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(Adventure) The Haunted Halls of Stonepike
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<blockquote data-quote="nimisgod" data-source="post: 1686034" data-attributes="member: 10283"><p>Ishmael awoke in the healer's room. It felt like a dawning of the new day for the Deep Halfling. At the same time, it felt like something in his life had ended. For Ishmael, the path of the Paladin ended here. All those who mocked him in the Order were right. Sir Mazan had chosen an unworthy student. Ishmael could not progress far into the ranks of Paladinhood, not matter how he tried. Paladinhood was a calling and for him, the summons ended here. </p><p></p><p> Just as his collapse was violent, his sleep was not at all peaceful. Antideluvian, powerful whispers in the darkness of his unconscious mind spoke to him of secrets arcane. The lecture was not in mere words, but in the flow of his blood and the beat of his heart. T'was as if his body were unveiling to him the mysteries of the Arts arcane. T'was as if... his body, nay, his soul itself was an ancient one. </p><p></p><p> However, the education did not happen over-night, recalled the Halfling with clarity. Even his mentor, Sir Mazan, must have known about his squire's supernatural abilities. Memories, once buried deep, were now unearthed. His abilities manifested long ago, even before Sir Mazan arrived to save his village. That was the main reason why his mother subtely coerced him to leave with Sir Mazan. His main reason for expulsion from the village was the surgence of these powers. And these powers hindered his training with the dwarf Paladin as well. There were other signs as well: his prediliction for arcane lore being the least subtle of them.</p><p></p><p> Ishmael did not blame his family nor the villagers of Malach's way for rejecting him. Neither could he place hate unto his own abilities. Sir Mazan always taught him to make what he could with the situation. If his blood, if his soul, gave him this sorcerous ability and if his path to Paladinhood had ended, so be it. He would continue his fight for the forces of good in his own way... no matter how eclectic it would be</p><p></p><p> Ishmael took the wet cloth off of his forehead. He smelled the medicinal herbs on the cloth as he put it on the table beside him. The healer's room was a simple one, and one also occupied by the bodies of those too wounded to be healed with magick. </p><p></p><p> Sitting up on the bed bunk, he assessed his current situation. He could feel the Power dancing at his fingertips. If he willed it, he could sense the auras of magick in the room (though he could not identify their exact properties). There were other things he could do, but some of these needed the gestures for spellcasting. Others needed strange components such as a miniature wooden replica of an archery target or a clear crystal prism. He would have to use what lore he knew of the arcane as well as his innate lore to determine what he needed.</p><p></p><p> Though his magicks were arcane, he felt that he walked the path alone. No one else could help him here. The thought filled Ishmael with pride, strangely enough. He got off the bed, donned his clothes then went off to meet and greet his comrades. His progress had indeed ended, but another path had lit up for him to tread upon.</p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">ooc: Ishmael is going to buy a spell component pouch from the dwarves of Stonepike. He's also going to ask if he could do some reading in their library (for knowledge: arcana). I'm definately considering spending some of that 2K gp on a magick item</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="nimisgod, post: 1686034, member: 10283"] Ishmael awoke in the healer's room. It felt like a dawning of the new day for the Deep Halfling. At the same time, it felt like something in his life had ended. For Ishmael, the path of the Paladin ended here. All those who mocked him in the Order were right. Sir Mazan had chosen an unworthy student. Ishmael could not progress far into the ranks of Paladinhood, not matter how he tried. Paladinhood was a calling and for him, the summons ended here. Just as his collapse was violent, his sleep was not at all peaceful. Antideluvian, powerful whispers in the darkness of his unconscious mind spoke to him of secrets arcane. The lecture was not in mere words, but in the flow of his blood and the beat of his heart. T'was as if his body were unveiling to him the mysteries of the Arts arcane. T'was as if... his body, nay, his soul itself was an ancient one. However, the education did not happen over-night, recalled the Halfling with clarity. Even his mentor, Sir Mazan, must have known about his squire's supernatural abilities. Memories, once buried deep, were now unearthed. His abilities manifested long ago, even before Sir Mazan arrived to save his village. That was the main reason why his mother subtely coerced him to leave with Sir Mazan. His main reason for expulsion from the village was the surgence of these powers. And these powers hindered his training with the dwarf Paladin as well. There were other signs as well: his prediliction for arcane lore being the least subtle of them. Ishmael did not blame his family nor the villagers of Malach's way for rejecting him. Neither could he place hate unto his own abilities. Sir Mazan always taught him to make what he could with the situation. If his blood, if his soul, gave him this sorcerous ability and if his path to Paladinhood had ended, so be it. He would continue his fight for the forces of good in his own way... no matter how eclectic it would be Ishmael took the wet cloth off of his forehead. He smelled the medicinal herbs on the cloth as he put it on the table beside him. The healer's room was a simple one, and one also occupied by the bodies of those too wounded to be healed with magick. Sitting up on the bed bunk, he assessed his current situation. He could feel the Power dancing at his fingertips. If he willed it, he could sense the auras of magick in the room (though he could not identify their exact properties). There were other things he could do, but some of these needed the gestures for spellcasting. Others needed strange components such as a miniature wooden replica of an archery target or a clear crystal prism. He would have to use what lore he knew of the arcane as well as his innate lore to determine what he needed. Though his magicks were arcane, he felt that he walked the path alone. No one else could help him here. The thought filled Ishmael with pride, strangely enough. He got off the bed, donned his clothes then went off to meet and greet his comrades. His progress had indeed ended, but another path had lit up for him to tread upon. [SIZE=1]ooc: Ishmael is going to buy a spell component pouch from the dwarves of Stonepike. He's also going to ask if he could do some reading in their library (for knowledge: arcana). I'm definately considering spending some of that 2K gp on a magick item[/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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