As far as I am concerned I came mainly to support you both in this. Though I am not against the notion of swinging by somewhere with treats to bring back....."
 
Lannia smirked, “Well... If you both wanted to try to tag along to see the tree, that's fine.  It tends to judge those who wander near it, but I doubt any of us are unworthy.  It has allowed mine and Derik's presence before.”
 
"Lets hope i am not carrying an evil lord then!" Ronja jested with a bright smile.
 
"That would be a bit of an issue, wouldn't it.” Derik agreed. “The trip to the Tree is a goodly one, would Ronja be alright making it?" he asked his wife.
 
Ronja narrowed her eyes at Derik for being talked about in third person. "I mean, I could also just lounge somewhere while you two go there. As long as I can kick my feet up and munch on something, I am golden."
 
With an eyeroll, Lannia replied, “That's entirely up to Ronja, but of the two of you, she is the one who has not seen it.”
 
She smiled at Ronja “It's a truly impressive sight, but it is quite a hike.”
 
Derik stuck his tongue out at Ronja at the narrowed eyes.
 
Ronja wrinkled her nose stubbornly at Derik, then smiles to Lannia "I would love to see it!"
 
Derik motioned to Lannia there you have it.  “We can go see the tree, then I'll get Little Missus Baker back home.”
 
Lannia nodded and lead them out of the forge “We should try not to draw any more attention. Gods know we don't want my great uncle to find out we're here and make life difficult for us.”
 
"Your uncle knows better than to trifle with this temple." a voice spoke as the trio exits.
 
“We won't be in the temple to see the tree” she winked over her shoulder at the old man as they exited. 
 
"Umberlee carries power over waves, child.  Not across all of Ruathym." The old priest commented as they leave "when you are ready to speak and learn there is more to a man than a child's memories, seek me out."
 
They set out west by southwest, through the central forest toward the more fertile southern half of the island.  Lannia kept the pace scaled back to allow Ronja to rest and waddle as much as she needed on the trio’s trip to the tree.
 
Derik’s mind constantly wandered to the blade on his back, and if he had done the right thing…

((This RP done under supervision of EM_Cen.  Thank you so much for your help in this story arc so far!  I'm sad you won't be able to see the rest of it through.))