OOC Note: Themes may be dark and foul language might be ahead.
A hero. What does it mean to be one? To be the perfect role model? To be the angel with golden morals? To be the soldier with unwavering courage in the face of danger?
Yeah I've heard it before. Been called it more than once. A mantle I never believed I should carry, nor deserve to have placed on me. Why? 'Cause I can swing an axe? My two greatest talents boiling down to killing and surviving? Naw.. Great men make great decisions. They inspire and ooze contagious ambition. Not to mention have prettier faces than this mug. I simply have the habit of being the wrong man at the right place. Besides, what little room there's left on these shoulders is taken by my cloak.
I made a promise once to someone dear to me that I would defend those unable to until my last breath. Sounds pretty damn cliche when I think on it, but that oath has shaped me into the man I am today. The actions I've taken as a result has led to people telling me I'm a good man. That I have a good heart. Good thing skin deep is as far as they can see. I can recall more times than I'd like where I've made choices that contradict those statements. All under the impression I was making a difference. Intoxicating feeling that. At the end of the day, I found myself selfishly and naively trying to prove myself worthy of those words. And it's because of those choices, I'm worried this oath'll soon break. Once again I find myself in a position to cause more harm than good. Yeah we're getting to be real good friends, regret and I.
The war has shown me there is no right choice. No black and white. Just fifty shades of shit that had to be mopped up when time allowed for it. What kind of hero openly decides to work with a force that has done, and continues to do, unspeakable things? Depending on the outcome, I'm guessing I'll either be led to the slaughter or have a seat at the head of the table for taking something into my own hands. Maybe it'll be both. It's always hard to please a mob.
Time would shortly tell. I fear the trials that stand before me. I fear they'll turn me into something I never thought I could be. Something I won't be able turn back from. I dreamt I chose survival over all else, even what little dignity I had left. And I fear they know.
These biter elves weren't just going to drift away like smoke after the war. No, they were a consequence to be dealt with. After these trials, after this war, so long as there was fire and breath in my broken body, I would make things right again. Mentally, I don't know what will happen. Physically, I would survive.
Low town. Not a place I came to often. Couldn't say why. Probably cuz I never had any business to do here. Or maybe I noticed too many stares from people that made me want to look over my shoulder more than I preferred. A man could get a kink in his neck doing that too many times. I lied. I guess I could say why. Tonight at least I had business, with a very special crowd, and this time of night? Business was good. I could smell the sweat and ale before I even walked through the doors. The Ogre was thick with people. Hard to find a good spot to drink without shoving too many bodies around. Didn't want to piss anyone off quite yet.
It was easy to turn gold to liquid here. A place where you could pay to help forget. The first few mugs went down smooth enough, if you didn't take the time to taste it. Knocking them back fast enough also gave you some time to think before the mind started to tingle. That is unless they gave you storm water. Though that was another problem altogether. Instead, the new pain in my arm everytime I raised it to down a mug brought me back to why I even bothered to come to this dive.
Damned biter elf arrows. They wanted your attention? You were either dead or had arrows sticking out of you. Most people send letters. Not the most polite creatures, but I was never one to judge another's culture. I was warned my strength and endurance would be tested. And now on top of that it seemed like I had another reason to keep looking over my shoulder.
I wasn't as young as I used to be when I first got to the island. ..Yeah that sounds profound. That combined with the lasting injuries I've picked up, I'm nowhere near as fast either. Some would argue that doesn't matter. Some would argue experience over brute strength. Rothe taught me the importance of patience. The strategic, calculated strike over the agressive swing. I learned and adapted. In theory it worked great. But that theory might get shot to hell when being poisoned on top of it all gets added into it.
Nothing like testing out a new theory though. I've had dumb ideas in the past. This was by no means the dumbest, but I knew if I talked to anyone who hasn't had their head knocked around as much as mine, they'd say otherwise. Thain is no stranger to poison-loving creatures. The tricky part was getting it into your body while not dieing at the same time. Though I guess that defeats the purpose don't it. Wyverns? Carried off into a nest and eaten. Goblins? Overwhelmed by sheer number and trampled to death. Spiders? ...Do I really even need to bother with that one? Whatever. You get the point. There was a better way to cloud my judgement. Make me sluggish. Cause me to get sick the next day. After all, isn't that why people called booze 'poison'? Symptoms were damn near close enough.
Hey. At least it was a start. Anything to try and odd the evens. Hang on.. Even the odds. Well, looks like it's time. So long as no one tried to prove anything and pull blade, I should make it out alright. Every bruise was a lesson. Every bloody nose a reminder to duck. A rude gesture here. A thrown mug there. Things were easy enough to start. The place was more volatile than goblin powder. Everyone seemed angry enough in here. Tonight I just happened to be the fuse. Throwing back the last of however many mugs, I waded into the wall of fists.
Gods I hoped I didn't wake up in the back alley this time.
Dont remember the last time I felt this tired. With all the activity related to the war, never realized how much I took sleep for granted. Armor never stayed clean long enough before it got caked in layers of mud and blood. I stopped caring. Began to consider them badges of honor. Wounds barely healed before they were torn open again. Some bit even deeper than flesh, and lasted much longer. It was wearing on me, and no doubt wearing on everyone else. I was starting to realize physical fortitude wasn't the thing to worry about. It was mental. And with a creature like the Bloodwinged on the other side of the battlefield, things weren't going to be over anytime soon.
I remembered the first time I encountered it on the battlefield. The size. The strength. The aggression. Like a bull with swords for horns. It was not often I experienced true fear, but with the first few blows struck by the Bloodwinged, my resolution was tested and it faltered. Had the Desolator and the archers of the Alliance not been present, there's no doubt I would have been swiftly overtaken. My candle snuffed and just another corpse added to the wagon. Fate was a cruel mistress though. She kept me alive long enough to make sure we crossed paths again.
That day I had hoped to be a bystander. Observe the battlefield from the sidelines and learn about the tactics of the other side. Too bad one can't stand so close to the void without being sucked in. Atop the the hill by the last barricades, I heard the screeching of the vrocks before seeing them. The vulture-like monstrosities tearing through the front ranks. Men scattered like dust to the wind and attempted to reform ranks. Following behind them, out of the acrid smoke of burning barricades came that damned creature. Its walk confident, wings dripping red. I had a hard time telling if the blood was its own, or belonged to those of the fallen.
A warrior's salute. An invitation to retreat from the hill. To live another day. A seductive offer. One I rejected, against the screaming of my common sense. Armor rattled in similar defiance as the men rallied and the Bloodwinged charged the hill. Steel met steel. Steel met flesh. Flesh met the ground. More troops fell and after the shock of the initial strike, I noticed the Bloodwinged was not alone. Arrows of fire flew over the beast, finding their marks more easily than a seamstress threads needles. Glimpses of a horned creature darting from shadow to shadow, finishing off unsuspecting knights with devilish blades.
The Bloodwinged continued to rain blows upon my shield. My arm long since lost feeling. Each of us scoring strikes in an attempt to overpower the other. In the chaos of it all, my mind became oddly calm. I was fully aware of the decreasing presence of knights around me, their numbers dwindling faster than purses at a whore house. My fight was no longer about living to see the next day. Selfish actions weren't where I found my will to stand strong. If I lived or died, I stopped caring. One less thing to worry about. The knights at my feet became my foundation. The bravery of their actions my walls. Their sacrifice would not be in vain this day. And with their strength, I pressed back. The Bloodwinged would not take this hill. Not this day. Not so long as I could still swing my axe. It was unfortunate that though the mind was willing, my body could only handle so much. I was getting too old for this.
It was not long before burning arrows found their way past my shield. Blades struck in to my exposed back. My footing gave way and I saw the Bloodwinged raise his sword up high. The reaper come to claim another soul. Hopefully I held on long enough for reinforcements. Might have to haunt DuVall about the troops' mobility. The blade made its descent, and the flames engulfed us. Purifying. Destructive. Absolute.
~~ Everything smelled like ash. A thick miasma I was getting too used to. I woke up, beaten, broken, propped up against a building. Nothing was on fire. Not the Abyss. The sounds of battle echoed far away. Guess someone decided to not put me onto the wagon. Lucky me.
I could only open an eye half way, but I saw the shadow come into view. Slender. A woman. With legs for hours and wings to match. She offered a healing draught and I gulped generously, choking out half the contents. She brought me to my feet, handled me like an expensive vase, and took me away from the battle. Protected me while I patched myself back up so I didn't bleed out like a stuck pig. Sheltering Wing indeed.
I later heard the last barricade was not overrun. For some reason the Bloodwinged fell back from a flame on the hill. Out of fear? Respect? Shock? Who gave a damn. The beast left and the hill remained in Alliance control until the next reinforcements arrived. A further bonus was that I was still breathing, though every breath challenged the stitches keeping me shut. Bravery she called it. Others honor and duty. The strength of the individual only burned bright for so long. If not for the brothers in arms that were with me, I think I would've finally gotten the rest I've been missing.
With the battles stuck in stalemate, the weariness grew. And with weariness came doubt. I could only guess how long things could continue like this. Another guess was who would live long enough to the next day to make it out. "Don't take things for granted." "Live in the moment while you had the chance." Those phrases so often used they were overlooked. Scoffed at even. It seemed like they were finally starting to make some damned sense. I started wondering what it would feel like to once again have someone watch my back outside of battle for a change.
It was a place I had never planned on going again, though. Didn't even know I still could go. Since coming to this island, it was easy enough to forget it even existed. So much crazy shit happened that I had enough other things to worry about. Survival most often. A place in my mind that I had locked within an iron vault and thrown away the key. Inside was something that gave strength, but came at a very high cost. Nearly too rich for me. To allow someone else to have the key made me vulnerable. And there wasn't time to be vulnerable now.
Lost someone I cared deeply for once, and that was all that was necessary to change my world. It was easy to build a vault around something like that. To promise yourself it wouldn't happen again, to experience the pain. Promises were as brittle as glass. And meant to shatter I guess. I could already feel its effects. To hold something so close, only to have the fear of losing it in the next moment. It was a path I never wanted to walk again, and hoped I wouldn't have to. The fear made me do stupid things. Made me get angry, and I made too many mistakes when I got angry. Someone found the key though. Dusted off the dirt and rust and placed it into the lock. A dame.
They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. The only trait they shared was trouble. And this one was no different. It was a bond forged in battle. Trust grew quickly on the field. It had to. One couldn't afford to guard every flank on their own. If you tried, more than likely the last thing you'd ever experience was a blade to the gut. You had to have faith that your brothers-in-arms would be there to block the strikes you never saw coming. This one always had a shield at the ready. There was zero hesitation in skewering the enemy into the ground in retaliation. Fierce eyes, steel resolve, and a smile worth killing for. It was the perfect storm.
She let me remember it all, that damn drow. As far as dames went, her kind were the worst. Must've been all the cobwebs in their hair. Not to say I interacted with many before, but when I did, things never ended well. And this was no exception. I had a feeling I would remember the physical pain. I don't think I'll ever forget it. The ease of which the corrupted metal pierced my armor. Its cold kiss as I felt it enter through my heart. The burning as its negative energies spread to my very core. I still wake up some nights covered in sweat, my hands clawing to pull out something no longer there. That was the pain easiest to deal with. The cold hearted drow wouldn't let me forget what I had done.
The Curst just marched. There were no complaints. No screams. No life that left the eyes behind the visors when they were finally put to rest. The look of surprise on the living elves was such a stark comparison. It was almost comedic, in a macabre sort of way. I saw clearly the look of betrayal on their eyes as they fell to my axe. The light from its flames allowed me to see their expressions as though it was day. I see them still. Thankfully their shock allowed me to finish them quickly. The fights were not drawn out. I had to take some solace in what little excuses I could make.
I visited them again another evening, alongside a tiefling and erinyes. Strange company I was beginning to keep these days. That night we left things to burn, elf and Curst alike. It didn't continue, after that. Someone knew me well enough to put me down. Part of me hated considering I was an old dog without new tricks. The other part glad I was stopped before I could cause more trouble. She at least cared about me enough to find help after pummeling me to puss. My perfect storm. And my thanks to her? An endless verbal assault and insult to her beliefs. I didn't deserve half the mercy I got.
Instead I got a second chance. My life owed to yet another, adding to the growing list of those that saved my bear hide. Things were going to be hard if everyone tried to collect at once. Ralzok had come to speak with me, though the back of his hand seemed to do most of the talking. It made for concise conversation. Tozak had visited him. Or so he said. Since the damn minotaur Yekoth, it was easy to say I had trust issues. I still don't know if the hulking presence of the Bloodstar clan, or Ralzok's anger alone, was enough for the drow to not want to bother with me any longer. So long as I was free from her, I didn't care. Next time I crossed paths with Ralzok, we were to speak of fire. And I think it was about time I cleaned the ash out of my ears and fully listened.
There was one more thing I remembered, that wasn't sitting well with me. The feeling sat in my gut like bad meat. I had yet to understand its implications. Whatever magic was in the blade, it took away everything I stood for. It stripped away my morals and twisted my judgment. I had thought it was all given back. Perhaps I thought wrong. Perhaps I wasn't fully out of the spider's web. While I remembered the faces of those I cut down, I too remembered the feeling I had when doing it. And it felt good.
I saw her again. Damned drow managed to show up in the worst locations. And never up to anything good. With the front lines of the war growing quiet, I'm sure she had plenty of time to weave new webs. I had yet to decide if she ensnared me in one yet again.
Spending more time in the streets of Steinkries, I began to pick up on some of the games the children were playing. Was hard not to when they darted amongst the crowds, squealing in delight as everyone else was left watching their steps to make sure they didn't get knocked over. One day I heard them singing about spider bites. Odd thing to make a rhyme about, but I didn't think anything of it. I probably wasn't the most normal kid growing up either. For some reason I never dismissed it completely. After all this time I was finally learning to pick up on the smaller details. And it paid off.
Over the next few days, their games stood out more and more to me. Sinister lyrics to a rhyme, made innocent by their light-hearted cadence. Yarn being twisted into webbed patterns, and passed from hand to hand in an attempt to keep it from unraveling. It was all starting to make my skin crawl thinking about it, until I finally heard something that completed the puzzle. Mentions of a "dark lady." Beautiful and mysterious, that came to teach them games and tell them stories.
Granted, Thain was a pretty big island, with people on it that hailed from all over Faerun. There were alot of "dark women." But to speak of spiders and webs in the next breath? I've been around long enough to know there's no such thing as coincidence on this rock. I just needed to confirm my suspicion. If the children liked her so much, it wouldn't be that hard.
All I did was pretend I had lost my friend. The dark lady. The promise of coin in exchange for a guide never hurt to sweeten the deal. Before I knew it, I was taking long strides to keep up with a boy that would take me to where they learned their games. By the time I left the front gates, the boy was standing at the side of the road waiting for me with an impatient look. Kid had a future running messages if he kept this up. Before I could even open my mouth to ask where we were headed, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me in the direction of the graveyard, of all places.
He began to babble excitedly about something, but his words were lost to me. Just another layer of noise at my ear, drowned out by troubled thoughts. I stopped paying attention as I focused on the headstones that littered the field. Some stood like broken teeth, weathered and neglected. Many were recently placed, offering more places for someone to hide. My muscles tensed as I followed the boy down a few more rows, careful to avoid fresh dirt. I spotted two figures ahead, and quickly knelt down, a hand on the boy's shoulder to keep him from moving. My eyes narrowed, brow lowering as I made out features on the pair: horns on one, white, flowing hair on another. Just great. No one said anything about the tielfling.
They either heard the boy talking, or read my mind. I wouldn't put it past them to do the latter. Their heads turned as one and they disappeared from sight: one to the shadows, the other with the wave of a hand. I turned the boy around and told him it was time for him to go. He huffed and crossed his arms, saying he wanted to say hi to the nice lady. I gave him the coin and told him to get lost with a gentle nudge. Never said I was the best with kids, but whatever got him out of the graveyard. I couldn't imagine what Kallista would do had he stayed.
No sooner had I unslung the shield from my back did the road out become shrouded in darkness, forcing me deeper into the cemetary. Only after shouting out to her did the drow appear. She rested casually against a headstone, beaming, with an all too confident posture and smile like she was being gifted a new pet. I could hear my heart start to beat in my ears.
She admitted to visiting the children, to gaining their trust. After all, they could get into places she couldn't. Learn of secrets people so often shared within their earshot. Oh, she promised me her intent wasn't to harm them. Instead, she would teach them to harm. Corrupt them with whatever drow teachings she wanted to impart.
It sickened me. Using children as tools. Abusing their innocence. She had no boundaries. I told her to leave them out of it. Most of them had suffered enough with the war. That's when she tried to goad me. Get a reaction out of me. Brought up what it was I did under the influence of that cursed blade, the suffering I myself had brought. It almost worked.
She may have awoken a beast, but she did not release a monster. Not yet at least. She showed me what I was capable of if I decided to let go, to give into the shadows that now played at the back of my mind. The trick was balancing along the rope that kept me from falling back into the darkness below. Keep your eyes forward. Don't lose your focus. We'll see how long I could pretend to be the acrobat.
I told her the plan wouldn't work. I was there to stop it, and should any of the kids go missing, I would come for her. She smiled even wider at that, teeth gleaming in a predatory manner. She looked forward to it. I believed her.
She turned to the tielfling that had appeared next to her during our talk. I couldn't tell if she grew tired of the conversation, or if the sun had been out long enough to finally start to bother her. With a few soft spoken words, the horned man gave a knowing smirk my way, and the two disappeared in a sudden globe of darkness. Gods I hated that smirk.
My eyes scanned the graveyard a few moments after the darkness faded. Everything was still as death. Fitting I suppose. I sucked in a ragged breath I didn't realize I was holding and tilted my head back. I never knew what to expect from her, the raised scar over my heart a throbbing reminder of what she was capable of. Still, I meant damn well what I said. She would not hurt those kids.
I couldn't help but see my youngest siblings in their place. Playing joyously with a drow that had nothing but malicious intent. My fists clenched at my side, the tips of the gauntlets digging painfully into my palm. If anything befell those children, I would hunt her. I would find her. And I would show her exactly, what it was she had awoken inside of me.
So why didn't I kill her? Every moment she walked the surface was more violence and pain she inflicted.
Practice what you preach.
So why was she still breathing?
Everything had gone smoother than the chin of an elf. It would have been so easy. Whether from the poisoned knife I rested upon her lithe, ebon neck, or my own arms crushing the life out of her delicate frame. The temptation was intoxicating. I doubt I would ever get so close to her again. Close enough to feel the pulsing beat of her heart. And like some bard on a lore trip, I did nothing but talk.
I've never been the brightest guy, but sometimes my own stupidity surprises me. Maybe it was because part of me had a feeling she would have blasted me with magicks if I didn't promise to release her after I questioned her. Another part figured she wouldn't talk at all if she knew she was going to die. It was a delicate balance of survival for the two of us, the spider and the fly.
Through my interrogation, the mention of her own desire to curb the Curst gave me pause. Her own attempt at manipulation? To gain the upper hand in our current situation? Why would she care if not for her own, twisted gains? I wish I could say I was disappointed when she refused to share her reasoning, but it was still enough to cause me to hesitate. For how much the city has suffered, and continues to do so, I felt grimey that I even considered there was another option to add to our list.
Yet as I left, I still can't understand why I kept the promise to let her go. What honor did I gain in keeping it? Every instinct screamed to snuff her out like a candle while I had the chance. How much respect would I lose when people found out? Would they understand why I took the actions I did, and not slaughter the dark witch roaming the surface so freely?
The world was full of hypocrites, preaching right and wrong. Why couldn't it ever be easy? One bad action from a good man could be enough to damn. One good action from an evil man could be enough for vindication. So long as I woke up with the strength to stare back at the beast in the mirror, I knew I was doing something right. Or at least trying. Only I could justify the decisions I made. I didn't expect anyone to understand the reasons. Whatever consequences came next, I would bear that burden.
If anything, I learned one thing that day: She was not invincible. I was the one who spun the web. I was the one who ensnared the prey. For all her cleverness, she messed up once to me. And she would do it again. She was only mortal.
I will have to admit, as much as a pain in the ass life on the island could be, at least there were some silver linings. For every enemy I made, I've met twice the number of men and women I have become proud to call friends. People with similar interests, but always varying goals. It kept things refreshing. Unique. And everyone was willing to aid at the drop of a hat, or body.
It has become rare, the times when we're now able to kick back and relax. Enjoy eachother's company without fear of spies overhearing our conversations, or always watching the shadows for the assassin's blade. But when they do happen, by the gods, I'll enjoy every moment I can from it. And tonight was no exception.
The Cobblewall was filled with patrons this evening. It made it a lively place. Almost busy enough to forget about the world outside for a bit. The ale that poured wasn't terrible. Though the opposite could be said about the music. "Magic windbags" they called themselves. I guess the name fit. It was magic Faran still let them play on the stage. If it weren't for the present company, I most likely would've found myself getting into more trouble than I could handle.
The dame sat next to me. Piercing eyes and smile electrifying enough to give the spear on her back a run for its money. Couldn't tell you why she put up with me. Felt like nothing more than a man just trying to get by on the island. Her? A holy warrior with a mission, goals in life. Not that I was complaining.
She made me want to rise to her level, though I doubt I'd ever reach her height. Few people seemed to stay so true to their ideals. Dolls of her quality were fine enough to be porcelain. And I've never seen her crack. Didn't matter what situation we found ourselves in. I was always learning something from her, and she was pushing me to reach potential I never thought I had. Made me feel I could actually start to make a difference somewhere.
It wasn't long before our table became stacked with tankards. The world had turned glassy, and either Faran finally brought a competent minstrel onto the stage, or the drink was working its magic. As the crowd of patrons died down, the dame had slumped up against my side, eyes closed as she rested peacefully on my arm. It was a welcomed comfort, but damn was my arm going numb. They said to let sleeping dragons lie, lest you wake them and invoke their rage. Flexing my fingers to fight back the tingling, I ordered another mug to give myself time to think over a good way to get out of this one unscathed.
This wouldn't have gotten done without help. Seth. Duvall. Ylva. Mors. Morton. Lomir. The countless others that entertained my crazy ramblings or outings with no pre-determined goal. Undead would still be sieging the elven city if it weren't for everyone's combined efforts.
I'm just surprised the solution involved me hardly having to lift my axe for once. That didn't happen often. Some things truly couldn't be solved by bashing it hard enough. Especially when what you were trying to bash turned spectral and couldn't be damaged. But hey, pen's mightier than the sword sometimes. ..Or would 'mind over matter' be more fitting? Whatever. Those doors were finally closed and I'm damned thankful for it.
Time would tell if the solution would be permanent. I don't think anyone was willing to check otherwise quite yet. Even if it was temporary, Greenvale could breathe again. And that was all that mattered to me. Passing through the ranks of the elven guard that lined the walls, I could still feel their eyes judging me with every step. No doubt their memories would last as long as their lives. Some actions just weren't so easily forgiven. At the same time, I could hear their sighs of relief. That was something I could live with.
For now, I could finally focus my thoughts toward other efforts. More and more it seemed like this island was delving into chaos. While everyday cities and settlements expanded, the wilderness continued to grow with them. Its edges were tinged with darkness, and creatures were starting to take notice. I knew there was something out there that could help. The trick was finding it. Securing it before someone else could. The innocents of Thain deserved better. Deserved something dedicated to protecting them from the things that went bump in the night.
A hero? Maybe if they were lucky. But sometimes it takes darkness to keep darkness at bay. Fight fire with fire.