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Alaric's Journal, Book 3
Alaric’s Journal,
Book 3
Entry 1
(( Part 1 ))
I am running out of hope. I know not how long we have been on the road. My goal is seemingly out of reach, despite how long I have wandered towards it. I know not where I am.
I fear I may die out here, in the cold. There is naught to do now but pray, and write what I can, so that others may avoid my mistakes.
If you are reading this, it is either because I have shown you the journal myself, you have found it upon my corpse, or it is in a library. I doubt the last one, for I am not a scholar of great note. I am a warrior, and people know me as such.
Ah, I lie. People knew me as a drunken fool. An idiot, a headstrong bastard who kept his past secret, much like the rest of that land I think of now. It is a wonderful, if dangerous, land. It deserves better than what it has now.
I will, for the first time in the history of my journals, write down my complete and total past. As much as I can remember, that is.
My name is Nikolai Alaric the Younger, Son of Nikolai Alaric the Elder, Son of Alexander Alaric, Son of Jaime Alaric, who is the originator of my family tree.
Jaime is the first noble of my family, knighted after a heated battle against an invading tribe of orcs from the North, where the true roots of my family lie. He and his were chased out of the north and down towards the relative safety of Waterdeep.
Waterdeep, the city of splendor, of indulgence. I grew up in a small village, north of Waterdeep. The lands there were granted to Jaime after he aided the defense of Waterdeep so long ago. Our people settled there, and built a town out of nothing in the midst of the woods. The climate was much like what they were used to, if a bit warmer.
The manor they built still stands today, though it has been renovated a few times. No, it is not a castle. It is, like with most lesser nobles, a manor. It did not even have a wall around it, until recently. The land is not wanted for its goods, and the main export is timber.
My childhood was relatively normal, for a nobleman. I was born in the middle of the winter, with no complications. I am the only male heir to my family. I had two sisters, but they, like so many, failed to survive past the infant stage of life. Sickness took them early, and returned them to the Gods.
Ah, the Gods. I had not much exposure to religion, to be honest. My father was a worshiper of Hoar, and my mother of Ilmater, but I chose to abstain from choosing a god at all until later in life. Much, much later.
Around eight years of age, I started training to become a knight. The first ‘rank’ of knighthood, if you would, is page. That involves serving the table, aiding with putting your Lord’s armor on, practicing fighting in the yards every morning, learning to ride a horse, archery, and so forth.
My Lord, as it were, was actually my father. That was, also, normal, for sons to be their father’s page. As was it normal that when I turned about fourteen, I was sent off to be another knight’s Squire.
A squire is the next rank up from page. You accompany your lord into battle, learn to fight in armor, to lance, to joust. Ah, Jousting, the noble sport. It is quite violent, to be fair, and I’ve never actually been to more than one tourney.
The Lord I was sent off to squire for was an elderly knight by the name of Sir Jorn. He held slightly more land than my father, making him slightly more powerful. Twice we rode off to battle, both times in the spring, both times against orcs that came from the north. Frequent are the attacks that they make, because of the rather, well, populated and wealthy roads.
Both times, I was injured. I am ashamed to say that I was not, and still am not, the best at horseback riding. I was knocked off my horse in both occasions, at any rate. The injuries were minor, but the scars stay with me, and I learn from these mistakes.
The heavy armor of a knight is not for a squire. Most of the time, I wore a simple chain shirt, with maybe a breastplate over top and a ‘pot’ helmet. Chainmail, as many know, is best not for arrows, but for slashing attacks; They have issues cutting your skin, and so instead, simply bruise you.
Why I am explaining the armor and combat, I know not. Needless to say, I had a rather normal childhood for a lesser noble.
I was knighted at the age of twenty, or perhaps nineteen. I then went home to my father, settling down with my parents.
I never took the time to get to know the villagers, which is my own fault. I was constantly expecting war, and so constantly training. Many the day I spent on horseback, trying to become better at that fighting style, to make sure I had no weaknesses. But mounted combat, it seems, has died out. It is no longer needed, with the introduction of powerful magic wards. Upon learning that, I simply focused on my ground skills.
It was at a tourney, during a sword fight, when I first met the women who would become my wife. Her name was Angela Graile. I could not describe her beauty if I wanted too. Such is the tragedy of our marriage that even the simple effort of writing her name brings me to tears. She was the perfect women, and I the wrong man for her. In the end, I brought nothing but ruin, and despair.
No. No, I will continue my tale. I met her at that tourney, and the distraction of staring at her caused me to lose the fight. Afterwards, she gave me her favor. A simple, white silk scarf. And yet, with it, I could not fail. I went on to win the tourney in her name, and to marry her later that year, after a rather long courtship, and a dispute with her father.
Sir Graile was not a lesser noble. In fact, he was a major land-owner and a powerful knight in his hay-day. But he had many daughters, and I promised I was not after any of his land at all. I married her, with a simple bag of gold as her dowry.
But the money was not needed at all. In fact, it went to my father, who spent it upon something that I can’t recall for the life of me. Perhaps the townsfolk? I don’t know.
Those were the happiest times of my life. Many the nights we would just walk in the woods surrounding the village, and talk. Endlessly talk, of everything. And talking was not everything we did, but such things are indecent to write about in ones’ journal. Needless to say, we had children.
The first son we had was Nikolai the Third. I am not creative with names. But I digress; He was a healthy lad, and lived to the age of five before disease took him.
Along with him, I lost two daughters, Angela the Younger, and Elizabeth, both dead at birth. And then, Alec was born.
He was always a sickly child, and I feared the worst for him. But as time passed, he grew healthier. He managed to survive, being three at the time of Nikolai’s death. By the time I was thirty, he was seven, and perfectly healthy. He had survived the harsh early years, and blossomed into a perfect child.
He excelled at the sword lessons I gave him, and was a good eye with a bow. He rode a horse better than me.
All the while that I was training him, and myself, for whatever troubles might come, trouble brewed in Waterdeep.
Rumor had spread about how I was apparently Faithless. I had, indeed, not chosen a god. But they viewed me as a threat, stating that I was secretly a Banite, or worse. I could not convince them otherwise, for they seemed to have rock-solid proof.
And so I was, for the first time, banished, until such time that I came back with a proper god.
It was a long and treacherous ride to Sundren, when I chose to go. Sundren is the new land, the land I spoke of before. It was the perfect place to find religion, to find glory, money, anything.
I went with few personal possessions. I took a locket with the portraits of my wife and child upon the inside, and a bag of gold. I acquired a suit of armor at Port Avanthyr, and a sword.
As best I can tell, it was by now that my wife, child, father, and mother had been killed. The man who killed them was another noble, who wished for more land, and more power. He has been dealt with now. Entries in my first journal, which I have lost now, explain more as to the matter.
My first adventures in Sundren were rather uneventful. I fought goblins, orcs, much like back in Waterdeep. I searched for a god. When I thought that, perhaps, I had found one, I tried to return home.
I came back to changed land.
Waterdeep was no longer friendly to me. Many viewed me still as a Banite, or worse. But, I thought, perhaps my family would be more welcoming. I took to the road, and headed to the family manor.
The doors were barred. The windows were covered with planks. The villagers wore black, and hid their faces from me.
Not long later, I learned the horrible truth. My family had been murdered in my absence. All of them, shot or stabbed, by a single man.
I know not what happened next, but I soon found that I was standing over the body of a human, I think, that had been cut into pieces.
It has been speculated that, because of my families origins, I had gone into a sort of berserker rage. I couldn’t control my body, being completely taken over by the anger. But that is no excuse for killing a man.
I was sentenced to permanent exile. This time, I took more with me. Armor, my sword; things that I had left behind. Things that I would have needed, to protect Waterdeep.
I left my father’s armor, though I had wanted to bring it, because they would not tell me where his crypt was. I know now it is because they feared I would try to bring them back, in my grief, and take further revenge. But I would never do such a thing.
I returned to Sundren. I took up drinking, and slowly degraded from the once-proud Knight I was, into a drunken mercenary who didn’t give a rat’s ass for anyone.
Alaric’s Journal,
Book 3
Entry 1
(( Part 1 ))
I am running out of hope. I know not how long we have been on the road. My goal is seemingly out of reach, despite how long I have wandered towards it. I know not where I am.
I fear I may die out here, in the cold. There is naught to do now but pray, and write what I can, so that others may avoid my mistakes.
If you are reading this, it is either because I have shown you the journal myself, you have found it upon my corpse, or it is in a library. I doubt the last one, for I am not a scholar of great note. I am a warrior, and people know me as such.
Ah, I lie. People knew me as a drunken fool. An idiot, a headstrong bastard who kept his past secret, much like the rest of that land I think of now. It is a wonderful, if dangerous, land. It deserves better than what it has now.
I will, for the first time in the history of my journals, write down my complete and total past. As much as I can remember, that is.
My name is Nikolai Alaric the Younger, Son of Nikolai Alaric the Elder, Son of Alexander Alaric, Son of Jaime Alaric, who is the originator of my family tree.
Jaime is the first noble of my family, knighted after a heated battle against an invading tribe of orcs from the North, where the true roots of my family lie. He and his were chased out of the north and down towards the relative safety of Waterdeep.
Waterdeep, the city of splendor, of indulgence. I grew up in a small village, north of Waterdeep. The lands there were granted to Jaime after he aided the defense of Waterdeep so long ago. Our people settled there, and built a town out of nothing in the midst of the woods. The climate was much like what they were used to, if a bit warmer.
The manor they built still stands today, though it has been renovated a few times. No, it is not a castle. It is, like with most lesser nobles, a manor. It did not even have a wall around it, until recently. The land is not wanted for its goods, and the main export is timber.
My childhood was relatively normal, for a nobleman. I was born in the middle of the winter, with no complications. I am the only male heir to my family. I had two sisters, but they, like so many, failed to survive past the infant stage of life. Sickness took them early, and returned them to the Gods.
Ah, the Gods. I had not much exposure to religion, to be honest. My father was a worshiper of Hoar, and my mother of Ilmater, but I chose to abstain from choosing a god at all until later in life. Much, much later.
Around eight years of age, I started training to become a knight. The first ‘rank’ of knighthood, if you would, is page. That involves serving the table, aiding with putting your Lord’s armor on, practicing fighting in the yards every morning, learning to ride a horse, archery, and so forth.
My Lord, as it were, was actually my father. That was, also, normal, for sons to be their father’s page. As was it normal that when I turned about fourteen, I was sent off to be another knight’s Squire.
A squire is the next rank up from page. You accompany your lord into battle, learn to fight in armor, to lance, to joust. Ah, Jousting, the noble sport. It is quite violent, to be fair, and I’ve never actually been to more than one tourney.
The Lord I was sent off to squire for was an elderly knight by the name of Sir Jorn. He held slightly more land than my father, making him slightly more powerful. Twice we rode off to battle, both times in the spring, both times against orcs that came from the north. Frequent are the attacks that they make, because of the rather, well, populated and wealthy roads.
Both times, I was injured. I am ashamed to say that I was not, and still am not, the best at horseback riding. I was knocked off my horse in both occasions, at any rate. The injuries were minor, but the scars stay with me, and I learn from these mistakes.
The heavy armor of a knight is not for a squire. Most of the time, I wore a simple chain shirt, with maybe a breastplate over top and a ‘pot’ helmet. Chainmail, as many know, is best not for arrows, but for slashing attacks; They have issues cutting your skin, and so instead, simply bruise you.
Why I am explaining the armor and combat, I know not. Needless to say, I had a rather normal childhood for a lesser noble.
I was knighted at the age of twenty, or perhaps nineteen. I then went home to my father, settling down with my parents.
I never took the time to get to know the villagers, which is my own fault. I was constantly expecting war, and so constantly training. Many the day I spent on horseback, trying to become better at that fighting style, to make sure I had no weaknesses. But mounted combat, it seems, has died out. It is no longer needed, with the introduction of powerful magic wards. Upon learning that, I simply focused on my ground skills.
It was at a tourney, during a sword fight, when I first met the women who would become my wife. Her name was Angela Graile. I could not describe her beauty if I wanted too. Such is the tragedy of our marriage that even the simple effort of writing her name brings me to tears. She was the perfect women, and I the wrong man for her. In the end, I brought nothing but ruin, and despair.
No. No, I will continue my tale. I met her at that tourney, and the distraction of staring at her caused me to lose the fight. Afterwards, she gave me her favor. A simple, white silk scarf. And yet, with it, I could not fail. I went on to win the tourney in her name, and to marry her later that year, after a rather long courtship, and a dispute with her father.
Sir Graile was not a lesser noble. In fact, he was a major land-owner and a powerful knight in his hay-day. But he had many daughters, and I promised I was not after any of his land at all. I married her, with a simple bag of gold as her dowry.
But the money was not needed at all. In fact, it went to my father, who spent it upon something that I can’t recall for the life of me. Perhaps the townsfolk? I don’t know.
Those were the happiest times of my life. Many the nights we would just walk in the woods surrounding the village, and talk. Endlessly talk, of everything. And talking was not everything we did, but such things are indecent to write about in ones’ journal. Needless to say, we had children.
The first son we had was Nikolai the Third. I am not creative with names. But I digress; He was a healthy lad, and lived to the age of five before disease took him.
Along with him, I lost two daughters, Angela the Younger, and Elizabeth, both dead at birth. And then, Alec was born.
He was always a sickly child, and I feared the worst for him. But as time passed, he grew healthier. He managed to survive, being three at the time of Nikolai’s death. By the time I was thirty, he was seven, and perfectly healthy. He had survived the harsh early years, and blossomed into a perfect child.
He excelled at the sword lessons I gave him, and was a good eye with a bow. He rode a horse better than me.
All the while that I was training him, and myself, for whatever troubles might come, trouble brewed in Waterdeep.
Rumor had spread about how I was apparently Faithless. I had, indeed, not chosen a god. But they viewed me as a threat, stating that I was secretly a Banite, or worse. I could not convince them otherwise, for they seemed to have rock-solid proof.
And so I was, for the first time, banished, until such time that I came back with a proper god.
It was a long and treacherous ride to Sundren, when I chose to go. Sundren is the new land, the land I spoke of before. It was the perfect place to find religion, to find glory, money, anything.
I went with few personal possessions. I took a locket with the portraits of my wife and child upon the inside, and a bag of gold. I acquired a suit of armor at Port Avanthyr, and a sword.
As best I can tell, it was by now that my wife, child, father, and mother had been killed. The man who killed them was another noble, who wished for more land, and more power. He has been dealt with now. Entries in my first journal, which I have lost now, explain more as to the matter.
My first adventures in Sundren were rather uneventful. I fought goblins, orcs, much like back in Waterdeep. I searched for a god. When I thought that, perhaps, I had found one, I tried to return home.
I came back to changed land.
Waterdeep was no longer friendly to me. Many viewed me still as a Banite, or worse. But, I thought, perhaps my family would be more welcoming. I took to the road, and headed to the family manor.
The doors were barred. The windows were covered with planks. The villagers wore black, and hid their faces from me.
Not long later, I learned the horrible truth. My family had been murdered in my absence. All of them, shot or stabbed, by a single man.
I know not what happened next, but I soon found that I was standing over the body of a human, I think, that had been cut into pieces.
It has been speculated that, because of my families origins, I had gone into a sort of berserker rage. I couldn’t control my body, being completely taken over by the anger. But that is no excuse for killing a man.
I was sentenced to permanent exile. This time, I took more with me. Armor, my sword; things that I had left behind. Things that I would have needed, to protect Waterdeep.
I left my father’s armor, though I had wanted to bring it, because they would not tell me where his crypt was. I know now it is because they feared I would try to bring them back, in my grief, and take further revenge. But I would never do such a thing.
I returned to Sundren. I took up drinking, and slowly degraded from the once-proud Knight I was, into a drunken mercenary who didn’t give a rat’s ass for anyone.
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