The Writings of Artemis D'Assanthe

For character backgrounds and journals.
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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:53 pm

Diary
Of the 2nd tenday of Mirtul, 1362DR.
Prompted by my musings about longevity and my father's gift of life unto me, I have spoken to master Celith, the elf in Impiltur with whom I've felt the closest connection. For one, but a month ago we've shared endless educative conversation about the Unliving; how the various soldiers in their incoherent army came to be; their weaknesses, their strengths as per the seminars at the Dome of Rose. Aside from him being a clear ally against the worst enemy of all, he as an elf is very open and not at all judgemental when one inquires with him of elven ways and life, and that certainly encourages me. I indeed asked him of elven matters recently, and now thanks to him I'm learning of Reverie; a form of slumber and yet not exactly, and something only those with elven blood could experience.

My first few attempts - I've had three thus far - have been largely unsuccessful, if I'm to believe the description of how it ought to feel. I simply fell asleep! However sir Jerek has been as attentive as ever - he's human, fully so, but always one to care for others' happiness, even if it is something more alien to him. He gave me an interesting rustic device, a dream-catcher. It remains to be seen if the trinket itself helps, but the gesture certainly has.

Speaking of warm gestures, mister Noal Dagar hands them out left and right - to me. With the passing of days and the growing number of times that I tried to ask him to stop nothing has changed. He remains adamant, Morninglord bless him! And bless him again so that he sees reason.

He would be flattered to learn mayhaps how often his name came up in conversations around a tavern table with friends; lady Kelda, Kallian, mister Sagi, sir Jerek, master Celith and mister Perry, with all of them at one point or another I chatted regarding the poor man.

More word was spent on him than on the most baffling sight one of these past days - sir Jerek had appeared in a Warsword's (I believe that is the title?) platemail and, the baffling part, bald! He had been shaven clean, and thank Lady Love and Lady Luck that his is a very well-shaped head lest he would have looked ridiculous, oh dear! The luminous hair will grow back soon enough, but it had to be mentioned. One has to wonder what the commonfolk may think of him; and what might the Adventurers and wanderers and mercenaries?

Enough words and wonderings for tonight though. Another attempt to conquer the Reverie beckons! And tomorrow a journey into the mountain ranges beyond Vlasta.



Of the 3rd tenday of Mirtul, 1362DR.
Our expedition into the wild woesome west of Impiltur - the mountains whose name I cannot seem to commit to memory, for shame - has been successful. It would seem that the Adventurers of Impiltur are few enough in number that I can claim with near-certainty to know most of them, and of course (naturally) call them friend. My most frequent companions were the same as the ones with whom I went into the cavernous belly of the mountains; Aryen, Kallian, master Celith, Mr. Noal Dagar, Mr. Jonan Mard... as well as the lonesome elven shadow, Anzair Tahlathri.

I write this as I sit on the bumpy, tight caravan that I fortunately caught heading for the lowlands anew. However from the talk I've heard, a return trek is bound to happen sometime soon.



Of the 9th of Kythorn, 1362DR.
There is a master Dwarf that I've met in quaint-quiet Outentown, a peculiar, shrivelled, but heart-strong creature going by the name of Hroin, if others are to be believed - he himself did not say. He has a quarrel with those same mountains from which I recently climbed back down, and others of notable repute seem determined to assist him. It never ceases to amaze me what strength lies in the spirit and the body when the twinkle of hope appears - whether that is hope for Goodness to bloom or hope for treasure, fame or glory.

Others have left Sarshel and Outentown already to heed the master Dwarf's call. I shan't wait much longer to do the same. And tonight I pray that the Reverie brings me peace, rather than the nightmare-memories that it did. Although at least I have that success to my name, one I can report to master Celith, if he has some time for me to spare.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:53 pm

Diary
Of the 14th of Kythorn, 1362DR.
I've made it into the mountains with no small thanks to Lady Luck, the Moonmaiden and naturally the Morninglord. I write by a campfire at the heart of an improvised shelter site, with massive rock above, a mountain stream to my side, dark tunnels toward the depths and a cavern mouth just within sight. It has been a journey and undertaking that I am glad to have joined: the challenge is worthy (if predominantly manual), tasks are in abundance, and personalities and races of all kinds have come to prove themselves.

The master Dwarf, upon whose behest most came to this frontier, speaks precious little of his true goals, but all seem to trust that their efforts on his behalf are not in vain. One could call this foolish, but I'd like to think that even if the results will leave something to be desired, poorer we won't leave. Like fine Starspire marble they'll become stronger, surrounded by threats, pressure and darkness, and setbacks shall sculpt them magnificently - this I believe.

It's out here that I've met miss Pine and mister Rahul, whose last name escapes me. Other companions include mister Jonan, Aryen, sir Jerek and lady Kelda, mister (proper title?) Rodrik Morninglight III who is a gnome, mister Pyrrhos, the expedition's leader master Hroin... and master Celith and Kallian.



Of the 16th of Kythorn, 1362DR.
The expedition in the mountainside continues. Of it I have little to write; we work to create a defendable site for the master Dwarf's mysterious crafts, securing the tunnels, foraging for sustainance, patrolling the cavern vicinity outside until we may seal the valley exit so that the Goblinkin cannot besiege us. There was word of monstrosities lurking in the tunnels and a drow - a dark elf, whom I have thought to be a dark tale rather than dark reality. Word of one sparked terror in the old Dwarf's eyes, and the elves in our company have grown grim and all the more watchful. One has to wonder.

Yet I can't keep my thoughts solely upon the expedition. I remember the promise I'd made to sir Jerek, the paladin of Lady Love, to assist and support two elves' growing fondness for each other. Indeed, master Celith and Kallian have been, or seemed to be, inseparable the past tendays. Being in this cave as we are, I find their persistent proximity and visibility - the loving looks that Celith sends her way, and her exotic, unreadable looks in turn - too confronting.

When first sir Jerek asked for my assistance I thought I could set my stray little feelings aside; but with all of us locked inside this cave, so to speak, I have trouble escaping them and greater trouble swallowing them. I feel... down.

And Kallian asked me if my heart's ever been broken. Certainly, this isn't one of those moments - of course not! - but how odd is it that she asks? Did I look too long at Celith? Did I slip a word in my sleep?

I mustn't let them know.



Of the 18th of Kythorn, 1362DR.
We work splendidly, we work tirelessly (my fingers ache pleasantly as I write), although I see the spirits subtly waning. Sunlight doesn't reach the caves when indeed that's what we clearly need. I bring them smiles and warmth that shan't compete with the Morninglord's, but it must suffice, and truly, the darkness and slow progress aren't reasons enough to keep us down.

I've had a chance to speak to lady Kelda as we navigated through the tunnels to bring in supplies for the others. It helped me, to tell her about my silly emotions, and silly they are of course; Celith is an elf and I am not. In part, mayhaps, but I'm more human and Amnian than I will ever be elf, and more a daughter of the Morninglord than I'll ever be a silent hunter. I keep telling myself these, and they are all logical and true, but it seems either Lady Love or Lady Loss kissed my heart, because the emotions remain, even while - or especially while - we're in these crude caves.

Still, lady Kelda's presence lightened my heart, and I'd do well to return the favour sometime, even if she'll insist that she did naught that was worthy of repayment.

The master Dwarf will most certainly be grateful for such outstanding company as ours by the end of his missive, if not already. Now I'll give my fingers - and my eyelids, I say - some respite.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:54 pm

Diary
Of the 22nd of Kythorn, 1362DR.
Our expedition has come to a close – the last handful of days we’ve done our best, and we have delivered what we could deliver. The master Dwarf slept much and frowned even more, but mayhaps both of those things lent him the endurance that was required for the arduous tasks. Oh, how he hammered away! Miss Isalin and mister Pyrrhos, the two who most showed a passion and proficiency in the art of iron craftsmanship, assisted master Hroin without complaint. Inspiring!

Celith and Kallian watched over us in the dark cave and I sometimes watched them, in turn. It was foolish of me to do so, needless, but I haven’t yet found medicine for my emotions, and mayhaps that is to be expected. Sunlight shall do me well once all is packed up and we’ve left.

The dwarf considers the expedition to have failed. A weary mind’s thought – a weak thought. I of course do not see why the conclusion should be so dreary, and for my part certainly isn’t. He is not so frail that he cannot make a return here, and if he does, he'll find the help he needs.



Of the 25th day of Kythorn, 1362DR.
With so much time having been spent in the mountains, most of my companions quickly returned to the lowlands – or disappeared, though I don’t worry. I myself stayed in the village of Vlasta for a day before I had the good fortune of catching a caravan leaving for Sarshel. I was of mind to write on the road, but the road was challenging my mastery of the quill with how many bumps it decided to bless us. The dirt paths in the Dalelands come to mind.

I’ve written little of mister Noal recently; truthfully, while the poor man’s fate was sometimes on my mind, it seemed something that could be put off for another morning, another day. It is now, with personal space and peace of thought at my disposal, that scribbling of him seems suitable. For one, before leaving for the mountains on the dwarf’s quest he had shown me his new home shared with mister Perry in Sarshel (note to self: do visit mister Perry again), and has given me flowers or gifts – the scarf I wear was given by him, too. I tried to make it clear not to pursue me, but he heeded the polite warnings not; his adamant resolve and hopefulness was unwanted, but also unmatched. Not anymore, I believe. It has become apparent that my rejection of his last „gift”, in the form of a... Sharessan devout’s habit, shall we say, was ill-received. I told him I would wear it not, and thusly seemed to have – in his eyes – broken an unspoken promise.

Since then we have barely spoken, which is a shame. I had hoped to affect him – guide him to growth and worldly wisdom beyond the scholarly, as he seemed susceptible to my opinions. Now that ship has sailed, it would seem, and he’s found another woman or two to attempt to sway. He perplexes me and I seek more under his surface, though I wonder what thought he spares himself or his actions.

Meanwhile I spare myself too much thought: the Lady of Loss grips at my heart, beckoning me to be bitter about my own unreciprocated affections towards Celith. Such thoughts, such temptations, are upon which She thrives, and it is exactly this way that darkness and shadows move: softly, unnoticably, slowly. Unfortunately for Her, it is because I understand Her nature and mine sufficiently that I know what must be done.



Of the 27th day of Kythorn, 1362DR.
Indeed, I had the opportunity to pull Celith aside to tell to him about my feelings. While thankfully our camaraderie seems largely unaffected, the clarity and sincerity freed me personally. It hurt me also, because never would there be anything between us, he said this plainly; but that was nothing unexpected and nothing I shan’t survive. I only asked of him not to share what he learned with Kallian; I believe ours is a loose and warm friendship, and this would add senseless tension.

Diving into a new expedition will do me well. I ought to find the „mercenarian”...
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:54 pm

Diary
Of the 28th of Kythorn, 1362DR.
Consuming. Confusing. Convoluted. What a day the 28th of Kythorn was.

An assault on a bugbear warcamp; chaos, injuries, overwhelming odds; victory crowned with the traitorous, raging flames of a warlock from our very midst. The man called Sagi, whom I previously found devilishly charming, attacked our troop's rear members Aryen, Kallian and Celith with no less than magic. I saw to the burn wounds on my allies and I saw the raw scorched land where his wizardly fury hit. Sir Jerek rode ahead on the Royal Road to warn the authorities, should we not have arrived to the gates with Sagi in a reasonable timeframe. We didn't, but at least that was not because any lives were lost.

Sagi kept his magical prowess a secret all this time. The fact that he could, and could strike out at us when we were so low on resources and vitality to retaliate feasably, begs the (eternal) question why no other country but Amn has Cowled Wizards to watch over us. No other manipulative, misguided or murderous weapon can be so easily concealed as the arcane.

Upon seeing Sagi's mortal exhaustion and bugbear-torn clothes I understood he might have been foolish, but not murderous in intent. Still, such men are locked up in dungeons for such transgressions, and I was convinced sir Jerek would see to the same - he does what he must do, simple as that. When I approached him a few hours later with the suggestion not to have Sagi seized just yet, though, he was offended: my suggesting of such hinted that he'd do exactly that (give Sagi over to the authorities immediately) and as such, it seems, he'd be without compassion. I didn't understand why he'd think that way at the time, but then I don't understand why Amn's way with the Cowled Wizards hasn't been applied upon other nations' soil, either. Magic-users must be overseen, like we bearers of the Divine are overseen by our gods, but they: by mortals - for Lady Mystra hasn't the awareness, power or desire to watch them. That is a topic worth a whole book unto itself, of course.

Sagi is taken by Aryen and master Celith somewhere (should my diary be found and read by stranger's eyes, the exact location shan't be for them to see), and they know excellent places to keep quiet. I hope to seek them out and speak to Sagi, if sir Jerek doesn't do that first. I wish to understand what precisely happened and why - so I can better prepare for the future, for the people I seek to assist.

Other events from last night linger in my mind, too, such as Kallian confessing her love to Celith in that bugbear-claimed forest, which I overheard unintentionally. May it last and bloom and flourish, I say to that; though I wonder when I have last heard Celith chuckle or smile, now. Mister Noal was with us too, a hazard, and he tried to ignore me where possible. I could see the fear in his eyes - and that stubborn pride to overcome it and pretend it is not there. He meets battle again and again, dangerous lairs and dark monsters, things he cannot seem to match; and yet, each time he is beaten down, he rises again and tries again. It is puzzling... reckless... mayhaps blindly faithful, but mayhaps that is what I find inspiring about his attempts, too.

I'm grateful that we could see the new day break over that siege. I'm grateful I could aid the people I travelled with, and let neither them nor myself down. And I shall be grateful for some rest, for I've a long walk ahead and a longer talk, likely, with Sagi.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:54 pm

Diary
Of the 3rd and 4th of Flamerule, 1362DR.

I found Aryen, Celith and Sagi at the place to which we had vaguely agreed upon going, and while that place deserves a mental note, it is where I was led to next that is truly worthy of a page.

In the so-called Silverwoods a great rock watches over the surrounding landscape. A staircase and overgrown pillars lead to its top... wherein lies a tiny chapel, a shrine. With the statue of none other than the Morninglord.

Oh, what a marvelous discovery! How could the two hunters have kept this hidden from me so long?

There is a grave and an elegant tombstone east of this shrine, facing the sunrise. The Dawnbringer lies there in whose footsteps I had intended to follow; oh, but she was put to rest in a most wonderful spot, with a most fitting view. She will be joyous by the Morninglord's side, and I am honoured and heart-warmed that a fellow Dawnbringer left a lasting impression on word-poor Aryen. As well as on Elis, it seems, for she was the one who had placed the tombstone... to my quiet surprise.

Dawnbringer Jhasira had intended the shrine to be renovated and used as a temple, I was told by Aryen. That goal was hers however, and I do not share it: no, instead the shrine should become a place of pilgrimage, a site of tribute. My dear ever-frowning ranger friend seemed to find this disrespectful of sister Jhasira's wishes, but he knows very well he has no say in this, and hopefully he knows well enough also that disrespect shall never be intended - not towards my fellows, him, nor anyone else. I will see this shrine gain a new purpose, a new life, rather than return it to an old one that had evidently failed.

It is far removed from any notable hubs of civilisation, and travellers shan't stray off the road as far as the shrine to seek shelter and clerical aid; stationing Dawnbringers there as such would be a waste of our resources. People should seek out this far-off shrine to test their physique, to hone their wits and to enlighten their spirits. Walking on foot from Sarshel all the way to this shrine will prove a great exercise, finding the proper way through the outskirts of the woods will teach valuable lessons, and the view from the shrine's windows is nothing short of breath-taking, nothing less than illuminating. Among other things, I will need to make sure the route is safe enough and appropriately clear.

There's an old cabin not too far from this Sunrise Rock, which brings me aptly to the topic of lonesome people - and to Sagi. We conversed; he, Aryen, Celith, Kallian, Rith and I. I better understand the circumstances of his arcane assault now, though circumstances alone are no solution for the future. I was unimpressed with Rith's suggestions of solving it; she was of mind the man ought to be shackled. That will not be the way forward. Sagi requires guidance, support, and control from within - control that could mayhaps be taught? I do not know. I do know and see now that Sagi's life is a quest of self-improvement, a quest in which he could turn to the Morninglord, and I pray he does. And if not to Him (or His small, humble spokesmen), then hopefully to capable, trustworthy friends. Wherever he turns, it will require planning.

The shrine gives me new strength, while it may give hope or rest to my companions. It would seem to me that Sagi, Aryen and I in particular found something in this place that heralds a renewal, a new beginning or purpose, and that is a delightful thought to end the day with.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
Posts: 537
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:55 pm

Diary
Of the 9th and 10th of Flamerule, 1362DR.
Mister Sagi – once more I find it suitable to use a proper form of address – has decided two days ago to descend to Sarshel and approach the Triadic court. He and master Hroin seemed determined to go, whether I'd accompany them or not, and I found myself swept along with their sense of urgency without much thought. Was it because of mister Sagi's casual confidence and charm? Mayhaps master Hroin's persistence? Mayhaps both. They did not have a plan beyond directly and immediately addressing the Sarshel temple's abbot, lord Aulenbryn, seeking counsel regarding a certain case of possible persecution... Ah, I offered to assist.

We were a less than comely sight, however, with Kallian and Celith watching from a few paces afar, and mister Sagi and master Hroin opting for anonymity. Where was I to stand in that situation? Our collective blunders in social protocol are clear to me, and I can only trust I shall learn from them.

It wasn't long before lady Kelda entered the Triadic temple and could see us standing and speaking with the abbot – with whom until now I would like to think I've had immaculate relations, thanks to our cooperative efforts regarding that unappealing magical wand a few months prior. Now, I'm not so certain, though I did send him a letter of apology in the aftermath. Lady Kelda, bless her, took interest and invited us to her home in Monument Court.

Our consultation with the good abbot occured yesterday – while this evening we had the lovely opportunity oblige the invitations to lady Kelda and sir Jerek's residence. They've done splendid work with the decorations, and sir Jerek is a remarkable painter (are we surprised, though? He is a champion of Lady Love!), even if the pets are... peculiar, shall I say. Besides that, the conversation between the hosts, mister Sagi, Kallian, Celith and myself bloomed valid concerns and good, critical thinking regarding mister Sagi's predicament; I'm hopeful more well-thought-out steps shall follow concerning the judicial matters, in which master Hroin, sir Jerek and the Lawkeepers can assist best. Meanwhile mister Sagi's burdens of magic could mayhaps be lifted in the form of master Hroin's tutelage; once his scorched beard is well tended to.

And I, ought to prepare for a different kind of confrontation: an expedition set in motion by sir Jerek.



Of the 12th of Flamerule, 1362DR.
Terrifying. Orcs are terrifying.

Yet the expedition was crowned with success: we have slain many of their number, horrific as they were, and we retreated wisely so we made it out with no allies lost. I continually learn from sir Jerek's presence how to properly lead – and today, I've learned how to properly follow, lest I endanger not myself but everyone else. There are still matters unclear to me; how the Orcs could wield such ungodly magic and how we could counter them, or survive them.

Only my confidence and my precious hair have fallen victim to the Orcs. (A larger patch has been scorched off by their blasts of hellsfire.) But let them have it: Our lives are still ours.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
Posts: 537
Joined: Tue Dec 01, 2015 12:11 pm
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:55 pm

Diary
Of Midsummer and the first days of Eleasias, 1362DR.

Midsummer did not go as expected. A travelling show passed through the southern reaches of mid-Impiltur, among its collection an Unliving warrior, which has by now been destroyed – along with a deadly bog monstrosity. It took considerable effort, including pleading with a lord Relindar's servants, turning to the Warswords, and finally turning to some rumour about an awoken scarecrow near the hamlet of Relgar. In the end – and that is what matters – the skeletal warrior was undone, the animated strawed fiend burned, the marshland monster slain.

Perseverence triumphed, so why do I feel beaten? Because it wasn't a perfect ending worthy of song?

It certainly wasn't: my ken in several fields proved lacking, mister Ornak courted with death, and the travelling show's free to continue and gather questionable attractions elsewhere. All these, and the sceptical words and looks of companions besides, wore at my armour of hopefulness.

As always I find comfort in faith. But I must also represent that same faith worthily, appropriately, if I am to serve the Morninglord the best way, and I feel it is in this that I am falling short of my own expectations, always. Self-improvement and the search for perfection is within the Dawnbringers' tenets, but it is not that kind of healthy criticism that I reflect upon myself with currently. It is with doubt; a doubt that I cannot show, for I hold the image of the church in much higher regard than my qualms. And so I smile to them with heart and love and sincerity, while inside I seem the painted glass of cathedrals – fragile.

Glass and diamond do look alike, and I would not mind to transform from one into the other.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
Posts: 537
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 07, 2015 6:56 pm

Diary
Of the 14th day of Eleasias, 1362DR.

Days have been spent in Songhall – the Reach's only notable hub of knowledge and learning, to any Oghmanyte's chargrin, I'm certain. I found the trek into the mountainous heights of Songhall's small valley most refreshing; a display of strength and good exercise for the body, before the mind and heart receive their share through the tomes and scholars and singers that are here.

With Midsummer and its challenges behind us, and with the reassured knowledge that mister Ornak is making good recovery after the defeat of the bog-beast (what a crude name for a crude, ugly creature), it was only appropriate that I would travel here. I have much and more to learn about that which I have so far disdained – the Arcane, and the twisted things it can create, creatures and monsters untold in number and appearance, if one is to believe some of these tomes that I've been scouring. My lack of understanding is a weakness, as well as an opportunity, an avenue of growth, of improvement. My earlier self would frown that I claim to serve the Morninglord through such: through the study of magical beasts and phenomena, rather than through the arduous study of His verses or the practice of eloquence and rhetoric.

It is true: in those things I recognise myself easier, and prosperity cannot be found staring down the maw of a clawed wretched beast, hidden in some swamp. But that beast may threaten population, new commerce or sites of significance, and we – I, and Adventurers – must stand between them; and our ignorance will be no shield.

My youth must drive me. I have no desire to spend my days only in the cities; one day that is what I will focus on, when my arms shake from lifting a morningstar and when my bones creak, bidding me to let the new youth, the new vanguard step forward. But not today.

Today... I read through these thick books, so I may stand by steadfast tomorrow.


Of the 17th day of Eleasias, 1362DR.
The mountain tunnels below Songhall are full of secrets, wonder and ugly monsters. We did well in fighting troglodytes, with the likes of mister Jonan, Perry, Aryen, miss Fenneken, lady Elis, and the tunnel-knower miss Amber.

While the sight of Elis and her “gifts” no longer surprise me, they do keep me utmost wary. She is young, incredibly so, yet full of insight – alien insight, but insight nonetheless; and yet when she becomes the furred beast of her Forest Queen she is no better than the monsters we fight. She is difficult to speak to about this, certainly to someone who shares not her views or understanding of the wilds; Aryen at least possesses the latter, and seems able to soothe her, command her mayhaps, when she is mindless as the animal whose skin she wears.

Yes, she is difficult to speak to; to approach, but that is not unexpected: Why 'would' she bother to converse about such things to me? Our shared heritage of half-elf, half-human blood is thin common ground at best. Yet that is what intrigues me so, or that too: how different we are by the sheer difference of which people raised us. Beyond that, I see she is a strong woman; strong and lonely, and I would like to know more of her. That is however much more up to her, given how elusive she is.

Nevertheless, our foray into the tunnels was successful. Rest is mine to claim at the Thirsty Fool before I dive into the books again. “Master Chyar's Collected Creatures and Revisited Accounts” has proven the most interesting by far. “Pseudobiblia Vol. II” is a nightmare to read, but I'll get through it, too, and “A Somewhat Honest Merchant's Say” from Hammeth Ilcarth of Telflamm has nothing to do with arcane mysteries, but oh, what a pleasant writing it is!
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
Posts: 537
Joined: Tue Dec 01, 2015 12:11 pm
Location: GMT +1

Postby Copper Dragon » Tue Dec 08, 2015 8:13 pm

Diary
Of the last tenday of Eleasias and the first of Eleint, 1362DR.

Mages, all, who have given me cause to be wary of late. First it was Fenneken around the 26th of Eleasias with whom I had a lengthy conversation – about her magics and rituals, which had silently concerned me. They still do, but to a lesser extent now, and Fenneken's own admissions played a role in that.

She, like Elis and like I, is of halven blood. To see how much the paths of us three diverge...! Magicker, Forestarm, Dawnbringer; greatly different and yet I find not so much. Fenneken, despite the disturbing ways in which her talents manifest, proves to be a friend. A strained friend, an eerie companion, but not a foe at least.

Lady Peveril's been the only arcanist whose company I profoundly enjoyed and whose elegance put forth a reassuring example of her... profession, if wizardry can be called that. Alas, it is only so scarcely that we speak.

Instead I see master Hróin more often than I like; his very presence a test of the Morninglord, or even the opposite of His avatar: old and bitter, vindictive and unkind, close-spirited and discordant. I find that mayhaps a gentle word or a warm smile might break through his icy clouds, and in that I do my best to hold true. It is unacceptable however that he makes attempts to hunt-away mister Ornak from the Crowning Glory, as if our benevolent giant would be a rabid dog. (It is all the more disruptive that Fenneken has urged mister Ornak to show his fangs, literal and figurative, to counter this campaign.) Fortunately mister Ornak has other advisors – namely myself, who help him otherwise and who has addressed the people at her sermons not to heed this dissent. Master Hróin possesses one trait that the Morninglord would approve of, and one only: his perseverence.

And yet one more mage has been on my mind, not with his deeds or his ominous words but rather his absence. Mister Noal Dagar has been missing for some time, and Kallian and Celith approached me just the other day with papers that mister Noal had left behind. Papers that hint at a dark undertaking... I would like to find him, yet not even the Elves could track him down. Mayhaps they didn't want to? “Who would miss Noal Dagar?”, is the question seemingly hanging on their shrugging shoulders.

Mages one, mages all – Fenneken, Hróin, Noal. What is it that has Mystra's gifted seem so contrasted to this humble Dawnbringer?

Tomorrow morning another sermon; another passionate speech to soothe the loathsome knots of hatred that the master Dwarf tries to make.



For the following month, most entries regard complaints from commonfolk and merchants; notes about newly-made or well-upheld acquaintances; and a few small patrols that deserved report according to the author. While not all expeditions and Adventures of hers receive a full entry, they are all keenly noted down.



Of the 2nd day of Marpenoth, 1362DR.

Belwarith the Trickster. With how many misdeeds can be accredited to his name, it is for the best that he has left this life. The gentle Moonmaiden will weep that another man's lost to his own desires; the strong Morninglord will find the spark of good in the tragedy and bid us carry on.

He was an Adventurer and a man of twisted delights. Belwarith was as much a scoundrel as an arcane prankster, but he did both in excess, causing discord in Songhall and elsewhere with his claims of having a “miracle potion”. Adventuring parties and mercenaries came fluttering after him to find out for themselves if the potion was indeed miraculous, and after they fought each other to make their claims and died, Belwarith was quick to pluck their belongings and horde their trinkets for himself. It was an unkind affair, and our own group of mister Jonan, mister Sagi, Kallian and Celith and I put an end to it.

Before we reached that conclusion we had to stand face to face with the other adventuring parties that were on the trail. It didn't please me. Man against man for an elixir? For one small vial? It was worse than animals' preyings. Still, one group was peculiar, and good that we encountered it first to stop them before they could've made an escape: they were a sect in the loving worship of the Goddess of Darkness, the Lady of Loss. We scattered their cult to the winds... and I made a curious note how Kallian seemed to have an icy opposition of them, too. Would nightbringers like these have sparked an Elf's ire once?

Belwarith the Trickster's elixir of wonders proved to be a fraud, as it was suspected. It did seem to help mister Jonan's itches of the loin though – the brew was certainly not useless! Mayhaps even miraculous after all.

But the vial wasn't Belwarith's only possession. He had the trinkets of Adventurers past, one of which was a mace fit for a lady or lord – or priestess, as it turns out. I recognised it for what it was, the Ruby Sceptre: the famous mace of one fair priestess of Tymora, though her name escapes me just now, unfortunately. It is a beautiful weapon, and I am honoured that Lady Luck or the Morninglord, or both, guided my hands to it. Where one faithful's fights have ended, another's continue, and she will bear the Ruby Sceptre with care. My prayers will go to Lady Luck tonight, and to the people whose lives were so mockingly lost today.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Tue Dec 08, 2015 8:13 pm

Diary
Of the 23rd day of Marpenoth, 1362DR.

I have received a letter from the Halls of the Morning Light in Raven's Bluff – and with it Westin Highridge, a brother in faith. Finally the esteemed High Dawnlord there seems to have deemed it opportune and worthwhile to send me assistance, for brother Westin was instructed to support the works in restoring the Silverwoods shrine.

Westin is a welcome addition to the ranks on the Easting Reach, but he is neither a stonemason nor a moneylender, either of which would be what the shrine's renovations require at present. Still, I do not contest the temple's decision, and Westin will prove himself for certain. A young man, strong as the Morninglord only expects, and humble and steadfast. He has only just finished his training in the care of the Aster; it goes to show what the Dawnlords at Raven's Bluff think of the Easting Reach and of our importance in the region that they send someone so fresh and new, and I am left to wonder what they were thinking when they sent brother Westin on his first task to such a peripheral location where he is 'not' surrounded by Dawnbringers and Awakened. I sympathise with him! It is no doubt overwhelming. It is promising though that he trusts the church enough not to complain, and that he has shown utmost faith in his new superior, me. I will do all I can to make him feel at ease and supported, and to oversee his efforts responsibly.

Certainly the fact that he arrived without his equipment (the rest being 'no doubt still in Raven's Bluff, per mistake' according to Westin, bless him) proves the Dawnlords intend brother Westin to grow and learn the tenets of the Morninglord from the first moment on. I do not require a letter to understand that Westin is being taught the values of our Lord: the importance of new beginnings, the perseverence to see hope and light in misfortune, and the inspiration to make due with one's own resources.

For now I will watch Westin and his progress, and ensure he is well-established. I am pleased to have already introduced him to sir Jerek of the Ruby Rose; Lady Firehair's paladin will be a good example for him for as long as She and the Morninglord remain as wondrous friends as their respective flocks.



Of the 2nd day of Uktar, 1362DR.

Brother Westin holds his ground stalwartly in the face of the Unliving, this quickly became clear. His training in paladinhood shows in his stance and wielding of arms. He will be further educated in the characteristics and dangers of the Undead by me, and if it is in my power he will accompany me when word rises of their infestation anywhere. Beyond combat, though, it is crucial that Westin is seen and heard of by the folk of Impiltur, of Sarshel. If he is to assist me in the resurrection of the shrine and strengthen the church here, he must garner a positive reputation for himself among the populace and for the faith – that will inevitably draw more attention and lipservice to the Morninglord, and, perhaps, draw donors.

He has taken initiative in aiding adventurers and addressing the dangers that plague the common folk and trade routes, and that is a good sign. He may have made allies in mister Eljin Tiergan, an albino man of a commendable sense of responsibility, good intent and leadership, and a man of relatively new acquaintance.

I must make a personal note of Rith recently. Her behaviour has proven untrustworthy, to my great pity. I have not seen her since the incident that has me so disappointed with the elf; and despite my frowns when thinking of her, I worry for her also.

We have agreed with mister Perry and mister Nathaniel to meet with the dwarf, Hróin, regarding the greataxe of wicked-wounding that we recovered from goblins' clutches some time ago. He is not my prime choice for any meeting, this dwarf, but the greataxe belongs to his people and his presence for what I have in mind is proper.



Of the 3rd day of Uktar, 1362DR.

My hands are still shaking with anger. Hróin sows discord like Chaunteans sow seeds – oh, my anger. But I am not half as angry at him – for he was only being as one would expect him to be – as I am disappointed at Perry. His stance drove a dagger into my plea, which was naught but reasonable as far as I could conceive it; now the dwarves will think us all fools.

If parchment could record a sigh...

For a time I will focus on the morning sermons, I believe.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)


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