Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
The Risen Goddess (Updated 3.10.08)
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90—A Lover’s Reunion, Terrible and Final.
Adwawn, the last true king of Kor’En Eamor, and father to Hepis the God looks rather ordinary. He is small, even as dwarves go, blind in one eye, and wearing the simple work-dress of his people. In fact, the only thing that might give away his true age or legendary role in the dwarven apocrypha is his utter lack of surprise at seeing the three bedraggled adventurers stepping through a gate into his modest forge.
“You are Adwawn Aq Med, King of the Aq Med, first house of the dwarves?” Elgin Trezler asks.
“Was,” the dwarf says with a frown. “Law of succession, you know. The stone-folk have no true king anymore.”
“Here,” Taran says, approaching the dwarf gingerly. He holds out a hand—within it is a small amount of dirt. “This is from your home,” he says.
Adwawn takes the dirt from Taran’s hand, and looks him squarely in the eye. “A favor unasked makes for no debt, boy,” he scolds.
“Fair enough,” Taran smiles. “Then she won’t owe you one either. We’re here about the mother of your son.”
“We are here to beg for your help,” Elgin says, nudging Taran aside. “We want you to help us to help Ceredain.” Elgin explains the pasoun to Adwawn, passionately describing its power over gods and men—and the liberation that transcends even the ill-will of the most powerful celestial hosts.
“Free your goddess, and take back your kingship,” Taran urges him.
“King Aq Med,” the dwarf mulls the name over, letting it roll around in his mouth as he says it. “Do you really know what Aq Med means?” He cocks his head, and fixes the group with his good eye. “Aq Med is a curse-mark. It isn’t our name in glory; it is the name that marks our shame. Those of us who had a hand in this are exiled and eternal—cursed to forever be without those things that make life worth living, and yet forever alive.”
“She loves you still,” Thelbar says. “That much is clear. If we take you to her, you can make her hear the wisdom in our offer—my goddess wants Ceredain to be free. She will lead Ceredain into the pasoun, and bring her back into the cycle of life. Yourself as well, Adwawn, king or no—you may die and live again, a whole man.”
“Moradin’s curse . . .” the dwarf begins.
“Has no more relevance within the pasoun than one of my own utterance,” Thelbar finishes.
Adwawn thinks deeply on the offer, looking at each of the Champions as if to determine the righteousness of their intent. Finally, he clears his throat, and says, “If I do this, I can only take one of you to stand as my second. That is the old way, and anything else might seem like a threat.”
“Hell, no,” Taran starts to say, but Thelbar interrupts him.
“Of course, Adwawn, it shall be as you wish.” He bows to the dwarf.
“Then I’m the one to go,” Taran says stubbornly. He adjusts his sword-belt. “I’m ready right now.”
-----
Ceredain flutters around the statue of Adwawn in an agitated frenzy. Alvodar the Ukerak stands at the feet of the statue, speaking soothingly to his goddess. As the gate appears, he turns and regards Taran coolly, and says, “Here now, see what you have done, you fool? You have disturbed her rest! And for your treachery, I will instruct her to extract a great vengance from . . .”
But before the undead dwarf can finish his threat, Ceredain has spied Adwawn, and in the blink of an eye, she descends upon him and takes the dwarf into her misty body. Taran is washed with a terrible burning pain as Ceredain oozes over him, and by the time he is able to open his eYes, he sees that both he and Alvodar stand on barren plains of Isk—just outside of the Delve. As they gain their bearings, a thick stone slab emerges from the ground, and with a booming crash, seals the gate. All over the multiverse, Kor’En Eamor’s portals are heard closing behind the dead goddess and her mortal love.
Alvodar cries out with a wordless fury and anguish, then turns to Taran with a burning hatred in his eYes.
”You seduced her with the one thing that will enrapture her!” he shouts. “Cursed be your name forever!”
“Alvodar,” Taran begins warily, careful to show no signs of hostility. “We were companions once, and could be again. Come with me—Ceredain is gone, and I have not forgotten you. You could live again.”
“I am finished with your honeyed words, and the lies of your goddess!” Alvodar yells in reply. “Twice now you have tricked and betrayed me, and there shall be no third!” With that, Alvodar clutches an amulet about his neck, and is gone.
Taran sits and broods alone for some time before his friends are able to make their way to his side.
“Let’s go home,” Taran says wearily, clasping his brother’s hand. “Or whatever it is we have now.”
-----
Upon their return to New Ithor, the Champions of the Risen Goddess learn that sixty days have elapsed since their last visit—the presence of Ceredain has warped time for those who have regarded her, and what seemed like days was in fact months.
Merkatha and ‘Fernal are gone as well, although they did not leave any message, or share their plans with any of New Ithor’s drow.
Gorquen has returned from her journeys in the north and left again. She leaves the following terse note behind (sic):
Hope you are all alive and well. Fought giants, smashed them. Obuld small threat. Brought drow refugees from beneath Sundabar. Found out Scaladar liberate elven souls from Lower Planes—probably demons now. Am after great artifact with intent to return it to Larethian, will explain upon return. Blessings.
Gorquen
“All righty, then,” Taran says. “At least she’s keeping busy.”
-----
After a long night’s sleep, Elgin Trezler communes with his god:
“Are the souls within Kor’En Eamor trapped?” Yes.
“Is the threat to Faerun posed by Ceredain diminished?” Yes
“Is this threat negated?” No.
“Has Ceredain made her choice regarding the pasoun?” No.
“Had Adwawn gone mad?” No.
“Will Adwawn offer Ceredain the pasoun?” Yes.
“Does Adwawn have any influence over Ceredain’s decision beyond his opinion?” No.
“Is Alvodar jealous of Adwawn?” Yes.
“Will Alvodar work against us directly?” Yes.
“Does Alvodar understand that he could take the pasoun?” No, his corrupted mind does not accept that option.
“Will Moradin attempt to influence Ceredain’s choice?” Yes.
“Will Moradin attempt to compel Ceredain’s choice?” Yes.
“Will Moradin attempt to do so personally?” Yes.
“Has Moradin sent agents against us already?” No.
“Is there a cult of Iiam active in Faerun?” Yes, and has been for a long time. My eyes have been opened to his eternal presence.
“Does Iiam’s cult predate the arrival of Palatin Eremath?” Yes. He is as she is.
“Does the sealing of Kor’En Eamor free Isk?” Isk must be reclaimed and healed. She is not dead, but gravely wounded.
“Are your followers in Cormyr in grave danger?” Life is a step toward death, and death a step toward life.
-----
“So what exactly did we accomplish?” Taran asks. “We might have saved some lives, but we might not have, and we’ve also made a big enemy. After all that trouble, Ceredain probably stays dead anyway. Blood and fire, we’ve got to be the worst Champions a goddess ever had.”
“And there has been great trouble in the South while we were gone,” Elgin says. He has been speaking with members of his faith, and their appraisal of the political situation in Cormyr is grim:
The borders of Cormyr have been redrawn—the Sembians have placed a stranglehold on their conquest of Eastern Cormyr, going so far as to rename the area New Sembia, and establish a capitol in Wheloon. Arabel held against the Sembians, but has seceded from Cormyr in the wake of religious rioting. What remains of the beleaguered nation is deeply fractured as the churches of Helm, Moradin, Torm, Tyr, Illmater, Tymora and Waukeen have formalized an alliance against the Ermathan Pantheon, and instructed their followers to abandon Cormyr.
To her credit, the Steel Regent of Cormyr refused the allied faiths’ demand to ban the faith of Lathander, and has sworn to resist to the end. Unfortunately, that end seems to be near, as Arabel’s House Truesilver, a powerful Cormyrian noble house dedicated to Torm has stated their intent to raise an army of conquest to “retake Cormyr from the blaspheming false-crown.”
“Well that’s just stupid,” Taran observes. “Once they march on Suzail, the Sembians are going to snap up whichever side is the victor.”
“Never underestimate the ignorance of the faithful,” Thelbar quips.
“Tell me about it,” Taran mutters. “I mean, sometimes I think we’re living it.”
As a result of the religious tension, waves of refugees are moving in both directions from Cormyr—Lathanderites to Suzail, and followers of the new alliance away from it. Sembia has agreed to honor the alliance’s demand to expel all followers of the Morning Lord, and religious violence has become commonplace.
“They’re flooding Cormyr with refugees!” Taran exclaims. “That’s just low. They’ll force Cormyr to spend itself out paying for the added burden while they build an army!”
Mother Talendiira has responded to this crisis by traveling to Suzail, in order to proselytize in the capital of the shattered Cormyrian nation, and build an understanding of the new Ermathan pantheon among the worshippers of Lathander squatting amongst the overflowing refugee camps.
As Cormyr unravels, Sembia’s former dwarven allies have reached the gate of Kor’En Eamor, “For all the good it’ll do ‘em,” Taran says. “Here’s hoping that the bastards are locked in there.”
The Northern dwarves are also at the gates, and the two forces are said to be in council. They effectively have placed what was Northern Cormyr under their military control, but as of yet have announced no clear intention.
“I . . . I do not know how to react to all this,” Elgin finishes. “I am truly overwhelmed.”
“It is a wicked thing indeed when religious dogma ursurps the dignity and rights of the individual,” Thelbar agrees.
“Well, I know what I want to do,” Taran says, “but I bet it won’t help. Still, we’ve got to do something, and I’m really only good at one thing.”
None of the companions need to ask what that thing is. With a grim expression, Thelbar says, “We leave in the morning.”
Adwawn, the last true king of Kor’En Eamor, and father to Hepis the God looks rather ordinary. He is small, even as dwarves go, blind in one eye, and wearing the simple work-dress of his people. In fact, the only thing that might give away his true age or legendary role in the dwarven apocrypha is his utter lack of surprise at seeing the three bedraggled adventurers stepping through a gate into his modest forge.
“You are Adwawn Aq Med, King of the Aq Med, first house of the dwarves?” Elgin Trezler asks.
“Was,” the dwarf says with a frown. “Law of succession, you know. The stone-folk have no true king anymore.”
“Here,” Taran says, approaching the dwarf gingerly. He holds out a hand—within it is a small amount of dirt. “This is from your home,” he says.
Adwawn takes the dirt from Taran’s hand, and looks him squarely in the eye. “A favor unasked makes for no debt, boy,” he scolds.
“Fair enough,” Taran smiles. “Then she won’t owe you one either. We’re here about the mother of your son.”
“We are here to beg for your help,” Elgin says, nudging Taran aside. “We want you to help us to help Ceredain.” Elgin explains the pasoun to Adwawn, passionately describing its power over gods and men—and the liberation that transcends even the ill-will of the most powerful celestial hosts.
“Free your goddess, and take back your kingship,” Taran urges him.
“King Aq Med,” the dwarf mulls the name over, letting it roll around in his mouth as he says it. “Do you really know what Aq Med means?” He cocks his head, and fixes the group with his good eye. “Aq Med is a curse-mark. It isn’t our name in glory; it is the name that marks our shame. Those of us who had a hand in this are exiled and eternal—cursed to forever be without those things that make life worth living, and yet forever alive.”
“She loves you still,” Thelbar says. “That much is clear. If we take you to her, you can make her hear the wisdom in our offer—my goddess wants Ceredain to be free. She will lead Ceredain into the pasoun, and bring her back into the cycle of life. Yourself as well, Adwawn, king or no—you may die and live again, a whole man.”
“Moradin’s curse . . .” the dwarf begins.
“Has no more relevance within the pasoun than one of my own utterance,” Thelbar finishes.
Adwawn thinks deeply on the offer, looking at each of the Champions as if to determine the righteousness of their intent. Finally, he clears his throat, and says, “If I do this, I can only take one of you to stand as my second. That is the old way, and anything else might seem like a threat.”
“Hell, no,” Taran starts to say, but Thelbar interrupts him.
“Of course, Adwawn, it shall be as you wish.” He bows to the dwarf.
“Then I’m the one to go,” Taran says stubbornly. He adjusts his sword-belt. “I’m ready right now.”
-----
Ceredain flutters around the statue of Adwawn in an agitated frenzy. Alvodar the Ukerak stands at the feet of the statue, speaking soothingly to his goddess. As the gate appears, he turns and regards Taran coolly, and says, “Here now, see what you have done, you fool? You have disturbed her rest! And for your treachery, I will instruct her to extract a great vengance from . . .”
But before the undead dwarf can finish his threat, Ceredain has spied Adwawn, and in the blink of an eye, she descends upon him and takes the dwarf into her misty body. Taran is washed with a terrible burning pain as Ceredain oozes over him, and by the time he is able to open his eYes, he sees that both he and Alvodar stand on barren plains of Isk—just outside of the Delve. As they gain their bearings, a thick stone slab emerges from the ground, and with a booming crash, seals the gate. All over the multiverse, Kor’En Eamor’s portals are heard closing behind the dead goddess and her mortal love.
Alvodar cries out with a wordless fury and anguish, then turns to Taran with a burning hatred in his eYes.
”You seduced her with the one thing that will enrapture her!” he shouts. “Cursed be your name forever!”
“Alvodar,” Taran begins warily, careful to show no signs of hostility. “We were companions once, and could be again. Come with me—Ceredain is gone, and I have not forgotten you. You could live again.”
“I am finished with your honeyed words, and the lies of your goddess!” Alvodar yells in reply. “Twice now you have tricked and betrayed me, and there shall be no third!” With that, Alvodar clutches an amulet about his neck, and is gone.
Taran sits and broods alone for some time before his friends are able to make their way to his side.
“Let’s go home,” Taran says wearily, clasping his brother’s hand. “Or whatever it is we have now.”
-----
Upon their return to New Ithor, the Champions of the Risen Goddess learn that sixty days have elapsed since their last visit—the presence of Ceredain has warped time for those who have regarded her, and what seemed like days was in fact months.
Merkatha and ‘Fernal are gone as well, although they did not leave any message, or share their plans with any of New Ithor’s drow.
Gorquen has returned from her journeys in the north and left again. She leaves the following terse note behind (sic):
Hope you are all alive and well. Fought giants, smashed them. Obuld small threat. Brought drow refugees from beneath Sundabar. Found out Scaladar liberate elven souls from Lower Planes—probably demons now. Am after great artifact with intent to return it to Larethian, will explain upon return. Blessings.
Gorquen
“All righty, then,” Taran says. “At least she’s keeping busy.”
-----
After a long night’s sleep, Elgin Trezler communes with his god:
“Are the souls within Kor’En Eamor trapped?” Yes.
“Is the threat to Faerun posed by Ceredain diminished?” Yes
“Is this threat negated?” No.
“Has Ceredain made her choice regarding the pasoun?” No.
“Had Adwawn gone mad?” No.
“Will Adwawn offer Ceredain the pasoun?” Yes.
“Does Adwawn have any influence over Ceredain’s decision beyond his opinion?” No.
“Is Alvodar jealous of Adwawn?” Yes.
“Will Alvodar work against us directly?” Yes.
“Does Alvodar understand that he could take the pasoun?” No, his corrupted mind does not accept that option.
“Will Moradin attempt to influence Ceredain’s choice?” Yes.
“Will Moradin attempt to compel Ceredain’s choice?” Yes.
“Will Moradin attempt to do so personally?” Yes.
“Has Moradin sent agents against us already?” No.
“Is there a cult of Iiam active in Faerun?” Yes, and has been for a long time. My eyes have been opened to his eternal presence.
“Does Iiam’s cult predate the arrival of Palatin Eremath?” Yes. He is as she is.
“Does the sealing of Kor’En Eamor free Isk?” Isk must be reclaimed and healed. She is not dead, but gravely wounded.
“Are your followers in Cormyr in grave danger?” Life is a step toward death, and death a step toward life.
-----
“So what exactly did we accomplish?” Taran asks. “We might have saved some lives, but we might not have, and we’ve also made a big enemy. After all that trouble, Ceredain probably stays dead anyway. Blood and fire, we’ve got to be the worst Champions a goddess ever had.”
“And there has been great trouble in the South while we were gone,” Elgin says. He has been speaking with members of his faith, and their appraisal of the political situation in Cormyr is grim:
The borders of Cormyr have been redrawn—the Sembians have placed a stranglehold on their conquest of Eastern Cormyr, going so far as to rename the area New Sembia, and establish a capitol in Wheloon. Arabel held against the Sembians, but has seceded from Cormyr in the wake of religious rioting. What remains of the beleaguered nation is deeply fractured as the churches of Helm, Moradin, Torm, Tyr, Illmater, Tymora and Waukeen have formalized an alliance against the Ermathan Pantheon, and instructed their followers to abandon Cormyr.
To her credit, the Steel Regent of Cormyr refused the allied faiths’ demand to ban the faith of Lathander, and has sworn to resist to the end. Unfortunately, that end seems to be near, as Arabel’s House Truesilver, a powerful Cormyrian noble house dedicated to Torm has stated their intent to raise an army of conquest to “retake Cormyr from the blaspheming false-crown.”
“Well that’s just stupid,” Taran observes. “Once they march on Suzail, the Sembians are going to snap up whichever side is the victor.”
“Never underestimate the ignorance of the faithful,” Thelbar quips.
“Tell me about it,” Taran mutters. “I mean, sometimes I think we’re living it.”
As a result of the religious tension, waves of refugees are moving in both directions from Cormyr—Lathanderites to Suzail, and followers of the new alliance away from it. Sembia has agreed to honor the alliance’s demand to expel all followers of the Morning Lord, and religious violence has become commonplace.
“They’re flooding Cormyr with refugees!” Taran exclaims. “That’s just low. They’ll force Cormyr to spend itself out paying for the added burden while they build an army!”
Mother Talendiira has responded to this crisis by traveling to Suzail, in order to proselytize in the capital of the shattered Cormyrian nation, and build an understanding of the new Ermathan pantheon among the worshippers of Lathander squatting amongst the overflowing refugee camps.
As Cormyr unravels, Sembia’s former dwarven allies have reached the gate of Kor’En Eamor, “For all the good it’ll do ‘em,” Taran says. “Here’s hoping that the bastards are locked in there.”
The Northern dwarves are also at the gates, and the two forces are said to be in council. They effectively have placed what was Northern Cormyr under their military control, but as of yet have announced no clear intention.
“I . . . I do not know how to react to all this,” Elgin finishes. “I am truly overwhelmed.”
“It is a wicked thing indeed when religious dogma ursurps the dignity and rights of the individual,” Thelbar agrees.
“Well, I know what I want to do,” Taran says, “but I bet it won’t help. Still, we’ve got to do something, and I’m really only good at one thing.”
None of the companions need to ask what that thing is. With a grim expression, Thelbar says, “We leave in the morning.”
Joshua Randall
Legend
I cannot express my admiration for Taran often enough. He takes the "kick in the door" style of gaming to sublime new levels.(contact) said:
(contact)
Explorer
dpdx said:
Yes, my DM.
At the gaming table, he used Pakistan-India as a real-world example of this sort of political struggle forming around religious lines.Of course, Pakistan and India didn't have 20th-level adventurers and demi-gods to sic on one another . . . more's the pity.
(contact)
Explorer
91—Gods and Men, Men Who Are Gods
The three adventurers teleport to Arabel, and keeping a low profile, gather information on the Truesilver’s attempt to re-unify Cormyr. As feared, the great-house is preparing an army. Conscripts have been levied from the ranks of the new alliance’s worshippers, and are being trained and armed for a spring-time assault. The Truesilvers are led by their matriarch—a powerful priestess of Torm named Valeria Truesilver—possibly the most powerful cleric of the faith. Local rumor has it that Valeria has gone to the side of her god, and returned with a powerful ally—her own great-grandfather, Hereson Truesilver, a legendary Champion of Torm who ascended to Torm’s realm after his mortal life and has since become a saint to the faithful—a demi-power said to be able to grant miracles to those who revere his memory. It was Hereson’s legendary life that set the Truesilver name high amongst the other luminous families of Cormyr, his deeds as a mortal paladin that forever enshrined the clan with glory and established their reputations as careful protectors of the common good.
Now, during this crisis, the people of Arabel have turned to the Truesilvers and the faith of Torm, and the streets are clogged with wandering prophets, holy men and stump-speakers that deliver fiery speeches rousing the populace against Lathander and their former Cormyrian brothers and sisters. War-fever is in the air.
“You know,” Taran offers, “we could just start killing these rabble rousers. It would send a strong message, and probably draw this Hereson and his granddaughter out for a fight.”
“No,” Elgin says, shocked at the proposition. “We will do no such thing.”
“We can find them ourselves, brother,” Thelbar says. “This small-god, as the people call him, is often seen dispensing blessings among the crowds in the city center. I suggest we wait there, and when he emerges, perhaps we can show him the error of his ways.”
“Yeah, permanently,” Taran laughs. “And then we’re going to acid storm the remains.”
-----
Injunctions against Lathander hang thick in the Arabel air. Numerous speakers rail against the Dawn Lord, calling him traitor, and setting the blame for Cormy’s troubles squarely on the shoulders of his “wicked priests.” If these injunctions and curses are difficult to hear for Taran and Thelbar, they are doubly so for Elgin. The kind-hearted cleric nearly flinches each time a passing merchant curses his god, or a child spits at the mention of Lathander’s name. Elgin’s sorrow is as clear on his face as his determination.
After a half-day of waiting, their vigil is rewarded, as Hereson Truesilver appears among the crowd, smiling and blessing the onlookers with gentle touches of his gauntleted hands. He is a tall and powerfully-built man, elaborately armored as befits a Champion of Torm. He is perfect and beautiful in a rugged and fatherly way, and he literally glows; a shimmering yellow light that washes over all those in contact with him.
According to Thelbar’s arcane sight, the older woman by his side is a powerful spellcaster—the equal of Elgin Trezler in skill, and her arms and armor radiate strong magical auras. Although she appears to be several years Hereson’s elder, this must be Valeria, his descendant and, prior to his return to the mortal plane, heir to his lineage.
Behind the two holy people, a tall and blindingly radiant celestial keeps watch. This creature possesses the body of a man, but also the head of a dog—a breed well known in Cormyr for its loyalty and faithfulness. Thus, it is this angelic watch-dog that spots the three adventurers as they stand directly within the path of the Truesilvers. With a soft touch, it alerts its companions, and all three sets of eyes reach across the gathered crowds to fix on the Champions of the Risen Goddess.
“This godling possesses no magic to speak of,” Thelbar says softly as the crowd between them begins to part. “Only his sword and . . .” the mage pauses, “a ring.”
“Huh,” Taran says, feigning interest. “That’s unusual.”
As Hereson moves toward the trio, he does so with an otherworldly grace, unrivalled in all the adventurers’ long years of experience. He does not smile, but maintains an outwardly neutral expression, betrayed only by the righteous fire in his eyes.
“I knew it would come to this,” he says softly, although his voice carries clearly throughout the crowded market. “Cormyrians true, regard with your own eyes the assassins of Lathander, come to do what their treacherous god could not; silence the truth.”
“This is the famous Elgin Trezler,” the woman says in a loud voice, motioning to the crowd. “The most high cleric of the Betrayer, and where is his flag of truce? Why has he arrived so armed, and why has he brought these foreign mercenaries?”
“Traitor! Foreign scum!” Members of the crowd begin shouting curses and epithets at Elgin and the brothers Tar-Ilou.
“This city is infected with hatred,” Elgin says pleadingly. “For the love you bear these people, will you not be at peace with us?”
Hereson’s impassive expression does not flinch. “For the love I bear these people, I stand against you and your god, Elgin Trezler. If you doubt my authority,” he says with a mocking smile, as if such a thing could hardly be believed, “look to your own. Almus-Re has spoken against you; your way will be the destruction of us all!”
As Hereson locks eyes with Elgin, the hound archon begins to nudge the crowd aside and away, clearing room for what must come.
“So who draws first? ” Taran thinks to Thelbar through their telepathic bond. Stepping forward, Taran speaks directly to Hereson. “Now, listen here,” he begins in his thickly accented Chondathan. Taran lifts his hands palm-out in front of his chest, but the deified paladin ignores the fighter as if Elgin Trezler were the only foe worthy of notice. Hereson begins to harangue Elgin, his words thick with accusation.
“Hey, hello there?” Taran says, still with no result. When it becomes clear that he is beneath Hereson’s notice, Taran’s face sets into a scowl. “Oh, you shoulda looked at me,” he growls under his breath and begins walking toward Hereson and his associates.
“Brother,” Thelbar warns, but it is no good. Taran is marching toward the godling with that peculiar gait well familiar to both Thelbar and Elgin.
But the glowing man does not seem to notice. He is continuing his lecture of Elgin Trezler in a steadily rising tone of voice. “. . . upon that dubious authority? Let me correct you, sir. Your souls will be cast into the Nine Hells! Do not think that your usurper goddess—well known to be Lathander’s string-pulling mistress—will save you from that fate. There is a heavenly judgment against you, Elgin Trezler, and against your lackeys as well. For this, I have been called back to take my place among the true faithful of the realm!” Hereson is nearly shouting. “For this I have been called back to mortal life!”
“Well, I got the fix for that,” Taran says to no one in particular as he pushes through the rapidly thinning crowd. Taran moves directly in front of Hereson, his bulk preventing the paladin from looking at Elgin Trezler. “Personally, I could give two f-cks about you and Cormyr,” he says in Isenthanian. “You’re all just a bunch of self-important condescending bastards, but Elgin’s my friend, so I’m going to make you wish you’d been nice.” By this point, Taran is nearly within arm’s reach of the paladin.
Hereson looks down his nose at the thick-necked fighter muttering gibberish and says with a thin sneer, “One step closer and I attack.”
Taran steps closer.
The three adventurers teleport to Arabel, and keeping a low profile, gather information on the Truesilver’s attempt to re-unify Cormyr. As feared, the great-house is preparing an army. Conscripts have been levied from the ranks of the new alliance’s worshippers, and are being trained and armed for a spring-time assault. The Truesilvers are led by their matriarch—a powerful priestess of Torm named Valeria Truesilver—possibly the most powerful cleric of the faith. Local rumor has it that Valeria has gone to the side of her god, and returned with a powerful ally—her own great-grandfather, Hereson Truesilver, a legendary Champion of Torm who ascended to Torm’s realm after his mortal life and has since become a saint to the faithful—a demi-power said to be able to grant miracles to those who revere his memory. It was Hereson’s legendary life that set the Truesilver name high amongst the other luminous families of Cormyr, his deeds as a mortal paladin that forever enshrined the clan with glory and established their reputations as careful protectors of the common good.
Now, during this crisis, the people of Arabel have turned to the Truesilvers and the faith of Torm, and the streets are clogged with wandering prophets, holy men and stump-speakers that deliver fiery speeches rousing the populace against Lathander and their former Cormyrian brothers and sisters. War-fever is in the air.
“You know,” Taran offers, “we could just start killing these rabble rousers. It would send a strong message, and probably draw this Hereson and his granddaughter out for a fight.”
“No,” Elgin says, shocked at the proposition. “We will do no such thing.”
“We can find them ourselves, brother,” Thelbar says. “This small-god, as the people call him, is often seen dispensing blessings among the crowds in the city center. I suggest we wait there, and when he emerges, perhaps we can show him the error of his ways.”
“Yeah, permanently,” Taran laughs. “And then we’re going to acid storm the remains.”
-----
Injunctions against Lathander hang thick in the Arabel air. Numerous speakers rail against the Dawn Lord, calling him traitor, and setting the blame for Cormy’s troubles squarely on the shoulders of his “wicked priests.” If these injunctions and curses are difficult to hear for Taran and Thelbar, they are doubly so for Elgin. The kind-hearted cleric nearly flinches each time a passing merchant curses his god, or a child spits at the mention of Lathander’s name. Elgin’s sorrow is as clear on his face as his determination.
After a half-day of waiting, their vigil is rewarded, as Hereson Truesilver appears among the crowd, smiling and blessing the onlookers with gentle touches of his gauntleted hands. He is a tall and powerfully-built man, elaborately armored as befits a Champion of Torm. He is perfect and beautiful in a rugged and fatherly way, and he literally glows; a shimmering yellow light that washes over all those in contact with him.
According to Thelbar’s arcane sight, the older woman by his side is a powerful spellcaster—the equal of Elgin Trezler in skill, and her arms and armor radiate strong magical auras. Although she appears to be several years Hereson’s elder, this must be Valeria, his descendant and, prior to his return to the mortal plane, heir to his lineage.
Behind the two holy people, a tall and blindingly radiant celestial keeps watch. This creature possesses the body of a man, but also the head of a dog—a breed well known in Cormyr for its loyalty and faithfulness. Thus, it is this angelic watch-dog that spots the three adventurers as they stand directly within the path of the Truesilvers. With a soft touch, it alerts its companions, and all three sets of eyes reach across the gathered crowds to fix on the Champions of the Risen Goddess.
“This godling possesses no magic to speak of,” Thelbar says softly as the crowd between them begins to part. “Only his sword and . . .” the mage pauses, “a ring.”
“Huh,” Taran says, feigning interest. “That’s unusual.”
As Hereson moves toward the trio, he does so with an otherworldly grace, unrivalled in all the adventurers’ long years of experience. He does not smile, but maintains an outwardly neutral expression, betrayed only by the righteous fire in his eyes.
“I knew it would come to this,” he says softly, although his voice carries clearly throughout the crowded market. “Cormyrians true, regard with your own eyes the assassins of Lathander, come to do what their treacherous god could not; silence the truth.”
“This is the famous Elgin Trezler,” the woman says in a loud voice, motioning to the crowd. “The most high cleric of the Betrayer, and where is his flag of truce? Why has he arrived so armed, and why has he brought these foreign mercenaries?”
“Traitor! Foreign scum!” Members of the crowd begin shouting curses and epithets at Elgin and the brothers Tar-Ilou.
“This city is infected with hatred,” Elgin says pleadingly. “For the love you bear these people, will you not be at peace with us?”
Hereson’s impassive expression does not flinch. “For the love I bear these people, I stand against you and your god, Elgin Trezler. If you doubt my authority,” he says with a mocking smile, as if such a thing could hardly be believed, “look to your own. Almus-Re has spoken against you; your way will be the destruction of us all!”
As Hereson locks eyes with Elgin, the hound archon begins to nudge the crowd aside and away, clearing room for what must come.
“So who draws first? ” Taran thinks to Thelbar through their telepathic bond. Stepping forward, Taran speaks directly to Hereson. “Now, listen here,” he begins in his thickly accented Chondathan. Taran lifts his hands palm-out in front of his chest, but the deified paladin ignores the fighter as if Elgin Trezler were the only foe worthy of notice. Hereson begins to harangue Elgin, his words thick with accusation.
“Hey, hello there?” Taran says, still with no result. When it becomes clear that he is beneath Hereson’s notice, Taran’s face sets into a scowl. “Oh, you shoulda looked at me,” he growls under his breath and begins walking toward Hereson and his associates.
“Brother,” Thelbar warns, but it is no good. Taran is marching toward the godling with that peculiar gait well familiar to both Thelbar and Elgin.
But the glowing man does not seem to notice. He is continuing his lecture of Elgin Trezler in a steadily rising tone of voice. “. . . upon that dubious authority? Let me correct you, sir. Your souls will be cast into the Nine Hells! Do not think that your usurper goddess—well known to be Lathander’s string-pulling mistress—will save you from that fate. There is a heavenly judgment against you, Elgin Trezler, and against your lackeys as well. For this, I have been called back to take my place among the true faithful of the realm!” Hereson is nearly shouting. “For this I have been called back to mortal life!”
“Well, I got the fix for that,” Taran says to no one in particular as he pushes through the rapidly thinning crowd. Taran moves directly in front of Hereson, his bulk preventing the paladin from looking at Elgin Trezler. “Personally, I could give two f-cks about you and Cormyr,” he says in Isenthanian. “You’re all just a bunch of self-important condescending bastards, but Elgin’s my friend, so I’m going to make you wish you’d been nice.” By this point, Taran is nearly within arm’s reach of the paladin.
Hereson looks down his nose at the thick-necked fighter muttering gibberish and says with a thin sneer, “One step closer and I attack.”
Taran steps closer.
Joshua Randall
Legend
[cue pulse-pounding techno music]
Kick... in... the... DOOR!
In case you couldn't tell, I am pumped for this fight.
Kick... in... the... DOOR!
In case you couldn't tell, I am pumped for this fight.
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
(contact) said:
.... AND?! ....STEPS CLOSER AND?! AND THEN WHAT HAPPENS?!
-z
!?
(contact)
Explorer
Well . . . and then nothing. Hereson and Taran both have a good laugh, give each other a big hug and everybody goes home with a souvineir tabard.
"My adventuring companions sacked Cormyr and all I got was this stupid tabard."
Taran and Thelbar retire and blow their adventurer's gold on shady real-estate transactions.
"My adventuring companions sacked Cormyr and all I got was this stupid tabard."
Taran and Thelbar retire and blow their adventurer's gold on shady real-estate transactions.
ThoughtBubble
First Post
(contact) said:
Wow. That's going out with a bang.
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