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Tirlanolir/D'nemy's Tales of Turgos: The Heroes of Goldfire Glen (UPDATE 7/26)
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<blockquote data-quote="Canaan" data-source="post: 2820271" data-attributes="member: 40239"><p><strong>Talon's Journal: Beginnings</strong></p><p></p><p>I have been restless of late--distracted during my meditations. Master says I should write in this journal to sort out my thoughts. He says writing my thoughts down may help free my mind of their influence and allow me to see them more clearly, even from a new perspective.</p><p></p><p>Shale, my old friend and a Priest of the Green, what the Canaanites refer to as a “druid,” lay poisoned in the adjoining room. My Master says he is unsure how to treat Shale, save for keeping him in a deep sleep in order to slow the progress of the toxin invading his body. </p><p></p><p>I admit I am frightened. Jazzad, a seasoned Ranger, also suffers from some delusion evoking madness. He is back in Goldfire Glen, being cared for by his long time friend and the village Herbalist, Menion. From all accounts, Menion is as lost as my Master as to how best to treat this ailment. </p><p></p><p>I await the others to return from Balian’s Tower. They thought it wise to seek the old, enigmatic man’s counsel. All are my childhood friends. All save one. A Priest of Canaan named Evora Faro. I have heard whispers from some of the local aspirants that this Priest was thrown out of Soliel for delving in forbidden lore. He is a peaceful, quiet sort. Shy, even. He has done nothing to betray our trust in him and has proven to be an asset in our recent troubles. </p><p></p><p>I have no clear path before me, but if I wish to bring order to my scattered thoughts I suppose I should start at the beginning. Well, my beginning at least. I was born in the town square of Goldfire Glen, some eighteen years ago.</p><p></p><p>As a man who vigilantly strives for balance, my beginning was anything but. My mother was a slight woman, I am told, but strong in spirit. Master found her stumbling through the woods outside of town. She had clearly been through something horrible. Her body looked broken, but even as the pains of labor took hold of her, she kept moving forward, her mind focused on a singular purpose: to save her child. </p><p></p><p>When she first saw him she tried to run. Her face took on a look of renewed determination, like a fox, deeply wounded by the bite of a wolf, running on, ignoring all pain, seeking only to escape into shelter, with no other thought but that of survival. Master called out to her, and assured her that he only wished to help. </p><p></p><p>My mother, perhaps seeing hope, perhaps succumbing to her fate, reluctantly gave her self over to him. Master says that she didn't say a word, but fell into his arms. He carried her as quickly as he could into town--and Master moves like the wind blows--but once they reached the town square my mother could wait no longer and Master helped deliver me right there, in the middle of Goldfire Glen, next to an ancient oak tree.</p><p></p><p>A midwife was called for, and then a healer, but both arrived too late. She died under that oak. She was buried there. Sometimes, when I'm in a deep meditation, I can see her face. Beaten and bruised but glowing with an inner strength, looking up at me from the grass, she smiles contentedly, then closes her eyes and lets herself go.</p><p></p><p>I'm told there was some debate over what should be done with the child. With me. The priests insisted that I be raised in the church of Canaan, believing only they could save me from the damnation of my birth. Master calmly pointed out that the pregnant stranger had found him, and entrusted him with her care. Further it was he who birthed me, not a follower of Canaan. Ultimately the townsfolk agreed and to the priests' disappointment he was allowed to take me home. I have lived with Master ever since.</p><p></p><p>Our home is a small hut in the woods, just outside of Goldfire Glen. We live a simple life, but one rich with meditation and study. Over the years I have learned to focus my mind and tune my body. I understand my connection with the Green, I feel its force infused within me and I allow it to guide my actions. I follow the way of the Celind [kehl-ind].</p><p></p><p>As I write this it occurs to me that no one in Goldfire Glen knows that Master and I are Celind, and few would understand if they did. The Celind were once a great order. As guardians of the Green they dedicated themselves to maintaining balance in Turgos. Revered for their wisdom and objective nature, Celind were called upon to resolve disputes throughout the land. When necessary, they were also cunning warriors. Just nobles often relied on Celind for support during times of trouble, but Celind swore fealty to no man. If your heart was corrupt then no crown would save you from a Celind’s deadly blow. Those were the blessed days.</p><p></p><p>Master says the Canaanites were our allies when they first appeared. They were good and kind and tolerant. Some still are, but as the church grew it gained a life beyond the control of those within it. This new being--the Church, and their mortal authority, the Curia--soon realized that life given could just as easily be taken away, and it began to fear. Fear of course leads to jealousy and hate, so it wasn’t long before the Church turned its vengeful eye toward the Green. </p><p></p><p>Master speaks of a dark time when the Church’s political sway was at its peak. The Curia attempted to demonstrate “the might of Canaan” and solidify its complete domination over the people of Turgos. I can tell the thought of this time disturbs him, so Master discusses it little, but I do know that the Green was deeply wounded and many of her followers were massacred in the name of “goodness and light”. The Curia of course made sure that history forgot these acts, but we have not. Nor has the Green.</p><p></p><p>Many Celind had expressed concern about the Church, but few realized the true nature of their doom. Destruction would not come from without.</p><p></p><p>There was one Celind, Master Thurin, who saw how the Church used fear to gain great power over the people and thought the Celind must do the same in order to survive the coming holocaust. Alas, one cannot use fear without succumbing to it. In time, Thurin's good intentions transformed into an all consuming and corrupting quest for power. To make matters worse, he seduced others to join his cause. They formed a secret cult, known as the Mordind. </p><p></p><p>Turin saw the dark time coming and, believing the Celind were already dead, he and the Mordind temporarily allied themselves with the Church in a bid for power. When the Curia launched its merciless and bloody persecution of the Green, the Mordind helped them assassinate nearly all of the Celind. Luckily the Mordind underestimated their former colleagues. They failed to destroy our entire order and most of them died as well. Those Mordind who survived disappeared from sight, for fear of retribution. The remaining Celind also went into hiding, thinking it best to let the Curia believe they had been destroyed and wait for a better day to return. Meanwhile, the Church in its conceit had overextended its reach and, losing much of its strength, was forced to retreat to lick its wounds.</p><p></p><p>And so it has been ever since. There is a truce of necessity on all sides, as each tries to recover its losses, creating an uneasy balance in Turgos. Master is the only Celind I have met. I believe there are others, but Master does not speak of them.</p><p></p><p>The tale of Thurin and his Mordind cult is a cautionary one. It is always best to keep one's emotions in check. A lack of temperance can cloud the mind and lead one astray. I must remember this, for I sense the unknown approaching me and uncertainty can lead to fear if I am not careful. Master has said nothing, but I feel a change coming on the horizon. </p><p></p><p>I do hope my friends return from Balian’s Tower with some insight that eludes my Master. I admit, however, that my hopes grow thin and transparent. I can see through them as one would see through a opened window. </p><p></p><p>Patience. I must have patience. Master says that in all things patience is critical. I must not give into despair. If Shale’s time has come to return to the bosom of the Green, there is little I or anyone else can do about it. </p><p></p><p>I take refuge in the Green. Life is but a fleeting flame. One cannot live without dying. One cannot die without having lived. Both are precious. Both are essential.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Canaan, post: 2820271, member: 40239"] [b]Talon's Journal: Beginnings[/b] I have been restless of late--distracted during my meditations. Master says I should write in this journal to sort out my thoughts. He says writing my thoughts down may help free my mind of their influence and allow me to see them more clearly, even from a new perspective. Shale, my old friend and a Priest of the Green, what the Canaanites refer to as a “druid,” lay poisoned in the adjoining room. My Master says he is unsure how to treat Shale, save for keeping him in a deep sleep in order to slow the progress of the toxin invading his body. I admit I am frightened. Jazzad, a seasoned Ranger, also suffers from some delusion evoking madness. He is back in Goldfire Glen, being cared for by his long time friend and the village Herbalist, Menion. From all accounts, Menion is as lost as my Master as to how best to treat this ailment. I await the others to return from Balian’s Tower. They thought it wise to seek the old, enigmatic man’s counsel. All are my childhood friends. All save one. A Priest of Canaan named Evora Faro. I have heard whispers from some of the local aspirants that this Priest was thrown out of Soliel for delving in forbidden lore. He is a peaceful, quiet sort. Shy, even. He has done nothing to betray our trust in him and has proven to be an asset in our recent troubles. I have no clear path before me, but if I wish to bring order to my scattered thoughts I suppose I should start at the beginning. Well, my beginning at least. I was born in the town square of Goldfire Glen, some eighteen years ago. As a man who vigilantly strives for balance, my beginning was anything but. My mother was a slight woman, I am told, but strong in spirit. Master found her stumbling through the woods outside of town. She had clearly been through something horrible. Her body looked broken, but even as the pains of labor took hold of her, she kept moving forward, her mind focused on a singular purpose: to save her child. When she first saw him she tried to run. Her face took on a look of renewed determination, like a fox, deeply wounded by the bite of a wolf, running on, ignoring all pain, seeking only to escape into shelter, with no other thought but that of survival. Master called out to her, and assured her that he only wished to help. My mother, perhaps seeing hope, perhaps succumbing to her fate, reluctantly gave her self over to him. Master says that she didn't say a word, but fell into his arms. He carried her as quickly as he could into town--and Master moves like the wind blows--but once they reached the town square my mother could wait no longer and Master helped deliver me right there, in the middle of Goldfire Glen, next to an ancient oak tree. A midwife was called for, and then a healer, but both arrived too late. She died under that oak. She was buried there. Sometimes, when I'm in a deep meditation, I can see her face. Beaten and bruised but glowing with an inner strength, looking up at me from the grass, she smiles contentedly, then closes her eyes and lets herself go. I'm told there was some debate over what should be done with the child. With me. The priests insisted that I be raised in the church of Canaan, believing only they could save me from the damnation of my birth. Master calmly pointed out that the pregnant stranger had found him, and entrusted him with her care. Further it was he who birthed me, not a follower of Canaan. Ultimately the townsfolk agreed and to the priests' disappointment he was allowed to take me home. I have lived with Master ever since. Our home is a small hut in the woods, just outside of Goldfire Glen. We live a simple life, but one rich with meditation and study. Over the years I have learned to focus my mind and tune my body. I understand my connection with the Green, I feel its force infused within me and I allow it to guide my actions. I follow the way of the Celind [kehl-ind]. As I write this it occurs to me that no one in Goldfire Glen knows that Master and I are Celind, and few would understand if they did. The Celind were once a great order. As guardians of the Green they dedicated themselves to maintaining balance in Turgos. Revered for their wisdom and objective nature, Celind were called upon to resolve disputes throughout the land. When necessary, they were also cunning warriors. Just nobles often relied on Celind for support during times of trouble, but Celind swore fealty to no man. If your heart was corrupt then no crown would save you from a Celind’s deadly blow. Those were the blessed days. Master says the Canaanites were our allies when they first appeared. They were good and kind and tolerant. Some still are, but as the church grew it gained a life beyond the control of those within it. This new being--the Church, and their mortal authority, the Curia--soon realized that life given could just as easily be taken away, and it began to fear. Fear of course leads to jealousy and hate, so it wasn’t long before the Church turned its vengeful eye toward the Green. Master speaks of a dark time when the Church’s political sway was at its peak. The Curia attempted to demonstrate “the might of Canaan” and solidify its complete domination over the people of Turgos. I can tell the thought of this time disturbs him, so Master discusses it little, but I do know that the Green was deeply wounded and many of her followers were massacred in the name of “goodness and light”. The Curia of course made sure that history forgot these acts, but we have not. Nor has the Green. Many Celind had expressed concern about the Church, but few realized the true nature of their doom. Destruction would not come from without. There was one Celind, Master Thurin, who saw how the Church used fear to gain great power over the people and thought the Celind must do the same in order to survive the coming holocaust. Alas, one cannot use fear without succumbing to it. In time, Thurin's good intentions transformed into an all consuming and corrupting quest for power. To make matters worse, he seduced others to join his cause. They formed a secret cult, known as the Mordind. Turin saw the dark time coming and, believing the Celind were already dead, he and the Mordind temporarily allied themselves with the Church in a bid for power. When the Curia launched its merciless and bloody persecution of the Green, the Mordind helped them assassinate nearly all of the Celind. Luckily the Mordind underestimated their former colleagues. They failed to destroy our entire order and most of them died as well. Those Mordind who survived disappeared from sight, for fear of retribution. The remaining Celind also went into hiding, thinking it best to let the Curia believe they had been destroyed and wait for a better day to return. Meanwhile, the Church in its conceit had overextended its reach and, losing much of its strength, was forced to retreat to lick its wounds. And so it has been ever since. There is a truce of necessity on all sides, as each tries to recover its losses, creating an uneasy balance in Turgos. Master is the only Celind I have met. I believe there are others, but Master does not speak of them. The tale of Thurin and his Mordind cult is a cautionary one. It is always best to keep one's emotions in check. A lack of temperance can cloud the mind and lead one astray. I must remember this, for I sense the unknown approaching me and uncertainty can lead to fear if I am not careful. Master has said nothing, but I feel a change coming on the horizon. I do hope my friends return from Balian’s Tower with some insight that eludes my Master. I admit, however, that my hopes grow thin and transparent. I can see through them as one would see through a opened window. Patience. I must have patience. Master says that in all things patience is critical. I must not give into despair. If Shale’s time has come to return to the bosom of the Green, there is little I or anyone else can do about it. I take refuge in the Green. Life is but a fleeting flame. One cannot live without dying. One cannot die without having lived. Both are precious. Both are essential. [/QUOTE]
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