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| - Boromir Tarrathan Married to the very famous wizardess Gwyndolyn Olwyn, now Gwyndolyn Tarrathan. He is a spy, turned ranger and warrior for the most part. Although somewhat well-known, he tries to avoid the spotlight as much as anyone can in his situation. Oh, yes, and he's constantly surrounded by unattached ladies . . . and constantly trying to get them married off. They get into too much trouble, otherwise. (taken from the depoetica.org/forum Myth Drannor Website) . . . well, to begin with, I was born. Don’t exactly remember it, but since I’m here I think we can safely assume it happened in the usual manner at the usual time. Not sure how long ago though, I never really could remember my age. You’ll learn why later. My mother’s name was Aurel, and she was a fair young woman . . . or so I’ve been told by those who remembered her. She came to Waterdeep by ship, heavy with child (me, if you didn’t already guess that) from a forested land. Nobody has ever managed to tell me anything more than that. What little I’ve gleaned from others centered around the beautiful amulet she wore, a pair of stylized leaves . . .in silver, with jade surrounding it all. She never spoke of my father to anyone, other than that he was an elven ranger who had patrols near where she had lived . . . and that the amulet was a gift from him, of some significance. As usual, with any gift from him (including me), it brought about only her pain and death. She was a very kind woman, I’ve been told. She had never been to the city before, and had desperately hoped to find work so she could support both of us. She fell prey to those most malicious of creatures, the scavengers who seek out those newly come and seek to force them into servitude. My mother was brought into the employ of one named Deiran, who immediately forced her deeply into debt when my birth meant she couldn’t work. Paying her so little she could never repay him . . . especially since she had to take care of me. I would not be surprised to learn she became a whore, but none ever told me of it. I’d imagine they wouldn’t, I was a singularly dangerous individual and tended to have a knife ready if they said something I didn’t like. Anyways, it wasn’t long before she fell so far behind in payments to Deiran that he began to become tired of her, and probably wished to make an example. I never asked him, later, I’m afraid I never got the chance. She’d kept hidden the amulet my father had given her, it was my crib companion . . . one of the few things I remember, Other than her voice and the smell of bread, for she worked in the kitchens of a tavern Deira owned. She tended to come home late, usually trusted to close the tavern . . . except this time on her walk home the glittering arc of a blade interrupted her steps, and she was cut down. The amulet had graced her neck, and was taken . . . and I never even saw her body, nor knew where it was buried. They’d already rousted the small home we lived in, and tossed me to the gutter. I was a boy, don’t know how old, and possessing of nothing Deiran wanted. I wandered then, through the muck of the gutter and down the thoroughfares I’d only ever seen when my mother had carried me to market. Stumbled what seemed an awesome distance, but was only a few streets I came to learn. Landing at the foot of a creaky old wooden wagon, with chipped paint on the side. The old woman within was named Arnya, one of the many ‘soothsayers’ that made a bit of coin telling maidens they’d marry rich lords and have many children . . . or brewing the minor ‘love potions’ to make it that way. She was one of the rare individuals I knew, having performed at the tavern when I was there with my mother. By some strange coincidence she recognized me, as wet and bedraggled a lad as I was. She’s the one who told me of mother’s murder, who brought the Watch down to give me what few possessions they’d found of my mother’s after Deiran’s men had been done. Then, when they tried to take me, she ordered them out and provided me a small bunk . . . and began to raise me. Years went by, and I learned many things. We never stood still, for Arnya was not one to risk having her scams learned of by the flatties . . . what her gypsy folk called those not of their blood. It was probably for the best, I learned quickly that ears pointed by elven ancestry . . . and green eyes bright as emeralds . . . were cause for a thrashing by most village lads. It was then I learned of magic, after I came home with tufts of hair pulled out and a loose front tooth. She whispered, so softly, touching each eye with a foul smelling ointment . . . and they became brown as her own. Thereafter I always wore a hat, or had my hood up, or my hair to cover betraying ears. Yet another thing to thank that absent father of mine for. Every once in a while Arnya would do another little trick, but we soon learned I was not an able student of her little tricks. I did, however, make the most interesting apple tree grow in a small village just south of Waterdeep. I wonder if it still swats folks who have hats on, or if they’ve chopped it down by now. I didn’t know it at the time, but Deiran had found me again. Arnya ran afoul of one of his boys, who recognized me, and had informed her the debt still existed. I was to pay it, or she was. I never knew, but she paid for my life for several years. . . but like my mother, the needs of a growing boy soon strained our limited resources and the debt began to grow again. It was a second night of horrors, for a boy slightly older now, to find Arnya killed in the same fashion as my mother was said to have been. Only this time, instead of being tossed to the gutter I was hauled back to be made a laborer. More time passed, I lost track of it all. I worked the docks, and survived, as best I could. Endured beatings, starvation, thievery . . . and knife fights. A boy of probably no more than a decade and a half came out of it with the outlook of one much older. I barely even remembered my name through it all, but I survived. Then, one day, my own cleverness and speed netted me a job as a burglar and I began to climb that most dangerous of ladders. The way up the criminal underworld. By now I’d learned a great deal more of my mother’s death, and that of Arnya. Not without some danger, and a little luck, but by the end of it I even learned that the same man . . boy not much older than I . . . had done those deeds for Deiran. This, on the eve of a very dangerous operation involving poisons. For the first time in my short life, I questioned my survival, for to continue meant to become like my own mother’s murderer. I suppose they hadn’t quite crushed out all of my conscience just yet. So, since I did still care for my own survival, I made a little plan. One that grew sweeter when I learned the man on the other end of the deal was the assassin who’d killed my parents, both of the important ones at least. My father may still be alive somewhere. The Watch, blundering fools they were, got a tip by way of a gypsy I knew from traveling with Arnya. The dockworkers were paid off, as was the dockcaptain. When the Watch came, there was no warning . . . and my two victims had none at all as I earned, for the very first time, the title of ‘cutthroat’. Now, murder is a very serious thing in Waterdeep. Even of such bastards as Deiran, and the assassin whom I later came to know as Black Tom. I fled, to the first ship I could find and stowed away to eventually become a sailor. . . and a fair cook, if I don’t say so myself. It’s a good skill to learn, if you’re traveling, everything from caravans to ships to traveling performers are in need of a person skilled with the utensils of a kitchen. And it tends to keep you busy, when you really need it. Right, well, where was I? Oh yes. . . the Dales. . . . Rather a nice place, at first. I stopped thinking that when I picked the pocket of someone named Sydney. He was a demon, of some sort. Incubus as I recall, and a particularly nasty fellow. He used his magic to dominate my mind . . . which left me reeling, afterwards. I followed his commands, spied for him, stumbling from place to place with half of it my own darker nature and the other the leftovers of that magical compulsion rattling around in my head. He held his own court, a kind of mockery of the Dark Court Moroc held. Though I didn’t know the name of that particularly evil demon bastard just yet. I flitted here and there, earning my keep as a paid spy . . . message carrier. . . assassin. whatever happened to be useful or lucrative at the time. A ranger saved me, cleansed my mind and body but died only a short while later. His wolf, a runt of a dire wolf, stayed with me a brief time before returning to the body of his former master. Garath was a very good friend, that wolf. In the meanwhile I continued my work, but more often than not came to work for folk I would usually have run from. Paladin, priests, goodly people whom I rarely had interacted with. I learned some very interesting things about what I had called ‘allies’. Even more about others, that I didn’t know could even happen. This one is the story of Dalisyn. She was a priestess of some water goddess before becoming a follower of a dancing moonlight drow goddess named Eilistraee. At least before I came to watch her. I was set to keep an eye on this surface walking drow by a small group, who’d hoped to catch her in the act of being a spiderkisser. After nearly two months of careful surveillance, all I ever saw was a kind soul. It bothered me, since this hardly seemed the ‘black skinned demon’ of stories. . . or like the creatures I’d felled in the forests. She was dangerous, to be sure, but I never once caught her doing anything evil. My report was not well taken, but it was believed. This came to be important later. My next assignment was to get closer to one Moroc, a demon I was told of. His court was powerful and dangerous, and had caused problems. Rumor included he was somehow involved in the destruction of Yulash, or wouldn’t have minded it happening at the very least. I used Sydney, then started watching for the descriptions of this demon . . . and learned very interesting things of dragon orbs and gods and such. Spoke to the spirit of his sword, on more than one occasion, and gleaned what details I needed from her. Was all set to enter their group, to be at least trusted with some minor secrets, when that most fateful of days came. The Hunt. . . . Well, remember how I told you that Dalisyn would become important? Here’s where it happens. Moroc called on me to join him in a Hunt, a ritual I supposed to blood the new entries. The target was an Eilistraeen, a surface drow, so he could learn much more of what all this ‘goodly’ group of drow was up to. What few doubts I had were quashed at those eerily dark words from the mouth of a demon. So he chased her down, by scent from the Velarswood to the very mouth of the Vale of Lost Voices. An accomplice, name of Adriana, turned the poor woman to stone. I’d resolved to let it happen, until I saw the face of this victim. All my detachment, my resolve shattered in that instant as I contemplated the death and torture of this woman I’d learned so much about. Not because it was evil, but because I realized that had my own mother been the victim . . . I would not have cared any more than that. So, in that very instant, I began my little plot. To steal from a demon lord his victim, and live to tell the tale. He carried her away, once she was revived, to a grove deeper in the Vale. One of his followers I knew of followed him, a woman who was as much a part of shadows as could ever be. The others stayed near me, outside the vale, and all my scheming seemed for nothing. I couldn’t exactly fight the combined might of this dark court, they each were far more battle-hardened and devious than I was. I had nothing to even the odds. That’s when it happened, in the distance on the path to the Vale I noticed a woman dressed all in blue. Her robe was simple, and she had a belt that often spoke to me of magic and such. She fairly exuded purity, and a rare type of gentle kindness. I’d met her before, briefly, and in that one moment took the most dreadful chance of my life up to that point. I trusted her. I still don’t know how I managed it, making myself the one to stop her and act as though I was trying to dissuade or at the very least worry the woman. Even as I spoke loudly for the benefit of the others, I outlined what had happened and what I needed from her in but a few words. In the instant she nodded, I knew it was complete. I’d made my decision, and would take the risk. An odd stirring of my heart worried me, at this lovely and trusting woman, but it was of no moment. A demon awaited us. Clever trickery is better than magic, I’ve always said. So, taking it upon myself to be the one to follow and ‘make sure she didn’t disturb our lord’ I headed after my new ally into the Vale. I relieved the shadowed one of her duties, she was always a timid soul and not really suited to dealing with Moroc’s excesses. Sent her deeper into the Vale on a wild goose chase, after the blue robed woman who had crept forward invisible to find Moroc. When the first spell came it was a true surprise for Moroc, and me as well. It’s failure a terrifying occurrence . . . but the second, oh thank the gods the second spell, held him down. It was in that moment I came to know just how dangerous the course I’d decided on had become. I watched as the woman in blue began to carry Dalisyn away, striking ineffectually at the demon lord. . . angering him with taunts. Enraging a demon . . . It worked, surprisingly enough. He never paid them any mind, once I had him chasing me. They went south, deeper into the Vale. I fled, with a demon on my heels, past them and towards the very court I’d dreaded earlier. Only this time I knew my plan . . . and used what magicks of helm and wand I had to simulate the passage of a certain blue robed wizardess. I’m still amazed to this day that they fell for it so fully, I suppose surprise truly can be that powerful. All ran past me, after the ‘fleeing’ women I had aided. Then it was only Moroc to deal with. I lead him a merry chase, past trees and over hills and around the Standing Stone. Then, when time had stretched as long as I dared I tried to flee past the returning Court . . . and almost made it. If you don’t know, being held by a spell is a very shocking experience. I almost fought free, my mind tried to slip past it, but I failed so very narrowly. Without even breaking stride the demon flattened with his blade, and I was well and truly caught. Then I descended into pain, torture, being flayed to death with a rose bush on the Standing Stone itself. I remember little of it, other than a small dragonet trying to free me. . . but to no avail. Darkness came swiftly, and I can only guess at what happened then. My next memory is a very potent one, and one of the most important I hold with me to this day. I awoke in the small town of Elventree, a place I’d never been before, with a woman as beautiful as I’ve ever seen looking down at me. Gwyn, my blue robed wizardess, with a relieved smile on her face and a kindly word or two I cannot to this day remember. She helped me get over the shock, on seeing my right arm missing. Eaten by the demon, I learned later. The priest of the temple restored me fully though, and I walked out of there with all the bits and pieces in the right places. But I was not unscarred by the ordeal, for abyssal steel leaves black scars until healed on holy grounds. . . and the priest had not done it there. It was there I met Dalisyn again, and knew it had worked. Though at such a terrible price. Gwyn told me she came back for me, after the demon had gone. I nearly shouted at her then, for being a damned fool to come back for what was surely a corpse when he could have lain in wait for her. But I held my tongue, for she had saved my life. . . and her own was now forfeit if Moroc ever did gain the chance. Since she didn’t seem capable of caution, and was frightfully naïve concerning most dangers, I set myself as her guard. Trying not to struggle too strongly with the matter of my heart that she raised. It was then our very unique group formed, as others came to gawk at the fool who’d been caught by Moroc. A very unique group indeed. Right, ready to start listening again? So much has happened, I’ve forgotten most. Probably have a number of the details wrong here as well, I never was much of one to dwell on the past. Ah well. . . never though I’d live long enough to do this anyways. Well, first off I must explain that I had –no- idea how difficult a person Gwyndolyn would be to guard. Usually, when my services are required (even if they’re not asked for) the person in question has some inkling of the danger or dangers. . . .and takes inordinate care to avoid trouble. She seemed to have a talent for ignoring every reasonable precaution, and in her innocence and –extreme- naiveté . . . the ability to get herself in some of the most dangerous situations imaginable. Not a week after pledging myself to her service, and only shortly after taking her colors (she follows the Lady of Mysteries, and is very fond of the color blue) a vampiric creature assaulted us. A brute, it toyed with us relentlessly on the very road outside of Harrowdale. Man after man fell, unable to breathe, almost as though their very bodies betrayed them and refused. I was spared by the intervention of a man who seemed almost dragon already, named Grift, who used his song and strength of arms to force me to breathe. I had collapsed, gulping for air, for but moments before she fell clutching at her throat. Grift had fallen unconscious as the same lack of breath felled him, and I could not give up my charge so easily. I had no magic, no skill with knowledge or the arcane. Just myself, so that’s what I used. I crawled over, and like for a drowning person . . . breathed –for- her. It worked, astonishingly enough, apparently the vampire never expected it or was amused by my antics. I never learned which. He seemed to lose interest after that, tossing us about and eventually disappearing. After my little production of breathing for her, though, every man assumed my kiss had done it . . . and began to try to kiss her as well. She seemed quite flustered by the attention, well night upset, and it was all I could do not to give Torin a couple of knives to the rear when he slobbered and collapsed on her. But eventually she was free, and we escaped to the Redmark from their . . .dubious attentions. It was a rare moment, alone and unbothered, and I teased her unmercifully about our ‘kiss’. Her retort was that since she was dying, she could scarcely remember it. I, of course, as the most generous of gentlemen, did provide her with another. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman blush as beautifully, or so fully and totally own my heart with quiet innocence. I resolved to see her blush more often, and see if I could steal another kiss. Hopefully without the involvement of another Vampire this time. What happened next. . . oh yes, Peldan’s Helm is what I remember the most. Other things happened, of course, but it could take a long time to tell you of them all. Peldan’s Helm sat just east of Ashabenford. I’d passed it on occasion, to move through the Beast Lands. Usually in an attempt to save some poor fool or another who’d gone out and never returned. It was a fairly well made fort, capable of standing off a larger number of enemies from wherever they came from. When word came from Ashabenford of a surprise drow attack there, we were shocked. They’d staged through a cave, somewhere to the southwest, and escaped all notice. Jared, Gwyn and I . . among others, as I recall, immediately headed for the fort. Hoping to at the very least relieve the pressure by diverting the attention of the drow. We came to the fort to find the drow already within the walls. The Tymoran Cleric Simon lay dead at the gate, and others heaped behind him. His luck was not enough, the drow had numbers far too great for them to handle. We had little doubt of what was happening inside. We came in to find the last of this assault wave being taken care of by what few survivors remained. We’d scarcely entered the battle before another force, much smaller, appeared from over the western wall . . . and spells began to fly. I still, to this day, do not know what happened there. Within the first few moments, I was struck blind by someone’s spell. I do not know who cast it, it could even have been one of the few mages of our own side who cast and I merely wandered into the path of the spell. I reeled out of the fight, the only thing preserving me my long familiarity with the black conditions of the plane of shadow, and the underdark. I managed to hear well enough to avoid the soft steps of their assassins, even felling one or two I think. Then stumbling into the alley between two buildings. . . and hiding in the first convenient spot. The battle raged on, for only a moment longer. . then a cacophony of horrid screams followed some thunderous spell . . . and all was silent. After a moment or two longer, I heard soft voices and almost called out . . . until I realized they were the harsh and unforgiving intonations of the drow language. My comrades, my charge, all had fallen or were captured. . and I alone, a blind man remained in this fort. It took some small time to figure out what to do, to remember where the building lay and where I was. I’ve always been blessed with a good memory, and it served me well that horrible night. I crept from building to building, as softly as I could. Until my sight finally returned. I found the fort littered with bodies, not one stirring . . . .and drow everywhere. My skills as a silent killer did me service then, as one . . .then two assassins. A wizard, a true master of weapons. . . all fell in their wanderings of this safely dead place. I could not stay, they would find me, but I was resolved to bring the fallen blue form of my charge out of it. She was still . . . so very godsdamned still, my heart filled with fear for her even though I knew she was dead. It was then I saw the priestess, in her unholy armor . . .gloating above Gwyn’s form. I don’t know what possessed me, but I drifted closer and closer. Behind her, intending only to sneak past and to the gate. . . when that spidersucking harpy kicked Gwyn. I certainly hope she was still wearing that look of surprise and fear when she met her Mistress, for at that moment I had planned to send many more to Her. It was unwise of me to have done it, so openly, but those that I had taken down left a gap in their patrols. They never noticed, never saw me even as I removed three more of their kind in the alleys around the eastern edge. I saw the wizards at the gate, and knew I would not easily fell them. I let them see me, escaped into an alley so they’d draw closer. .. and ambushed the both of them. They fell, after hard fighting. The flame and acid they had used falling around me. It was then I realized how dangerous a position I was in, the drow army still stood without the walls. Dozens upon dozens of glinting red eyes filled the night, each watching the fort for signs of life or defense. So I hid, cursing my weakness and pain for setting me in such a position. Then, miracles of miracles, -light-. It burst from the fort and the unnatural clouds above and the darkness faded with startling speed. To this day I do not know how it happened, I was praying to a lot of gods . . . perhaps one of them felt it would be amusing to provide the light as a boon. Perhaps the drow themselves did it, once they believed the fort to be taken and destroyed. They could have ferreted me out, at some cost, if they truly wished to. I’ll never know, but I will always be thankful. Then came the monumental task of dealing with the dead. So many friends lay fallen, each in defense of this barren outpost against the darker creatures of the night. Most before I ever set foot on the field of this battle, and would never know if I left them, to save my charge. I’m afraid Gwyn had a greater effect on me than I’d like to admit, by then. I couldn’t just leave them to the wolves and coyotes, or to the worse scavengers. . . the men and women who come to loot after the battle. So I gathered them, hoping against hope one would have a scroll, a rod, any of those rare and wondrous items that allows a soul to be returned to the bodies of those only recently fallen. None did however, and I had nothing with me but what gear I had had when the Mistran warned us. In one of those rare moments of generosity, two priests of the Father of Elves came down the road. They had come too late to lend their services to the defense, though that is what they intended. But they did come soon enough to restore Simon . . my lucky priest friend. From there, more were revived. By the next day the fort was once again in the hands of the Mistran riders. Damaged, severely, but still a place to build upon. I set Gwyn upon the road home, saw her safely away, then headed to Harrowdale to resolve some last business before collapsing with exhaustion. Been a while, I hope you’re ready for more. Let’s see, so much has happened that telling it in the order that it happened would be exceedingly difficult. I think I’ll talk about a few of the people I met, while with Gwyn, that were most important to how our lives unfolded. Naerth . . . Oh Naerth. He was a follower of the Masked Lord, and fancied himself a master of all shadows. He’s important to the events that occurred just after Peldan’s Helm. I don’t recall the first meeting with him, it couldn’t have been a good one as I had such antipathy for the fellow. He was a drow, dhaerow, blackskinned demon of the depths. . .and yet not. He followed the Masked Lord, he said. I think he believed it, I was never certain. Always seemed more a follower of the Lady of Loss to me, with his love of the shadows. Or perhaps of Mask, though I never had much evidence of that. He was among those Vhaerunites on the surface, disdainful of the authority of the matriarchs. At some point, he became enamored of Gwyn, and began a courtship . . . of sorts. My first recollection if his name becoming important was none too long after I had begun guarding my blue robed charge. We were in Elventree, it had already then become our haven, almost home . . . a long day of guarding, out and about . .. Jared and Gwyn went into one of the inn rooms to discuss something, and Jared walked out and said she was fine and to leave her be. So I did, for a short while. Some half hour later I stood and checked upon her . . . to find the room empty, the bed still made, and no sign she’d ever been there. I’m afraid this is one of those rare occasions I allowed my temper to get the best of me, especially considering I had explained to her the importance of my presence not a few hours earlier . . . The room was a wreck, once I was done. I snarled as I left a bag of gold for the proprietors, and left the town. I accosted the first mage with which I had acquaintance, and ordered them to scry out Gwyn. Moments later I was headed for the forest in the vain hope I might find her. With little more than a picture of the trees to guide me. I headed deep into the darker forests, seeking out a campsite somewhere in those many miles of trees. I had little hope of finding her, but it was a duty I was bound to complete. Not one I could lay down though, for gold. It was mine. It is especially hard to guard a person who slips your protection when they go someplace dangerous. Who does not trust that your skill at remaining unseen may provide the sort of invisible shield that could prevent a kidnapping, murder, or worse. We did not face an enemy where many mistakes could be made. I went to those darkest of forests, in the hopes that I might find some clue as to where she was meeting this drow. I accosted the first patrol, harassed and felled them one by one, but learned nothing. Then another, and another. Moving deeper into their forests, desperate to learn of her whereabouts. When soldiers began to move in numbers through the forest, I had to retreat. Fleeing back to the roads, and moving on. I tried to circle about, but found living trees . . treants twisted by evil magicks. They drove me into the waiting nests of spiders, and I escaped without much sense of where I was. The remains of a campsite I found, then. Not the one she was near, but another . . . and collapsed. Poison coursing through my veins, bite marks and blade cuts oozing. It was then, as I worked upon the cuts and damage, that I heard her voice. A spell, I later learned, that allowed one to speak at a distance. She had never left the safety of Elventree, at least not by much. A farm, near their, and the camp outside it. I had moved so far, only to find she had been so close. It took time, I had no magic to bring me and I refused to allow her to come to me. I was not in the best of places. I fought clear of that forest, leaving in tatters my favorite cloak and a fine pair of boots. Grateful only that she was safe, and alive, and I was not faced with grimmer tasks. I had resolved, on my way back, to take my leave of her. I had done enough, surely? Weeks of time, protecting a woman who did not wish it . . . It did not matter, just seeing her sent those words out of my head. Instead I offered what was . . .perhaps a better solution, considering her distrust of me. I would protect her, without her ever seeing me. Long hours, hard work, never able to speak or offer opinions. But it would work, I had been alone before, I could be again. I hoped. It was harder, since I had begun to travel with her. She did not ignore me, as I’d expected. I had become accustomed to her presence, and the sense . . . I was –not- alone. She managed to turn that on its head as well, and I took up my role as guard once more just as before. Merely hoping that she would not again desert me, and leave me guarding an empty room. I still check on her, to this day, wondering if it will happen again. For the next few months, Naerth came and went. He would appear, and I would stand guard at some point while the two of them talk. I think he was resentful of my presence, though it was always hard to read that one. My voice was never asked for in those conversations, so I never was able to tell. I just stood and watched for danger, like any good bodyguard. When he tried to have me sent away, through Gwyn, I spent a few minutes in the inn room with them . . . and asked pointed questions that had him agreeing I should remain for Gwyn’s own safety. I didn’t trust him, he wasn’t like Dalisyn or the others. He eventually made a mistake, one that he could not explain away or avoid the consequences of. Gwyn stopped speaking to him, at that point. My questions in the inn room had done that much, setting the stage so that if he ever did anything . . . it was clear what sort he was. That is something best left for Gwyn, I do not know it all myself. From there, our relations . . . deteriorated. I learned of his contacts with the spiderkissers, and with Moroc’s. I watched him and others rob the bank set up during Shieldmeet, in Chandlerscross. Then forced him to waste his gold buying useless trinkets . . . the orphans the gold went to, were much happier I’m certain. Better use for the gold anyways. I ended up with all the Gwyn plushie dolls anyways, except for the one gifted to Gwyn by another. By the time of Peldan’s Helm, he was hostile to us at almost every turn. I had, in my exhausted state, headed to Harrowdale to conclude some business. I was upon the road, too numb to notice that no real allies remained about . . . only those sympathetic or working for Moroc. It was at that point, Naerth cast a spell on me. . . I don’t know what, but I began to see things that did not exist. To lash out at innocent gestures. . . and felled a woman, with my fists . . . she lay dead. It was then those vultures screamed for the watch, though most had murdered in the town and been caught. It was by great fortune, Naerth was foolish enough to raise the lass. . . . giving me the perfect chance to avoid the jails and perhaps the executioner’s block. I yelled about magic, and pointed to my supposed . . . victim. I knew I was not the only one that did not understand magic, and it worked to some degree. I was banished, never to return to Harrowdale, for my crime . . . though the confusion surrounding it meant I had some chance. I left, and did not return to the town for many . . . many months. Not until my name was cleared, in part, by others who heard those upon the road . .. bragging about the event. With what happened much later, in helping defend the town, it was enough to earn me parole in the town. Though I rarely availed myself of it. Well now, wanting another story to wile the hours away? I suppose I could manage another, I did lead a very intersting life. After the business with Harrowdale and Naerth, I was scarcely welcome in that town. So we remained near what would become our home, Elventree. A small town, in a large forest, and a beautiful place to live. I even went so far as to buy her a house, working hard to make it a surprise. We had been . . . not quite courting, but close to it. I was her constant companion, and determined to become more. She was taken, eventually, by Moroc's minions. Vichance, Draconis, Pfil. We returned only to fall at their hands, for they were ready for us. But not before Pfil and her lover were caught, and we learned of where Gwyn was. So many would not aid us, they stood by . . . frightened of Moroc's power. But they would help a little bit. Spells, so many I nearly crackled with the power of them. Wizard, Druid, Cleric. . . Divine and Arcane. All wrapped about those of us who went into that deepest of darkness, the Plane of Shadow. If you've never been, think of the deepest darkest night of the new moon you've ever seen. On one of the muggiest nights you've ever heard. Oppressive, is the word, the darkness smothers everything. Now think of shadow given form, like some mockery of the real world. That is a glimmer of understanding, as to what the real shadow plane is like. We appeared, on that plane, somewhere near Gwyn. We had to search. The spells served us well, we cut through the darkness like a blade . . . seeking our target. I found her, against a rock, near naked and cut by that harpylike cretin Rianeth. No discussions with the pitiable spirit of the sword, who played at being evil. She was spirit, and she could not die, but I -could- cause her pain. . . send her back to that sword. There was no discussion, no declarations, no words of any kind. Just a darkness rent and my blade slashing her to nothingness. Exactly the kind of ignoble end to her involvement I'm sure she and her beau would have hated. They loved playing at importance. I wrapped Gwyn in my cloak, and then suffered a dangerous wound. By steel of that plane. They told me later, that they could -feel- something watching. Moroc had a made a terrible mistake, the plane of shadows was not his to use as he pleased. He was reminded quite pointedly. Unfortunately, it also meant Gwyn was noticed as well. Afterwards, I collapsed and remained unwell for some weeks. Time, time was what I needed to recover from the shadow poison of that blade. After that I began to seek him, Moroc. For all his power, the fear I'd once felt, he'd made a mistake he would not recover from. He had harmed -my- Lady. His power was immense, but I no longer cared. I would fight him, if I could find him. Perhaps to the better I never did, though I do believe I could have stopped him with only a little luck. And perhaps a friend or two. By then, I'd learned enough to be an actual danger to him. . .. I think. Time passed after that. Rianeth became something of a weather witch, and Gwyn stopped her. Then Kranis stopped Gwyn . . . and so on and so forth. The schemes were knee deep, each countering the other and half coming to nothing because the conditions changed so quickly. And then, one day . . . darkness lifted, the entire Dark Court disappeared. Most of their lackeys as well. I heard they went to Skullport, and a few other places. I considered tracking them across half a continent, but by the time I could figure out where they'd gone . . . I had a few other concerns to deal with. Not all of them so bad. For one thing, after an evening speaking quietly with Gwyn and enjoying her company I managed to accidentally ask her to marry me. . . . Yes, it was an accident. I never really intended to, I hadn't the courage, and I -knew- she was far too good for me. She deserved a young nobleman who could support her . . . and keep her safe. Not a vagabond without a home, a family, or the ability to sit still for too long. But when one is looking into the face of one's love, all those sorts of ideas fly right out of your head . . . roost on a nearby roof and cluck disapprovingly at you as you obstinately lose sight of them. So I spoke, a bit too much, and she asked whether it was a proposal . . . and despite the loud squawks from a nearby roof I said 'Yes'. Of course, we couldn't really manage to get married immediately. I came across a lovely home in Elventree, underground instead of in a tree and with elven magic a beautiful place to live. Secure as well, my bodyguard tendencies forced me to consider that. Gwyn loved it, every book and furnishing. She especially loved the treats that could come out of the simple kitchen I had there. Almost a year went past, Gwyn was often away in other lands at the time and I was sent to and fro on many errands. The plans for a wedding were pushed back further and further, as fresh disasters landed on our doorstep and interrupted any such gathering. Eventually, after many preparations and a bit of Tymoran luck (thanks to Simon) the fateful day arrived. And we were wed, in Elventree. We exchanged wedding bands (star sapphire studded, of course) and were pronounced a married couple. The gathering just afterward went very well, no major catastrophes or events. No kidnappings, murders, or even the slightest hint of trouble other than someone giving a couple of elves too much sugar. And Aenarion's appearance as our fireworks manager, he almost caught himself on fire with one of them I think. He tried to seem unruffled, but the smoke coming from a few of his hairs made me suspect it was closer than that. On the wedding night . . . . no, I'm not going to tell you the ins and outs of our bedroom, this is something that actually has some relevance so pay attention . . . I received a Sending. If you don't know, that's when a wizard decides to pop into your head and announce a short message without ANY regard for how you might feel about having to listen to voices in your mind. Adriana, who had recently managed to have herself stuck back with the other half of her soul then split in half again and given a bit of demon to make up for the missing pieces . . . brought a present to the road outside Elventree. She and Larlin had managed to get into a fight, Larlin ran into a major problem, and ON MY WEDDING NIGHT . . . I had to get out of a bed with a very lovely woman in it and go handle the situation before more people died. Gwyn didn't find my comment about the 'silence of a graveyard' to be amusing when I was grousing about all of this either. So, of course, being the fine little person I am . . . I trotted on over to Adriana at this most inconvenient summonses and got her to leave. I collected Larlin, and tricked the God of Sunrises and Light and such into thinking it was someone else reading a scroll that I happened to have on me. Larlin was back among us, everyone was pleased except me, and when they saw just how irritable I was they all immediately set out to find wrongs to right . . . rights to wrong, or generally a way to keep anything and everything from bothering me. Although I rarely follow through on most threats, the fact I didn't issue a single one probably made them realize all the more just how likely it was I would render the next two interrupting souls into their constituent parts by slow torture. And relish every moment of it. The next significant event I remember was a terrible time in our lands. Elventree was destroyed, decimated by a foe we had thought we understood. Drow from deep below the surface stormed in a crusade on the lands surrounding the Cormanthor. Only a few small outposts and major cities remained, ones able to hold off the onslaught of hundreds of drow warriors. Elventree fell, our home the last sight of resistance and we all fled to new places. Aenarion was kind enough to take my family in, and we were safe . . . for a time. The Dark Drow, as we came to call them, were followers of Lolth. And among the nastiest bunch I had ever seen. They came not in patrols, but entire regiments onto the surface. Protected from the sunlight by magical crystals they installed throughout the forest. One of those Crystals was placed in the center of Elventree itself, and so darkness covered our forest homes. Now, as you can no doubt understand, I wasn't about to let some drow harlot use my home for her religious ceremonies to a spidergoddess that can't find her own thorax with 4 legs on a -good- day. But defeating these drow was going to be more difficult than some military movements and battles. The Darkness had to go first . . . but it wouldn't. The outer crystal was nearly impervious. We spent days attacking one they left unattended, to no avail. It was lodged firmly into the ground, and couldn't be moved or destroyed. They'd done their work well. It took weeks to discover the weaknesses of the Crystals. It wasn't until one of our scouts saw the drow periodically coming to the crystals, and replacing something inside of it, that we realized that the crystals depleted some sort of power source. With that, we began to formulate plans. We hit upon a stroke of luck one day, though, in that small wisp creatures that fed upon magic were able to siphon off the magic of the Crystal. From then on, the destruction of at least one crystal was assured. It took months of preparation, and many battles before the first crystal was destroyed. But after a long struggle they began to fall one by one. Until all of the forest was once again lit. The damage done was immense, not even the druids can bring back some areas. Trees that have survived for decades rotted in the everpresent darkness, and the ground where they lay is tainted by the magicks of the drow. But Elventree was rebuilt, and other towns and hamlets as well. Even the roads reopened, in mere weeks, and all returned to some semblance of normal. Yulash returned, and many other adventures. Fewer of which I took part in, for my family has grown considerably. Orphans taken in, and Gwyn had first twins . . . then triplets. So Zee's vision was correct. In the end now, I am pleased. Knowing they are all safe, and well provided for.
* after this, there is only silence. Neither family nor friends know where he lies, nor even if he died. A simple fade, stage left, leaving just as quietly as he first arrived*
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