An old Inquisitor enters the scene

[Areaus]

Stepping off the boat, groggy and uneasy from the long voyage, Ambrose McMannis strode as confidently as he could manage towards the nearest inn, all the while searching for his charge. It had been some years since he'd seen his old partner back in Cormyr and was anxious to meet his prodigal daughter. He'd expected her to be waiting for him, but like most things in his life, nothing ever went as planned.

Impatiently waiting for nearly an hour, the old man rose from his seat and quietly moved up the steps of the inn to his room. Lying in bed, waiting for sleep to overtake him in this new strange land, he decided to pull out the letter, the reason for his transition to this new place.

"Dear Praetor McMannis,

I am Julia Darkbane (hope I got that name right), daughter of Praetor Gustav Darkbane, an old friend of yours so he says. My father has far outlived his travelling days and yet a new evil rises quietly in a distant land. I was sent here myself to see to the troubles but it appears it is far more than I myself could handle. I could think of none other than yourself to call for aid in this my hour of need.

I beseech you, Father. Join me in Sundren and help me weed out the wickedness that has plagued this countryside so its people may live in peace yet again. I will wait for your response and understand if you are too preoccupied. Thank you for your time, Father.

Julia Darkbane,
Paladin of Torm
Servant of the Triumvirate"

Falling asleep with the letter still opened, the old inquisitor dreams of terrible things to come...


///PS: Evremonde, if you want to edit this at all to better match your story, let me know.

[Evremonde]

((it all works out ))

[Areaus]

A dream of things to come

Twenty years old and full of vigor, young Chaplain McMannis strode through the ranks of his soldiers with pride. This was their moment of glory, this was thier day in the sun. They were ordered to the front lines of the war to relieve another veteran unit who had taken too many losses. He had waited all his life for this day to come.

Speaking a few words in silent prayer to Ilmater to bless his troops he waited for the orders of his captain to move out. Everyone was armed, everyone had eaten, and they had all said their goodbyes. Most knew they weren't coming back, but that was the way of the legion. They all prayed for the glorious death that waited for them at the hands of their agressors.

Marching for days, resting during the hottest hours as to preserve energy and not overwork the footmen, they finally made the last camp less than six hours from the battlefield. Tensions were high and fights often broke out between eager soldiers. Nothing that a practiced chaplain and combat medic couldn't take care of quickly. He was their hope, their link to the gods, and their eventual release from the mortal world. Ambrose McMannis took great pride in his work. At dusk, they would make the final march to the war camp where they would link up with the rest of the legion.

Three hours into the day, near noon, the heavy sound of hoofbeats could be heard over the hills west of their location. Our fastest runner was dispatched to scout ahead. He wasn't gone more than five minutes before we saw him returning in full sprint screaming to gear up, ignoring any chain of command that had existed. Nobody waited for the captain's orders...

Within what seemed to be mere moments, an entire cavalry brigade peaked over the rise and began it's decent down upon us. The one thing they weren't ready for was the fact that our particular battallion was mostly pikemen. Designed specifically to fend off cavalry. Every soldier grinned at the sheer luck of their encounter. Pikes were set and the charge was called...

It seemed as if it took hours for them to reach us, though it surely wasn't more than a few moments. The front line buckled as the cavalry smashed into them, but we'd trained for years for this very thing and nobody moved, nobody dared to. Suddenly, we realized that our pikes were having little effect against them. Any horse we downed rose up moments later, it's flesh hanging from it like a butcher's shop window display. The soldiers who rode them appeared unaffected as well, mounting the unholy steeds and turning around to charge again. It only took the young chaplain a moment to realize what we were up against. Death Knights! A cry came out. "The undead!" "Fall back!"

This wasn't our foe! Who commanded these? We were at war with an orcish horde. They had no command over such powers, this was impossible. The chaplain, lost in a panic, watched as his entire battallion was crushed under the weight of a hundred death knights on undead steeds... One spotted him and his holy regalia and it was that moment he knew it was the end. Gripping his symbol of Ilmater tightly in his grasp he prayed for a quick death...

A death that never came. With the final word spoken, a burst of light and energy screamed outward from the young cleric, throwing the deathknights off their now-useless heaps of flesh. He'd somehow destroyed the horses, but now what to do about the knights themselves? They rose with a fury, drew steel and every one made a bee-line towards the doomed priest. This time, prayer wouldn't stop them. As they tore through anyone who dared stand in their way, Ambrose witnessed atrocities that would haunt him for the rest of his days. A bloodied chipped sword came up against him and just as it was brought down...

Waking in a cold sweat, the old man let out a gasp as he looked around, a deathgrip on his symbol around his neck. His dreams were getting worse...

[Areaus]

The time came when the old man would put himself under the command of another again. He sighed deeply as he strode up the steps of the Triumvirate temple, certain they could not, would not turn him away.

Minutes later, shouts could be heard from inside the temple.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, boy! I've seen things and been places you could only dream of! *hushed whispers* Wounded? Where? I'll see to them. I'm the best healer you've ever seen. What do you mean I can't help them? I can't or you won't let me? Preposterous! No no, I can leave on my own... Useless bunch of no-goods."

The old man storms off towards the legion barracks. "Once a soldier, always a soldier, I suppose. Let's find out if they have any place for a withered old geezer."

Within moments, he'd stepped in through the massive wooden doors, walked up to the first soldier he saw and respectfully, if not a bit harshly, requested to see the captain.

/// DM's whenever you get a moment, I'd like to play out that part of my story.

[Phantom Lamb]

(( Will do when I see you next. Thanks, last night was fun ))

[Areaus]

Dinner at the Trading Post

Every evening right around sundown (About 4-5PM EST), Brother McMannis begins preparations on another large banquet for himself and those around him. Turning away no one, all appear to be welcome. Be they friend or foe. Wonderous times and happy moments are shared between all as frienships are strengthened and new ones are born. Join in the fun and don't miss out on your next free meal! For those that know him, he never looks happier than when he's cooking and relaxing with those around him.

[Areaus]

... Stepping out of the Legion HQ in the military ward, the newest member of the Sundarion Legion surveys his home with renewed vigor. His armor accomodating, crimson cloak billowing in the breeze, he strids off to begin the first day of his patrols.

"Once a soldier, always a soldier"

[Areaus]

(((Edited and deleted by myself)))

[Areaus]

As the newest member of the Legion makes his rounds through the city and surrounding lands, rumors spread of him being the true father of the young paladin Julia Darkbane who he traveled here with in hopes of ridding the land of it's undead and banite infestation.