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<blockquote data-quote="PHDungeon" data-source="post: 5023798" data-attributes="member: 86320"><p>his is Darren's most recently journal.</p><p></p><p>Dear Corvin,</p><p></p><p>We are heading to Grimsburg soon – please prepare mother and father for Deryl’s return. She has been quiet and circumspect, of late. I see now what a fool I was for bringing her to the Vale. There is too much death and darkness for one so small. What a fool I was.</p><p></p><p>We sailed south with a good Nerathi man and his two sons, but were ambushed by cruel, festering frogmen on the river. We fought them off, but one of merchant's boys was killed. After a brief stay in Moonstair, we reached Brynstead, and there we were beset by a pack of Flagg’s corrupted men. We ambushed them – my friends fought bravely. But none of this matters now, for I am dead to them. What a fool I was ... until I stepped into the light.</p><p></p><p>With Deryl’s magic giving me a strange gift of flight, I burst into the Temple of Rao. Flagg’s men were devouring villagers – Nerathi and Skanzi alike. Priests of both religions were fighting them back. Bjorn and I crashed into the foul fiends with fire and thunder. Bolts of light coursed through Torfinn and Bella danced deadly through the aisles loosing bolt upon bolt into. It was night, but the whole temple grew brighter with each victory. Through the clangs of steel and gurgles of death, singing grew louder in my ears. Southern canticles fed my spirit. Wounds became painless, and I leapt through the rabble to tear a fiend to pieces. The brightness was unbearable. I could no longer make out Bjorn’s battle-prayers. Torfinn’s features started to shift – a reptilian sneer crossed his face. The chanting was calling out to me from ages past – and in the stained glass, I caught the sad and pious eyes of our great-grandfather, St. Aurielus.</p><p></p><p>Corvin, the light has blinded me, and now I can see for the first time. We slew them to the last, their bodies proving too far gone for saving. I wept bitterly on the altar, blood covering my face. I have made such good and noble friends in these bitter last few weeks – but I carry a new faith in my heart. Do they know? What will I tell them? When the chanting stopped, and the light faded from my head, my eyes caught the open book on the altar. Some strange compulsion brought me forth to read it.</p><p></p><p>It was opened to the story of Saint Amra in his days as a smith: “... and so did Amra take up the Hammer of the North and cast it in the fire, purifying its goodness in the flames. And thus did the hammer shine so brightly, it appeared as a sun, and yeah did the heathen become the faithful on the road to the Shining South.”</p><p></p><p>Corvin, I am not pious or peaceful as well you know ... but I am thinking of getting a tattoo of a hammer surrounded by a halo of flame. Maybe, y’know, start my own holy fighting order. Maidens swoon over prophets with swords.</p><p></p><p>Your brother,</p><p></p><p>Derren</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="PHDungeon, post: 5023798, member: 86320"] his is Darren's most recently journal. Dear Corvin, We are heading to Grimsburg soon – please prepare mother and father for Deryl’s return. She has been quiet and circumspect, of late. I see now what a fool I was for bringing her to the Vale. There is too much death and darkness for one so small. What a fool I was. We sailed south with a good Nerathi man and his two sons, but were ambushed by cruel, festering frogmen on the river. We fought them off, but one of merchant's boys was killed. After a brief stay in Moonstair, we reached Brynstead, and there we were beset by a pack of Flagg’s corrupted men. We ambushed them – my friends fought bravely. But none of this matters now, for I am dead to them. What a fool I was ... until I stepped into the light. With Deryl’s magic giving me a strange gift of flight, I burst into the Temple of Rao. Flagg’s men were devouring villagers – Nerathi and Skanzi alike. Priests of both religions were fighting them back. Bjorn and I crashed into the foul fiends with fire and thunder. Bolts of light coursed through Torfinn and Bella danced deadly through the aisles loosing bolt upon bolt into. It was night, but the whole temple grew brighter with each victory. Through the clangs of steel and gurgles of death, singing grew louder in my ears. Southern canticles fed my spirit. Wounds became painless, and I leapt through the rabble to tear a fiend to pieces. The brightness was unbearable. I could no longer make out Bjorn’s battle-prayers. Torfinn’s features started to shift – a reptilian sneer crossed his face. The chanting was calling out to me from ages past – and in the stained glass, I caught the sad and pious eyes of our great-grandfather, St. Aurielus. Corvin, the light has blinded me, and now I can see for the first time. We slew them to the last, their bodies proving too far gone for saving. I wept bitterly on the altar, blood covering my face. I have made such good and noble friends in these bitter last few weeks – but I carry a new faith in my heart. Do they know? What will I tell them? When the chanting stopped, and the light faded from my head, my eyes caught the open book on the altar. Some strange compulsion brought me forth to read it. It was opened to the story of Saint Amra in his days as a smith: “... and so did Amra take up the Hammer of the North and cast it in the fire, purifying its goodness in the flames. And thus did the hammer shine so brightly, it appeared as a sun, and yeah did the heathen become the faithful on the road to the Shining South.” Corvin, I am not pious or peaceful as well you know ... but I am thinking of getting a tattoo of a hammer surrounded by a halo of flame. Maybe, y’know, start my own holy fighting order. Maidens swoon over prophets with swords. Your brother, Derren [/QUOTE]
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