The Brave

[Kaybrie]

"She resembles nothing of anyone I've ever met, nor you... But I don't question that she is ours." The middle-aged knight spoke in a confident, but loving tone to the woman resting at his side. The bright sun beamed overhead in a cloudless sky, a light shifting sea breeze being the greatest comfort from its unrelenting heat. The air was filled with the sounds of crashing waves and shouting children, scrambling about over a deflated pig-skin ball.

The woman at his side had long, sandy blonde hair, she was slim and fit with tanned skin and a lightly defined tone around her arms and legs. Her face was sharp, lean with a pointed nose and thin lips, she was not the perfect picture of beauty, but her soul shined with a radiant beauty unlike anything he could lay eyes upon. His burly hand wrapped over hers and he planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "I knew from the moment I laid eyes upon her that she was ours, but there is clearly more to it then just that." She finally responded, her discomfort on the subject clear as day to him, though her inquisitive nature demanded answers that she knew he didn't have.

"There is nothing wrong with Gabrielle, we are blessed as parents with the knowledge that ours was born healthy, strong and destined for greatness." She resigned with a sigh to his clear spoken, confident answer. For a moment she grew tired of the tireless nature of her old companion, she pulled a white sheet from her pack and draped it across her shoulders. "We should go back inside, she'll be hungry soon, if not already." He grinned to her and rolled to his feet, clapping her once over the shoulder as he began to march inside. "Worry not, fair maiden... For I shall be the slayer of this hunger beast."

=====

Aphael stepped into her daughter's room dismissing the house keeper with a kindly thanks, staring down over the tiny bed which housed the barely mobile toddler her heart was again filled with warmth. Skin pale as snow with a head with only the tiniest, finest of white hairs flopped down over her head. A pair of bright, golden eyes stared toward her, visible even in the darkest nights without the faintest candlelight. "I do not prize myself on questioning the mysteries of Faerun..." She whispers into Gabrielle's ear as she plucked the cooing babe from its nest and settled the new life into her arms. "But I still wonder of your future Gabrielle, but don't you worry, we'll be there for you."

[Kaybrie]

In the time following the second sundering...

"What of Sestra?" She asked in turn of a question. "It's a sea of lost souls have have sworn to bane, they have submitted to fear and allow themselves to be ruled. They are lost, and I no longer hold any charge to their protection. In a day where the town is cleansed of the banite filth, we shall then look to who may be saved."

The ghost-fleshed woman stood silently within the temple halls, her bright golden eyes staring fiercely at the man in crimson who'd come to petition her aid. The azure robes that flowed over her uncharacteristic of the normally battle-ready tormtar within the deepest halls of the Triad, though it made the aasimar no less imposing. He stared back, his soldierly demeanor remaining outwardly stoic for a few moments while he considered her answer, then he nodded and turned to leave with little more then a stated "Good day".

Eyes of gold glued to the back of his head as he marched out, and as the door closed behind him she finally turned her attention away and back to the text she'd been studying. She turned the pages and her eyes examined each word, but they were more interested in the intricacy of the penmanship then the knowledge they created. She was distracted, ill at ease with continued word flooding her ears of the distant conflicts, and here she'd been. Cooped up in silence for near a year's time, reading books and practicing swordplay alone, her sojourn in the temple grounds was quickly becoming a permanent living arrangement. The pull of her blood to go forward and face the problem directly the most clear indication of her laxity, of the reality of how much suffering she was inadvertently allowing.

"The blood will never stop flowing." She says softly as she looks down over the cursive text, her mouth moving to form the words on the pages as she quietly repeats the celestial texts. "People will never stop dying, and so long as monsters like them exist, the gods will continue creating monsters like me."

She flipped the leather bound journal shut, and turned toward her bed and made for the foot-board, where she leaned down to her chest full of old equipment. The first thing she pulled free was her cloak and cowl, which she stared upon for a few moments before she fastened them to her person. She then pulled from its resting place her fathers strap and claymore, and fastened it to her back. Too much time had passed in isolation, and she was no longer of mind to be alone.

[Kaybrie]

Endless.

Pressure kissed her fingers then wrist as she swung her arm wide, she heard the primal cry 'midst a sea of roars and barbarian curses. She glanced as the tip of her blood stained blade parted the flesh of the sickly skinned beast without barely touching. Like water its skin and muscle simply flowed around until the sword had found its point of departure, flames gently licking, mercifully cauterizing the wound were there any intent to spare it. Her chest, then her shoulder shifted and the weight in her hands changed balance as she brought the blade through the creature again. This time there was no cry of pain from it, only the sound of its body thrashing to the ground, the soul departing to exist with its demon god... While mortality screamed for it to stay.

She considered the Bloodmaim something of a blessing... A representation of something that she existed to fight, to destroy. Others did not so readily agree, but she appreciated them, they were as food to sate her hunger for the end of evil. And like food, without its existence, she would starve.

There wasn't a soul alive who she'd met who could understand what she felt within, a righteous fury of unending malice for everything that would despoil honor, peace, love, charity, justice... Without evil, without the Black Hand or the Bloodmaim, she would be left with nothing. She would be left with only a hunger to drive her mad with its incessant scratching in the depths of her skull, screaming to her, calling her to visit vengeance upon the wicked.

The sight of the lifeless body of the broken berzerker was like a drug, a soothing balm to that itch that brought her relief. But unlike any other drug, there was no breaking her habit, the withdrawal of abandoning her quest would start almost as soon as she departed the mossdale, and would continue to grow until she served her purpose again, and again, and again. There was no guilt felt for what she chose to do, and there was no state of rest save in the halls of the triad, where she was given reprieve from her mission... But even there, she would still feel the call, that endless hunger.

Blurry shadows flickered from the fog around her, explosions of coiling mist into the enraged faces of painted monsters brandishing crude weapons, screaming for her death. A feeling coalesced in her as her eyes flashed briefly, cracks of gold-orange flame emerged from the soil, sucking the moisture from the moss below and leaving charred ash in their wake. 'I love you.' And all were swallowed by the inferno.

[Kaybrie]

"... Then perhaps. The biggest thing you should. Understand? Words can be... liberating. Or they can be. Absolutely. Unnecessary."

She remembered, the warmth of the thin fingers interlaced with hers drawing her attention so thoroughly that almost, for brief instances she could feel what it was not to be at ease, but to yearn for something beyond hatred, beyond battle. The round eyes of the elf drew her in, they spoke to a child who barely had the will to speak her own mind a midst the holy choir of a far stronger calling.

Laying quietly in a cot, a simple azure blue gown draped over her seldom seen curves, the hidden creature that sulked within the depths of thick robes and concealing armor. Her skin was pale, unblemished in spite of a dozen seasons of battle, war and weathering... her magical prowess in healing was never masterful, but it was ever present. She was healthy, athletic and could run, weave and fight in full armor with little difficulty. Yet she appeared little more then a pampered waif, a noble raised in luxury and comfort. Here, the pale light of Selune gently poured forth from her window, lighting the ghostly sheets of her bed with her form little more then a ripple upon it. Here she reflected, here she thought.

"That's your mind. Telling you. Nothing is alright... let it go. Let it go." Manicured fingertips brushed through her mithral hair, scratching along the aasimar's scalp as the elf hummed softly to the distressed creature.

Her hand lifted, she saw it with ghostly clarity... as she saw things in the ethereal realm, though this was real... the magic of Selune's light mixing with her divine sight to create an illusion of clarity. She stared in silence at the palm of the empty hand, tiny pointed digits slowly curled in as she remembered the feeling, the calming, soothing feeling. There, it was terrifyingly real... It was overwhelming, so much so that even when she stepped into the world of her meditations, even when she was knee deep in the bodies of the orcish plague... she'd felt only rage and confusion. Here was something else, here she felt cleansed from the call of battle, here she felt at peace.

Her head fell just to the side, a few silver stands tumbled into her field of view as she could see the bunk next to her, void of a body, as the one to her other flank had been. Crusaders forever performing their duty, forever marching to war... Perhaps now they were with their families, not all warriors of the triad called the temple their home... but all had a bed here.

[Kaybrie]

"How is it you... sequester yourself away. Like... like a leper. But speak like a bard?"

Her slender fingers quietly explored the curves of her elven partner, thin and delicate as she was... The Aasimar could effortlessly look upon so many flaws, her frail form, disfigurement, the need for corrective eyesight... And yet, she could only see beauty things that would make her look upon others with disdain, as liabilities... She saw in this elf as points of character, signs of a past riddled with hardship that had been overcome through guile, quick thinking and foresight. A form of wisdom that part of her admired, and another part loathed.

How had they come to this step, could she even remember? It was such a fleeting feeling, like she was floating on a cloud, distant and removed. The clashing sound of swords and the call to war remained ever present, but it was no longer a hammer pounding within her mind, but rather she had found her balm... And the pain from the need had been soothed, she didn't want it to end... A part of her just wished this was how her story would end, with little a chance to have begun.

Abruptly, she felt herself standing amidst the cool fog of a familiar but unfamiliar place, she could feel darkness all around her but the light was just strong enough to spare her from vertigo, she knew where up and down were. But she knew not where she was, another battlefield... The smell of wet bonemeal and ancient, preserved flesh permeating the air, defiled by evil. She looked ahead to a shadow within the darkness, she could feel its claws racing to meet her... She hesitated, then lifted her blade, but she felt them begin to rend her body and tear into her soul-

And her eyes opened again, her breath was short, and a pair of round eyes were staring back into hers. Even before the elf began to speak, the aasimar lifted herself slightly without a thought on the matter, and pressed her lips to a worried brow. "Just dreams..." She assured, her body rustling under the sheets in an effort to gather some comfort from the soft mattress. She closed her eyes again after a few moments, and felt thin fingers reach up and curl in between her own. "Dreams..." She thought she heard whispered, she didn't open her eyes to check with her companion, a part of her didn't want to know.

[Kaybrie]

"You think you're special? You ain't. There are a hundred men, good men who came before you. They're better then you, because they accomplished great things, they lead the charge, and they didn't back down. You're just another child to me until you do something with all that magic."

The biting cold winds of the valley laid down over the open road that the lonely soldier walked. Her armor battered and worn, her blue cloaks stained dark with blood, her own and her enemies. The heavy cowl that hung over her head masking her otherworldly features, the pain that wracked her mind and stole the strength from her limbs. Still, she walked... heavy mud displaced with each squishy step, the sound of endless rain all around raising to a chorus reflecting her inner turmoil...

--

A small, bouncy child rushed through the house, squealing with delight, her quarry was but a fly who'd been caught inside and caught her notice. Her short, silver hair puffed and swayed with her coming and going movements, hands slapping in the air as the fly continued nimbly dodging her assault.

A woman slipped down as they were about to pass, scooping up little Gabby by the waist in one hand, then bringing her across to the family table, where she was sat down. "Daddy won't be joining us tonight, he's going to fight the bad guys."

"And win?!" The ghostly child chirped, her feet wagging wildly beneath her chair as she huffed and puffed... but didn't fuss or struggle otherwise. "And win." Comes her mother's smart reprisal.

--

She drew slowly to a halt, she remembered the image, all the dead piled upon the dead... Undead, banites, soldiers and holy knights all piled upon one another. The only who remained standing were the soldiers of the legion, and the right hand. Her heart felt like it had been stabbed the way it wretched in her chest at the memory, she collapsed forward and cast out what few crackers she'd been willing to eat in the journey's time into the mud beneath.

"Are you alright sir?"

A voice shouted over the rain and thunder, jogging out from a caravan to check on her. Slowly, she pushed herself up, the brown earth clinging to her gauntlets and the robes that hung free from her armor. The dark hood turned toward him and he immediately came to a hault, seeing those otherworldly eyes glaring out at him from within the shadows of her concealing garb.

"I-I didn't mean anything by aproachin' yah... jus' being friendly..." He lifts his hands, waving them about.

A few more long, agonizing moments of her staring, her back slowly straitening... he was taller then her, undoubtedly... but between her armor and holy vestments she appeared the more imposing of the two. She stared, there was so much anger and sadness in those glistening eyes, even resentment as she looked upon the coach driver a moment, then her head abruptly turned away as she pulled her mind from the shadows. "I am fine..." She says softly, taking another step along the road.. she considers some comforting word, some apology... but before she knew it her feet had carried her out of earshot, and he had boarded his wagon to continue on his way...

She couldn't go back to the city as she was, she couldn't face the three and tell them of her account now... she was so close to something terrible, she needed time and care in a sympathetic place where she could get away from the turmoil and chaos in her soul for a few moments.

She looked west, and began toward the forest of the Mossclaw... of the Tuatha.

[Kaybrie]

[Deleted]

[Kaybrie]

"I'll make it through this." - "... That's all I wanted to hear."


Each step was a quiet echo of the last, wide eyes quietly looked about the camp, the mists rolling over everything obscuring the distant, that she might focus on the near, the present.

A collapsed tent, shredded with now rotting wood cracked and shattered overtop... An empty campfire, with the ash washed away over the years, it was barely recognizable save the circle of stones that still lay... A legionnaire's helmet rusted with an old primitive spear thrust through the top. The forest was reclaiming this place, small trees were beginning to sprout without their oppressive boots there to stomp them out. There was a time, when the lines in the country were so clearly drawn, when good men and bad were recognizable by the colors they wore and the symbols they carried.

She looked down to the bundle carried in her arms; was she wrong to suspect more treachery from the right? From the legion? More guiding hands working to snuff out their enemies, to remove those they deemed less useful or a potential threat? Were it not for a few she'd be completely alone again, perhaps resuming her crusade, bathing in the blood of evil and burning away corruption with her magic... but perhaps it was time for her to rise above that...

She stopped before a boulder, a large flat-topped stone midst the camp's ruins over top of that was a smaller stone, and next to the piled pair was another smaller stone, perhaps suitable for seating. She set her bundle down over top of it, and slowly unwrapped the contents, the drape of the crimson cloth falling astride the makeshift altar... then set down three candles a little lower, arranged in a line before her. Her father's old sword, lain a-breast to that line... the chips and cracks in the old blade would make it useless in most soldiers eyes, much akin to the condition of her body and her actual level of competence with a sword... And above all these she placed her left handed gauntlet, silvery and well polished mithral, it was the lasting symbol of her faith and the edifice of this shrine.

There she sat in the cool blanket of the encroaching forest, a little spot abandoned by civilization... She appeared far less then formal as she pulled a tinder twig from one of her many components pockets and lit each candle, one after another. After the third she held the candle close to her lips and blew out the smoke with a short puff, breathing deep of the burning embers as they flickered and died.

She had brought her small piece of civilization with her to this place of peace and quiet... it was respectful and unassuming, she hoped few would mind her presence.


And now she sat, unsure of what to do next... how did she address a god without a priest to direct her? They always seemed to know what Torm was saying, while she only felt it. Time passed as the tiny flames ate away at the wax, little pools of hardening white mush accruing at the candles' base.

"My lord..." She balked as she spoke the words, could something as addressing her deity feel so formal? Her brow's knit, and she tried again... "Father of righteous truths..." Again, it seemed wrong, embellishing, overblown for what she held in her heart...

Be honest.

"Torm... I... I am unsure how to speak with you, I am not one for conducting prayers in times of peace... I've long been too busy searching for the next war." Her head bows down, examining her feet as she becomes lost in a moment of thought... Strands of platinum hair tumbling from her head near to the ground.

"In countless years of being mired in battle, stuck in the thick of wars, conflicts, petty squabbles... crazed berzerkers and vile tyrants... I've somehow lost my way. Am I wrong, Torm to be human? I've felt guilt for taking this time to myself, for enjoying the passion of a lovers embrace, and seeking some measure of peace here, rather then endlessly searching for war. I feel so ill-at-ease... but it is because I am unsure... I do not know if this is what you wish, save for I believe you wish us... all of us to be true to ourselves."

Her eyes look up to the dancing candles, mist still rolling about... showing that there was no wind to disturb her little shrine. "I marched out with brothers and sisters, and continued forward while they stayed to hold the path shut, though I fear there was far more sinister intent in their presence... I live in an oasis of truth and feel surrounded by betrayers, deceivers, kinslayers and false saints... and I am unsure if it is they who are wrong, or it is I who have lost my sanity through the loss of my brothers and sisters.

"I ask forgiveness, for failing to protect them... but most of all, I wish to add my voice to the prayers for their added glory in the feast halls celebrating their lives, and hailing their courage in the face of evil, and betrayal... be what hand turned against them... Eheh, I didn't mean it like that... but fitting still..."

Her eyes traced up to the gauntlet itself, then down to her fathers silver sword... recalling his face for but a moment, the faded memory all but forgotten from the fear and trauma of her childhood.

"Are they well, Torm? Mom and dad... some say that they feel the presence of their ancestor's protecting them... but I've never held on to such a notion. I am proud of their sacrifice, but feel robbed and wronged for it, I spent years in bitter resentment... impotent and unable to hate anyone for their sacrifice... For they were answering the call of their deity, and their weight added to the strength of your blow was needed. And to hate the gluttonous tyrant is redundant, and only adds to his churches ebon' luster...

"But, in my pointless rage, in my pursuits of destruction for something that cannot be destroyed... I fear I've let many offered hands, new loved ones, and my own smiles slip away... I became lost in despair, consumed by grief. Torm, I make so few requests and pray so seldom... but if I had anything to say now, it would be to wish them... all of them; from my parents through every life I couldn't save leading up to this day, triad, common man or other goodly folk... it would be to wish them well. The fight isn't over... just theirs."

She'd sit then, in silence as she watched for hours... until all light save her shrine had been sucked from the camp as the sun descended from the sky, and selune's light failed to penetrate the fog... She waited until all the candles had died out, not for an answer but simply to clear her mind, bit by bit. She needed to focus again, to prepare for the battles that were to come and renew her fury.

Though now, she would be its master.

[Kaybrie]

Sundering the Nexus; Part I

[Deleted]