Tipping the Scales

[Standur]

The sun hung low in the sky and the horizon was awash with vibrant yellows, oranges and pinks as Ryland lazily strolled into Avanthyr. He breathed the fresh coastal air in deeply while adjusting his slightly bulging satchel and making his way down the slope toward the port. Of all the places he visited in Sundren this one always reminded him of home. Everything was on a much smaller scale of course but there were so many reminders. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes allowing his other senses rein over his vision. For those few moments, until he opened his eyes again, he could almost believe he was back in the Dock Ward. The sounds of the surf, dock workers and wagons making their way through the streets filled his ears. The cool breeze blowing off the bay caused his skin to tingle and the clean sea air filled his lungs.

There was the other similarity of course. The similarity that brought him back with his satchel filled with extra food stores. The back streets and alleys and the beggars and the destitute awaited him even if unknowingly. Ryland opened his eyes and finished making his way down the slope and turned toward the back streets of Avanthyr.

Before darkness claimed the streets Ryland spent well over an hour handing out small portions of dried meat and fruit to those that weren’t afraid to allow him to approach them. With his food supplies exhausted and the backstreets empty Ryland started making his way down to the docks when he heard the footsteps behind him. Turning in expectation of finding another request for food he found himself not confronted by the hungry but by two armed men who charged him recklessly. It wasn’t much a fight and it was almost over before it began. The men were not well trained but they fought with abandon refusing to surrender. As hard has he tried to restrain the men and take them alive it was not to be. In a matter of moments two bloodied, battered and still warm corpses lay at Ryland’s feet.

To no one in particular Ryland called out, “If you’re listening and watching know this, the righteous hand of Helm will not stand for your tyranny in these streets any longer! I will be back again and again to offer these people hope and help.”

Ryland looked around awaiting a response and received it as a third armed man stepped out from behind a building several yards away. He shook his head and stared at the man before declaring, “You should drop that weapon and seek absolution for your actions.” The man’s only response was to stare a challenge at Ryland. “It is not to late to change your mind. It does not have to be like this.” Ryland offered as he walked toward the man. Without warning the man sprang at Ryland with a wild overhead swing that missed badly while Ryland’s counter struck home true. The man crumpled in a heap to rise no more.

Ryland made his way to the nearest legion patrol and addressed the officer giving orders, “Sir, you will find the bodies of three men that attacked me along the back streets.” He recited his version what happened to the officer including the how to contact him should further information be required before finally making his way to the docks where he sat in silence staring at Selune.

[Standur]

With the afternoon sun warm upon his face and his feet dangling off the edge of the pier Ryland sat relaxing to the familiar wails of gulls soaring overhead. People shuffled on and off the pier but he paid them little attention. As he watched the raucous birds one dropped below the rest catching his attention with its majesty and grace in flight. The bird hovered not more than fifteen feet above the shoreline on invisible currents of air that held it aloft as if suspended by wires from some unseen support. It seemed in no hurry to move in one direction or another as it bobbed up on down on the changing winds moving only to catch the next draft or breeze that would keep it airborne while exhibiting a mastery of its elements. Without warning it dropped out of the air to the rocks below grasping at something with its beak that Ryland could not see. Its head pecked at whatever it had targeted two or three times before it launched itself back into the air with a shrill call and then disappeared into the mass of gulls overhead.

“He who watches and waits serves also”, Ryland whispered to himself as the gull took flight. The thought that he had done too much acting and not enough watching and waiting struck him like Foulbreath’s hammer sounding against his anvil. The thought reverberated in Ryland’s mind as he began contemplating the gull’s actions. There was a lesson to be learned in the birds’ patience. It used the gifts it had been given to survey what lay before it and it moved only with purpose to obtain its goal.

“What is my goal? What is my purpose”, Ryland mused. His mind was open as he thought of Emiliana and the surety of purpose that she exuded. Remnants of a recent conversation with Sir Tornbrook invaded his mind, “I have at times overtaxed my abilities”, he had admitted and in a turn of the same conversation he had extolled the virtue of laborious tasks being more bearable if everyone would lay claim to a small portion of the task. The promise he made to Abbot Proskus to serve vigilantly claimed a portion of his thoughts. As Ryland pondered the possibilities that lay before him there was neither doubt nor regret over the things that lay behind. “What’s done is done”, he decided. “The gull does not always catch its prey and neither shall I but I will move with purpose and forethought. The time for reacting is past and the time for considered and weighted action is here.”

Ryland looked at the sword that sat beside him on the pier. It was quickly becoming an extension of him and at least a small portion of its secrets had been revealed thanks to the Deepforge brothers. The enlightenment they provided had been encouraging and though there were things that Ryland still did not understand about the blade he no longer harbored any doubt about the craftsmanship behind it or that the blade was fit for use. If he could master himself, he had faith that the blade would serve him well. There were yet questions to be answered but with patience and diligence he was sure those answers would come in time.

The greater question that emerged for Ryland in watching the gull was where to focus his efforts. “How”, Ryland asked himself, “can I soar on the winds and serve?” He had promised Emiliana help but she did not need him hovering over her shoulder like some lost child incapable of thinking for himself. He would follow up with the Abbot regarding the ancient fallen paladin and, as promised, convey what information he could back to her. In the mean time if she needed his assistance she would undoubtedly call.

Ryland was sure that beyond sitting and waiting for a call that there had to be more within his discretion to oversee. He was equally sure that he would not find it sitting on the shoreline waiting for divine provenance to fall on him. Ryland watched the gulls as they moved with a purpose that he did not understand and repeated the teachings of his youth in his mind, “Watchfulness is required to see the ills of the world. Vigilance is required to stand against the wrongs that cross our path. To be idle is to accept a world that could be made better by your deeds and is a lesser place by your inactions.”

The sun hung much lower in the sky and was clear of the gulls that had cluttered the air earlier as Ryland rose and fastened his scabbard back around his waist. It was time to go back to work and with his satchel hoisted over his shoulder he left the docks heading back into the populated streets. The day would end soon but a new day would dawn to replace it and just perhaps it would be an even brighter day.

[Standur]

((If a player or DM from this event sees something out of line with the event please PM me and I will change the posts as needed. This was written on the fly without reading the logs and of course with a fair amount of bardic liberty.))


Part I


It was late and the soft light from a candle flickered in the otherwise darkened barracks. Ryland sat restlessly on the edge of his bed as he attempted to brand the series of events in his mind. He replayed the evening in his mind over and over again marking the names, faces, happenings and particularly a description of the vile being that offended him even in his memory.

The day began brightly and mundanely enough for Ryland as he performed his morning rituals and conducted some minor business. It was not until a happenstance meeting at the gossip fire outside of the farmer’s home that anything of note occurred. He had intended to stop only momentarily to chat with a friend before one acquaintance and then another showed up and a discussion regarding the portal openings within Sundren took off in earnest. The discussion covered a wide range of conjecture regarding the origin of the portals, where they occurred, how many times they had opened and who or what group was behind them. A small amount of concrete evidence that the Black Hand was behind the attacks was shared but between them all it seemed little else was truly known in fact. One magus was espousing a theory that only the undead could pass through them unharmed when an orc stepped forward from outside of Ryland’s view to proclaim he had chased some undead through a “glowy light” somewhere in the Sharahan and wound up at another location unharmed by the portal.

The faces of the two magi present oozed contempt as the orc conveyed his story and Ryland at one point thought to drag the beast back to Sundren for questioning when he mistakenly believed the orc had proclaimed to consort with the undead. In the end cooler heads and at least one open mind prevailed. Several people left the conversation and continued on their way no doubt thinking the orc was not competent enough to be a trustworthy source of information but Ryland and Immunes Gwenaer heard his story to the end. While not completely convinced of Garklosh’s story Immunes Gwenaer was intrigued enough to convince Ryland to accompany him and the orc to investigate the location of the orc's claimed arrival after entering the portal. For the good of Sundren and out of his own curiosity Ryland agreed to accompany the two and gave his word to offer them whatever protection he could.

Ryland led the way up the path following the directions provided by Garklosh. He was wary of betrayal and prepared for ambush as they slowly made their way forward. The orc seemed docile and honest but Ryland was still unsure of the truth of its story. It was after all an orc and no amount of docile behavior would convince Ryland of its integrity. However, true to his promise, Ryland offered Helm’s blessings and protections upon all, including the orc, as the orc conveyed they were nearing the destination.

Garklosh began to prove true to his word as a throng of undead descended upon the three. He waded into the undead sided by side with Ryland cursing their vile and corrupt nature and the two battered and hacked the first wave into unmoving bits of decayed flesh. Ryland could feel the arcane power Immunes Gwenaer had called upon pulse through him as he called upon Helm’s blessings to hew through the rotted corpses. After the last of the undead fell before them Garklosh looked up and pointed, “Up there be the place.” Ryland nodded in response and again took the lead up the cluttered pathway toward what appeared to be a ruined monument.

There the ambush he had feared was waiting. Their presence near the ruin had not gone unnoticed but Garklosh had seemingly not played any part in giving them away. Somehow, someone else or something else was alerted to their arrival and sent a greeting party to confront them.

Part II to follow later.

[Standur]

((Once again if a player or DM from this event sees something out of line with the event please PM me and I will change the posts as needed. This was written on the fly without reading the logs and of course with a fair amount of bardic liberty.))


Part II

The three approached the front of the ruin carefully. From the path below it appeared empty but as they set foot on level ground they caught sight of one, then two, then at least a dozen undead which began shambling in their direction. Ryland took notice that these seemed different than the previous horde and within the undead Ryland recognized one or two human clerics by the unholy symbols they wore. The three met their foes with force and overwhelmed them as Garklosh again proved a valuable ally. The orc gained credibility with Ryland through his actions by not once wavering in the face of the enemy. Ryland thought him courageous in battle and honorable in deed.

Immunes Gwenaer requested that Garklosh and Ryland keep watch while he studied and searched the ruin. Ryland waded through the corpses as he patrolled the area noticing both the remains of the human clerics and the undead that had resisted their presence. Giving a brief look to Garklosh he surmised, “It seems the living can pass through the portal unharmed but there must be some reason the undead always outnumber the living.”

In his investigation Immunes Gwenaer discovered something that piqued his interest and stopped to make notes and drawings. His note taking had proceeded only for a short time when a more potent force of undead appeared within the ruins. Again the three fought and prevailed and again Immunes Gwenaer returned to his note taking requesting Ryland’s attention to the find. The Immunes was in the middle of offering some insight on his discovery when he began to shake his head as if his thoughts were being invaded and Ryland felt a tingle run down his spine. At the Immunes request Ryland offered a quick prayer to Helm in and attempt shield Gwenaer’s mind before he looked at the other two and relayed with urgency, “I think we should leave hear quickly!.” At first Gwenaer did not seem to hear him or disregarded him but then they all felt it coming. Ryland pointed away from the ruin and added with increased urgency, “Let’s get out of this place, NOW!”

Immunes Gwenaer grabbed his notations and the three left quickly but not with abandon. They were making their way back down the sloped pathway when they again felt something approaching moments before they all saw it. When the being rounded the bend and came into view it reminded Ryland of the thing he saw in the Sestra mines but he somehow knew it was at least a little different. It stood taller than a house and blacked out everything beyond it. Looking at it was like looking into a starless sky or a void of nothingness. It was shaped like a giant humanoid but its skin was like obsidian that had been smoothed for ages. There was no light within it, only darkness.

Its presence and the evil that seemed to radiate from the being offended Ryland. There was no doubt in his mind the thing was dark and its nature was evil. Every fiber of his being wanted to attack the dark beast and bring it down but he resisted his base instinct and composed his thoughts by recalling his pledge to protect the others with him. He had given his word to protect them and he knew he could not break his oath not even to confront this thing. “My word is my bond”, he thought repeated. Placing himself between the dark creature and his companions he shouted, “Run”! Ryland held his ground for a moment before quickly glancing over shoulder. When the other two hesitated he urged them, “Run now!”

Ryland kept glancing over his shoulder as he followed Immunes Gwenaer and Garklosh down the overgrown trail and back toward Sundren. He was waiting for the moment he would have to turn and make his stand but the moment never came. Whether the thing was bound to the ruin or just lost interest in them he could not know but for whatever reason it ceased following them a short distance from the ruin.

After returning to Sundren Ryland bid farewell to Garklosh with thanks and a new found respect before convincing Immunes Gwenaer to allow a scribe at the temple to make copies of his notes and sketches to give to Abbot Proskus by promising he would share any knowledge obtained from the copies with the Legion.

Ryland and the Immunes found seats in a side room of the temple and sipped from mugs of steaming tea a squire had prepared while a scribe that had been roused from his bed copied Gwenaer’s documents. Ryland and Gwenaer, both a bit ragged and tired, drank deeply and talked little while waiting impatiently for an acceptable copy of Gwenaer’s documents to be drafted. Upon completion, the original documents were returned to Gwenaer and the copy was left for Abbot Proskus with a request from Ryland to be contacted as soon as someone had a chance to study them.

Ryland blew out the candle returning the room to darkness and drew his mind back to the barracks. Resting his head on his pillow he tried to allow his mind to go blank and with his final thought of the day pledged to himself, “Morning will come and until then I will find peace though surrounded by darkness.”

[Standur]

((Thanks to Taintedglory for the RP))

The Quiet Hour

The morning had come and gone and the afternoon was quickly fading as Ryland knelt before the barracks altar to clear his mind and calm his soul. His preparations were made and it was now the quiet hour. The time when a man searched his soul for the strength to do what must be done. He whispered his prayers knowing he would need to be upheld by Helm’s hand this day. “Open my eyes that I might clearly see my enemy. Make me a wall that I might stand between the lawless and the helpless. Guide my hand that it might deliver justice. Bless my sword with your divine grace.” He paused momentarily inhaling deeply before allowing the air to slowly escape his body. “Protect Squire Vilmar for he knows not what I ask of him this night. Bless the defense and defenders of Sundren.”

Ryland rose from before the altar and slowly returned to the common barracks where he began reinspecting his gear. After tugging at each strap on the finely crafted armor to insure they were all secure he grabbed his weapons care kit and began polishing it piece by piece until it was pristine. After the last piece of the armor received his seal of approval he sat it aside in favor of his weapon. He fidgeted with the blade turning it first one way then another as he inspected it. The urge to do something to prepare the sword for battle was only in him. The sword was ready. So far the Deepforge brother’s words regarding the blade’s craftsmanship had proven true and looking at the diamond inset into the pommel Ryland doubted he would ever need to prepare or tend to the sword in any fashion. He ran his hand across the flat of the blade feeling the small bumps he had once assumed were imperfections and mentally gave thanks for his pairing with the blade.

Fully suited Ryland strode out of the common barracks and nearly tripped over Vilmar who was seated on floor. "Hello Vilmar", he greeted while trying to compose himself.

Vilmar stood up, “Oh, hello sir.”

Ryland stood straight and placed his hands behind his back, "How are your supplies Vilmar; specifically your medical supplies?"

“I have a bag of bandages and a couple of potions.”

"Show me what you have please."

Vilmar pulled open a rucksack and began placing a paltry sum of vials and bandages on the nearby public altar.

"Not good enough I am afraid. Sir Aruvven break open the medical stores if you would."

Vilmar looked a bit shocked and rebutted, “It has worked well enough for small patrols.”

Ryland waited patiently as Sir Aruvven sent another squire to retrieve a crate of medical supplies. "Aye, but tonight is no small patrol. Go gear up, we have another stop to make when we are finished here”, he added before he began picking bottles, vials and bandages from the crate Sir Aruvven had requested.

“Thank you for your assistance Sir”, Ryland concluded with Sir Aruvven and turned to Vilmar as he reentered from the barracks common room. Ryland returned Vilmar’s slightly heavier rucksack to him, “Come with me." Vilmar simply nodded and followed him out the door, up the walk and into a nearby building.

"Greetings Shandra", Ryland offered brightly as he sat down a fair sized bag of stags, “double the usual please.”

“Of course”, she replied before she deftly began gathering various concoctions and placing them on the counter next to the bag of stags.

Ryland stepped closer to Vilmar who was leaning against the counter watching Shandra work and whispered, "You see the light purple one on the end?"

Vilmar nodded an acknowledgment, “I do.”

"Keep it close tonight", Ryland commanded.

“The one in the fat bottle, not the skinny vial”, Vilmar asked quietly?

"Aye”, Ryland continued in hushed tones, "follow my lead today but if things go wrong use that one and find help. Seek out Aruvven or the Abbot if you can. Others if need be.”

Vilmar responded with the expected, “Yes sir.”

“What we face may be beyond my measure. The night will tell", Ryland added before returning to his normal voice. "I hope you have a quite evening Shandra. Time to patrol Vilmar", he ordered on the way out of Shandra’s shop.

As the two stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine Ryland paused and once again inhaled deeply while looking back toward the barracks. He exhaled slowly and the hour remained quiet.

[Standur]

The Waiting

The day drew on as they made their rounds. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours and the hours just seemed to stand still refusing to pass. A muddle of thoughts churned through his head as he pushed himself through the waiting. The mundane and ordinary rites of every day routines forced him into action. The day must go on for night to fall but this day fought back as if it wished not to end.

He counted in his mind the number of steps from the archway to Waukeen’s temple as if that would make time pass with greater rapidity. It was his habit to drop his excess coin at the temple for safe keeping. Perhaps tomorrow he would need it. Perhaps he would not. Either way it was something to occupy him and pass the waiting.

“Leave any excess coin before we continue our patrol”, he advised as if Vilmar would not have come to that conclusion on his own. The words were sincere but somehow rang hollow in his mind. Perhaps it was just nervous chatter.

“I don't carry much coin with me. Most of my funds are used for others”, Vilmar offered.

Ryland nodded approvingly and began counting his steps as they walked toward their home temple. He knew the answer was sixty-three before he finished the count. It was his routine. He walked this path most days trudging from the barracks to Waukeen’s temple to his home temple for the performance of daily cleansings and discussions with the Abbot or Sir Linknus if they had moments to spare.

“Let's stop in the temple.” he ordered more than he asked.

“Of course”, Vilmar agreed and followed as Ryland led the way inside.

He strode into the cathedral and without turning told Vilmar he would return momentarily. The implication was heavy that Vilmar should remain behind as Ryland headed to his room just off the main cathedral. He faintly heard Vilmar over the count in his head reply, “I will be praying.”

“Twenty-four”, ended the mental count as he opened the door and crossed the threshold to his room. The room was only his room in the sense that he visited it almost every day. In doing so today he continued the ritual and battled the waiting. He washed his face with a clean rag and dried it with a freshly scented towel. He inhaled the familiar smell deeply. Perhaps tomorrow he would not do so. He grabbed the polish rag that always sat on the stand and allowed his hand to guide the rag over the surface of his already pristine armor. As he did so his eyes took in the overly familiar sights of the room. Perhaps he would not see them tomorrow. He stared into the small viewing glass and straightened both his hair and the band that held it in place. Perhaps tomorrow his likeness would not appear here. He finished as he always did with thanks to Helm and departed the familiar room for the more spacious cathedral with his face freshly cleansed, his armor shining just a bit more brightly and the waiting sitting at the door’s threshold prepared to greet him once more.

"Pray for us this night”, was his simple request to the Abbot. “Vilmar, if you are ready?"

“I am.”, Vilmar replied. “If I pray any harder I might strain myself.”

"Then today we shall strain your very existence", Ryland quipped wondering if his tension was noticeable and with a humbler tone added, “It is in Helm's hands now.”

The two continued their rounds and Ryland forced the most recent mental count out of his head when he saw a familiar figure seated on the steps of the gazebo polishing her shield. Stopping near the gazebo Ryland gave her a nod that went unnoticed and looked longingly at the lowering sun. Vilmar stopped by Ryland’s side appearing indifferent to their halt. Ryland introduced Vilmar to Maneae and she grunted a reply but did not look up choosing instead to focus on polishing her shield. It appeared to him that she too was waiting.

He peered at the pond watching the insects flutter about and Vilmar for the most part stood as still as the nearby ornamental statue. They exchanged meaningless idle chatter about armor and Port Avanthyr with each trying to kill the waiting in their own manner. Maneae finished an ale she had been drinking while continually checking over her gear as if something had changed from the last time she looked at it. He allowed his mind to press forward with thoughts and plans for Port Avanthyr but he could not fully focus on them. He looked at Vilmar wondering what the wood elf was thinking and almost grinned at the thought that perhaps Vilmar had his own mental count of some kind running. Perhaps if they all waited together at the gazebo their joint wills would vanquish their common foe.

Ryland’s features brightened as he noted Magus Arrow approaching. “Good day Magus”, he greeted in expectation of some lively conversation. While the magus did not disappoint the conversation remained the same as much of the rest of the day. It was a tool to pass the waiting. Like a singular excellent turn of phrase in an all consuming work of literature. It was there and fascinating but not whole until all the words had been read. He longed to jump to the end of this day and greet the final chapter with open arms but he could not. Until the time came he must endure the waiting.

"Would you prefer a lot of this and none of that?", Magus Arrow asked.

“Or none of this and a lot of that?”, Vilmar revised.

"It depends on which this and that are involved ….”, Ryland’s voice trailed off and he startled at a mental intrusion. Wearing a serious but relieved expression he conveyed, “We are summoned to the gate!” The waiting was finally over.

[Standur]

The Gate

As Ryland stepped through the gate a cacophony of sights and sounds flooded forward to meet him. He paused for a moment taking in both the troop locations and some of the more obvious preparations made in anticipation of the Bloodmaim’s arrival. He was pleased to see that father up the road the streets had been barricaded with just enough room for small groups of the enemy to pass through the center of the street. True to her word Emiliana did not plan to just stop the advance of the orcs upon Sundren. She intended to invite them in and slaughter them wholesale if possible. He knew without a doubt he would be standing in that gap. Nearer to the gate, where he now stood, additional soldiers were stationed to meet any Bloodmaim that successfully passed through the killing field established up the road. He knew without asking that their orders were to hold the gate. This was surely the fallback point if things went badly.

“They won't be gettin' in the gates”, he heard one soldier boast and another in Legion armor jested, “Did you see those scrawny adventurers hustling through the gates earlier?” The jester found himself promptly rebuffed by nearby a legionnaire in heavier armor, “Stop it, you're going to get us in trouble.”

He let the nervous chatter of the soldiers enter and exit his mind without much consideration. He understood all to well that they were only killing time waiting for what everyone believed would be an all out attack by the Bloodmaim. Striding forward he spied Emiliana up the street. He stopped just short of her position listening to the conversations she and others were juggling. She was surrounded by people asking questions and looking for answers. A child’s grin spread across his face as he superimposed the image of Nana Fren giving instruction to the household staff during spring cleaning over Emiliana giving instruction to her charges. She stationed troops, guided the mages to consult regarding their preparations and noticed Ryland standing a few steps away all in the matter of a few impossibly rapidly passing seconds.

"Let us discuss magicks", Emiliana continued her conversation with Immunes Gwenaer while lifting a hand in greeting. "Ryland, Vilmar, James."

Immunes Gwenaer ignored the Emiliana’s ever so slight pause, “Would you have my responsibility be for the well-being of our unit madam? Or should my focus be of a more,” he cleared his throat, “offensive nature?”

James and Vilmar verbally greeted Emiliana while Ryland simply nodded an acknowledgement and intoned blessings over himself and Vilmar.

Without skipping a beat in her conversation with Immunes Gwenaer Emiliana instructed, "Coordinate your magicks with Elite Magus Arrow. I will be providing some healing supplies, but protections are always useful." In a matter of heartbeats Emiliana concluded her discussion with the mages and extracted herself from their continued preparations to address Ryland and Vilmar.

“Ryland”, she paused long enough to allow him to complete his intonement, “can you and your squire handle the ground consecration?"

“Where in particular", he asked focusing closely on the area around the barricade? "Between the rocks would be my choice", he offered in assessment.

Ryland’s spirits were lifted when he heard a familiar voice ask, “Am I too late?”

Emiliana once again juggled multiple conversations offering a greeting, "You are just in time, Mister Addams”, and confirming to Ryland, “and yes, the natural funnel seems the best place."

He immediately began preparing the consecration by first producing a vial of clear liquid from his satchel as he and Vilmar stepped directly in the middle of the barricade opening.

Emiliana reaffirmed as she saw the two step into the opening “I do not want undead passing by our chokepoint."

If she had been whispering tickling words into his hear Ryland would not have heard her. He was focused as he sprinkled the holy water from the vial around the chokepoint trying to insure the area was suitably covered. When he was satisfied he grasped the holy symbol pinning his cloak together, closed his eyes, lifted his head skyward and began to intone a prayer with both Vilmar and Clando adding their own blessed requests. He solemnly spoke, “May Helm hold this ground against all trespassers of evil and broachers of the law. May the guardians of Sundren be uplifted and her enemies trod under our feet. Bless and sanctify this ground that the undead may neither pass over nor trod upon it." He heard the final words of Vilmar’s request for Helm’s protection over the guardians of the gate as he finished his prayer and he felt the presence of Helm and knew the prayers had been heard. Before returning to the lines he looked up the road in anticipation of the force to come and put his arm on Vilmar’s shoulder, “Let us prepare.” As he walked past on his way back to the waiting others he offered to Emiliana "It is done."

As plans and preparations continued the news of orcs on the march arrived and the low thrum of distant drums could be heard growing nearer.

Clando frowned and adjusted his gloves, “What in the nine? That was spell fire!”

Vilmar stated to Ryland, “As my Master once told me, be a boon to your brothers and a bane to your enemies, Sir Ryland.”

Ryland ordered Vilmar in return, "In reserve and attack any that break the lines. Stand tall!"

“Yes sir!” was Vilmar’s only response.

Both Ryland and Clando grasped their holy symbols adding to the prayers being offered in the last moments of solitude while searching the night horizon for the drums that accompanied the beats already pounding in their ears.

[Standur]

Night Falls and Fog Sets In

Ryland was looking down, watching the sand around his feet vibrate to the rhythm of the ever nearing drums. It was like the opening act of a much larger performance to come. The beat of the drums rattled his brains working its way down his body and their rhythm pulsed through the bottom of his feet working its way up. Somewhere around his stomach the beat and the rhythm met producing a sizeable knot. The noise from the drums alone could be enough to drive a lesser man into frenzy or cause him to lose his nerve altogether. He mentally prayed that he would not prove to be a lesser man.

“Goblinoid”, he heard Clando yell first followed by, “Oh no”, just as the distant barks of dogs began closing in upon their position rapidly. Ryland looked up just in time to see men dart off the line toward the charging dogs and others step directly into the gap that was supposed to funnel the enemy to them. Instead of the strategy being executed as planned a few unsteady nerves saw men being ripped to shreds by the mad dogs' yards beyond help and the defenders who stepped into the gap being outnumbered by the massive canines. All Ryland could do was stand, watch and wait for an opportunity to arise.

Emiliana shouted over the din of noise, "Stay behind the barricade! Let them funnel through and take them down one by one!" Other shouts went up, “Make room, stand back, step aside!” By the gods Ryland stared in wonder as some pressed forward giving those in the gap no room to step out.

Ryland heard Clando shout pointing to the right end of the barricade “This side!” He didn’t have time to fully turn his head before the ground rocked beneath his feet and the night flashed in bright orange light. By the time he gathered his whit’s and looked at the barricade again the goblin was gone in an explosion that took the rock as well leaving a gap that more dogs and goblins tried to rush through. Fortunately the gap was small and Ryland and Clando were able to quickly fill it holding off the on rushers as Emiliana reformed the lines. This time Emiliana’s voice seemed to rise above everything all complied when she ordered, "Everyone get BEHIND the barricades!"

Once the funnel was emptied of defenders it did not take long for the pack of goblins and dogs put down and for Ryland to be holding a gap empty of foes. He looked down the barricade line shaking his head trying to dismiss the ringing in his ears. Several more explosions had occurred during the initial skirmish and he was both glad and slightly surprised to see the vast majority of the barrier in tact. His ears cleared just in time to hear the rumblings off in the distance begin to grow closer and closer. He could barely make out another wave moving slowly up the road as Emiliana redistributed her charges.

After a few moments of watching the enemy inch their way forward he heard Immunes Gwenaer shout from behind “Madam we must cave the tunnel in!” Looking back he saw both the Immunes and Magus Arrow examining a hole in the ground that had most certainly not been there moments before. He turned back counting on the two men to solve the problem on their own.

Emiliana issued a command and barrels erupted near the advancing foes and screams of agony rang out in the night air as flames began consuming the flesh of some of their number yet still they marched on toward his position. He held his ground unable to see what advanced behind the wooden walls that inched in their direction. Emiliana gave the command again and once again more screams and flaming bodies followed its execution but this time a rush of goblins followed by the cold chill of undead darted out from behind the how burning and collapsing no longer moving walls. The charge was on as shouts about undead rising from the tunnel drifted to his ears.

Lightning flashed around him and fire threatened to singe him. Metal screamed against metal and men screamed in their death throws but he was oblivious to it all as he leveled a path of destruction in his wake. He moved through the second wave of attackers like a butcher in a slaughter house A goblins head fell from its shoulders, a skeleton was sheared in two, the light from a mages eyes faded and the lightning fell from his fingers as his sword emerged from his back and then it was over as quickly as it started.

Somewhere in the fog of war he had lost track of Clando and Vilmar. Someone said something about Vilmar falling into the hole while trying to help Immunes Gwenaer close it. Ryland had no time to consider their fate beyond a quick prayer to Helm for their safety as he moved through the injured helping those he could until he came to the sprawled and splayed figure from the Gazebo earlier in the day.

Ryland looked at the thinned ranks regrouping around the barricade. They needed help now and he new Maneae would give her all. Reaching into the satchel strapped around his waist Ryland pulled the only two bloodstones he owned from his pouch and placed one over each of Maneae’s eyes before intoning a prayer, ”Helm I ask that you grant Maneae sight in this world to once again stand as a guardian this night.” He watched as the stones dissolved into nothingness and Maneae’s eyes slowly flickered and then opened.

((Please consider this the first page of Ryland's duty report for the evening))

[Standur]

Night Falls and Fog Sets In Pt. II

Ryland eventually turned his attention away from the wounded and the redeployment efforts near the barricade toward the city gate. It was hard to tell what was going on in the darkness but people were scrambling around quickly doing things he really couldn't see. He heard bits and pieces of conversations from a distance and the words “cave-in” and “missing” were being ominously repeated.


"Keep an eye on the moving forces”, Emiliana yelled in the general direction of the barricade before turning back toward the hole and saying something Ryland couldn't make out. He tried to maintain focus on the road but found himself searching for the missing faces of Clando and Vilmar. Not finding them he began splitting his time between watching the road and the activity around the hole. Eventually names started floating up and down the barricade line. Gwenaer, Vilmar, Clando and Maneae were among them. Maneae? He quickly wondered how she wound up in the hole. Shouts arose along the lines indicating the enemy was again on the move. “Hold your lines”, Ryland shouted as Emiliana made her way back from the hole.


“Don't let them pass!”, Emiliana commanded. “Behind me, we hold this line.”


Ryland was moving with the remaining defenders into formations when Clando scrambled from somewhere unseen to take a up a place in the line near him. Ryland intoned prayers while looking out into the night horizon. He could make out movement as the orc drums began their rhytmic pounding again. Between drum beats he caught snippets of a conversation between Emiliana and Clando about the hole. Sewers, cave-ins and Emiliana insisting on getting the remaining people out of the hole was all he could grasp before the rumblings from the Blackmaim position started up again with the sounds of the next wave approaching.


Ryland watched as large silhouettes marched up the road. Like metal thrust in the forge the Bloodmaim had tried to soften their lines with the fodder of dogs, goblins and undead. The first falls of the hammer had been to soften the defenders and shape the attack into something they could work with. Now the orcs themselves were coming and, from the looks, bringing with them a big hammer and anvil. The first orcs Ryland incurred were heavily armored, massive creatures that looked as if they were prepared to place the defenders back into the forge and deal them a series of heated blows.


The blessings of Helm filled Ryland's mind and surged through his body as he greeted the first to orcs test the line. The line buckled but held as both orc and defender alike fell around him. The line was holding as the orcs were falling at a greater rate than the defenders. One orc fell away from Ryland never to see the morning sunrise and Ryland shifted his weight to regain his footing and block a blow intended for his skull. The orcs were far larger than Ryland but he had little trouble dealing with their primitive fighting skills. When he became outnumbered he retreated into a defensive stance and waited patiently for openings in their defenses. When the orcs numbers confronting him dwindled he went on the offensive creating as much havoc and destruction as he could. On the orc waves came and Ryland greeted them with death in Helm's name until the last orc fell and only the bustle of medics and Emiliana shouting orders registered in his mind.


Ryland looked up and down the lines and the sight was less than encouraging. The defenders numbers had thinned significantly during the last onslaught. The line would be stretched by any new assault. He could overhear some of the reports as they filtered in to Emiliana. Clando had volunteered to enter the hole in search of the missing. Orders to treat the wounded and reform the line had been given. Magus Arrow reported that those missing from the collapse had made their way into the sewers. They were encountering and battling groups of undead. He also discovered that the leader of the orc invasion had been found and was rallying another large group for a new assault. Some good news did filter in as the defensive lines were being reset. Much to Ryland's relief there had been no news of portal openings reported. Whatever was happening was happening right here in front of him. In addition, those missing from the collapse began scrambling up a tied off rope that had been lowered into the hole.


Whatever solace Ryland derived from the good news was short lived. Off in the smokey darkness, the war cries, yells and taunts of the surrounding humanoids could be heard hooting out in the night as they built up their resolve for another assault. The sound of the war drums once again filled the air as the Bloodmaim began moving in. The cries of orcs raised up louder than before sending praises to Shargass. As the drums and shouts grew to a crescendo Ryland offered to those nearby, "When the enemy is near I will ask Helm's blessings upon us."


Up and down the lines shouts of defiance and murmurs of fear could be heard over the raucous orcs. “The bastards look confident”, came in one ear. Followed by, “Here they come.” He spied Clando standing there with him prepared for battle and Ryland knew he would have it no other way. The final things Ryland heard and saw were Vilmar shouting for all he was worth. “Only in death does duty end; show them the fight of their lives!” and Emiliana’s order, "HOLD the line and bring down those towers!”


The first orcs bore down on their position and Ryland met them boldly. The first to face him died on his sword. Ryland looked out across the battlefied prepared and filled with confidence before night fell behind his eyes and all went dark.

[Standur]

The Sun Rises but the Fog Deepens


Ryland sat in the far back corner of the Mariner slowly nursing his second ale of the evening while reliving recent events. His mind was reeling as he tried to wrap his head around exactly how he came to be sitting alone sipping ale in the Mariner. “A length of rope”, he thought which almost brought a smile to his face but it was a fleeting moment. He clutched his mug tightly while closing his eyes and viewing the moments and days since his fall that evening at the gate.

It was Emiliana he first saw when he regained consciousness and his eyes fluttered back open. Her face was stern as she hauled him back to his feet and she practically threw him behind her with an order to get back. Vilmar and Clando had survived, the defenders had held the gate and he had subsequently enjoyed a quiet celebration breakfast with Emiliana. It was then in the wake of the successful defense of the gate that she chastised herself for not having a coil of rope when the street collapsed taking some of her charges with it. Perhaps this was always the way of things. Perhaps no matter the achievements one helped to obtain it was always easier to see the downfalls.The conversation rolled through his mind vividly.

"I had no rope. I should have had rope", Emiliana declared. "How many lives could I have saved had I only had a length of simple rope with me?"

Ryland had sat back and given her time to finish expressing her thoughts before leaning forward and replying, “Which part of your plan involved rope?"

Emiliana inhaled a slow breath through her nose. "If I had possessed a length of rope, my people who fell into the tunnel could have been pulled to safety a lot sooner."

"Aye, and if you possessed an army of thousands we could wipe the land clean of orcs all together", he offered before sitting back and smiling while watching her.

Her lips twisted into a wry frown, but she conceded the point with a light nod insisting she had an overwhelming desire to do everything to the absolute best of her ability. To Ryland is seemed as if the magnitude of what she had accomplished had not yet dawned on her so he parried her wry frown and comments and countered by leaning forward in his chair and asking, "Do you know what you have done this day?” Immediately he held up a hand to stop her from speaking and pressed on, "You Salararius Emiliana Blackwell have driven the Bloodmaim from the gates of Sundren. You planned the defense and organized the defenders. You equipped the unprepared and rallied the unaware. That is no small feat to accomplish in such a short time. I believe forgetting a length or rope may be forgiven this once."

It had been a good breakfast and a quiet celebration between friends. It was a moment to enjoy and savor but that moment seemed long past as he looked from the ale to the empty chairs surrounding him. Things since that morning had slowly spiraled in a direction away from where Ryland had hoped they would go. He sat there alone with empty chairs surrounding him attempting to accuse him of allowing things to become out of his control.

The report from the Triumvirate reprimanding Squire Vilmar for speech unbecoming a paladin sat on his desk awaiting a response. Vilmar would have to answer to Sir Aruvven concerning his vows as a paladin but Ryland had hoped to sort out any matters and questions of law before approaching Aruvven. He had sought Emiliana's advice hoping to establish the exact meanings of certain wordings within the law but somehow that conversation had gone down a treacherous path. He was unsure what he had said to offend or at least off put Emiliana but he was certain he had crossed some line that he was unsure he could ever reestablish. Mostly he was confused at why she was both upset with Vilmar’s suggested alliances and with his stance that said alliances were wholly unacceptable. In the middle of the conversation with Emiliana the ill-timed and ill-fated mental intrusion came that brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. Ryland was unsure in his rapid departure if he had been dismissed or simply bade farewell when he exited Emiliana's room.

When Ryland met the sun-elf mage at the appointed location the mage informed him that the Hands of Mundus had taken an interest in his sword. The mage attempted to perform a divination ritual on the sword but the sword either resisted the elf's efforts or the elf was found lacking in his craft as he failed to come to any certain determination. He instead determined a trip into Shar's Abbadon might reveal needed answers. “How foolish am I”, Ryland chastised himself staring back at the accusingly empty chairs.

Thanks to a scroll provided by the mage Ryland had managed a sending that drew help from two fellow Helmite's. He slammed his mug down on the table so hard that nearby revelers stopped their merriment to glance his way. “To Sir Alexander Evenwood, a man of integrity”, he said aloud for all to hear before reverting back to his thoughts. Four went in, three came out and Ryland had to make the impossible decision. He could place all of Sundren at peril by returning to the Abbadon or leave Sir Evenwood to fend for himself.

They had learned during the trek into the Abbadon that Ryland's sword could not go back there. It was clear that the elf would not return to the Abbadon and while Vilmar would likely go if asked Ryland would have to go weaponless. That was tantamount to ordering them both to summary execution. Again his head sagged and his shoulders slumped. There was no good choice. Ryland offered a quiet prayer for Sir Evenwood and hoped that the Hand could unravel the mysteries of the sword, wherever it was, and keep Sundren safe.

"Another round", Ryland exclaimed as the empty seats continued to beat upon his conscience.

[Standur]

Shadows and shades

Ryland lie in his bed watching shadows from the rising sun lengthen across his ceiling. His body ached and his head throbbed from too much ale and too little restraint the night before but the pain was a welcome distraction. That pain was far easier to deal with than the pangs of his conscience that nagged and tugged at him for leaving Sir Evenwood behind in the Abbadon. He told himself he had no choice really. The sword had to be withdrawn and Sir Evenwood had given him a direct order to retreat. The salve of those thoughts did little to prevent clouds of doubt about his actions that day from creeping across his mind with regularity.

Ryland relished the pain as his muscles pulled taught in an effort to move himself to the edge of his bed. His feet touched the floor and his eyes scanned the disheveled room looking for something to occupy his thoughts. The view that met his gaze would have made it easy to assume some sordid affair had taken place the night before. Pieces of armor lay randomly discarded on the floor. Pillows and blankets had been flung from the bed to fall where they may. His waste bin had been tipped over and its contents remained strewn around the tipped container. The sight was a silhouette of his scattered mind.

Ryland pushed himself off the bed and headed for his desk grimacing with each step. He settled into his chair and rubbed his temples as the source of his troubles greeted him. Atop the piles of unfinished reports lay the sword the elf had returned to him. It was wrapped tightly in a roll of cloth with bindings and arcane-marked strips of paper. The elf had informed him that sword was secured in such a manner to prevent the Shadar-Kai from scrying it and removing it from the wrappings will expose it once more. Leaving the sword in the wrappings rendered it useless to him but secured it from the Shadar-Kai. Removing it from the wrappings and breaking the wards would allow him to wield it once again at the risk of being detected by the Shadar-Kai and under the constant threat of attack by any shadow or shade the Shadar-Kai could summon.

Ryland leaned over the sword looking at the arcane-marked strips of paper attached to the bindings and resisted temptation. “I must wait for now”, he whispered the promise to himself. The elf had indicated there might be more information when the Council finished their report and until he received that information Ryland had vowed to keep the sword safe. Until the elf contacted him again the sword would remain wrapped and sealed but in his possession should the wards fail.

As he pulled his eyes away from the sword and began looking at the stacks of paper on his desk the name James Cooper caught his attention. He signed, “It is time to put things back in order and I will start with you.” Rising from his chair and turning toward his armor rack he looked briefly back to the name on the wanted poster and then set to work, “After I deal with this mess.”

[Standur]

Shadows of the mind

Water pooled around Ryland’s feet as drips continued to fall from between the crevices of his armor to the temple’s stone floor. The hauberk beneath his plate was fully soaked from the ordeal. Every time he adjusted his sitting position his clothing produced fresh droplets that ran down his body like a stream flowing toward its final destination. The bounty had been lost but he was unconcerned with not collecting the stags posted for the renegade. Cooper was in all likelihood dead and if not it should be sometime before he recovered sufficiently enough to cause any more mayhem to Sundren’s citizens. Ryland, Minael and Axxius had dealt Mr. Cooper a blow he would not soon forget if he had somehow survived.

Ryland knew it could have easily been the other way around with him left for dead and James Cooper reveling in the moment. His eyes closed and a knot formed in his throat as sat reliving the frantic moments that could have been his last. He could almost feel the water rising at his feet as images flooded through his mind. He had tried not to panic and to keep his mind focused on finding a way out of the situation but the trap was well laid. Water inched its way up his legs to his knees as he searched the area around the sealed door. If there was a way through the door he wasn’t having any luck finding it. There was no hint of a device that would shut down the flow of water or free him from the cage that might soon serve as his tomb. He could hear Minael and Axxius scream to him from the other side of the door as the rising water began hindering his movements. His search for some way out became urgent as the water reached his chest chilling him as it continued to rise.

When the water finally reached Ryland’s chin his thoughts turned to Nana Fren. Would she ever know what happened to him and how much he missed her guidance? It had been too long since he had written her and now it seemed he wouldn’t get another chance. He gasped for air as he bounced to the water’s surface and sucked in another breath of air before the weight of his armor pulled him back down. As if in slow motion he bent his knees and pushed off the floor with all his might but that bounce took him short of the water’s surface and another breath. He struggled futilely against water entering his lungs trying to hold onto the last breath he had taken.

With a shake of his head Ryland let the memory pass and began contemplating how he had managed to get himself into such a dire circumstance. Like a clap of thunder a thought resounded in his head and he sat forward sharply. Had he really gotten himself into these chaotic situations or was he placed in circumstances to be used as a tool against the vileness of his surroundings? How did the son of a follower of Waukeen wind up as a servant of Helm in a place like Waterdeep? He could not recall making a conscious decision to defy his father’s will but the teachings he had heard at Helm’s Hall resonated within him. Since his youth he had found himself in one scrape after another and it had frightened him at first when his very thoughts would occasionally manifest themselves as if a wish had been granted.

Ryland’s mind raced down pathways he had never before considered. Was his life a sum of his choices and the results of his own willful decisions or was he merely a tool of fate? He unconsciously reached for his satchel holding the warded blade and clutched it against his side. He had been summoned by the Abbot to go to the Abbadon. He had not volunteered to go to that cursed place. Why had he been chosen? Surely there were others more qualified to accompany the Adjudicator, Emiliana and Tigen. Why him? He had barely been any assistance to them in the endeavor to secure the sundrite. They had not really needed him but he had been sent regardless.

The thought stuck in Ryland’s head. They had not needed him but he had been sent regardless. They had not found the sword but by luck or by fate he dragged his foot through the murk and mire nearly tripping over the thing. By fate or by luck the sword had fallen into his hands. Was retrieving the blade his real mission in the Abbadon? He certainly had not known the sword was there and even if he had known it to be in the Abbadon what where the odds of finding it? The odds were long at best and yet he had found it. Now he awaited word from the sun elf regarding what danger the sword might pose to the valley. Would he have a choice of what actions to take next he wondered or had fate already measured his next steps?

[Standur]

Time unwinds Pt.1

Some artistic license is taken with Ryland's memory of how things unfolded in these next few posts. If you feel something does not portray your PC correctly please PM me and I will fix it.

Ryland was enjoying Faucon, Presea and Bren’s company. His heart was light in the moment sharing stories and laughter with friends when the question presented hit him and knocked the smile from his face.

“Ryland”, Presea asked in an off-handed manner, “what did you mean earlier when you mumbled I will come for you again champion?”

He couldn’t see himself but he was sure he must of gone pale because it felt like all of the blood drained from his face and at least for a moment his mouth had no reply to give. He knew the memory had crossed his mind as he listened to Tigen’s story earlier in the day but he hadn’t realized how closely it must have struck home. The tale of light and darkness had indeed moved him. So much so he must have spoken aloud the words that had been haunting him. He tried to compose himself and come to a quick decision about his reply to the question.

Few knew about the possible threat the sword presented to the Valley. Eirimil knew but not because Ryland chosen to confide in him. Emiliana knew but she, he thought sadly, has been out of contact for some time. Faucon and Sir Dain knew at least a part of the story. Ryland had grown to trust both Faucon and Presea and although he only knew Bren from a few brief encounters the fact that Bren was a Helmite was really all Ryland needed to know. Consciously or unconsciously he opened his mouth and the story spilled out. Finding the sword, the examination by the Left, the trip to the Abbadon, the Shadar-Kai, the sealed wards placed upon the blade and the expected information he hoped to obtain from the Left’s examination of the blade. It all poured out of him like some badly leaking dam about to burst and then he looked up at the occupied chairs around him and knew from their replies that he was not alone.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sun had not yet risen as Ryland left the Sundren Comfort and sauntered toward the front gate. She was still absent and he wondered what was keeping her away for such an extended period of time. She didn’t owe him an explanation of course and her business was her own but he regretted that their last talk had ended so poorly. He truly wanted nothing more than to sit down and speak with her again. At least that is what he told himself.

Even absorbed in his thoughts Ryland could not have missed the man standing alone looking about as if he were lost in the empty, quiet darkened streets of the early morning. He wore priestly garments and Ryland noted the feathers that adorned the man’s hair as he drew closer. He paused to exchange introductions and inquire if the man needed any assistance. Their conversation lengthened as they exchanged pleasantries until his associate arrived and whatever they had been discussing became utterly irrelevant. Even juggling an armload of vials she was stunning. Her hair was intricately braided, her skin as smooth as a pool of still water and she wore the symbol of Lady Firehair. The man called her Miyu and as she stopped next to him she shifted the contents she was carrying into her left hand then extend her right hand in greeting. Ryland grasped the extended hand, turned it over and slowly pulled the hand toward him before gently kissing it. “It is my pleasure to meet you Miyu,” he offered as he looked directly into her eyes.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The stops at the Sundren Comfort to check on her gradually decreased over time as Ryland began visiting the Temple of Sune in Aquor with increased regularity.

[Standur]

Time Unwinds Pt. 2

Eirimil was seated in front of the fireplace waiting as Presea, Faucon, Bren and Ryland entered the common area of the Second Wind at the appointed time. As the four circled around Eirimil’s chair he inquired of Ryland, “These are the ones you have asked to accompany us?”

"They are. I take it you have obtained the report from your superiors?”

With the smugness that only an elf of the Left Hand could muster Eirimil explained the news that had been conveyed by his superiors. It was grave to hear. More grave than Ryland had anticipated. If Eirimil’s superiors were correct a shade of great power laid claim to his blade. The Hands believed the shade was prepared to bring war to Sundren to fulfill that claim. The implications of war with a shade nation were overwhelming. Sundren’s defenses were stretched just dealing with the Bloodmaim without even considering the Black Hand. A vengeful shade and his minions could mean nothing but utter devastation if their numbers were great enough.

“There is a plan I am guessing,” one of them asked drawing Ryland from his train of thought.

Eirimil smiled thinly, “We have a plan if you are willing to take the necessary risk. Preparations are being made to shift us to Sigil where we will meet a Hand contact. The contact should be able to assist us in moving to the Shadow realm where we will seek out and destroy the shade. It is highly dangerous and quite likely that not all of us will return alive.”

“Should be able to assist us,” Ryland balked at the statement. He shook his head in disbelief at what he was hearing and asked gravely, “What are our other options?”

“Quite simple,” Eirimil added with that same thin smile on his lips and in the same nearly condescending tone, “we sit here and wait for the shade to come to us.”

“That is it?”

“Very insightful of you,” Eirimil said with little intonation. “We proceed with the plan or we do not. What is your decision?”

Ryland and Bren quickly stated that given the options they were both in favor of proceeding with the plan and Presea looked to Faucon who seemed to be contemplating matters before asking, “How much time do we have before leaving?”

“Two weeks from today,” Eirimil answered tersely.

Faucon smiled and the frowned, “That should be enough time but I am in but I will need a diamond and I need it quickly.” Looking around he asked, “Does anyone have access to one?”

Only Eirimil gave a positive reply while asking, “Why the urgent need for the gem?”

Faucon smiled broadly looking only at Presea, “I need to have it set in the ring that I intend to give to my bride to be.”

After a moment of stunned silence the words finally penetrated Preasea’s comprehension and she beamed, “Married! We’re really getting married!”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ryland exited the Sundren Comfort with a grieved look on his face. Another day came and went with another unanswered knock at her door. He fretted as he walked around the pond toward the Triad Temple. He was running out of time to speak with her and clear the air. He needed her to know she was his friend regardless of any heated words they might have exchanged and he needed that to happen soon or there was a distinct possibility it might never happen at all. Would she notice if he were gone? Would she care? “Oh just STOP IT you ninny,” he chided himself before entering the chapel.

He entered the splendidly decorated chapel to the soothing sound of stringed instruments. Presea and Faucon had used the week well to prepare for the ceremony. The chapel was simply but elegantly decorated. They had chosen to invite only a few close friends but the small crowd gave the feeling of intimacy and not sparseness. Everything was both beautiful and tasteful in equal measure. He could not imagine a more suitable place for Presea and Faucon to exchange their promises to one another.

He greeted the groom with a heartfelt congratulation and wished him a long and happy life with his soon to be bride. As he turned from Faucon to mingle with the other guests his stomach fluttered a bit with the knowledge that their marriage could be anything but long. Pushing that thought aside he spoke with some of the guests he knew before finding a solitary seat. As he waited for the ceremony to begin he overheard, without trying, what sounded like a cozy conversation between Sir Tornbrook and a woman he did not recognize. Ryland tried not to listen but in the intimate confines it was impossible not to hear. They seemed comfortable confidants and the pangs of loneliness washed over him as the duo’s conversation continued.

Much to his relief the guests moved to their seats and the wedding party to their appointed places of honor before the music's volume increased and Presea was escorted to stand before the priestess with Faucon. Their pairing seemed natural and the priestess’ words were both stirring and a well-placed kick in Ryland’s gut. Somewhere deep within he wanted what Presea and Faucon had found. The feeling was hard to comprehend. It was not jealousy or envy he was certain of that. He was truly happy for Faucon and Presea and did not want to take away what they had found and keep it for himself but he did want to share that bond with someone. Longing, he finally decided was the best word for the feeling.

[Standur]

Special thanks to Tamha for her contirbution to this post

TIME UNWINDS PT. 3

“Six more days,” he thought standing silently next to Miyu. As people began breaking camp everything blended into the background while Ryland went through his mental checklist of things yet to be done including the letter he would leave under Emiliana’s door. Not much remained unchecked on the list and those things that did quickly fled his mind when Miyu offered him her hand and bade him to accompany her. The offered hand was gladly accepted and they departed for Sundren.

They walked without speaking for a long while until Ryland broke the silence sounding hopeful, “I have been lonely for some time, Miyu, and I do not wish to be alone any longer. I need someone I can open myself to who can help me feel alive and who feels alive when I whisper their name in the darkness… but there is so much you should know.” He paused for a moment to look into her eyes and gauge her reaction.

“I have met many people here in the valley, but not one before has made such an open request of me.” She smiles affectionately to him as she continues, “I am honored you have sought me out as a confidant. So long as you are able to understand my callings to my temple and my goddess, I will happily nurture with you this blooming rose.” She raises his hand she is holding up, turning it over and kissing his palm.

Ryland exhaled as if he had been holding his breath and smiled warmly at Miyu’s response. As they began walking again Ryland opened himself for perhaps the first time since leaving Waterdeep. He bared himself and shared with Miyu much of his past and the details surrounding his imminent departure. He talked and Miyu listened until the dusty path turned to cobbled streets and orange light from the street lanterns danced in Miyu’s eyes. Ryland started to pause at the gate to the Four Lantern but Miyu simply tugged him along after her through the gate, into the inn and toward the stairs. Before she reached the stairs Ryland planted his feet and pulled her back so close to him that he could feel her breath on his neck. She arched an eyebrow teasingly, “You do not wish to follow me?”

His expression was one of unadulterated excitement, “One moment is all I beg.”

“One moment and no longer,” she declared with a pout playing on her red lips and her dark eyes dancing with unspoken promises.

Ryland broke away and hurried to the bar where he pulled a stack of stags from his satchel and sat them on the counter. He conversed animatedly with the barkeep shortly and then rushed back to Miyu.

She grabbed Ryland by the hand and led him toward the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at him to ask, “What was that all about?”

“Nourishment,” he replied, willingly following Miyu.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
He watched Miyu’s lithe form slowly appear as she removed her armor and placed each piece on the armor rack. The sweaty, light clothing she wore beneath her armor was clinging to her and displayed the curves of her body. Ryland could not remove his eyes from the beautiful creature emerging from the metal shell. Miyu’s taught muscles flexed as she turned gracefully and locked eyes with Ryland. “You can put your armor anywhere but where it is now,” she encouraged, and she started walking back around the end of the large bed toward him as she watched him remove his armor in turn.

Miyu had closed to within arms reach of Ryland and offered him her hand as he finished removing his metallic shell. Ryland pulled her hand to his lips kissing it gently. He then allowed them to move slowly up her arm until they reached her neck when there was a loud knock on the door.

“Nourishment,” Miyu chuckled before pulling away from him and heading to the door. She seemed a bit shocked as she pulled the door wide open and stepped aside to allow four of the inn’s maids to enter her room. One carried fresh linens, another carried a platter of food and drink and the other two brought a large kettle of steaming water.

Ryland moved to the ladies and grinned mischievously as he tipped each generously before shooing them out of the room. Miyu closed the door behind them and turned to Ryland who stood next to the kettle of water motioning for her to join him. She stood still watching him for several heartbeats before complying with his request, sauntering toward him as a pleased smile crossed her lips. Ryland pulled her into an embrace staring longingly into her eyes. His hands moved slowly up her sides and tenderly touched her face before moving to fumble with the buttons of her blouse.

Miyu smiled knowingly as Ryland fumbled with the buttons and she stopped his attempts with her own hands on his. “Allow me,” she almost purred, her warm breath grazing his cheek. She then took a small step back and slowly removed her remaining garments while holding Ryland’s gaze with her eyes. She stood before him relaxed and bare. She searched his face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. She spoke softly, “It is alright. I am not ashamed nor should you be.”

Ryland grabbed a wash cloth from the stack of linens and grimaced a bit as he thrust his hand into the hot water and soaked the cloth. He stepped to Miyu and placed the heated cloth against her soft skin to begin slowly washing her. “Tell me about yourself,” he requested as his hand wandered over her soft skin. He listened as his eyes and his hands inspected each inch of her bared skin. Where there were cuts and abrasions from the earlier fighting he stopped to whisper words of healing allowing the perfect skin to mend.