Warrior In the Middle
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
First Name:Â DerikÂ
Last Name:Â Ranloss
Appearance:Â A young, powerfully built man with brown hair a shoulder length and a pair of decorative braids. Wears heavy armor and uses shield and sword usually in combat. Out of combat he wear fairly practical and sturdy clothing. He almost always wears copper and brown.
Race:Â Human
Age: 30
Height 6'6"
Weight:Â 235lbs
Eyes:Â Brown
Hair:Â Brown
Facial Hair Style:Â A short, well groomed full beard.
Personality Profile:
General Health:Â Healthy and fit, very athletic.
Deity: Tymora Tempus
Profession:Â Soldier/Mercenary.
Habits/Hobbies:Â Hanging out with friends, reading (usually alone) and other random things that catch his attention. Known to enjoy a good jest, turn of phrase, and sometimes just straight up silliness.
Weapon of Choice:Â Longblade and Shield.
Family:Â Father, Marcus Ranloss. Mother, Katie Ranloss. Younger sister, Tellah (alternatively pronounced Tellae). All residents of Waterdeep. His Father is a dockhand, his mother a seemstress, and his sister works as a servant for an older noble family.
Background:Â From the small hamlet of Copperglenn. This is a town that was nestled in some hills a ways outside of the northeast side of the High Forest. It was called that because of the small but functional copper mine that produced most of the town's trade and the few wheat farms that provided most of the town's grain.
Due to the mining industry, trade with Dwarves was common, and due to the proximity of the High Forest, so were visitations from the Elves. Caravans coming in and out for the copper ore and dropping off supplies meant there was a semi-steady supply of external goods and visitors to the town. For that reason it had a fairly good-sized militia to keep the peace in town and bandits from trying to raid the towns moderate wealth (for a Hamlet anyways).
Derik's father was a militiaman, so he was apprenticed to the town's Swordmaster Therran Grux at age 10. Grux believed and taught all things with both skill and knowledge should be balanced. Offensive and defensive techniques were shown to all recruits and basic education was also taught such as reading, writing, etc.
When Derik was old enough (18) he joined the militia as was expected. His duties were mostly to escort caravans in and out of the Hamlet's territory and patrol the outlying areas.
When he was 20, a very large caravan arrived with an equally large number of heavily armed guards. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary so they were welcomed into the town's inns and taverns. The caravan was a plant however, and the caravan guards were powerful and well equipped soldiers of Zhentil Keep. When a large portion of the militia, Derik and his father included, were on patrol or escort duty these men attacked, killing the town's patrons as well as Grux and a good number of the militia. They took some treasure or artifact, and retreated home to tend to their own casualties.
When the remainder of the militia trickled home they found their companions dead and some of their most valuable treasures gone even though most of the populace was unharmed. Soon, the undermanned city force was becoming stretched thing and overwhelmed by groups of bandits or other unsavory folk that moved in to take advantage once the word had spread.
Slowly people just left to seek lives elsewhere. The Ranloss family moved to Waterdeep. After a few months Derik left his parents and younger sister there to go find his way as a soldier or mercenary. It was the only life he knew.
Eight years of wandering, guarding caravans, and other such things, he hopped off a wagon in front of Baldur's Gate...
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
OOC note: What follows for a while will be cuts and edits from Derik's journal elsewhere as he has been played for not quite 3 years. This is the history and such that I'm playing off of, many of them are both Player-run event results or results of DM events and questing.
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
One of them had been found. And he was staying around the Northern Tradeway.
A letter had come from his family and the survivors of the incident at Copperglenn all those years ago.
One of them had been found. And he was staying around the Northern Tradeway. And he was alone. Apparently, he had angered his own patrons and was sent away. Now he was making his living as a bandit. And Derik just happened to be making a living in that area.
He was supposed to be at a tourney right now in the ruins of Triel. This was more important. The woman he loved was at that tourney, her heart in pain over something completely unrelated. He should be there to help her. But he had to do this before the man moved on, while he had the chance. Blood screamed from the ground and dust for vengeance. He could always hear it, but now that a piece of that vengeance was so close, it was nearly all he could hear.
The armored man strolled along the Tradeway, his shield fitted to his left arm. It should be around here. A small grouping of hills with a cave. The scout had found it and reported it, but wasn't skilled enough to take action alone. Derik was, at least now. Years had passed and skill had grown, and his quiet, ever-present rage at the destruction of his life and so many others threatened to boil over.
There. The landmarks in the letter. Derik turned and went cross-country. He didn't bother really to be sneaky. He wasn't very good at it anyway. Soon he crested a hill and the camp was there, nestled back and out of site. And it was full. Several men milled about, armed and armored, going over the spoils of a recent action. And they saw him, cloak billowing behind him, against the sky. His prey wasn't alone after all. He had found some followers. It didn't matter.Â
"Oy there lad!" One of them called out as they turned as a group, grinning sadistically and drawing weapons. "Nice of ye to come and contribute! Too bad ye didn't bring friends!"
Calmly Derik drew the dark-energy shrouded blade from his back, pointing at the man in the back with it in black platemail. "Give him to me, and the rest of you can leave. Stand in my way, and you all die. Now."
A few sadistic and unbelieving laughs told him that they didn't believe him. They advanced. Most were poorly armed with clubs or short blades and lighter, tattered armor, but they had numbers. Derik slowly, calmly descended the hill.
The battle didn't take long, really. These men were mostly just town ruffians who had finally taken it too far and were wanted for various crimes. They were little match for the armored warrior against them who had been training for moments like these since he was 10. A few fled. He let them go. He stepped over the corpses of the rest. The older man, still wearing the armor of the Zhentarim, though without the insignia, backed up, reading himself.
Steel rang out against steel as blows came down on blade, armor, and shields. He was good. He was very good. But he was also older, slower, and unprepared for the sheer fury of his opponent. Soon he was laying on his back against the rocks, weapon torn from his grip and shield shattered. Â
"I yield!" he cried. "I surrender! take me to the guards!"
"No." Came his answer quietly, quiet enough only he could hear. "You showed no quarter to mine. I show you no quarter now."
"Who...? Why? Why are you doing this? What have I done to you?!" he bellowed, trying to shrink back from the blade Derik held.
The answer came silently as Derik merely moved something on his belt so the one-time bandit leader could see it clearly. His eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Oh... gods..." he uttered. "You're...." he looked up at the brown eyes staring at him with pure hatred from the helmet. It was the last thing he saw as his head was removed from his neck.
"No gods to help you now..." Wiping his blade and returning it to the scabbard on his back, Derik turned and walked out of the camp. He took nothing. Let the scavengers and the lucky have what could be found here. He had other things to attend to.
A letter had come from his family and the survivors of the incident at Copperglenn all those years ago.
One of them had been found. And he was staying around the Northern Tradeway. And he was alone. Apparently, he had angered his own patrons and was sent away. Now he was making his living as a bandit. And Derik just happened to be making a living in that area.
He was supposed to be at a tourney right now in the ruins of Triel. This was more important. The woman he loved was at that tourney, her heart in pain over something completely unrelated. He should be there to help her. But he had to do this before the man moved on, while he had the chance. Blood screamed from the ground and dust for vengeance. He could always hear it, but now that a piece of that vengeance was so close, it was nearly all he could hear.
The armored man strolled along the Tradeway, his shield fitted to his left arm. It should be around here. A small grouping of hills with a cave. The scout had found it and reported it, but wasn't skilled enough to take action alone. Derik was, at least now. Years had passed and skill had grown, and his quiet, ever-present rage at the destruction of his life and so many others threatened to boil over.
There. The landmarks in the letter. Derik turned and went cross-country. He didn't bother really to be sneaky. He wasn't very good at it anyway. Soon he crested a hill and the camp was there, nestled back and out of site. And it was full. Several men milled about, armed and armored, going over the spoils of a recent action. And they saw him, cloak billowing behind him, against the sky. His prey wasn't alone after all. He had found some followers. It didn't matter.Â
"Oy there lad!" One of them called out as they turned as a group, grinning sadistically and drawing weapons. "Nice of ye to come and contribute! Too bad ye didn't bring friends!"
Calmly Derik drew the dark-energy shrouded blade from his back, pointing at the man in the back with it in black platemail. "Give him to me, and the rest of you can leave. Stand in my way, and you all die. Now."
A few sadistic and unbelieving laughs told him that they didn't believe him. They advanced. Most were poorly armed with clubs or short blades and lighter, tattered armor, but they had numbers. Derik slowly, calmly descended the hill.
The battle didn't take long, really. These men were mostly just town ruffians who had finally taken it too far and were wanted for various crimes. They were little match for the armored warrior against them who had been training for moments like these since he was 10. A few fled. He let them go. He stepped over the corpses of the rest. The older man, still wearing the armor of the Zhentarim, though without the insignia, backed up, reading himself.
Steel rang out against steel as blows came down on blade, armor, and shields. He was good. He was very good. But he was also older, slower, and unprepared for the sheer fury of his opponent. Soon he was laying on his back against the rocks, weapon torn from his grip and shield shattered. Â
"I yield!" he cried. "I surrender! take me to the guards!"
"No." Came his answer quietly, quiet enough only he could hear. "You showed no quarter to mine. I show you no quarter now."
"Who...? Why? Why are you doing this? What have I done to you?!" he bellowed, trying to shrink back from the blade Derik held.
The answer came silently as Derik merely moved something on his belt so the one-time bandit leader could see it clearly. His eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Oh... gods..." he uttered. "You're...." he looked up at the brown eyes staring at him with pure hatred from the helmet. It was the last thing he saw as his head was removed from his neck.
"No gods to help you now..." Wiping his blade and returning it to the scabbard on his back, Derik turned and walked out of the camp. He took nothing. Let the scavengers and the lucky have what could be found here. He had other things to attend to.
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Derik sat alone, in the dark for a while. He rested casually, sitting on the bed with his back against the wall in what he now considered his favorite room in the Blade and Stars if not all of the Gate.
He stared at the door across the room through the darkness. He could see the outline of light from the hallway peaking through from below it. He would have to be going soon. It was his turn to watch the two children at the Theater. However, he had just gotten back from a trip through some ruins with Vala to look for a lead to where Herran might be and a trip to fight some Yuan-ti with Ashan. Needed to be alone, to bathe, rest a little, and sort his thoughts.
He shifted slightly. Something across his lap slid a little and he looked down. A peace-bonded hand and a half sword lay across his lap? Right, because he had put it there. The test. A small smirk crossed his lips. He and Ashan had squared off with one of the Yuan-ti Queens.. or leaders... or Matrons... whatever they're called. He had used this weapon. The test. Stood his ground, no tricks or ruses. They had brought it down, the two of them. It had felt good. It felt right.
His mind went back further though and the smile faded. He, Vala, and Ash had gone to look for signs of Herran. Moron of Bard managed to get himself kidnapped or traded or whatever. In any event he was missing, and they didn't find any obvious signs or leads in that set of ruins. Herran may be his rival, but the bard is also his friend. It concerned him greatly regarding Herran's well being. Vala was going out of her mind it seemed. This, the kids that needed to be watched, and other situations were compounding.  It tore him apart watching her like this. It literally took everything I him not to simply try to just hold her as still as he could and whisper that it'll be alright to her over and over. Instead he helped her as he could. Just tried to be... there. And he had meant what he had told her.
They would find Herran. He would be well and safe. If he wasn't, the hell that would be unleased would make the bard's captors long for the soothing comforts of the Abyss instead.
He stood, strapping his weapons and throwing his pack over his shoulder. Now he needed to get to the theater to meet Vala so she could get rest herself and so the kids would be protected as well.
He opened the door and stepped through looking back, memories flooding through his mind as the door closed. He breathed a sigh as his eyes narrowed slightly and he turned and left the Inn.
Time to go to work....
Time to stand be in the middle...
He stared at the door across the room through the darkness. He could see the outline of light from the hallway peaking through from below it. He would have to be going soon. It was his turn to watch the two children at the Theater. However, he had just gotten back from a trip through some ruins with Vala to look for a lead to where Herran might be and a trip to fight some Yuan-ti with Ashan. Needed to be alone, to bathe, rest a little, and sort his thoughts.
He shifted slightly. Something across his lap slid a little and he looked down. A peace-bonded hand and a half sword lay across his lap? Right, because he had put it there. The test. A small smirk crossed his lips. He and Ashan had squared off with one of the Yuan-ti Queens.. or leaders... or Matrons... whatever they're called. He had used this weapon. The test. Stood his ground, no tricks or ruses. They had brought it down, the two of them. It had felt good. It felt right.
His mind went back further though and the smile faded. He, Vala, and Ash had gone to look for signs of Herran. Moron of Bard managed to get himself kidnapped or traded or whatever. In any event he was missing, and they didn't find any obvious signs or leads in that set of ruins. Herran may be his rival, but the bard is also his friend. It concerned him greatly regarding Herran's well being. Vala was going out of her mind it seemed. This, the kids that needed to be watched, and other situations were compounding.  It tore him apart watching her like this. It literally took everything I him not to simply try to just hold her as still as he could and whisper that it'll be alright to her over and over. Instead he helped her as he could. Just tried to be... there. And he had meant what he had told her.
They would find Herran. He would be well and safe. If he wasn't, the hell that would be unleased would make the bard's captors long for the soothing comforts of the Abyss instead.
He stood, strapping his weapons and throwing his pack over his shoulder. Now he needed to get to the theater to meet Vala so she could get rest herself and so the kids would be protected as well.
He opened the door and stepped through looking back, memories flooding through his mind as the door closed. He breathed a sigh as his eyes narrowed slightly and he turned and left the Inn.
Time to go to work....
Time to stand be in the middle...
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The time had come. The enemy was found. Battle was ready to be joined. Vengeance and justice for the last few weeks of hell.
It was time to go get Herran.
The party assembled marched out behind their guide, a man called "Pete". His real name was never asked. Several hours of walking through the wild-lands.
At last they arrived at the cave. Gold was exchanged for services.  "Now... get out of here. And disappear." Derik warned the man. He had been part of the company that had caused this problem. It would be unwise for him to be seen by any of these folk again.
Light spells cast and marching order established, the group proceeded into the caverns. Soon multiple directions were available and the group spread a little to search. However, after Michael and Derik pulled Vala back out of an exploding room, it was quickly decided to stay together. Michael scouted for traps .... and found a whole mess of them. "Is anyone a burglar here...?" came the question from the ranger.
Silence.
"I'll do it..." Derik replied, kneeling down. "Everyone step back. And for the record, if I die horribly, this was officially a bad idea..."
First trap. Ice darts to the chest. Nope, didn't work. Second trap, bear-claw to the leg. Ouch. The rest are smooth and done though...
And now, there were men, standing in their way. This was more like it.Â
"Give us our man and you can leave. Otherwise, you die here and we take him anyway..."
Some banter, it's not important.
"5"
Threats exchanged.Â
"4"
More banter, insults.
"3"
"2"
"1"
All hell broke loose. Somewhere in it Derik lost track of Vala. Then everyone in their way is dead. Someone mentioned Vala got teleported out with the leader. Fenix ran a trace while Michael made sure it was safe for Derik to unfasten Herran's bonds.
They knew where she went. Adelaide had scrolls. She offered to look after Herran.Â
"Go..." rasped the bard.
Derik hurried to Michael and Fenix. A flash of light to teleport out. Vala's body on the ground before him in a forest.
"VALA!" He dashed over her her. "No. No no no no no no no no..." A raise scroll. She breathed. "Please... open your eyes..."
"... necromancer..."
She fell unconscious. Healing magic was applied. Derik picked her up, standing himself, cradling her head to his chest.Â
"... Let's go..."
He had him. He had her. For now, that's all that was needed.
It was time to go get Herran.
The party assembled marched out behind their guide, a man called "Pete". His real name was never asked. Several hours of walking through the wild-lands.
At last they arrived at the cave. Gold was exchanged for services.  "Now... get out of here. And disappear." Derik warned the man. He had been part of the company that had caused this problem. It would be unwise for him to be seen by any of these folk again.
Light spells cast and marching order established, the group proceeded into the caverns. Soon multiple directions were available and the group spread a little to search. However, after Michael and Derik pulled Vala back out of an exploding room, it was quickly decided to stay together. Michael scouted for traps .... and found a whole mess of them. "Is anyone a burglar here...?" came the question from the ranger.
Silence.
"I'll do it..." Derik replied, kneeling down. "Everyone step back. And for the record, if I die horribly, this was officially a bad idea..."
First trap. Ice darts to the chest. Nope, didn't work. Second trap, bear-claw to the leg. Ouch. The rest are smooth and done though...
And now, there were men, standing in their way. This was more like it.Â
"Give us our man and you can leave. Otherwise, you die here and we take him anyway..."
Some banter, it's not important.
"5"
Threats exchanged.Â
"4"
More banter, insults.
"3"
"2"
"1"
All hell broke loose. Somewhere in it Derik lost track of Vala. Then everyone in their way is dead. Someone mentioned Vala got teleported out with the leader. Fenix ran a trace while Michael made sure it was safe for Derik to unfasten Herran's bonds.
They knew where she went. Adelaide had scrolls. She offered to look after Herran.Â
"Go..." rasped the bard.
Derik hurried to Michael and Fenix. A flash of light to teleport out. Vala's body on the ground before him in a forest.
"VALA!" He dashed over her her. "No. No no no no no no no no..." A raise scroll. She breathed. "Please... open your eyes..."
"... necromancer..."
She fell unconscious. Healing magic was applied. Derik picked her up, standing himself, cradling her head to his chest.Â
"... Let's go..."
He had him. He had her. For now, that's all that was needed.
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Once more he sat in his favorite room in the Blade and Stars, lights dim as he often preferred when thinking.
Choices. So many choices lately. Some good, some bad.
A while ago he had met her here. They had talked. He wasn't her choice. After everything he had given her, all he had done, he wasn't her choice. For the first few moments he had felt anger, and betrayal. He knew why he wasn't her choice. He had known for some time if he had really thought about it, he just had been too stubborn to let go. But they continued to talk, and he realized that while there was not to be romance between them, there was still love. He still needed her in his life, and she wished to be there, but in a different fashion. She wished him in hers. In a way this was restorative. Healing even. They parted, but not for long. He could love her still, but it needed to be a different way. While she hadn't chosen him in one way, she had for another. His choice was to accept it. He would love her the way she needed him to love her, not the way he had thought he wanted to.
Choices continued.
The Bladestone. Ashan was who knows where, but the school persisted. Ronja and Talas wanted help to revive it. A consideration and contemplation. The Bladestone. It had given him much the last few months. Stability. Skill. Now it would seem, at least until Ashan returned, it needed him like he had needed it. He told them he would help. He would teach. The Bladestone would once again be on it's way to becoming a proper school that could teach more than just a few adventurers here and there. His choice was to rise to it. The school had given him much and now it would give him one more thing, purpose.
The Muse. The last couple of months it had become almost like a home to him. His friends often went there. Ronja, who was like a sister to him. Luke, Talas, Wendy, and Adelaide. Even Alejandro. But now through some sort of misunderstanding Wendy seemed upset with him. He wasn't even sure if she desired his friendship anymore. This of course escalated his feud with Fingal. It has almost come to blows very recently. This was foolishness. This was the man his blade-sister loved. This feud was built on nothing more than stubbornness and misunderstandings, there was nothing real here, no substance. Tempus teaches to consider the consequences of your battles before you engage in them. No matter who wins this, him or Fingal, they all three lose. Valued relationships on both sides may be damaged beyond repair. It was the last thing he wanted. His choice was to end it. His new family and his friends were too important to let something this foolish come between any of them.
Other choices were looming still. Of life, of love, of faith, of every imaginable kind. He moved to the bed and lay down, pulling the covers over himself as he let his eyes close.
Choices. So many choices lately. Some good, some bad.
Choices. So many choices lately. Some good, some bad.
A while ago he had met her here. They had talked. He wasn't her choice. After everything he had given her, all he had done, he wasn't her choice. For the first few moments he had felt anger, and betrayal. He knew why he wasn't her choice. He had known for some time if he had really thought about it, he just had been too stubborn to let go. But they continued to talk, and he realized that while there was not to be romance between them, there was still love. He still needed her in his life, and she wished to be there, but in a different fashion. She wished him in hers. In a way this was restorative. Healing even. They parted, but not for long. He could love her still, but it needed to be a different way. While she hadn't chosen him in one way, she had for another. His choice was to accept it. He would love her the way she needed him to love her, not the way he had thought he wanted to.
Choices continued.
The Bladestone. Ashan was who knows where, but the school persisted. Ronja and Talas wanted help to revive it. A consideration and contemplation. The Bladestone. It had given him much the last few months. Stability. Skill. Now it would seem, at least until Ashan returned, it needed him like he had needed it. He told them he would help. He would teach. The Bladestone would once again be on it's way to becoming a proper school that could teach more than just a few adventurers here and there. His choice was to rise to it. The school had given him much and now it would give him one more thing, purpose.
The Muse. The last couple of months it had become almost like a home to him. His friends often went there. Ronja, who was like a sister to him. Luke, Talas, Wendy, and Adelaide. Even Alejandro. But now through some sort of misunderstanding Wendy seemed upset with him. He wasn't even sure if she desired his friendship anymore. This of course escalated his feud with Fingal. It has almost come to blows very recently. This was foolishness. This was the man his blade-sister loved. This feud was built on nothing more than stubbornness and misunderstandings, there was nothing real here, no substance. Tempus teaches to consider the consequences of your battles before you engage in them. No matter who wins this, him or Fingal, they all three lose. Valued relationships on both sides may be damaged beyond repair. It was the last thing he wanted. His choice was to end it. His new family and his friends were too important to let something this foolish come between any of them.
Other choices were looming still. Of life, of love, of faith, of every imaginable kind. He moved to the bed and lay down, pulling the covers over himself as he let his eyes close.
Choices. So many choices lately. Some good, some bad.
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*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
He stared at the fire, an ale in hand as he thought about recent happenings. There was something different this time though...
The last few months had been a whirlwind. Rescuing the girl at the beach which started this whole mess with the Pink Scarves and the kidnappings of the Seers and Shaman. He had been hired to be a body guard for the girl at that point.
It was a blur for the next few weeks. She was in danger from something else. Her memories were... wrong. Blocked.  Thinking on them caused her pain. He knew the signs of mental tampering. He'd seen them before. This was purposeful. This was malicious. He had set out to find a way to help her.
He didn't count on falling for her.
It was confusing for them both, really. His attentions were wanted, but not wanted. Expectations on both sides were skewed. Meanwhile she got worse. He continued to track the kidnappers as well. It might have been a coincidence, but they might be connected to the people who did this to her as well. He was both professionally and personally engaged in this mess now.
The school continued to grow as well, which also took up time. It was a good thing, the school, and he didn't mind. It had helped him so much, now he teach others.
And then the argument. A misunderstanding... or perhaps not. New rules with her. New boundaries. Not a bodyguard anymore. For a few days he wasn't even sure if he was a friend. But he still had a job to do. Had to find the kidnapped shaman. Had to find a way to help her as well. She continued to get worse, so he still traveled with her, protecting her how he could. Teaching her to defend herself. With assistance, he also sought to arrange a way to remove the enchantments, but it was slow arranging everything. He was her advocate in this by her, yet the coordination of those skilled enough to help her was proving to be near impossible.
A breakthrough came for the rescue mission. A cave near Roaringshore supposedly housed them. A group was gathered, and the cave penetrated. It wasn't what he was expecting. There were no survivors. They were all husks, drained. The people paying the kidnappers weren't drow. Not anymore. They were... plants. Changed. Nature itself in the cave was wrong.
It was just like the Grey Seer's lair. Right down to the worms under foot.
There was some sort of ritual being done, draining these poor people. But he didn't see them when he looked down. Every body he saw, every dead and drained captive, he only saw her. If he hadn't been there on the beach that day to stop the kidnappers. If he'd been just a couple hours later.... she'd have been one of the first to this circle of death. This attempt to bring back the Grey Seer. Or to control her spirit. Or whatever it was. Â
All he could think of, was that all these dead people were partially his fault. He'd helped kill the Grey Seer. It was necessary at the time he thought. But this was beyond horrific. It was his fault these people were dead. And she was almost one of them. He had almost missed everything she was.
Something had snapped. It was too much.
She had been on the mission as well, seen the death, the carnage. He took her back to her inn. Neither could be alone with this so fresh in their minds. It had gotten into their heads. He could stare dragons in the eye and not flinch, but this was just... wrong. Everything about it. And she had her own issues with the scene. She knew how close she had been to being in that pile of corpses. So this night the comforted each other. Nothing untoward, nothing romantic, just present for each other.
The next morning was different however. A smile brushed across his lips remembering it. They woke up, looked at each other, and realized... it was done. They were done denying to each other and everyone else what they meant to one another, after all these weeks, they both understood.
The argument, the step back and reassessment, those had been good things in the long run. It had given time to really think and consider as well as feel. And a few days later, a breakthrough. With the help of powerful and specialized casters the wards and enchantments on her memory were removed. It caused great pain, but it was done. She was a whole as such a thing could make her now. She was out of that danger at least.
Again, the next couple of weeks were a blur. Everything was culminating so fast, so much. Training, getting priorities rearranged, the summons from the Temple and the trip to Ravensvale. So much so fast. His mind was still trying to sort it all.
But this time, as he stared at the fire, this time there was something different. There was hope. There was love. There was a certain security now, with the people who had become his family. This place, that had somehow become his home.
He finished his mug of ale, putting the mug down and returning to the other room of the apartment. Not an inn. Not any more. An apartment, rented just earlier today. His apartment. THEIR apartment.
He bent down to slip back under the covers. She had fallen asleep almost instantly when the had gotten back from Ulgoth's Beard and he had woken back up himself a few hours later. Now it was time to get back to sleep.
Kissing her forehead he whispered quietly to the sleeping woman, "Good night Lannia, my love. I'll see you in the morning." Â
He closed his eyes, and slept, a content smile on his face.
The last few months had been a whirlwind. Rescuing the girl at the beach which started this whole mess with the Pink Scarves and the kidnappings of the Seers and Shaman. He had been hired to be a body guard for the girl at that point.
It was a blur for the next few weeks. She was in danger from something else. Her memories were... wrong. Blocked.  Thinking on them caused her pain. He knew the signs of mental tampering. He'd seen them before. This was purposeful. This was malicious. He had set out to find a way to help her.
He didn't count on falling for her.
It was confusing for them both, really. His attentions were wanted, but not wanted. Expectations on both sides were skewed. Meanwhile she got worse. He continued to track the kidnappers as well. It might have been a coincidence, but they might be connected to the people who did this to her as well. He was both professionally and personally engaged in this mess now.
The school continued to grow as well, which also took up time. It was a good thing, the school, and he didn't mind. It had helped him so much, now he teach others.
And then the argument. A misunderstanding... or perhaps not. New rules with her. New boundaries. Not a bodyguard anymore. For a few days he wasn't even sure if he was a friend. But he still had a job to do. Had to find the kidnapped shaman. Had to find a way to help her as well. She continued to get worse, so he still traveled with her, protecting her how he could. Teaching her to defend herself. With assistance, he also sought to arrange a way to remove the enchantments, but it was slow arranging everything. He was her advocate in this by her, yet the coordination of those skilled enough to help her was proving to be near impossible.
A breakthrough came for the rescue mission. A cave near Roaringshore supposedly housed them. A group was gathered, and the cave penetrated. It wasn't what he was expecting. There were no survivors. They were all husks, drained. The people paying the kidnappers weren't drow. Not anymore. They were... plants. Changed. Nature itself in the cave was wrong.
It was just like the Grey Seer's lair. Right down to the worms under foot.
There was some sort of ritual being done, draining these poor people. But he didn't see them when he looked down. Every body he saw, every dead and drained captive, he only saw her. If he hadn't been there on the beach that day to stop the kidnappers. If he'd been just a couple hours later.... she'd have been one of the first to this circle of death. This attempt to bring back the Grey Seer. Or to control her spirit. Or whatever it was. Â
All he could think of, was that all these dead people were partially his fault. He'd helped kill the Grey Seer. It was necessary at the time he thought. But this was beyond horrific. It was his fault these people were dead. And she was almost one of them. He had almost missed everything she was.
Something had snapped. It was too much.
She had been on the mission as well, seen the death, the carnage. He took her back to her inn. Neither could be alone with this so fresh in their minds. It had gotten into their heads. He could stare dragons in the eye and not flinch, but this was just... wrong. Everything about it. And she had her own issues with the scene. She knew how close she had been to being in that pile of corpses. So this night the comforted each other. Nothing untoward, nothing romantic, just present for each other.
The next morning was different however. A smile brushed across his lips remembering it. They woke up, looked at each other, and realized... it was done. They were done denying to each other and everyone else what they meant to one another, after all these weeks, they both understood.
The argument, the step back and reassessment, those had been good things in the long run. It had given time to really think and consider as well as feel. And a few days later, a breakthrough. With the help of powerful and specialized casters the wards and enchantments on her memory were removed. It caused great pain, but it was done. She was a whole as such a thing could make her now. She was out of that danger at least.
Again, the next couple of weeks were a blur. Everything was culminating so fast, so much. Training, getting priorities rearranged, the summons from the Temple and the trip to Ravensvale. So much so fast. His mind was still trying to sort it all.
But this time, as he stared at the fire, this time there was something different. There was hope. There was love. There was a certain security now, with the people who had become his family. This place, that had somehow become his home.
He finished his mug of ale, putting the mug down and returning to the other room of the apartment. Not an inn. Not any more. An apartment, rented just earlier today. His apartment. THEIR apartment.
He bent down to slip back under the covers. She had fallen asleep almost instantly when the had gotten back from Ulgoth's Beard and he had woken back up himself a few hours later. Now it was time to get back to sleep.
Kissing her forehead he whispered quietly to the sleeping woman, "Good night Lannia, my love. I'll see you in the morning." Â
He closed his eyes, and slept, a content smile on his face.
-
*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
It has been a busy day of adventuring. Derik had run across Wisp, someone he hadn't seen for some months, and was enjoying adventuring with her again. The first trip to the Cloudpeaks didn't go so well, but thanks to Urth's spells of travel and wards, a second trip through went remarkably well. Sadly, Urth wasn't able to travel with them on this second venture. When returning from the Cloudpeaks the trio consisting of Marnie, Wisp, and Derik had make a quick venture into Naskel mines which also turned out rather well. Urth rejoined them afterwards at Nashkel.
Now Derik had bid farewell to the other and was heading northwards again. It was time to head towards home for a little bit. Time to see the woman he loved and shared a home with and perhaps aid her in her training endeavors for a while. He loved watching her train.
As he passed Beregost, some commotion on the side of the road caught his attention. It would appear a family wagon had gotten stuck off the road in the ditch, tilting sideways. What was probably a farmhand pushed vainly as the farmer spurred on the pair of mules to pull the wagon out of the ditch while two youths, a boy and a girl, looking on. Meanwhile the load of fresh produce bound for market teetered dangerously on the wagon.
Approaching, Derik held his hands out showing now weapons and introduced himself. They would be very glad for the help to get the wagon unstuck. Placing his pack and shield on the ground he moved to the back of the wagon with the farmhand. Here he found the pair of weapons strapped across his back awkward, so he unstrapped them and put them on the back of the wagon so he could put his armored shoulder to the wagon and push.
Slowly, surely, with the children cheering on and the whip of the farmer cracking, the wagon pushed up and out of the mud and back on to the road. The farmer hopped down and the farm hand went to give Derik a handshake. That's when the rock hit. Â
The rock easily the size of the farmhand's torso hit him square in the side of the head, taking it off. Derik whirled, the children screamed, the farmer yelled and pointed. Another rock from another direction impacted the back of the wagon, shattering part of it to splinters and sending Derik off his feet into the nearby mud, his weapons now scattered as well.
Dazed, Derik struggled up and noticed three figures. Two ogres and... an Elder Ogre? From the Trollclaws? What was it doing this far south? It didn't matter at this point. One of the ogres made it's way towards him quickly while the other headed straight towards the family. The Elder ogre laughed as it watched, shouldering its massive club.
Scrambling to get up and ready himself, Derik's hand brushed the hilt of one of his swords. He instantly wrapped his fingers around it. It stung him. The Blade of the Bleak Heart. The force of the impact and scattering has torn the peace-tie off. Where was his other sword? With the ogre bearing down on him he didn't have time to consider it. The cracked, darkened, jagged, corrupt mithril blade sang from the scabbard as Derik rose, two hands now on the hilt. The ogre never knew what killed it as the blade bit deep, eviscerating him. He dropped like a stone. Dashing past the body, the second ogre readied his axe, coming down at the now armed warrior. The clash of weapons was temporary as Derik rolled out of the strike in a crouch and brought the sword across the ogre's hamstring. As it fell to a knee with a roar the Bleak Blade flashed again, severing the head form the shoulders. It hit the ground with a dull, wet thud.
There came a dull cry from the farmer and anther scream from the kids. Derik turned, breathing a little heavily, covered in mud and ichor. The elder ogre held the farmer by his throat off the ground, standing over the boys with a dark grin. "Warrior strong... I will smash them to jelly!"
"Put. Him. Down." The words came out of Derik in a calm voice, but a tone that was clear what the consequence would be if he didn't comply. The ogre regarded the man for a moment, dropping him to the ground. Â
"I not need silly little squish to keep me from killings you!" Raising his club, the ogre charged. Holding his sword a ready Derik also stepped forward. The blade rose and came down...
... And with the sound like heavy glass shattering, the world exploded into white...
Derik came too a few moments later with the farmer kneeling over and shaking him. "Sir..? Sir...?"
As he sat up, Derik realized he was about 10 feet from where he had met the elder ogre. He could see the corpse of the ogre, torso seemingly blasted apart, also knocked back from where the pair had clashed. There were dark pieces of metal, shards that looked like splinters of broken glass covering the area, melting into the ground like snow.
As the farmer talked, describing the explosion of magic as the Bleak Blade had bit into the Elder Orger, Derik looked down in his hand. Where the Blade had been something else sat. A red-hot blade etched with runes and depictions of battle, flame licking the edges. A gold colored crosspiece with the symbol of Tempus. The liquid blood-red jewel was gone, replaced by a pommel of solid cold-iron.
As he listened to the Farmer, himself standing up, a voice echoed in his head. A voice he knew to be from the Bleak Blade he had been carrying. Only this time it wasn't urging him to kill, to slaughter. Â
"I am returned. I am Warwake. I am yours to command."
It was done. The contest of wills was finally over. It was the warrior that controlled the weapon, not the weapon that had made the warrior.
He had won.
Derik finished assisting the farmer and his family get to safety with their goods then went on his way, feeling more free than he had in months.
Now Derik had bid farewell to the other and was heading northwards again. It was time to head towards home for a little bit. Time to see the woman he loved and shared a home with and perhaps aid her in her training endeavors for a while. He loved watching her train.
As he passed Beregost, some commotion on the side of the road caught his attention. It would appear a family wagon had gotten stuck off the road in the ditch, tilting sideways. What was probably a farmhand pushed vainly as the farmer spurred on the pair of mules to pull the wagon out of the ditch while two youths, a boy and a girl, looking on. Meanwhile the load of fresh produce bound for market teetered dangerously on the wagon.
Approaching, Derik held his hands out showing now weapons and introduced himself. They would be very glad for the help to get the wagon unstuck. Placing his pack and shield on the ground he moved to the back of the wagon with the farmhand. Here he found the pair of weapons strapped across his back awkward, so he unstrapped them and put them on the back of the wagon so he could put his armored shoulder to the wagon and push.
Slowly, surely, with the children cheering on and the whip of the farmer cracking, the wagon pushed up and out of the mud and back on to the road. The farmer hopped down and the farm hand went to give Derik a handshake. That's when the rock hit. Â
The rock easily the size of the farmhand's torso hit him square in the side of the head, taking it off. Derik whirled, the children screamed, the farmer yelled and pointed. Another rock from another direction impacted the back of the wagon, shattering part of it to splinters and sending Derik off his feet into the nearby mud, his weapons now scattered as well.
Dazed, Derik struggled up and noticed three figures. Two ogres and... an Elder Ogre? From the Trollclaws? What was it doing this far south? It didn't matter at this point. One of the ogres made it's way towards him quickly while the other headed straight towards the family. The Elder ogre laughed as it watched, shouldering its massive club.
Scrambling to get up and ready himself, Derik's hand brushed the hilt of one of his swords. He instantly wrapped his fingers around it. It stung him. The Blade of the Bleak Heart. The force of the impact and scattering has torn the peace-tie off. Where was his other sword? With the ogre bearing down on him he didn't have time to consider it. The cracked, darkened, jagged, corrupt mithril blade sang from the scabbard as Derik rose, two hands now on the hilt. The ogre never knew what killed it as the blade bit deep, eviscerating him. He dropped like a stone. Dashing past the body, the second ogre readied his axe, coming down at the now armed warrior. The clash of weapons was temporary as Derik rolled out of the strike in a crouch and brought the sword across the ogre's hamstring. As it fell to a knee with a roar the Bleak Blade flashed again, severing the head form the shoulders. It hit the ground with a dull, wet thud.
There came a dull cry from the farmer and anther scream from the kids. Derik turned, breathing a little heavily, covered in mud and ichor. The elder ogre held the farmer by his throat off the ground, standing over the boys with a dark grin. "Warrior strong... I will smash them to jelly!"
"Put. Him. Down." The words came out of Derik in a calm voice, but a tone that was clear what the consequence would be if he didn't comply. The ogre regarded the man for a moment, dropping him to the ground. Â
"I not need silly little squish to keep me from killings you!" Raising his club, the ogre charged. Holding his sword a ready Derik also stepped forward. The blade rose and came down...
... And with the sound like heavy glass shattering, the world exploded into white...
Derik came too a few moments later with the farmer kneeling over and shaking him. "Sir..? Sir...?"
As he sat up, Derik realized he was about 10 feet from where he had met the elder ogre. He could see the corpse of the ogre, torso seemingly blasted apart, also knocked back from where the pair had clashed. There were dark pieces of metal, shards that looked like splinters of broken glass covering the area, melting into the ground like snow.
As the farmer talked, describing the explosion of magic as the Bleak Blade had bit into the Elder Orger, Derik looked down in his hand. Where the Blade had been something else sat. A red-hot blade etched with runes and depictions of battle, flame licking the edges. A gold colored crosspiece with the symbol of Tempus. The liquid blood-red jewel was gone, replaced by a pommel of solid cold-iron.
As he listened to the Farmer, himself standing up, a voice echoed in his head. A voice he knew to be from the Bleak Blade he had been carrying. Only this time it wasn't urging him to kill, to slaughter. Â
"I am returned. I am Warwake. I am yours to command."
It was done. The contest of wills was finally over. It was the warrior that controlled the weapon, not the weapon that had made the warrior.
He had won.
Derik finished assisting the farmer and his family get to safety with their goods then went on his way, feeling more free than he had in months.
-
*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
It was done. After so long, all these months, all the effort and pain of those involved, and it was finally done.
Samara was gone.
Months ago Vala, at the time the object of his affections, had acquired that stupid orb. The one with the dragon spirit in it. And it started to talk to her, in her head. To get her to do things, to get her to bend to its will.
He and Herran, the other man contending for her attention, had done everything they could to keep her from the influence while trying to find a way to get her separated from it. Other friends of course had helped...
And then Herran got kidnapped by the Viper's Eyes, and it all went straight to the Abyss.
One thing led to another, Vala's stress level climbed as the group now also tried to find and rescue Herran. However, during this time Vala had to flee the city with the Orb. He was one of the few people who knew where she hid. He spent nights with her in hiding, doing everything he could to keep her from seeking comfort from the Orb while trying to find Herran.
During this time Michael had come into the picture. He too was helping, but also was a third player for her affections. It made tensions run high at times.
Eventually, as Herran was rescued, and for weeks, Samara turned Herran's, Michael's, and his own words and affections against them and her in Vala's nightmares, causing her to fear those closes to her that loved her the most. To shy away from them.
Vala overcame with help after time. Choices were made, and relationships had to be redefined. Life moved on.
But Samara was still there.
She was contained, but always there, always in Vala's mind. And it ate at him, watching her suffer this ... thing.... this creature's touch.
There were plans made. Perhaps going into the Orb's pocket plane to collapse it and destroy the dragon spirit. But only if a way to destroy the Orb from the outside without releasing the creature.
He trained for the time the group dove into the Orb if it came, to be able to contend with Samara to keep her form using the pocket plane's environment against them.
He prepared himself to die if he needed, to make sure they made it out safe.
News came some weeks later though, as he trained. A method was found to collapse it from the outside.
And so Derik went. He wanted to be there.Â
He had to be there.
Deep within the bowels of Candlekeep, the box holding the Orb was open, and the assault on Vala's mind began anew. While the Archivist performed his magic, the Thayan Knight stood guard, the Guide watched warily from outside, and Michael kept Vala from grabbing at the orb, Derik grasped the hilt of Warwake and focused. He touched the mind of the creature, felt her pushing against her prison walls... And then he pushed back.
Through the next couple of hours he struggled to keep her busy, to keep her focus split, and to push her back so she could not assert influence over Vala.Â
Eventually Jane Price showed up. Better late than never he supposed. Magic could not collapse the Orb safely from outside, but Jane had something that was supposed to.
To hear her talk, it was some great ritual and scientific procedure, but mostly it was just hitting the Orb with a stone that stopped planar portals and travel while in the possession of a Dragon Shard. Not exactly finesse or the great mysterious procedure Price made it to be.
And then it was done.
The Orb shattered, and Samara was unable to escape. Her prison breached, Tiamat was waiting for her rival, and he saw the last thing Samara did after nearly 30,000 years inside the Orb... Tiamat's maws waiting to devour her... And then nothing.
She was gone. After one last grasp at Vala's mind, Samara was dead.
Afterwards he spoke with her. She was almost sad Smara was gone. There was an emptiness. She has become used to the presence in her mind, the struggle. It was something he could relate with... the emptiness after something so close was gone, even if it wasn't welcome.Â
Michael returned. He had left a few moments to deal with some of the others that had been in the group. Drawing him aside, Derik told him if Vala's words, then after a hug to the woman he turned to go.
"Thank you. You saved me. You saved me many times..."Â
Derik stoped dead, closing his eyes for a brief moment, swallowing a swell of emotion, pulling it back under control once more.
"I will always be there to help you if you need me, Treasure" he said to her with a smile over his shoulder. Then he turned again to go. To leave her with the man she loved. Michael would help her sort it out in her mind. It wasn't his place anymore. Derik had his own love to return to now.
She was safe. She would be happy. Right now that's all that mattered. He realized anew that to him, with Vala, that's what had always been what mattered.
It was time to go home now...
Samara was gone.
Months ago Vala, at the time the object of his affections, had acquired that stupid orb. The one with the dragon spirit in it. And it started to talk to her, in her head. To get her to do things, to get her to bend to its will.
He and Herran, the other man contending for her attention, had done everything they could to keep her from the influence while trying to find a way to get her separated from it. Other friends of course had helped...
And then Herran got kidnapped by the Viper's Eyes, and it all went straight to the Abyss.
One thing led to another, Vala's stress level climbed as the group now also tried to find and rescue Herran. However, during this time Vala had to flee the city with the Orb. He was one of the few people who knew where she hid. He spent nights with her in hiding, doing everything he could to keep her from seeking comfort from the Orb while trying to find Herran.
During this time Michael had come into the picture. He too was helping, but also was a third player for her affections. It made tensions run high at times.
Eventually, as Herran was rescued, and for weeks, Samara turned Herran's, Michael's, and his own words and affections against them and her in Vala's nightmares, causing her to fear those closes to her that loved her the most. To shy away from them.
Vala overcame with help after time. Choices were made, and relationships had to be redefined. Life moved on.
But Samara was still there.
She was contained, but always there, always in Vala's mind. And it ate at him, watching her suffer this ... thing.... this creature's touch.
There were plans made. Perhaps going into the Orb's pocket plane to collapse it and destroy the dragon spirit. But only if a way to destroy the Orb from the outside without releasing the creature.
He trained for the time the group dove into the Orb if it came, to be able to contend with Samara to keep her form using the pocket plane's environment against them.
He prepared himself to die if he needed, to make sure they made it out safe.
News came some weeks later though, as he trained. A method was found to collapse it from the outside.
And so Derik went. He wanted to be there.Â
He had to be there.
Deep within the bowels of Candlekeep, the box holding the Orb was open, and the assault on Vala's mind began anew. While the Archivist performed his magic, the Thayan Knight stood guard, the Guide watched warily from outside, and Michael kept Vala from grabbing at the orb, Derik grasped the hilt of Warwake and focused. He touched the mind of the creature, felt her pushing against her prison walls... And then he pushed back.
Through the next couple of hours he struggled to keep her busy, to keep her focus split, and to push her back so she could not assert influence over Vala.Â
Eventually Jane Price showed up. Better late than never he supposed. Magic could not collapse the Orb safely from outside, but Jane had something that was supposed to.
To hear her talk, it was some great ritual and scientific procedure, but mostly it was just hitting the Orb with a stone that stopped planar portals and travel while in the possession of a Dragon Shard. Not exactly finesse or the great mysterious procedure Price made it to be.
And then it was done.
The Orb shattered, and Samara was unable to escape. Her prison breached, Tiamat was waiting for her rival, and he saw the last thing Samara did after nearly 30,000 years inside the Orb... Tiamat's maws waiting to devour her... And then nothing.
She was gone. After one last grasp at Vala's mind, Samara was dead.
Afterwards he spoke with her. She was almost sad Smara was gone. There was an emptiness. She has become used to the presence in her mind, the struggle. It was something he could relate with... the emptiness after something so close was gone, even if it wasn't welcome.Â
Michael returned. He had left a few moments to deal with some of the others that had been in the group. Drawing him aside, Derik told him if Vala's words, then after a hug to the woman he turned to go.
"Thank you. You saved me. You saved me many times..."Â
Derik stoped dead, closing his eyes for a brief moment, swallowing a swell of emotion, pulling it back under control once more.
"I will always be there to help you if you need me, Treasure" he said to her with a smile over his shoulder. Then he turned again to go. To leave her with the man she loved. Michael would help her sort it out in her mind. It wasn't his place anymore. Derik had his own love to return to now.
She was safe. She would be happy. Right now that's all that mattered. He realized anew that to him, with Vala, that's what had always been what mattered.
It was time to go home now...
-
*artemitavik
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Derik leaned back in the cushions that surrounded the low table in the dining area of the home he shared with Lannia. Taking a break from some paperwork, he watched her cook in the small kitchen that was kitty-corner across the house from him. "House" being a stretched term, as it was mostly just a one room apartment with a partition for a bedroom, but it served them well and met their needs.
As he watched the auburn haired shamaness work, humming quietly to herself as she did sometimes a slow smile crossed his face, images and emotions flashing through his mind at a whirlwind's pace.
He had failed her at Ruathym. He had not called out a warning and her Grandfather was gone now, the spirit banished, possibly gone for good to oblivion. Neither of them had taken it well. Upon returning she had spent days practically starving herself trying to master in a week "the Sight" that even with training took most everyone who had it months if not years to master. She had grown more withdrawn and depressed with each passing moment, stopping only when Derik had interrupted her and forced her to eat something.
And he could do nothing to help her.
It tore him to pieces watching it, helpless.
Finally she declared the plan she was going to surrender herself to drow to be taken hopefully to Marius for a bounty. There, alone, stripped of all useful equipment, she planned to trick him into revealing her brother to her, then essentially kidnapping her brainwashed brother and fighting her way back to the surface. It was of course suicide and foolishness, but she was desperate. She had no way to find him via the Sight.
Derik had convinced her to see Fierlith. Fierlith had helped him with visions before, not the same as a shaman's dreaming, clearly, but still it was a starting point. They had met and it seemed after another few days Lannia had come to a decision to test herself. To try to move on past her Grandfather's shadow.
Fierlith had told Derik what the major block was, Lannia felt guilt and self-blame for what had happened to both her Grandfather's spirit and to her brother. She had to fight through that, to forgive herself, to realize she was not her Grandfather, that her power was different than his. And she was very specific: Derik could not help her.
So he watched, every fiber of his being screaming inside as he fought down every instinct, every compulsion to go to her, to give her advice, to stand with her in her trials.
It tore him to pieces watching it, helpless.
But Lannia was nothing if not determined. He watched as she pushed through, designed points for herself to test her abilities. He had taught her the blade, he had taught her tactics, he had shown her how to defeat enemies the best he knew how. Now, like when Adelaide battled the Mother Night, there was nothing for him to do. He had to step back. He had to watch. Succeed or fail, it was now her battle, and he could not fight it for her.
She had sought tests for herself, two at least so far. He was there in the inn with her when she told the stories. She had decided to confront a Yuan-ti matron alone. The first time she had not succeeded, being driven from the throne room. But the second time she changed her way of thinking, changed her tactics. She adapted, learned, and emerged victorious against a foe that Derik himself had not yet defeated in single combat.
The second challenge was to be the front line in an even harder battle, the Frost Keep. She had joined a group of lesser trained and skilled adventurers, was their shield and healer through the keep, until the throne room of a Jarl. There, she gave instructions to her team and they stormed in. She fought bravely. She fought fiercely. Expending resources she kept the lesser experienced alive through their blunders and mistakes and eventually the Jarl fell to her blade and spells. A tremendous use of resources had been made, but she did it, none of her party had fallen, and the enemy was defeated. The second test had been passed.
Derik could not have been more proud. He smiled, remembering how excited she was during the story telling.
He was also more than a little sad.
Derik stroked his chin, feeling the beard that was growing in. Not a long one mind you, but something gnawed at him still....
.... The measure of a man...
The folk of Ruathym had mocked him some for having no significant beard to speak of, noting that the beard was the measure of a man. Even the Grandfather's spirit had mentioned it. Of course, he put no stock in that, he knew his own heart's valor, the strength of his arm, and the might of his blade. But yet, here he was, growing one in direct response to such words. Why? What was the need?
Even as he asked himself those questions of himself he knew the answer. When they first met, he had become her bodyguard, then her teacher, then her fiancé. Soon they would be wed and he would be her husband. But as she began to surpass him in all things there was a part of him, in the back of his mind, a voice that whispered to him.
"You are not worthy. She is beyond you. She lowers herself to be with you."
As he watched her, in the kitchen, he felt it. She was stronger than he in everything that mattered. Spirit. Conviction. She had learned from him skills and surpassed him in abilities. She was with him because she loved him, but he had nothing to offer her in return. The night of the story telling, Gunthar had asked him to tell the story of how he met "this woman you clearly don't deserve." Gunthar had been joking of course, but he was right.
Derik didn't deserve her. Not in the slightest. Even as he smiled and blue a kiss as his brown yes met her blue eyes across the house, this repeated over and over in his head.
And it tore him to pieces...
As he watched the auburn haired shamaness work, humming quietly to herself as she did sometimes a slow smile crossed his face, images and emotions flashing through his mind at a whirlwind's pace.
He had failed her at Ruathym. He had not called out a warning and her Grandfather was gone now, the spirit banished, possibly gone for good to oblivion. Neither of them had taken it well. Upon returning she had spent days practically starving herself trying to master in a week "the Sight" that even with training took most everyone who had it months if not years to master. She had grown more withdrawn and depressed with each passing moment, stopping only when Derik had interrupted her and forced her to eat something.
And he could do nothing to help her.
It tore him to pieces watching it, helpless.
Finally she declared the plan she was going to surrender herself to drow to be taken hopefully to Marius for a bounty. There, alone, stripped of all useful equipment, she planned to trick him into revealing her brother to her, then essentially kidnapping her brainwashed brother and fighting her way back to the surface. It was of course suicide and foolishness, but she was desperate. She had no way to find him via the Sight.
Derik had convinced her to see Fierlith. Fierlith had helped him with visions before, not the same as a shaman's dreaming, clearly, but still it was a starting point. They had met and it seemed after another few days Lannia had come to a decision to test herself. To try to move on past her Grandfather's shadow.
Fierlith had told Derik what the major block was, Lannia felt guilt and self-blame for what had happened to both her Grandfather's spirit and to her brother. She had to fight through that, to forgive herself, to realize she was not her Grandfather, that her power was different than his. And she was very specific: Derik could not help her.
So he watched, every fiber of his being screaming inside as he fought down every instinct, every compulsion to go to her, to give her advice, to stand with her in her trials.
It tore him to pieces watching it, helpless.
But Lannia was nothing if not determined. He watched as she pushed through, designed points for herself to test her abilities. He had taught her the blade, he had taught her tactics, he had shown her how to defeat enemies the best he knew how. Now, like when Adelaide battled the Mother Night, there was nothing for him to do. He had to step back. He had to watch. Succeed or fail, it was now her battle, and he could not fight it for her.
She had sought tests for herself, two at least so far. He was there in the inn with her when she told the stories. She had decided to confront a Yuan-ti matron alone. The first time she had not succeeded, being driven from the throne room. But the second time she changed her way of thinking, changed her tactics. She adapted, learned, and emerged victorious against a foe that Derik himself had not yet defeated in single combat.
The second challenge was to be the front line in an even harder battle, the Frost Keep. She had joined a group of lesser trained and skilled adventurers, was their shield and healer through the keep, until the throne room of a Jarl. There, she gave instructions to her team and they stormed in. She fought bravely. She fought fiercely. Expending resources she kept the lesser experienced alive through their blunders and mistakes and eventually the Jarl fell to her blade and spells. A tremendous use of resources had been made, but she did it, none of her party had fallen, and the enemy was defeated. The second test had been passed.
Derik could not have been more proud. He smiled, remembering how excited she was during the story telling.
He was also more than a little sad.
Derik stroked his chin, feeling the beard that was growing in. Not a long one mind you, but something gnawed at him still....
.... The measure of a man...
The folk of Ruathym had mocked him some for having no significant beard to speak of, noting that the beard was the measure of a man. Even the Grandfather's spirit had mentioned it. Of course, he put no stock in that, he knew his own heart's valor, the strength of his arm, and the might of his blade. But yet, here he was, growing one in direct response to such words. Why? What was the need?
Even as he asked himself those questions of himself he knew the answer. When they first met, he had become her bodyguard, then her teacher, then her fiancé. Soon they would be wed and he would be her husband. But as she began to surpass him in all things there was a part of him, in the back of his mind, a voice that whispered to him.
"You are not worthy. She is beyond you. She lowers herself to be with you."
As he watched her, in the kitchen, he felt it. She was stronger than he in everything that mattered. Spirit. Conviction. She had learned from him skills and surpassed him in abilities. She was with him because she loved him, but he had nothing to offer her in return. The night of the story telling, Gunthar had asked him to tell the story of how he met "this woman you clearly don't deserve." Gunthar had been joking of course, but he was right.
Derik didn't deserve her. Not in the slightest. Even as he smiled and blue a kiss as his brown yes met her blue eyes across the house, this repeated over and over in his head.
And it tore him to pieces...