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<blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2453619" data-attributes="member: 17151"><p><strong>On the Edge of Madness, the Plot Thickens, Chapter 29</strong></p><p></p><p>The voices come and go at all hours. His dreams are haunted by faces and images not his own. Theodyl looked up to his companions, his friends. They want answers he can't give them. He just doesn't know where to start. One of the books Mooneye tasked him with is open on his lap. It is an ancient tome on Necromancy, the seal of the Royal Library of Galifar is stamped inside the cover. Paragon 157 to 4 is not happy about the newest and latest turn in events.</p><p></p><p> “These belonged to my mother.” He said while laying the matching necklace, earrings and comb into a felt lined jewelry box. Pook threw them at his face just a few hours past. “I was picking them up from the jewelers when she died. She had them cleaned every month.” The bard shut the box and locked it. His thumb slid almost casually over a knob set within it's hinges. A needle trap. “I found out later that the necklace hides the wearer from divinations as well as the kind of magic that invades the mind. The earrings are enchanted with a spell called Eagle's Splendor. The comb, I have yet to figure out, but it somehow makes it easier for people to believe what you say.”</p><p></p><p> “None of that is an answer to my questions!” Paragon growled. “I am still waiting.”</p><p></p><p> “My mother was hiding. She wore these jewels constantly, except for a few hours every month.” Theodyl looked off into space. “I guess that she was being hunted, but I still don't know why, the dragons at the Trade House made some disturbing comments.” The bard lay the box on his lap, he drew a silk kerchief from his vest and lay it over the item. He waved his hand and then put the kerchief away. The box is gone. “I am not ready to believe them, but Blackscale claims he was there to see her die. He said she tried to sing her way out. The problem is, I thought I heard her singing as I ran towards the brothel, just before I realized it was my home that was burning.”</p><p></p><p> “You are avoiding the question.” Patter cut in. Theodyl frowned.</p><p></p><p> “I took sick around my fourteenth birthday. It was a surprise, I had never been ill before.” Theodyl closed the tome on his lap. “Stargazer discovered the mark on my chest two days later. It was smaller then, with thick lines forming something like big hand print just above my heart.” He held up a mirror and opened his shirt to examine the mark. “Stargazer said it looked like a Dragon Flower, he didn't make a fuss over it. A month later he gave me the ankle bracelet. I didn't realize exactly what it did, he just told me never to take it off.”</p><p></p><p> “You have a Dragon Mark. Are you telling me you just forgot about it?! I can't believe that.” Pook looked to Paragon, they both turned to glare at the bard.</p><p></p><p> “I just put it out of my mind after a while.” The half-elf shrugged. “The auto-gnome kept me busy, and Stargazer always had something for me to study. I didn't think it was that interesting, or even that important.”</p><p></p><p> “What about after?” Paragon continued to question him. “You went to school in Cyre, yes?”</p><p></p><p> “A boarding school attached to the University. It was part prison as far as I'm concerned. My free time was taken up with an apprenticeship with that Master Inquisitive I told you about before.” Theodyl picked up his beer stein, then put it back nearly dropping it. He felt the dwarven spirit in residence, not unpleasant, but not comfortable either. The bard drank the beer straight from the skin instead.</p><p></p><p> “You've been drinking too much.” Ivor nagged. “That can't be good for you.”</p><p></p><p> “When the war broke out he joined, and I joined with him.” The bard pulled a worn medal from his vest. His lieutenant's badge is pinned to it's ribbon. “I would have died if I hadn't left when I did.” Theodyl smiled strangely. “That was a strange decision, I really don't know what would have been worse: Years in a hellish war or a few years of safety before a terrifying catastrophe consumes me and all my friends.”</p><p></p><p> “You were examined before the Tribunal, how is it that they didn't strip you of the bracelet and uncover the Mark.” Paragon brought him back to the subject at hand. “I know about their methods.”</p><p></p><p> “You were in prison?” Siff interrupted. “What did you do?” Patter asked right after.</p><p></p><p> “My duty.” Theodyl replied with a nasty gleam in his eyes. “They had me in the same set of irons for all of eight months. They stripped me of everything and kept my hands in mage proof gauntlets. I don't know why they didn't find it, it doesn't matter now.”</p><p></p><p> “An ambitious General from Cyre took command of our unit during the fighting in Karrnath,” Paragon started to explain despite Theodyl's obvious displeasure. “He had a knack for winning battles....”</p><p></p><p> “He was a murdering bastard!” The bard growled. Years later, he can still feel the hot anger.</p><p></p><p> “.....but his men paid the price. His Captain, Thersyl d'Sadelis, Theodyl's best friend, found out the man was using an artifact to encourage his men to die for him. A crime punishable by death in all of the five nations. Theodyl witnessed his murder at the hands of the General.”</p><p></p><p> “The craven scum had a mace that allowed him to overcome the will of his soldiers and throw them at the enemy as if he were driving cattle.” Theodyl is speaking through his teeth. “Hussars, Dog Solders, Longstriders, it didn't matter, he went through hundreds of men just to claim a chunk of rock and win yet another medal.”</p><p></p><p> “He used our own brothers to hunt us.” Paragon continued. “For three days we ran. The battle went on, meanwhile....”</p><p></p><p> “We circled around and hid until the fort was broken and yet another battle was won over piles of murdered soldiers.” Theodyl drew a signet ring from his vest and played with it. “I found him drunk, he was writing a report on my desertion. He blamed me for Captain d'Sadelis' death. I almost killed him.” The half-elf's face split into a terrible smile.</p><p></p><p> “I didn't find out what he did until the trial.” Paragon told the rest. “He traded his life for the General's location. He refused to speak though, until the Tribunal agreed to destroy the artifact. It was a Rod of Command, I think. We thought it was an enchanted mace the way he treated it.” The war-forged handed the bard a bottle of bourbon from the suite's bar. “Theodyl had turned him to stone with a scroll he stole out of a war-mage's tent. He buried the general in a corpse pit the soldiers were using to dispose of the enemy dead.”</p><p></p><p> “They never found his hands or his nose.” Theodyl spoke again. “He lives in a Thrane Hospice now. He needs a servant to feed him and wash him.” It is a living death for a prideful soldier, he thought. He polished the signet ring after breathing on it. Theodyl smiled at it's sigil and then put it away. “House Deneith managed to save their cursed Rod by saying it was a valuable heirloom. They could never fix their General though.”</p><p></p><p> “The House managed destroy Theodyl's career. He will never serve in the military again.” The war-forged glared at the half-elf. “Sharn City Council made him take an oath before they let him operate as an Inquisitive....” Paragon cocked his head and pointed. “Was that the General's signet?! Don't tell me that....!”</p><p></p><p> “Story time is over!” Theodyl growled and threw the bottle of bourbon against the wall. “Get out. I want to sleep and you all need to leave.” He stared at the shattered glass until the last of them made their way out. Ivor gave him a hurt look. Pook, Siff, and Patter glared at him to no avail. “They can all got to hell.” The bard hissed as he opened the tome on his lap and started to read. The Geas is driving him hard because he's managed to ignore it for over two days. He is letting it. It is a better escape than thinking his way to madness or drinking himself to oblivion.</p><p></p><p> “Go to sleep,” Paragon told the changelings, “I will watch his room and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.” Pook made a snide remark. Patter and Siff said something else. Ivor cursed.</p><p></p><p> Paragon 157 to 4 has seen his friend in a foul mood before. The changelings, however, have not. Perhaps, it was a mistake to push him. Theodyl has been strange of late. The war-forged watched the door to their room close. Once he was sure that he was alone he closed the curtain to the lounge. He opened the door to a small pot-bellied stove and tossed in a bundle of rune carved kindling tied with gold wire. A few sparks from his tinder box set it ablaze. Paragon filled the tea pot and then sat and stared at the fire.</p><p></p><p> “What is it?” Pyrus asked through the flame.</p><p></p><p> “There's been a problem with Theodyl.”</p><p></p><p> “Another problem, you mean. What do you require?”</p><p></p><p> “I need to know about a Dragon Mark and I need an item examined.”</p><p></p><p> “Do you want your name written across one of the moons as well?”</p><p></p><p> “It's important. Should I ask someone else?”</p><p></p><p> “Oh, very well, what about the item?”</p><p></p><p> “It is magic. I want to know what it is, what it does, and who made it.”</p><p></p><p> “And the Dragon Mark? Which one do you need to know about?”</p><p></p><p> “The kind the Houses don't like. Isn't there a book or something?”</p><p></p><p> “There are three hundred in the University shelves alone. Most of them are restricted. House Vadalis may have more, they were researching the breeding of Marks before their man in charge was excoriated and later silenced. What predicament did he get you into now?”</p><p></p><p> “I can provide you with a drawing of the mark and the names of both his parents as well as their places of origin.”</p><p></p><p> “I don't like the way that sounds. The research alone will draw unwanted attention. Do you realize that I could get killed just for asking? We are talking about Theodyl right?”</p><p></p><p> “He's my brother.”</p><p></p><p> “I just knew there was something strange about him....Place the item in the fire. Contact me tomorrow night after the tenth bell about the other matter. I will need to secure my chambers. He would die for you, it's the only reason I have any contact with him. This better be worth it.”</p><p></p><p> “Thank you.”</p><p></p><p> “Try not to die again.” The fire went out. The small lead lined box is gone along with the wood and ashes. The iron stove looks as if it has been cleaned.</p><p></p><p> Paragon harrumphed. He poured the hot water from the teapot over some of the herbs the healer from Vadalis gave Pook. The war-forged wasn't surprised to find Ivor hiding in the shadows behind him. She is wearing a female shape beneath a woman's linen night shirt. It is strange the way the changelings can do what they do. War-forged don't have to deal with having a sex. The concept is alien to him. The bond Theodyl shares with the changeling is strange as well. Sexual relations have to do with reproduction, according to Theodyl's books. The concept of romance has to do with convincing a mate that one is interesting to copulate with. The fact that Theodyl seems to seek intercourse as a sort of entertainment adds to the confusion. Paragon is happy he doesn't have those kinds of needs.</p><p></p><p> “Here,” Paragon handed her a tray loaded with tea and biscuits. “Make sure he eats.” She tried to apologize for spying, he ignored her. “I don't think you should push him with any more questions. It takes him a while to act civil after he throws a fit.” The war-forged harrumphed. “If he gets nasty let me know, I'll smack him for his trouble.”</p><p></p><p> Ivor let herself into Theodyl's chamber. The bard didn't bother looking up from his reading. The room is humid and it stinks of sweat and spilled bourbon. Theodyl is going to need a bath soon. She set the tray in front of him and opened the windows. She threatened him with Paragon if he didn't eat or drink his tea. The bard made a face, but he reached out for a biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth. Ivor told him to wash before she crawled into his bed and curled up in his blanket. Theodyl scowled at her as he sipped on his tea.</p><p></p><p> The tome is a treatise on the lower valences of necromantic study. For the most part, it deals with magic useful in the battle field. It covers all of the basics, however. It can be used as a stepping stone towards serious study of necromancy. Of the other books Mooneye saddled the bard with, one deals with spirits and extra planar subjects, the other deals with protective valences and shielding magic. Theodyl isn't very happy now that he can think more clearly. It is as if Mooneye and the Sovereign Host knew about his problem before he did. He can believe that Olladra guides his path. The bard likes the idea that he can pray for luck, or that the smile of his Goddess can inspire his songs. What he can't accept, is the kind of influence over his fate that the Necromancer and maybe the Gods seem to want. He lives by his wits, not by some divine muck-a-muck's will.</p><p></p><p> Theodyl sighed. He looked to Ivor's peacefully sleeping form and finished his bitter tea. He's got time to transcribe a few spells. The bard can't see a clear path to freedom just yet. He needs an edge, he is surprised that he can't seem to find one. The bard sighed again. Work first, worry later, he thought.</p><p></p><p> Ivor woke to the sounds of Theodyl having a nightmare. At least, he doesn't stink like he did before. She will take that as an apology. His skin felt clammy, yet the Dragon Mark on his chest felt uncomfortably warm against her. She held him close and sang a silly song her mother taught her as a child. He calmed a bit, but his dreams weren't anymore pleasant. It is then that she noticed another in the room.</p><p></p><p> “Peace, it's only me.” Siff whispered. “How is he?”</p><p></p><p> “He's having a nightmare,” She replied. “something bad.”</p><p></p><p> “You've fallen in love with him.” It isn't a question. Ivor could feel Siff's frown in the dark.</p><p></p><p> “No...I...” Ivor started to say.</p><p></p><p> “We were both born to womanhood, you can't fool me.” Siff interrupted. “Pook and Patter are playing at this. Even with the Traveler's blessings, it will be a long time before they truly understand what it is to have a woman's heart.”</p><p></p><p> “What am I supposed to do then?” Ivor's voice squeaked.</p><p></p><p> “Love him if you must, I don't have a problem with it.” Siff reached out and lay a Holy symbol on Theodyl's brow. “He will sleep better now. When the time comes, I expect you to tell him about the Traveler and how through Him, he will find what he desires.”</p><p></p><p> “But...”</p><p></p><p> “No buts, you prayed for love and you found it.” Siff's voice turned edgy. “Everything has a price, do you forget?”</p><p></p><p> “How did you know?” Ivor trembled.</p><p></p><p> “I know because I must, just as you will know when to speak to him about our God.” Siff tried to ease the fear from her friend's heart. “You aren't going to hurt him, don't fret. There are only choices and consequences to choices. He will need to find his path soon and you will be there at the right time to offer him an option.”</p><p></p><p> “Just an option?” Ivor's voice is heavy with suspicion. Siff nodded from the shadows. “Why me?” Ivor asked.</p><p></p><p> “Because he will love you back and it is through that love that he will trust you enough to listen.” Siff replied.</p><p></p><p> Paragon pretended to be at his practice as Siff skulked across the hall and crept into her room. The sapphires implanted in his eyes allowed him to see her despite whatever trick she used to hide. His glaive whistled through the air as he practiced a complicated series of parries, thrusts and slashes. He's heard everything. A shiny stone hidden beneath the bard's bed is all that it took. Paragon found it while packing Theodyl's laboratory, it was labeled as a Listening Stone. There is plenty he doesn't understand, but he's got the gist of it. The changelings have an agenda. Their God wants something from Theodyl. The half-elf is hard to handle as it is, with them pulling him in another direction, things are liable to get more complicated.</p><p></p><p> Paragon cannot trust them with Theodyl's life. The war-forged still holds to his final contract to protect the half-elf. His freedom doesn't change the fact that he swore an oath and took his payment. They are friends and brothers, but he doesn't see a conflict of interest. In all modesty, there is no one that can do it better. The imaginary foes in his mind shifted to resemble four changelings and one gnome sized lich. His deadly glaive cut into them over and over again. If, and when the time comes, Paragon 157 to 4 will not hesitate. Practice makes the Soldier perfect.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="skullsmurfer, post: 2453619, member: 17151"] [b]On the Edge of Madness, the Plot Thickens, Chapter 29[/b] The voices come and go at all hours. His dreams are haunted by faces and images not his own. Theodyl looked up to his companions, his friends. They want answers he can't give them. He just doesn't know where to start. One of the books Mooneye tasked him with is open on his lap. It is an ancient tome on Necromancy, the seal of the Royal Library of Galifar is stamped inside the cover. Paragon 157 to 4 is not happy about the newest and latest turn in events. “These belonged to my mother.” He said while laying the matching necklace, earrings and comb into a felt lined jewelry box. Pook threw them at his face just a few hours past. “I was picking them up from the jewelers when she died. She had them cleaned every month.” The bard shut the box and locked it. His thumb slid almost casually over a knob set within it's hinges. A needle trap. “I found out later that the necklace hides the wearer from divinations as well as the kind of magic that invades the mind. The earrings are enchanted with a spell called Eagle's Splendor. The comb, I have yet to figure out, but it somehow makes it easier for people to believe what you say.” “None of that is an answer to my questions!” Paragon growled. “I am still waiting.” “My mother was hiding. She wore these jewels constantly, except for a few hours every month.” Theodyl looked off into space. “I guess that she was being hunted, but I still don't know why, the dragons at the Trade House made some disturbing comments.” The bard lay the box on his lap, he drew a silk kerchief from his vest and lay it over the item. He waved his hand and then put the kerchief away. The box is gone. “I am not ready to believe them, but Blackscale claims he was there to see her die. He said she tried to sing her way out. The problem is, I thought I heard her singing as I ran towards the brothel, just before I realized it was my home that was burning.” “You are avoiding the question.” Patter cut in. Theodyl frowned. “I took sick around my fourteenth birthday. It was a surprise, I had never been ill before.” Theodyl closed the tome on his lap. “Stargazer discovered the mark on my chest two days later. It was smaller then, with thick lines forming something like big hand print just above my heart.” He held up a mirror and opened his shirt to examine the mark. “Stargazer said it looked like a Dragon Flower, he didn't make a fuss over it. A month later he gave me the ankle bracelet. I didn't realize exactly what it did, he just told me never to take it off.” “You have a Dragon Mark. Are you telling me you just forgot about it?! I can't believe that.” Pook looked to Paragon, they both turned to glare at the bard. “I just put it out of my mind after a while.” The half-elf shrugged. “The auto-gnome kept me busy, and Stargazer always had something for me to study. I didn't think it was that interesting, or even that important.” “What about after?” Paragon continued to question him. “You went to school in Cyre, yes?” “A boarding school attached to the University. It was part prison as far as I'm concerned. My free time was taken up with an apprenticeship with that Master Inquisitive I told you about before.” Theodyl picked up his beer stein, then put it back nearly dropping it. He felt the dwarven spirit in residence, not unpleasant, but not comfortable either. The bard drank the beer straight from the skin instead. “You've been drinking too much.” Ivor nagged. “That can't be good for you.” “When the war broke out he joined, and I joined with him.” The bard pulled a worn medal from his vest. His lieutenant's badge is pinned to it's ribbon. “I would have died if I hadn't left when I did.” Theodyl smiled strangely. “That was a strange decision, I really don't know what would have been worse: Years in a hellish war or a few years of safety before a terrifying catastrophe consumes me and all my friends.” “You were examined before the Tribunal, how is it that they didn't strip you of the bracelet and uncover the Mark.” Paragon brought him back to the subject at hand. “I know about their methods.” “You were in prison?” Siff interrupted. “What did you do?” Patter asked right after. “My duty.” Theodyl replied with a nasty gleam in his eyes. “They had me in the same set of irons for all of eight months. They stripped me of everything and kept my hands in mage proof gauntlets. I don't know why they didn't find it, it doesn't matter now.” “An ambitious General from Cyre took command of our unit during the fighting in Karrnath,” Paragon started to explain despite Theodyl's obvious displeasure. “He had a knack for winning battles....” “He was a murdering bastard!” The bard growled. Years later, he can still feel the hot anger. “.....but his men paid the price. His Captain, Thersyl d'Sadelis, Theodyl's best friend, found out the man was using an artifact to encourage his men to die for him. A crime punishable by death in all of the five nations. Theodyl witnessed his murder at the hands of the General.” “The craven scum had a mace that allowed him to overcome the will of his soldiers and throw them at the enemy as if he were driving cattle.” Theodyl is speaking through his teeth. “Hussars, Dog Solders, Longstriders, it didn't matter, he went through hundreds of men just to claim a chunk of rock and win yet another medal.” “He used our own brothers to hunt us.” Paragon continued. “For three days we ran. The battle went on, meanwhile....” “We circled around and hid until the fort was broken and yet another battle was won over piles of murdered soldiers.” Theodyl drew a signet ring from his vest and played with it. “I found him drunk, he was writing a report on my desertion. He blamed me for Captain d'Sadelis' death. I almost killed him.” The half-elf's face split into a terrible smile. “I didn't find out what he did until the trial.” Paragon told the rest. “He traded his life for the General's location. He refused to speak though, until the Tribunal agreed to destroy the artifact. It was a Rod of Command, I think. We thought it was an enchanted mace the way he treated it.” The war-forged handed the bard a bottle of bourbon from the suite's bar. “Theodyl had turned him to stone with a scroll he stole out of a war-mage's tent. He buried the general in a corpse pit the soldiers were using to dispose of the enemy dead.” “They never found his hands or his nose.” Theodyl spoke again. “He lives in a Thrane Hospice now. He needs a servant to feed him and wash him.” It is a living death for a prideful soldier, he thought. He polished the signet ring after breathing on it. Theodyl smiled at it's sigil and then put it away. “House Deneith managed to save their cursed Rod by saying it was a valuable heirloom. They could never fix their General though.” “The House managed destroy Theodyl's career. He will never serve in the military again.” The war-forged glared at the half-elf. “Sharn City Council made him take an oath before they let him operate as an Inquisitive....” Paragon cocked his head and pointed. “Was that the General's signet?! Don't tell me that....!” “Story time is over!” Theodyl growled and threw the bottle of bourbon against the wall. “Get out. I want to sleep and you all need to leave.” He stared at the shattered glass until the last of them made their way out. Ivor gave him a hurt look. Pook, Siff, and Patter glared at him to no avail. “They can all got to hell.” The bard hissed as he opened the tome on his lap and started to read. The Geas is driving him hard because he's managed to ignore it for over two days. He is letting it. It is a better escape than thinking his way to madness or drinking himself to oblivion. “Go to sleep,” Paragon told the changelings, “I will watch his room and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.” Pook made a snide remark. Patter and Siff said something else. Ivor cursed. Paragon 157 to 4 has seen his friend in a foul mood before. The changelings, however, have not. Perhaps, it was a mistake to push him. Theodyl has been strange of late. The war-forged watched the door to their room close. Once he was sure that he was alone he closed the curtain to the lounge. He opened the door to a small pot-bellied stove and tossed in a bundle of rune carved kindling tied with gold wire. A few sparks from his tinder box set it ablaze. Paragon filled the tea pot and then sat and stared at the fire. “What is it?” Pyrus asked through the flame. “There's been a problem with Theodyl.” “Another problem, you mean. What do you require?” “I need to know about a Dragon Mark and I need an item examined.” “Do you want your name written across one of the moons as well?” “It's important. Should I ask someone else?” “Oh, very well, what about the item?” “It is magic. I want to know what it is, what it does, and who made it.” “And the Dragon Mark? Which one do you need to know about?” “The kind the Houses don't like. Isn't there a book or something?” “There are three hundred in the University shelves alone. Most of them are restricted. House Vadalis may have more, they were researching the breeding of Marks before their man in charge was excoriated and later silenced. What predicament did he get you into now?” “I can provide you with a drawing of the mark and the names of both his parents as well as their places of origin.” “I don't like the way that sounds. The research alone will draw unwanted attention. Do you realize that I could get killed just for asking? We are talking about Theodyl right?” “He's my brother.” “I just knew there was something strange about him....Place the item in the fire. Contact me tomorrow night after the tenth bell about the other matter. I will need to secure my chambers. He would die for you, it's the only reason I have any contact with him. This better be worth it.” “Thank you.” “Try not to die again.” The fire went out. The small lead lined box is gone along with the wood and ashes. The iron stove looks as if it has been cleaned. Paragon harrumphed. He poured the hot water from the teapot over some of the herbs the healer from Vadalis gave Pook. The war-forged wasn't surprised to find Ivor hiding in the shadows behind him. She is wearing a female shape beneath a woman's linen night shirt. It is strange the way the changelings can do what they do. War-forged don't have to deal with having a sex. The concept is alien to him. The bond Theodyl shares with the changeling is strange as well. Sexual relations have to do with reproduction, according to Theodyl's books. The concept of romance has to do with convincing a mate that one is interesting to copulate with. The fact that Theodyl seems to seek intercourse as a sort of entertainment adds to the confusion. Paragon is happy he doesn't have those kinds of needs. “Here,” Paragon handed her a tray loaded with tea and biscuits. “Make sure he eats.” She tried to apologize for spying, he ignored her. “I don't think you should push him with any more questions. It takes him a while to act civil after he throws a fit.” The war-forged harrumphed. “If he gets nasty let me know, I'll smack him for his trouble.” Ivor let herself into Theodyl's chamber. The bard didn't bother looking up from his reading. The room is humid and it stinks of sweat and spilled bourbon. Theodyl is going to need a bath soon. She set the tray in front of him and opened the windows. She threatened him with Paragon if he didn't eat or drink his tea. The bard made a face, but he reached out for a biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth. Ivor told him to wash before she crawled into his bed and curled up in his blanket. Theodyl scowled at her as he sipped on his tea. The tome is a treatise on the lower valences of necromantic study. For the most part, it deals with magic useful in the battle field. It covers all of the basics, however. It can be used as a stepping stone towards serious study of necromancy. Of the other books Mooneye saddled the bard with, one deals with spirits and extra planar subjects, the other deals with protective valences and shielding magic. Theodyl isn't very happy now that he can think more clearly. It is as if Mooneye and the Sovereign Host knew about his problem before he did. He can believe that Olladra guides his path. The bard likes the idea that he can pray for luck, or that the smile of his Goddess can inspire his songs. What he can't accept, is the kind of influence over his fate that the Necromancer and maybe the Gods seem to want. He lives by his wits, not by some divine muck-a-muck's will. Theodyl sighed. He looked to Ivor's peacefully sleeping form and finished his bitter tea. He's got time to transcribe a few spells. The bard can't see a clear path to freedom just yet. He needs an edge, he is surprised that he can't seem to find one. The bard sighed again. Work first, worry later, he thought. Ivor woke to the sounds of Theodyl having a nightmare. At least, he doesn't stink like he did before. She will take that as an apology. His skin felt clammy, yet the Dragon Mark on his chest felt uncomfortably warm against her. She held him close and sang a silly song her mother taught her as a child. He calmed a bit, but his dreams weren't anymore pleasant. It is then that she noticed another in the room. “Peace, it's only me.” Siff whispered. “How is he?” “He's having a nightmare,” She replied. “something bad.” “You've fallen in love with him.” It isn't a question. Ivor could feel Siff's frown in the dark. “No...I...” Ivor started to say. “We were both born to womanhood, you can't fool me.” Siff interrupted. “Pook and Patter are playing at this. Even with the Traveler's blessings, it will be a long time before they truly understand what it is to have a woman's heart.” “What am I supposed to do then?” Ivor's voice squeaked. “Love him if you must, I don't have a problem with it.” Siff reached out and lay a Holy symbol on Theodyl's brow. “He will sleep better now. When the time comes, I expect you to tell him about the Traveler and how through Him, he will find what he desires.” “But...” “No buts, you prayed for love and you found it.” Siff's voice turned edgy. “Everything has a price, do you forget?” “How did you know?” Ivor trembled. “I know because I must, just as you will know when to speak to him about our God.” Siff tried to ease the fear from her friend's heart. “You aren't going to hurt him, don't fret. There are only choices and consequences to choices. He will need to find his path soon and you will be there at the right time to offer him an option.” “Just an option?” Ivor's voice is heavy with suspicion. Siff nodded from the shadows. “Why me?” Ivor asked. “Because he will love you back and it is through that love that he will trust you enough to listen.” Siff replied. Paragon pretended to be at his practice as Siff skulked across the hall and crept into her room. The sapphires implanted in his eyes allowed him to see her despite whatever trick she used to hide. His glaive whistled through the air as he practiced a complicated series of parries, thrusts and slashes. He's heard everything. A shiny stone hidden beneath the bard's bed is all that it took. Paragon found it while packing Theodyl's laboratory, it was labeled as a Listening Stone. There is plenty he doesn't understand, but he's got the gist of it. The changelings have an agenda. Their God wants something from Theodyl. The half-elf is hard to handle as it is, with them pulling him in another direction, things are liable to get more complicated. Paragon cannot trust them with Theodyl's life. The war-forged still holds to his final contract to protect the half-elf. His freedom doesn't change the fact that he swore an oath and took his payment. They are friends and brothers, but he doesn't see a conflict of interest. In all modesty, there is no one that can do it better. The imaginary foes in his mind shifted to resemble four changelings and one gnome sized lich. His deadly glaive cut into them over and over again. If, and when the time comes, Paragon 157 to 4 will not hesitate. Practice makes the Soldier perfect. [/QUOTE]
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Adventures in Eberron> Chapter 32 posted 08-08-05>
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