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Forums  > Roleplay  > Character Backgrounds  > Letters to Father Certos     Display using: Flat View Threaded View   Oldest to newest Newest to oldest Previous Thread :: Next Thread   Author  Thread: Remembrance and Frustration  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Remembrance and Frustration Posted: 13 Mar 2006 11:51 PM It had been as moving a ceremony as he had witnessed, and the words the father had used were, as he had hoped, well chosen and especially poignant. It had also been, as much as he hated to say it, something of a letdown, his soul still smarting even now as he recalled the long slow drop of expectations at the very end. As if there had been two different ceremonies, two very different sides of the same coin. One that began in sorrow, but brought closure and made his heart grow light. Another that begin in hope, and brought his heart something altogether opposite – frustration, disbelief, even confusion. *************************************************** He had never mourned for them. Who had told him that from the very beginning? Macha? Dorian? He couldn’t remember, but he had suddenly realized that the speaker had been right, no matter how much he had tried to discount the statement. It won't be right -- you won’t be right -- until you remember them. But he had never really given himself the opportunity to think of them, those lost on the Isle of Midoran when it sank. He had seen the beautiful, but terrible light, had left Midor promptly and so far, had never returned. And he had gotten lost so quickly in drinking, misery and self-pity that he had never allowed himself even the slightest moment to do so. To take it all in. To realize what had really happened. To mourn. Perhaps it had been too soon and too huge to even try to think about or rationalize. Hundreds of men and women …dead. At the hands of the very god they had dedicated their lives to serving. The isle, the most sacred place of the faith, destroyed…by the god’s own hand. And the worst thing…the worst thing of all…the knowledge that your god, the one thing you lived for, had forsaken you. Had taken every measure to destroy you. As the ceremony began, he had knelt by the lake. Certainly out of respect, but it wasn’t the main reason. He simply hadn’t wanted to let the others see him cry. And he had, quietly, especially when the flowers had been released, as if souls lost to some great torment had been freed and were flying in exultation. He remembered watching the four “criminals” being put to the torch and wondering what their true crimes had really been. He recoiled in horror as he saw the remaining paladins lynched and killed by the mob in front of the temple, seeing vividly his friend Melios Lisant defiantly leap into the fire, looking at Cedrych, the Righteous Sword, as he did. He recalled the conversation with the paladin he had tried to help escape from the city. He had never gotten his name…had the man made it out alive? And he thought of his mentor, Father Gabriel Certos, and wondered, if he had the chance, would he be here with us….or back in Midor? Just a few tears had rolled down his face and splashed noiselessly on the banks of the lake. He was still a paladin, after all…or at least, an ex-paladin. Such small things, a reflection of a basic human emotion. But they had freed him…from the past, from things he had done, from things he should have done. From regret and self-pity. To be sure, they were still a part of him, but they did not have hold of him anymore. His old teachings came to mind. The contradictions of life: to strive for perfection in an imperfect world, to strive for perfection when you know you can never achieve it. He had wiped away the last tear and looked up at the flowers, still floating through the air, as if afraid to ever set down on the earth again. It was a moment, he suspected, he would remember for the rest of his life. ***************************************************************** He had gone back to the manor house, but he wasn’t sure why. Something was gnawing at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. So perhaps the argument was inevitable. Something had been missing from the speech, he was sure. He had felt it from others who had been near him. He had heard it in the words uttered around the lake. One of his companions had implied that Father Duvados had sounded a bit like the Aristi, and it was simply a shame that he didn’t just join up with them. That had really gotten him. He hadn’t expected to find the father and Lillian there. But he had heard their voices and been interested in seeing Lillian since she was supposed to be doing better. Mistake number one, he thought later to himself. They had started talking about the speech, but mostly went around in circles since Cedrych hadn’t been able to clearly articulate his concerns. And he grew increasingly agitated. It hadn’t helped that Lillian seemed to communicate best with scowls and two-word sentences that clearly conveyed her annoyance. The shine of meeting his Academy idol was quickly wearing off. But it wasn’t until Father Duvados, himself clearly annoyed, had asked what he expected to find that he finally realized what was bothering him. He had wanted inspiration. Vision. Hope. And his soul was still lacking. It wasn’t that the father had said anything untrue or unwise. It was, in many ways, a moving presentation. But for Cedrych, it had been the opportunity to bring ex-Midorans – true MIdorans! – together in a new vision, an alternate idea to the faith being preached in Midor. To give people who had traveled far, who had given up almost everything, a reason for living. For believing. For sacrificing. For risking their lives. In a word, hope. Father Duvados didn’t need to lie to them, of course. Cedyrch hadn’t expected him to say that together they would bring down Vidus. Or create a new city. Or retake Midor. But he had to give them something to hold on to. But what he had given them was another choice. Another stark, cold choice. Perhaps the father had spent too much time out in the wilds with the Survey Team. Maybe Lillian had been hanging around with the Aristi too much, Cedyrch wasn’t sure. But the speech smelled of cold, practical truth and wisdom. Important parts of leadership, he thought, but not really what he thought peopled needed to hear. So he found himself, in some completely illogical and almost ridiculous way, almost berating and lecturing Father Duvados and Lillian. His face reddened even now just thinking about it. He must have sounded like an arrogant a$! No doubt these two had already thought of everything he had said, had plans to take care of every contingency. And he undoubtedly looked like a total fool. Nevertheless, he had said his piece, and maybe even convinced them to introduce some code they had been working a few weeks early. He shrugged to himself, his face still red. I will not soon live that down, he thought, assuming they have much interest in speaking to me again. But he had been glad to get his feeling off his chest. Because he needed this. He needed this – whatever it was or turning into – to work. Because he did not do well on his own. Ironic, he was trained to thrive out on his own in the toughest wilderness and single-handedly face the worst foes. But take away his guide, his compass point, and he could barely survive. How could someone so skilled and educated be completely directionless? He had mourned. He had remembered. Now he needed to believe again. It simply had to work. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   A Letter to Ulalume Posted: 21 Mar 2006 01:35 AM Dear Ulalume: I hope you don’t find it odd that I write to you. It has been so long since we have spoken at any length that I decided to put to pen to paper in hopes you might know my thoughts this way. Perhaps one day we might be able to sit down and talk for some extended time, but until then, I hope these ramblings will suffice. But before I begin, let me say that I was very pleased that we did finally meet again, albeit in strange circumstances, in the Lycaeum. I must apologize again for my behavior, for I had been thinking about how I might respond when we did finally meet, but I never imagined it would be there. Plus the knowledge you revealed about the Lycaeum left me further embarrassed and even more on the defensive. I don’t think a letter is the right place to try to explain to you why I joined the Righteous Swords, even for such a short time. Just know that is was not out of any agreement with the current regime in Midor, but more a last chance grasp at hanging on to what I knew – Midor, Midoran, service. Perhaps I know myself better than I think, for indeed my habits and behavior have suffered since leaving Midor and any sort of order and guidance. You on the other hand looked like you had done quite well, and perhaps have even increased your training, and I was again embarrassed. But I also remember just a few words back and forth at the Four Winds, and I immediately felt better, as if we had been able to wash away the awkwardness. That is the good thing about friends, yes? We have enough between us in the past that relationships in the present are strong enough to withstand such events. As I said, I still have much to explain and we have much to discuss, but even just our few words left me feeling much better than I had for several weeks. Which is good, for recent events have been so tumultuous that I barely know where to begin, and I wonder if you feel the same. I suspect you have dealt with it better, for you have always been more fervent and optimistic in your beliefs. I don’t mean that in any bad way, mind you. I can still remember our conversation after our meeting with Vidus Khain, after he had expelled you from the order and banished you from Midor. There you were, ready to go toe with toe him, ready to help out the rebellion in any way. I think you probably already knew, in some small way, what was to come, and had made peace with it. You are an excellent paladin, and I hope Father Duvados and this new order figures out quickly that you need to be heavily involved. I still do not know fully what to make yet of this new beginning being offered by the father and Lillian. I have found little that I can disagree with, yet I fear to scratch the surface, if only because I’m afraid to find nothing underneath. Are we being guided by some long forgotten aspect of Midoran, or is this something new completely? And why does it feel so odd to fashion a new religion this way, as if we are knitting a new sweater, taking what we like the best and leaving out what displeases us? I was very pleased to see Lillian present a new set of principles there on the Buckshire Coast, although I was horried at the few numbers of priests and others whohave remained. I encouraged Father Duvados and Lillian to move more quickly, and I fear we may have lost whatever urgency this little movement had attained. Nevertheless, the principles, while a long list to be sure (What did Lucius say that made me laugh in spite of myself? "At least she alphabetized them for us!") I actually heard one knight there, Markus Motrierty, proclaim that they were too difficult to aspire to. Yet as I tried to explain later, all one need do is picture the love and relationship of a father to a son, a mother to a daughter. Don't these relationships encompass much of what Lillian proclaimed? To be sure, I don't think any of this will be easy. I know my heart is still burdened with doubt and uncertainty. But are these principles all that different from what we recognized earlier? I don't think so. That is not where my concern lies, at least for now. I see the world around me, and I know there must be a divine figure. There is too much law and order – even in the chaos – for our world to be just a random event, or some joint project of so-called gods. Yet, trying to find this figure in the manner we are now seems false to me. Perhaps that is what is required of the new faith – that we will not know this figure, but simply behave in a manner that he (or she or it, I suppose) would have us. Yet, this too, does not sit well with me, for it feels one step removed from the Aristi, and you know how I feel about that particular religion. I recently journeyed with a young Aristi named Erick Aidanson, and I can still feel the looks he gave me every time I mentioned some divine figure. He felt so sorry for me, I think, yet all I can feel is sorry for him. What a strange thing to believe that the divine can somehow be found within us. Undoubtedly we can try reflect the divine through our actions, but how we imperfect creatures find divine meaning in ourselves? Their ideas are just too neat and easy. And if you can find this divine through yourself, then what role does faith play? What is there left to believe in if you find everything within yourself? Have you met this young Aristi I speak of? I suspect you have, given your frequent travels. I would be interested in knowing what you think of him, if you have. And another figure I find interesting, Sir Holace Nemworth. Perhaps it’s just me, but I always find it odd when someone you’ve just met calls you “friend,” and he says this all the time. It’s also difficult to pin him down on anything, as he seems to constantly agree with what anyone else says. Yet I have journeyed with him too and he seems a stout and reliable warrior and companion. I would tell you that Lady Macha seems to distrust him, but I know you distrust her, so who can say if these various impressions mean anything at all in the end, no? There are many individuals I would speak to you about (Lady Natalyia, a woman named Moon Fireforge…are these familiar to you? We must also speak of Lucius and Macha soon as well), but I fear this letter would continue too long and I already digress. In any event, perhaps my doubts about this fledgling movement are unfounded, given what has happened on the Great Plains recently, yes? Clearly there are great things afoot beyond our comprehension at this point. Maybe we have a role to play in this, I don’t know. I continue to hope. I also continue to be glad that we are friends, and I look forward to the day that we can speak again about all of these things at leisure over a warm fire and a hot meal. Sincerely, Cedrych von Maistlin The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Ulalume's Letter Posted: 15 Apr 2006 11:14 AM ((This should have been posted weeks ago, but due to work, a week-long conference and the vacation I'm currently on, only now getting to it...Hopefully, it's still relevant, and I look forward to getting back on more next week.) He put down Ulalume's letter slowly, having re-read for the twentieth time, a look of incomprehension on his face, his mind still struggling to make sense of it all. Lucius and Ulalume? His mind continued to boggle. Lucius...and Ulalume? Ulalume A'Midori was in love with Lucius Edmonds? He picked up the letter, half expecting (and half-hoping) it read something different. No luck... Lucius and Macha? Sure. Lucius and....anyone else? Sure! But Lucius and Ulalume? He shook his head, put down the letter and gazed through the window of his room at the Four Winds out into the night. He briefly watched a merchant struggle with his oxen cart, its wheels getting stuck in the deep mud created by the rain that had fallen all day and into the twilight. He should have gone out to help, but he was just too tired. And he was emotionally drained by the contents of Ulalume's letter, although it had not stopped him from reading the thing over and over and over. He now understood why Lucius had acted the way he had. Lucius had thought that Cedrych had feelings for Ulalume, which wasn't too far off...only just not quite the same sort of feelings. To be sure, if Ulalume had come to Cedrych and told him she was in love with him -- in that way -- well, it would have made him quite happy, to say the least. She was beautiful, and intensely Midoran -- pretty without pretense, intelligent, with a mix of playfulness and intensity that that Cedrych loved and respected. Yet, she was a colleague, a companion, a sister and a fellow knight. And if he had acted surprised and disappointed, it was not that he was jealous -- okay, he thought to himself, maybe just a little -- but that he was disappointed and afraid. Disappointed that she would give her heart to such a man, friend though he was, and afraid how it would all work out. It had been difficult enough being friendly with both Lucius and Macha when they had broken up. He did not relish the prospect of going through that again with whom he considered two of his closest friends. He also knew the relationship would grate on Ulalume's heart and conscience, even as he realized what she was trying to do. It was noble, but... ...But he also knew that love always seemed to draw opposites together. He had heard the rumors of Markus and Dana...and now Lucius and Ulalume...and he thought of his own emerging feelings towards Natalyia. That is a foolish road, he rebuked himself. She is an Aristi! And yet he could not deny how he brightened whenever she appeared, and he thought of their conversations when -- One conversation, he interrupted himself. One conversation and you are now besotted. Some paladin you are! He shrugged slowly and let out a deep sigh. If his internal struggles made him feel bad, the remainder of Ulalume's letter made him feel even worse. She had done so much since leaving Midor. 50,000 coin to the children! What had Cedrych given -- a few thousand? And he had spent most of his time drinking and talking about not being a paladin. He sighed, and suddenly crumpled up the letter, meaning to throw it away. No! Another one of his internal voices. Keep the letter. Use it. Let it be your standard. Measure yourself by its standards, and the new code. He absently pressed down the ends of his moustache, considering his next action, then slowly flattened out the letter, frowning slightly at the parchment. After a long while, he carefully folded up the letter and slipped it between the pages of one of his books. He would do his best to honor his friend and her feelings. But no more distractions and no more delays. If he truly belived in this new code and way of life, he needed to give himself to it. Enough waiting around. On the morn, he would seek out Father Jerec and see what needed to be done. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   The Death of Jerec Posted: 02 Jun 2006 12:24 AM (What occurred between the last post and this one: http://vives.dyndns.org/vives/Forums/ShowPost.aspx?PostID=49716) ((I've been remiss, so this post covers a bit)) They were beginning to pile up, all his unsent letters, so many that it was now impossible to make any sort of neat piles with them. His room, as befitting a graduate from the Midoran Academy, was clean and well-organized…except for the letters, which always seemed to pop up everywhere. He would try to move them to one spot, and while he had a whole bunch in his hands, a couple would slide away and float down to some random corner of the room. And then he could go over and pick one up, and begin reading it, and the memories would come back, and…..and thus never get around to actually cleaning up the letters. It was an apt metaphor for his life at the moment – relatively neat, precise, straight-forward…and a letter or two from complete chaos. Tonight was such a moment, and he simply didn’t care about the letters scattered around the room. He needed to write, and as always in these moments, it didn’t matter whether the letter got sent or not. Dear Father Certos: I write to you with the news that Father Jerec Duvados has died tonight. Funny, but after I write that, I know little else to say. I suppose I am simply overwhelmed, and it is not something that I necessarily expected because I am at a loss for words to explain my feelings. Perhaps this is the best way to put it: I have never owed a man so much, and yet done so little to deserve the things he gave me. Even now, upon his death, I am forced to admit that I did not especially like the man. Ere we first met, we enjoyed several theological discussions, and his mind, I must tell you good father, is nearly as keen as yours. To be sure, I had and continue to have much respect for the man, but like him? No, that would be untrue. Yet, without him, it is quite possible that I would not be alive today. And to be even more truthful, my dislike of him was not because of any particular faults of his, but my own. He brought hope when I wished for despair, discipline when I thought only of drink and relaxation, a new road when I just wanted my path to end. To be blunt, he made my life difficult, and it was exactly what I needed at the time. Thus, my dislike of him, when really, I should have been trying to repay him a thousand times over. And now, I cannot. Ever. Oh, yes, Lillian says we can live to serve his memory. Ha! All four of us, although I barely count myself one of their number now. If I sound bitter, I am, for the moment. With Jerec gone, Lillian will lead the Novus Midorum, whatever's left of us, and I already find myself chafing at her reins already. She treats us like children, shrouding everything in mystery on a “need to know” basis, yet I suspect she tells us little simply because she doesn’t know much more herself. I believe she tells us what she thinks we want to hear, as if we couldn’t handle the plain truth. We’ve had a gone turn against us, kill thousands of our colleagues, and she’s worried we won’t handle the truth well? Why do they follow her? Even I must admit, she is one of the greatest military and planning minds in history, and her exploits are legendary. It is no surprise that Midorans naturally gravitate to her, and I suspect most former paladins would never have much a chance against her “aura.” I considered it a great irony that she was one of the first rebels I was tasked with apprehending, and that Ulalume and I had the opportunity one night on the Great Plains. Or, as you would scold me, is it merely a great coincidence? Nevertheless, I will, as Lillian says, live to serve his memory, just as I do yours, although your plight is still unknown to me. But I am not sure if the Novus Midorum is the way I will do it. I have served long enough without the special powers of faith that I used to rely on so heavily. Now, it is like second nature, as Jerec taught us, to think about other ways to accomplish tasks, to use our senses – and common sense -- that so many others neglect. At another time, I shall have to tell you about how Jerec caught a Creeper without using any spells. A clever and insightful man…. But again, I digress. I have seen much with the Novus Midorum. Through them and Jerec, I have seen visions of what our world may be headed towards. I have seen much of my faith in God and man restored. But I do not believe their path is mine. There are many ways to serve, clearly…the existence of groups such as the Aristi, even though I hold their thinking in contempt, are proof of this. Perhaps there is another way for me to serve, but at the moment, my next step is not easily seen. My heart is heavy for other reasons. I and several colleagues have stumbled upon a great danger to our world and especially Midor. A great evil has resurfaced, an evil that predates the founding of Midor, yet puts our people in grave danger. We have pieced together threads and stories that paint an altogether different story of our history and how our city and people came to be. I don’t know if or how much of these stories we have so far are accurate. But given your great knowledge of history, I more than ever now wish I could call upon your faculties, for your wisdom is greatly needed. Odd that this great danger would take up only a paragraph in my letter, but I find my mind seems to only settle on other matters. Perhaps because there is stilll much to do, perhaps because we're only just beginning to understand the true nature of this threat, and there is still so much to learn. My friendship with the wizard, Lucius, is troubled by his current companion, a woman named Dana, raised by half-orcs in M’Gok Tukar. She hates all Midorans and seems incapable of distinguishing between Vidus and his minions and those of us who would rally against him. Despite a relative peace brokered by Lucius between her and me, I find her troubling, and there is some link from her to both Jerec’s death and the threat to Midor. Of course, he does not believe this. And as easy as Lucius finds fault with my companions and me (and at times, he finds the smallest things to mention), he seems incapable of turning the microscope on to his companion. Perhaps love has blinded him, I cannot say. I hope our friendship survives, for he taught me much about different perspectives, and despite his suspicion bordering on paranoia of paladins on occasion, he is, I believe, a good man. Not all is dark though in my world. I am brightened by the strength and fellowship of many new companions. I have traveled with two half-orcs, Ophelia and Caddo, who don’t necessarily share Dana’s views of Midorans. And if perhaps I am not close friends with them at this point, I hope that I have shown them that they do not need to fear those of us who have left Midor, and that we can work together. Salt Sower, a renowned wizard and historian, I have also spoken, and I think I say correctly that he is a good, honest and worthy man. Another half-orc, Orsk, is an interesting fellow. I’m not sure he is as smart as he thinks he is, but he has acted nobly and valiantly on several occasions, and I find his viewpoint interesting. Odd, isn’t it, father, that there would be so much interaction between a former knight of Midoran and half-orcs from M’Gok Tukar? I often wonder that we are not so different, them and us – judged on where we come from and not who we are. So much of the world is different from how I was first taught, yet the truths and principles that are ingrained in me seem more relevant than ever. I think of this when I speak with them, and hope I can somehow reach an understanding with them, of who we all are, of how we are connected adn what we must do. Perhaps there is simply too much history. Finally, I am buoyed by my close companions, Lady Ulalume and Lady Rosen. Ulalume, as always, is a paragon of virtue and knighthood. I have never seen her struggle with anything related to our training. She is a font of knowledge and wisdom, and her skills with a blade are second to none. I often wonder if she will be our next leader, despite her occasional astounding naivete and her lack of subtly. Do I place her on a pedestal? Ha, yes, undoubtedly. An amazing woman. And if I appreciate Ulalume for her perfection, then I am immensely fond of Rosen for her imperfection and struggles. To be sure, I don’t mean that in any bad way, good father. She and I are alike in many ways, not the least of which is our constant struggle to understand our place and role in the world. Like Ulalume, she has become a close friend and companion. I do not know where I would be if not for her. I am sorry, father, that you will, in all probability, never get to meet these fine and good knights. I am sorry that perhaps you might still live and think the worst of me. I am sorry this is just another letter you will never read. I think of you often, and wish you light always. Sincerely, Cedrych von Maistlin Knight Errant The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   The Purple Paladin Posted: 07 Jun 2006 03:22 AM He couldn’t remember much of the first part of the night because he had nearly died, so close to death that numerous spells and prayers had been needed to revive him. He couldn’t remember much of the second part of the night because he had eaten Xaranthir/Frobozz’s purple turnip. He wasn’t sure which was worse. He had been in the crypts, there had been a sound off to his right, he turned, and…..and darkness, utter darkness. Hours (days? years?) had passed, and then the next thing he knew, he was lying down in Ender’s tent and Ulalume and Rosen were peering down at him. Not an altogether unpleasant sensation, really, despite their current opinion of him. He had grabbed Rosen’s hand at some point. Had that been too much? Perhaps, but he thought, just briefly, that something had changed. Maybe nearly dying does that. Unfortunately, no further insight was coming, as at that moment, Ender’s wives had started attending to him – attacking him, truth be told. Again, not that this was an unpleasant sensation either. In fact, it was one of the most intriguing, most exhilarating, oddest experiences he had ever had: three beautiful women attending to him – massaging him, rubbing him, feeding him and generally making a fuss over him. Compared to insight, he would take this experience any day of the week. It was made even odder with Rosen and Ulalume standing right there, watching the whole vaguely sordid thing. And then made odder still with the half-dazed state he was still in, a side effect of whatever had hit him in the crypts. Most people were quiet when dazed. Not Cedrych. He rambled. And rambled. And then rambled some more. He thought he had mentioned his father. He was afraid he had mentioned Natalyia. And he prayed to whatever God would listen that he hadn’t mentioned anything about Rosen and Ulalume. And then Xaranthir/Frobozz had appeared. And forced him to eat the turnip that would ostensibly cure him. And then thing went from bad to worse. The turnip had given him the worst case of gas he had ever felt. Certainly embarrassing enough by itself, but if only that had been the end of it! After that things, came in bits and pieces. He remembered turning purple. He remembered dancing. He remembered thinking he was invisible. He remembered Rosen trying to get the rest of the turnip from him and challenging her to a riddle contest. “What do I have in my pocket?” he had asked quite smugly, fairly certainly that such an original riddle could never be answered. It was only then that he had looked down and noticed his clothes. Or rather, lack of them. Just a small black loincloth. A small black loincloth with, of course, no pockets, as little black loincloths are wont to do. Not only had he lost the riddle contest, but he had been waltzing around in front of Ender’s wives, Rosen and Ulalume all night wearing nothing but a loincloth. Which really, in the end, made the dragon outside the tent relatively a non-issue. At some point, he thought, his mind had just ceased to worry anymore about loincloths and turnips and dragons, which was probably why he had been relatively blase about being whisked off to Midor. Unfortunately, just like Rosen had, the Righteous Swords there had been able to see him, making his escape plan a tad more complicated than expected. So instead, Ced just stood there, occasionally asking the Righteous Swords to dance. It seemed to make sense at the time. Apparently the Swords had a different perspective. Only when clarity returned through the magic of the dedicated priest at the infirmary did Cedrych begin to grasp the full scope of the situation. He was in Midor. He was visible. He was purple. And there were two Righteous Swords at his side, eyeing him suspiciously. It was not, to say the least, the triumphant return he had envisioned. Fortunately, an exiled priest tricked her way into the infirmary, and together the two of them concocted a story about Cedrych being sick and needing his medicine at home. It had worked, somehow, and the two of them left the infirmary and began walking to the gates of Midor as quickly as they could, Cedrych wrapped up as much as possible in a large black cloak. He lingered briefly in the plaza, and it was only then did he realize just how much he missed the city. Its streets. Its smells. Its dazzling architecture. The sound of the clock chiming the hours. But most of all, the people. He was saddened that somehow Vidus and the people of Midor had become intertwined in most people’s thinking. The truth is, he thought, they were victims too, victims of faith, of zealotry, of wanting to believe in something, even when that something was flawed. He saw the walls of the city, battered and damaged in some places by the recent attacks of the rocs. Foolish, he thought to himself, silently berating the persons responsible as he ducked his head as another contingent of Righteous Swords passed. By attacking the city, you only send the people deeper into Vidus’ clutches. You make his words truth. You give shape to the evil he says exists outside the city. You make all this – he looked back at the Righteous Swords – strong. He slowly shook his head. He would have to find the people responsible and try to talk some sense into them. Their tactics weren’t about to bring down Vidus. They were going to bring down the city and its people, and that was something that Cedyrch von Maistlin would never let happen. As he passed through the gates under the watchful eye of the guards, he knew he would be back. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew it would be soon. And most importantly, he would not be purple. He hoped. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Love, Death, Rebirth Posted: 09 Jun 2006 07:29 PM Dear Father Certos: I hope you are well. Tonight I cannot sleep for my emotions keep me awake and my heart is alternately both heavy and light, doubtless why I feel the need to write this letter and unshackle myself of this burden, at least for the moment. Much has happened to me over the past couple of days that has brought me great joy, great sadness and a rising sense of anxiety over the future. I have taken actions that leave me with much doubt about who I am and what I stand for, yet I find myself increasingly unable to choose a different course, as if I’m rolling downhill and unable to stop. Let me explain. I was in the desert, the Kobai, with two companions, a half-orc named Ophelia and a man named Noah. I’ve traveled with them before and they are both honorable, in their way and certainly of good company. If Noah has a penchant for taking naps, I have yet to see him taken by surprise in combat and he seems to have a reasonable good head (when he’s not sleeping). Ophelia is an interesting case, clearly allied with or in awe of Dana, yet willing to at least tolerate me and my existence as a Midoran. I tried to speak with her a bit about Dana, but I fear my warnings fell on deaf ears, and in any event, it is not the point of my story. We were searching for the Ssissilayath, a scouting mission of sorts, and to our great misfortune, we found one, a powerful one. It used a combination of magic and stealth, making it difficult to see it clearly, and every time I thought I might slay it with my sword, the blade just cut through air and the strange shadows this creature was creating. Finally, with the help of some Kraken sailors, we were able to kill the thing, though my part in its demise was minimal, I hasten to add. Unfortunately, during the fighting, Noah fell, quite dead, all means of healing useless. I prayed briefly, while Ophelia tried to do what she could for Noah (bless her heart, the dear girl was trying to push his entrails back in as if that would save him). I suppose I wished for a miracle, although in retrospect, if I thought my words had any effect, I would have immediately taken them back if I knew what was to occur. A figure appeared – a spirit of some sort – and told us it was here for Noah, that he had died in the kingdom of its master and it was going to take his soul. I challenged it, of course, although it was clear it was a futile situation, tired as I was from the previous encounter, plus the power emanating from this spirit. And in the end, it offered us a bargain: a boon from Ophelia or me in exchange for Noah’s life. There are few things I know in this life for sure, father. But a deal with the devil, working with evil even in pursuit of an honorable goal, brings nothing but more evil. I am reminded of Lady Fri’el’s story, how she chose to make a bargain with Guthakul in exchange for her friend’s life. And what has she become? What can this bring other than more tragedy and strife for all involved? I would not expect my companions, even my fellow knights when I was with the order, to do such a thing for me. In the end, we make our own choices. This fellow, Noah, is a good man, as I said, yet he chose to go, just as we all did. Truly, I harbor no ill will against him when I say that I wish he had remained dead compared to what happened. I tried to stop Ophelia from making such a bargain, but I did not do enough. And I am haunted by the question of should I have done more. What? Attacked her? Attacked this spirit and unleashed an army of spirits, as it promised, possibly killing countless more? Taken on the boon myself? Run off with his body over my shoulder, chased by an army of spirits? I don’t know, perhaps this is one of those unwinnable but all too real situations we were taught about at the Academy. Yet I feel gravely disappointed in myself. But as I said, we make choices, and Ophelia made hers. I suppose if I were still a knight of Midoran, I would have killed her on the spot without hesitation for making such a bargain. Now…perhaps I can say nothing more other than that times and circumstance have changed me. Into what, I cannot say. But Noah is alive, and I suppose I am glad for that still in a way, and Ophelia seems fine, yet I shudder at the thought of what lies ahead for her. I have told Ulalume and will tell Rosen when I see her next. We will have to keep an eye on Ophelia and hopefully save her from a fate far worse than death, I fear. And thus I mention the name that often breaks me out of my dark reverie and lightens my heart in a way I have never felt. Lady Rosen Vimes. As I have mentioned in previous letters, I consider Ulalume A’Midori to be without a doubt the finest knight I’ve ever had the privilege of being around. By all rights – her heart, her skill, her sheer but always modestly kept beauty, her faith – I should be head over heels in love with her. And yet, when I find myself in distress or traveling alone far from whatever place I might call home these days, I find myself missing one person’s presence: Lady Rosen. I must tell you, it is a marvelous but most distressing proposition, to think of one so often, especially when there is important work to be done. I don’t know what to do at this point. She and I have exchanged a moment or two, although I suspect her feelings toward me are those of a sister towards her brother. I was a coward recently, when just as I was leaving on one of those damned gnomish contraptions, I told her just a little bit about how I felt about her, and then the pilot took off before she could respond. I, of course, planned it that way, as I could scarcely stand to see her look. Of course, the moment will come when we must face each other again, and no doubt she considers me a complete idiot at the moment, or else she is completely confused as to what I said and meant (and still considers me an idiot). Yet, in some way, I am glad I got a little of my feelings for her off my chest, although I wonder if it's best I just keep the rest of them inside. You must be asking, well Cedrych, how do you feel about her, and I must tell you, father, I have no idea. I am on new ground here, and I am somewhat troubled. Even if she felt anything for me, I don’t know if such a relationship could ever work. I was always surprised that knights of Midoran swore no oath of celibacy, although in some ways, the offspring of paladins might help ensure a constant supply of Academy students, I suppose. But it is the danger of putting love about faith that I fear the most. As I write that last sentence, I suppose I have given away my true feelings for her, even if I wasn’t sure about it myself. And how I can balance that love with my faith and the great love I feel for Il Appellanne? My heart tells me that such a union could be a celebration of the principles upon which we live, an example for all men and women to aspire to, that our love for each other highlights the love that is possible though the love and faith of one true god. My mind tells me otherwise, that such lofty intentions make way for a great fall. In any event, odds are she feels nothing for me anyway, so in a few weeks, this will all blow over. Still, I have been wondering if there’s any way to tell how she feels about me without having to ask her, something I dread and am ill-suited for. Perhaps I’ll ask Lucius, he always seems to be in and out of relationship or another. I can only pray that I don’t have to start walking around with some sort of man-stick attached to my hand to compensate for some great failing. Ah, you wouldn’t understand that reference, good father, just an unworthy jibe at a friend. Finally, tonight I am somewhat giddy at the knowledge that a good friend of mine, thought dead for some time, is alive. I believe I have also mentioned Talion Deraith in my letters to you on several occasions – a good man, a follower of Midoran back before the fall of Midor, although I suspect not so anymore. He would have been a far better knight than myself, father, I tell you that. He was thought to have died in some caverns of some such. But now he is alive, apparently a captive of some tribe or some sort out in the Kobai for many months, and only recently was able to escape. I only saw him briefly and we were not able to catch up before the mad mage Xaranthir showed up (and I shall not go in that story now). In any event, I am very happy that he is alive. On occasion, there does seem to be some good in the world, doesn’t there, and I find this is one of those moments. No doubt the other matters I have mentioned in this letter will catch up to me very soon and leave me with troubled thoughts again, but for now I am happy. As always, father, I wish you long life and good health. One day, whether here or in some other place, I am certain we shall be together and I shall enjoy your company and counsel once again. Divinande ilunas cognoscead, Cedyrch von Maistlin The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   A Haven Indeed Posted: 14 Jun 2006 02:11 AM It was a prison…at least for now. Oh, sure, they told him he could pretty much wander around wherever he wanted, but it was unsaid and understood that he couldn’t leave. He didn’t have “clearance” for this and “clearance” for that. And while the nice herald ostensibly said he was there just to help, Cedrych knew he was there to watch, just in case. As if there was anywhere to go, given that, Haven was in the middle of friggin’ nowhere. The view from the little guard tower where he was currently perched was nice enough, in sort of a rough, rustic, this-isn’t-really-a-prison sort of way, but for a man who loved the sea, it got old quickly. And he wasn’t much for heights, as the dang gnomish machines proved to him time after time. He would have written a letter to Father Certos about the whole ridiculous situation, but he had left his papers back at his room in the Four Winds. And he wasn’t about to ask the Aristi for any – who knows what that would make them think? So instead of immortalizing forever on paper his increasing caustic opinions about the Aristi and his current situation, he would just have to satisfy himself with his own meandering thoughts. Truth be told, though, it was probably just as well that he didn’t have any paper, because he was having a hard time staying annoyed at the Aristi….well, Byron at least anyway. Sir Tonan was another matter. He didn’t care how long the man had survived in Netharu or how dang legendary he was, Cedrych didn’t think much of people who so casually suggested killing him. To be sure, Byron could still be a bit arrogant and seemed to order Cedrych around as if he was one of the Aristi Heralds. That was a point that needed to be made quite clear to the Aristi leader in the very near future. And digging even deeper within himself, he knew he resented the Aristi for gaining such prominence with the Alliance and across the land, despite having a belief system that completely confounded and deeply saddened him. Finding divinity within yourself wasn’t just mistaken, it was wrong. Completely contradictory to the whole point of divinity in the first place. Yet, its popularity clearly spoke to the fact that people wanted to believe in something, and the Aristi spoken an easy and accommodating language. Too easy, he thought. He quickly rebuked his own thoughts, both because he knew the Aristi had done some good, however misguided they might be, and because of the path he had chosen. His wasn’t meant to popular. It wasn’t mean to be understood easily. It was not meant for the masses, at least, not the masses of today, although he fought for them nonetheless. Some would argue its relevance then, he knew, but, well, truth is truth. Truth simply is…regardless of its popularity or appeal. And the truth was, he was more angry with himself than anyone else. In fact, he had always respected Byron, and now was growing to like him, although those words would not be uttered to anyone anytime soon. The Aristi leader had done exactly what Cedrych would have done if their positions had been switched. Of course, Byron would probably not have been foolish to follow Lucius into some crypt without knowing exactly where they were going. He was unsure who would have been more disappointed in him, Jerec or Father Certos. Hard to decide between the latter’s cutting words and the former’s all-knowing gaze…probably a tie. He still didn’t know what really had happened down there. One minute they were cutting through undead minions like a knife through butter. And the next, both he and Lucius were in the desert. It was as if he had been walking from his father’s house to the temple, a path he had traveled thousands of times. And on certain days, usually when he was daydreaming, he would just end up at the temple without any sort of memory of the trip, although he was sure he had followed the path the whole time. It seemed to him that’s what happened to him and Lucius. It hadn’t bothered him much at the beginning that he couldn’t remember what had occurred, he had been fairly certain that it had been like one of those times. But then, of course, Claudia had kept pestering him, telling him how she had seen him fall. And it had further aggravated Cedrych to hear later that he had fallen first, and then Lucius had tried to save him, but Claudia – Claudia, the archmage apparently, Claudia, Byron’s sister-in-law or some such, to make matters worst – Claudia hadn’t. She didn’t try to save them, but left to go tell Byron. You left us for dead and now you’re telling me I’ve made some pact with a lich. Thanks, he thought, for nothing. He still wasn’t entirely sure it had all happened. He would need to seek out Lucius. He wondered if Lucius was angry at him for not pulling back. Cedrych had been barely able to hear him above the sounds of battle. But in the end, regardless of what happened – if it had happened – Lucius had tried to rescue him. That counted for a lot in Cedrych’s book. They definitely had their quarrels, but Lucius, at his core, was a good man, he thought. He needed to leave, and soon. He had to speak to Lucius, and to Ophelia and Kalannar as well. Ophelia probably hated him, given the looks that she had thrown at him recently. And indeed, maybe when he had been a knight of Midoran, he might have hated her. It had been her choice, and she had chosen poorly indeed. He might have tried to kill her, to prevent the evil would no doubt be promulgated as a consequence of her choice. But now he only pitied her, and wanted to try to help her. One choice doesn’t have to define you, he thought. It will always be with you, but it doesn’t have to completely define who you are. He had to make sure she knew that. He had to make sure she knew he would help her, wanted to help her. But for now, he was stuck, awaiting for medical “clearance” from Grace, as apparently Kruyvious wasn’t skilled enough or some such. He absently wondered if Heralds earned demerits if they didn’t use the word “clearance” enough times in a day. His clearance couldn’t come too soon. There was simply too much to be done, and time was slipping away. Still, he knew he had plenty of time to wait, so he knelt down before the majestic view of the mountains and prayed, seeking insight into the questions that faced him. After a while, he let his thoughts wander for a while, they inevitably settled on a young woman in gleaning armor. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  pdwalker Joined: 08 Jan 2004 Total Posts: 5692 Send PM   Re: A Haven Indeed Posted: 14 Jun 2006 06:43 AM (( *lol* nice post Byron would probably not have been foolish to follow Lucius into some crypt without knowing exactly where they were going. that's because Byron would be busy following Lucifer into some crypt without knowing exactly where they were going... - Paul)) Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly. -- "...Cause he mixes it with love And makes the world taste good." -- <@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Love at the Cafe Posted: 16 Jun 2006 07:07 PM ((((Being the more accurate and somewhat condensed version of what happened at the Cafe del Mar, along with the typical meanderings of Cedrych von Maistlin....) “Cedrych, I adore you.” And at that point, his feet had simply ceased to touch the ground, and he was just floating along, his insides turned to jelly, a ridiculously stupid grin stapled on his face. They hadn’t kissed. They hadn’t even hugged goodbye. They had held hands for the briefest of moments, although she had been wearing gloves and his nerves had made his own hands feel like weights. It was the look. The words too, he thought, but mostly the look. At last count, Cedrych had inventoried about 146 different smiles she had. Most of them, he had grown to learn, were barriers, a way to prevent her true feelings from being known, her mind’s defense mechanism as it raced to ensure her training stayed in check and she presented the figure of the calm, resolute knight. But every now and then, Lady Rosen Vimes lowered her barriers and left herself vulnerable. Usually it was because something had surprised her, and she moved quickly to quash whatever the offender had unearthed. But this time, she had simply opened up her face, a movement suffocating in its honesty, stared deeply into his eyes, and pierced him to the core. And he had been floating ever since. ********************************************* It was not love at first sight. They had met in Buckshire, on the hill by the fairgrounds. Lucius and Macha had been there, he remembered. Perhaps others too, he thought, but couldn’t recall. It was one of the few days that he had served as a Righteous Sword. A very dark time. A time he would prefer to forget. He had been struggling with Midor, with Midoran, with his service – with his life. You are the sum of your choices, he thought. They are always with you, and you must accept their consequences, but one alone does not have to define you. She had walked up the hill, clearly seeking company, also wrestling with demons of her faith. She had looked a little wild and unkept, having just been recalled to Midor, if he recalled correctly, after spending some time in a remote part of Vives teaching the faith to a group of isolated villagers. They had spoken of events in the city, perhaps understanding just a bit of the weight the other carried. Nothing special, really. An ordinary moment. Then she was gone. And he would not see her again for some time. ************************************************* The conversation hadn’t started all that well. In fact, love was the last thing Cedrych had been thinking about when he, Rosen, Ophelia and Dante had headed to the Café del Mar. He had been looking forward for the chance to finally speak to Ophelia but she had excused herself briefly and never come back. Frustrating, he thought, because she looked like she needed someone’s help desperately. Soon after, Dante had let, mumbling something about leaving the two of them alone. Which was true, since Cedrych had wanted to talk to Rosen alone about a number of things, including Ophelia, but not at the expense of alienating Dante. However, the man had decided to leave anyway. An odd fellow, this Dante, he thought. Cedrych was sure the man liked Rosen in his own way. And every time Cedrych had offered his help to Dante, he had refused it. Odd…. So then there had been the two of them. An odd voice came in his head, Lucuis’ of all people, recalling a conversation the two of them had engaged in a couple of days earlier. "The surest way I know if a woman likes you is if she wants to spend time with you alone….” And so here they were again, alone, with Rosen showing no signs of leaving. Suddenly, Cedrych wasn’t interested in talking about Ophelia or Dana or Talion or Dante or Kalannar or the Ssissilayath or Vidus or anyone else. For a while, it had been awkward. He was reminded of the old joke, how do porcupines mates? Very carefully. He had no idea how to proceed, and he rambled. “Well, you know, there’s a lot of things going on in our lives right now….” She knows that, Ced. “The time at the villa with Lillian has really shown me that…” Get to the point. “…and I know the things that we have been taught are both enlightening and confusing, and….." Oh, in the name of the light, stop rambling! “Life can be very isolating, especially with our training as knight-errants. We’re expected to be…” SHUT UP! Finally, he listened to his thoughts and mericfully cut his oratory short. Coming up with no ideas, he decided to go with what he knew: what he felt in his heart. “Rosen, our recent near-death experiences has made me realize how much I care....er....and that I don’t want to be alone. There’s too much we have to face in this world, and I want to face them with someone. To share life with someone.” Circumspect. Not quite to the point, but vague enough that he could save face if necessary. “But you’re not sure alone, Cedrych. I will be there…" And his heart had leapt. He was suddenly above the trees that were nestled in the coutyard, and he could see the horizon, extending in all directions as far as the eye could see. “…and Ulalume and Lillian, and even Byron and others with the Aristi. You will not be alone.” And just as quickly, he tumbled back to earth, landing in his chair with a thud, the pieces of his heart strewn around the courtyard. **************************************************** He knew when he first loved her. Knew exactly the moment. What she was wearing, what he was wearing, her smell, the time of day, the exact arrangement of the books in her room at the villa. Knew it all. They had touched. Well, he had mauled her, truth be told. A giant bear hug, but a firmly platonic one. Nevertheless, it had awakened feelings that he had never thought he might have. It wasn’t that he had fought against the feelings. He appreciated beauty, and he had met many beautiful women. But most were vain, shallow or a combination of the two. And the few that he had met that weren’t were untouchable in their own way. He briefly thought of Illumina, the troubled, seemingly meek woman who looked as she might blow away in the wind, yet as brave as any in battle and loyal to her companions. He hadn’t seen her in months, and he felt a pang in his stomach as he wondered if she had become a victim of Midor. His thoughts turned to Natalyia, as beautiful and talented a woman as he had met in his travels. But her faith he could not understand, and he knew there could never be anything between them. There was also, quite simply, too much to do. Too much to learn and discover, too much wrongdoing to undo, too much apathy to fight. He was exhausted every night from his training and teachings, not to mention, he thought ruefully, going down into crypts with Lucius and meeting liches. One could teach about love and understanding, but who actually had time for them? Yet somehow, quietly, slowly but surely, Rosen had entered his life, more and more. She hadn’t changed his life so much as simply become part of it. She was just…there. And he grew to depend on her and look forward to her simply being there. No demands, no expectations, just the two of them enjoying being there with the other. But he knew the moment when it had dawned on him, that he was in love with her. She had seen him at his worst, at his absolute most pathetic. A shadow of a man, with no faith. And she had seen him rise…rise with new understanding and a determined faith. That’s why he loved her. She had been there for all of it – shared his life, the discoveries, the confusion, the battles, the heartbreak, the mysteries – just as he had shared hers. And what more can anyone want in life anyway? The touch. It had shown his head what his heart already knew. ************************************************* The conversation should have been over. Gathering whatever remained of his heart and his pride, Cedrych picked up his belongings and planned to leave the café then and there, as quickly as possible. One last glance at Rosen, as if to show here that he was not hurt, that none of this was anything but casual conversation. But then there had been the flicker in her eyes. Her gaze, still intense, had somehow softened too. And she had finally understood what he had been rambling on incoherently about for minutes. The light bless Rosen Vimes, he thought. Even then, he had been unsure of what she was saying until she uttered the phrase that he had repeated time and time again for many days afterwards: “Cedrych, I adore you.” She had left, saying something about having to teach Karlina to read or some such. It didn’t matter. She could have said she had to go kill Lilllian, it wouldn’t have made any difference to Cedrych. She adores me. She adores me! And once again, the skyline of Port Royale came into view, and he could see the beauty of the world for miles around. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Strange Reunions Posted: 18 Jun 2006 03:37 AM Cedrych von Maistlin considered himself a friendly man, yet he had few friends. Part of it was the training drummed into him at the Academy. A whole organization of men and women quickly become your brothers and sisters, and the intense bonds that were created made it difficult for any outside the family to get close. Part of it was also the time he had spent as a knight-errant, wandering the land and never spending much time in one place, a lifestyle that did not lend itself to developing close friends. The Academy had undoubtedly encouraged the system of knight-errantcy because it isolated the knight from potential local connections and made him more dependent on his training and ultimately, his faith. But he wondered now if it isolated the knights too much. How could they truly know a people if they were forever wandering? They would be helping people, of course, but could they really understand them? He was not sure if that was how he would have run the knighthood, but then again, he thought with a slight chuckle, no one had ever asked his opinion on the subject. And a final factor was no doubt the reputation of knights in general, and especially those few ex-Midorans who now wandered the land. It was understandable that Midorans didn’t have a good reputation outside Midor, even those exiles who were clearly at odds with the current regime. But how many times had he heard, especially in Port Royale, that he needed to stop judging people? To live and let live. To accept those different from you. That people had different cultures and ideas and morals and…his mind glossed over the rest…such foolishness was too tiring. Everyone judged everyone else. Cedrych had admitted to many that he might have higher standards, and he might be more open about it than others, but he was hardly alone. And the truth was, he didn’t get all worked up about people's intentions, or emotions, or what was in one’s heart, he judged people on one thing: their actions. He might think that someone was a good person, but in the end, what they did was what mattered. Otherwise, one went down a very slippery slope, and when that happened, evil was not far behind. For these reasons, Cedrych von Maistlin had few friends. Talion Deraith had been one of them, until he had met his untimely death in some dark, deep cavern many months ago. Or so Cedrych thought. Talion’s re-emergence should have been cause for much celebration for Cedrych. The man had been a close friend, someone who had not been quick to judge him for his connection to Midor. Talion had taught Cedrych much about sword-fighting and forged several items for Cedrych to use, including an amazing suit of armor, on the battlefield. Their friendship had long been cemented through numerous battles and death-defying escapes. And the two had shared long discussions (and not always friendly ones) about Midor and other issues. And what, thought Cedrych, is a friend worth if you can't argue about something? Indeed, Talion’s return should have been for much joy. And it did. But it also brought a near amount of suspicion. And that in turn, brought guilt. He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to Talion in person before Ulalume had alerted Cedrych to some suspicions she had about the swordfighter. How had Talion made it to the desert when Jack Flashblade had sworn he had seen Talion fall in some mine? Why was Talion so obsessed with magic and the Magistry? And if he had been in the desert, why was the man suddenly so dang pale? All good questions, he had told her, although he wasn’t sure at the time why she was so worried. But when he had finally gotten the chance to talk with Talion and catch up, Cedrych found himself already judging the man – his friend – before they had even started. He looked for holes in Talion’s story about the desert. He started arguing with him about the Magistry and their study of necromancy and demonology. A school to teach people about history and government. Fine. To officially sanction the use of necromancy and other foul arts. Unacceptable. And to find out that Solus, a renowned necromancer, was now leading the Magistry made Cedrych even more suspicious. Nevertheless, they had finally ended their argument on good terms, and later Cedrych had traveled with Talion and others to the Firkrags to deliver supplies to a family stuck in the caverns under the mountains there. Talion had been the one to suggest bringing things for the family, and his generosity, along with his still considerable skill in battle, made Cedrych feel even worse about questioning his friend. But there were still questions to be answered. He would try to keep an open mind towards Talion and his new organization, but he would also be keeping a watchful eye on them as well. It made for an unpleasant situation, and something he hoped to rectify soon. Talion wasn’t the only reunion of sorts. Cedrych had also run into Laura, a priest of Vastaldorian, a person he hadn't seen in many months as well. He had been seriously shocked to see her walk into Doc’s. She had been one of the first people he had met when he arrived in the Port Royale/Buckshire area. He could clearly remember trying to educate the Lady Illumina about Midoran when Laura had interrupted him with an insult about his faith, which turned into a debate about faith, which, if he recalled correctly, degenerated into a shouting match. He chuckled slightly. At the time, he had been proud of his first religious debate with the heathen of the North. And from that moment on, he and Laura had never gotten along. Arguing, trading barbs and insults or simply ignoring the other. At the time, it had been exhilarating. Now, he thought ruefully, it didn't seem all that victorious or glorious. When she walked in, he had been prepared for another volley of barbs, some insult about what happened to his precious faith. But to his great surprise, she had been perfectly polite. They had spoken a bit and, she had even traveled with Talion and Cedrych when they went into the Fiirkrags, acquitting herself quite well (although he had noticed that she never cast any of her spells on him, just on Talion). And she still had the annoying habit of not saying anything when he said something to her, just her look and that sly, devious laugh. The annoying laugh, he growled to himself. He absently wondered if you put her and Cora into a room together, whether they’d actually say anything to the other, or if they’d just pass the time smirking and laughing at one another. He wasn’t about ready to consider her a friend, but at least there hadn’t been any acrimony. Of course, the absence of any argument with her made him suspicious of her motives. He sighed…maybe I am too quick to come to judgment? The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   A Meeting with Father Certos Posted: 28 Jun 2006 02:55 AM This one would be sent. It had to be sent. Even if it meant leaving himself open and vulnerable. So be it. He had to know. ****************************************** Dear Father Gabriel Certos: I doubt I have ever written a more difficult letter than this one. Midoran has taken much from me: my home, my people, my family, much of my life. Yet I never considered he would ever take you. A foolish thought, yes? It is the student who must change with the teacher – learn his wisdom and adjust his life based on the principles espoused. It is the student whose thoughts and opinions are associated with a teacher – “ah, you must have learned that from Father Certos” or “you are Father Certos’ pupil” – not the other way around. So why would I assume that you would change just as I have? What bond would I imagine exists us between us that would allow me such insight into you, the student suddenly knowing the teacher? Wishful thinking, I wonder….perhaps the feeble and pathetic grasp at the last piece of Midor I still had. I cannot say for sure. If things were as they were before, I would suspect you would find my lack of wisdom disturbing. I can hear your voice berating me already. But given our diametrically opposed positions now, I wonder if you do not laugh at the sophomoric opposition you face. I would like to tell you that I will be better competition for you, that I have learned enough to make myself a formidable foe. Unfortunately, I know better. But at the same time, I cannot yet find the anger and the bitterness to make you my enemy yet. Again, most likely foolishness on my part, but there is a part of me that still does not believe this. That you cannot be what you have become. Call it idiocy. Call it imprudence. I shall call it faith. I would ask that you meet me. On the seventh night from the next full moon, at the site where we had our first discussion about the paladin order. I’m sure you remember. I shall be alone. If you wish to bring others, I shall leave that to your conscience. Until then. Your student, Cedrych von Maistlin *********************************************** It was idiocy. But he never questioned it. It simply had to be done. Now to find someone to deliver the letter. His thoughts immediately went to the halfing. He had indicated on a couple of occasions his interest in helping the cause. And he certainly had the skills to do it. Not just anyone could deliver a letter unseen to the first Midoran Supremacist. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   The Rescue and the Vigil Posted: 11 Jul 2006 03:39 AM He had been on many other vigils before; it was after all, somewhat common for a knight-errant, given the many duties such a position entailed. He had seen men and women cut up in the most horrific possible of ways, seen the worst of diseases, prayed for hours on end before bodies that he knew had no hope of ever recovering, seen his friends and colleagues wither away before his eyes, their lifeforce fading as their last breath echoed through the bodies, the final shudder before the eternal stillness. Yet nothing had prepared him for this. It wasn’t just the dull pain that coursed through his body, although that was indeed excruciating. Ye gods, if this is love, well, he was beginning to understand the fanciful stories the bards recited about the emotion, the stories of undying affection and unending pain that he had once laughed at and called sappy. It really was as if someone had stuck a sword through his chest, when truly he thought, making himself look at Rosen’s body one more time, she was the one who had been skewered. Yet, he was also fairly certain that he probably felt more pain than she did at the current moment. Shaldriel, the healer, had confirmed what he had thought when he first saw her – she was alive, just barely, and in some sort of a coma-like trance, her heart beating just enough to keep her alive. You had to really search for it, but one could find her heartbeat if you felt for it long enough. Only once in a great while, if you looked long enough at her, you would see – almost imperceptibly – her chest rise just slightly. At some point during whatever torture or mutilation they had conducted, she had done what those of her order had been trained to do: she had escaped her body. Her mind and soul had fled her physical body and found a spiritual refuge, a place to focus her thoughts and her faith. He wondered what that place looked like for her; for him, it was simply a globe of light, and in times of trouble, he imagined his body covering the globe, warmed by the light and his mind and soul cleansed of dark thoughts by the illumination. That was his sanctuary. At least, that’s what he hoped had happened, although it wasn’t a sure thing. If her body had taken too much punishment, her body and soul would be unable to return and she would still ultimately die. But he couldn’t be certain, and the healer had no idea either or how long it might take. And that was the worst part: the waiting. There was nothing more he could do for her, yet he did not want to leave. He could not leave. But there had to be something that could be done. No, said the healer, nothing more. He had tried to pray, to write, to exercise his mind, to think – nothing worked. His mind could only stay on one thing, like a cruel obsession. If this is love... He thought briefly of Karlina. A strange irony that the two of them would find themselves in such similar situations. He had only ever loved a god. She, he thought with a slight smile, had probably only ever loved herself. And yet on the flight from the frostfolk village, they had comforted each other, tried to help the other understand and handle the depth and intenstify of the emotions they realized they felt for the persons who had fallen. Alan, for Karlina, and Rosen, for Cedrych. They hadn’t said much; they just looked at each other and knew, and Karlina immediately seemed to understand why he had insisted that she sing so often throughout the journey. They had both kept vigil in the cabin there, and Cedrych had been truly happy for Karlina when Alan had finally managed to rise. It really seemed like love to Cedrych, inasmuch as he knew about it, and he felt a new sense of respect for the bard. She might be vapid and self-consumed at times (well, okay, much of the time), but he suspected there had to be some depth there…somewhere. But Rosen had gotten no better still, and finally, he had made the healer so annoyed with his continuous questions and anxious complaints – just his presence alone – that she had forced him to leave. He could not bear any more time in the hot springs, so he had walked back to the Vale and then to the Plains. He absently hoped the bandits would be there so he might have something to do, but no such luck. He had met Yggsdrazil on the Great Plains, a fortunate encounter to say the least. The elf had grown highly in his eyes during the recent rescue and other encounters the two had had. Cedrych recalled meeting the elf some time back when the sickness had engulfed Ferein and the druid had died before him at Doc’s in Buckshire. The group assembled there had turned to Yggsdrazil for leadership and guidance, yet the mage had seemed paralyzed with indecision, and Cedrych had not thought much of him at the time. A rash and incorrect first impression, he reminded himself, especially given what the elf might have been going through at the time. Yggsdrazil had shown himself to a smart and insightful companion, full of good ideas, and at times, a foil for Lucius, something which was needed on occasion. Especially during the rescue attempt, when the group had originally tried to go through Beldin Glacier to reach the frostfolk village where Rosen, Talion and Tomi had fallen. But there had been a huge blizzard on the glacier, and the party could barely see, let alone move. The weather, along with the occasional frost giant ambush (how in the light could those accursed huge giants move so unseen and so quickly in the snow?), had quickly convinced that them the more direct route to the village, despite its challenges of sentries and a large, sturdy wall, would be the better way to go. The team had worked well together, a variety of fighting and magical talents. He had not met Sir Ayron before, and barely spoken with Sir Alan, but they had proven themselves quite capable, and he thought, quite likeable, a fairly unique combination. If Alan was apparently a new herald of Aristi, well, he chuckled to himself, Cedrych would have to have a talk with him about that. Vrodo he remembered from a while back, and the half-orc was as sturdy and proficient as ever. Backed by the magical power of Yggsdrazil and Lucius (as well as the leadership and planning of the latter) and the singing and inspiration of Lady Karlina, they had done very well in the frostfolk village. The battle in the chief’s building had been tense. Cedrych had taken the vanguard in the center, a position he relished. He had delivered and taken a significant amount of damage and had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed it. Perhaps the savage nature of the battle helped him release the tension that had been growing within him. Perhaps he had reached a sort of battle fury knowing that Rosen must have been close. But whatever satisfaction he gained from the victory in the battle and his role in it, it quickly dwindled when he discovered that both Vrodo and Alan had fallen during the fighting. Thus, they left the frostfolk village with as many survivors (five) as bodies strapped to them. And the irony was not lost on Cedrcyh that while on his left shoulder he carried the body of Rosen, whom he loved, on his right shoulder, he carried Tomi Swiftfoot, the man who had threatened to kill him twice and had once attacked his companions. Why he carried the man’s body, he wasn’t sure. It would have been easy to say it was simply a matter of convenience, but he doubted that was true. He had consciously chosen to carry Tomi’s body. It wasn’t as if he expected Tomi to give a dang either. He would, he suspected, at most get a “thanks, mate.” Which was an odd way to think since he wouldn’t have expected anything from anyone else either. He would have to think on that one. Only he couldn’t think about much of anything except her, though he tried. On the Great Plains, he ended up talking to Yggsdrazil about his philosophy and faith and things he wasn’t expecting to discuss with anyone. Whether he thought the wizard might understand them better than others, or whether he just wanted something else to focus on other than Rosen, he wasn’t sure. He wondered if Yggsdrazil had understand what he had been saying. Probably not, he thought, shaking his head. In his current state, he barely understood himself. The final irony was Laura’s appearance. She had come upon them by chance, and they told her the story of the rescue. She had immediately wanted to go check on the survivors, as she was apparently close friends with Tomi. Finally, she wondered aloud if Rosen would want her help. Laura, the priestess of Vastaldorium and perhaps, Cedrych often wondered, something more. Something of a rival before, now a question mark. After some thought, he had caught up to her and asked her if she would help Rosen, if she could. It had been difficult, but his mind screamed at him that he had to do something. Not that it had been totally rash – he had thought out his reasoning, but that didn’t make it the right decision. Were his feelings for Rosen forcing him into actions that weren’t correct? This too he would have to think on, but for now, he could barely keep himself awake. He ultimately walked back to Shaldriel’s cabin. He knelt and started to continue his vigil, mumbling prayers. Five minutes later, he began to sway and he caught himself, then relaxed, allowing himself to lie down on the ground and fall fast asleep next to the barely-alive body of Rosen Vimes. ((I have taken a few minor creative liberties with Rosen and Karlina and what may or may not have actually happened, so Calypso/Marlena, let me know if there’s a problem.)) The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Demon Princes and New Priorities Posted: 22 Jul 2006 10:51 PM There probably didn’t have to be a rule in the Novus Midorum code that cracking jokes in front of demon princes is not a good idea. It was probably one of those things that most peole accepted as just as good old fashioned comon sense. But for the one moment in time he was actually in front of a demon prince, the rule had been forgotten. Not that he had made fun of the demon prince, to be sure. Now that would have been stupid. It had been directed at Talion, since he had been the one with the nifty idea to go to Netharu in the first place. Fortunately, demon princes, or at least this one, seem to have a sense of humor, although Cedrych suspected it had more to do with he and Talion being simpering victims at the mercy of the creature than any particular sense of comedic timing he might have employed. The whole thing had an air of déjà vu about it, which was probably why somehow -- somehow -- Cedrych had found some humor in the very strange, dire situation. Once again, he had gone on some expedition on a lark (as with Lucius), enjoyed immense success at the beginning (a la Lucius), died or perhaps nearly so (ditto Lucius) and found himself facing some being of immense power (check the Lucius box). The only positive: He hadn’t had to make a deal with this particular being, although he was warned that the next time he found himself in a similar position in Netharu, the consequences would be dire. Of that, Cedrych had little doubt. He reviewed his recent travels: • Expeditions with clear purposes to save companions, scout areas, help merchants, etc.: Clear success with little death • Expeditions with one or two other people engaged in at a spur of the moment with little purpose other than “smiting evil”: Death and destruction There was a pattern here that even a hin could see. So why in the name of light could Cedrych not act accordingly? He needed purpose, a reestablished order. Of course, he had a purpose and principles and everything else that the Novus Midorum had given him. But things had changed when Lillian had left. Structures, routines and lifestyles had been altered, and adjusting had proved troublesome. Just as he had when the order had been wiped out and Cedrych had left Midor for good. That had led to bouts with the bottle and depression. He had nearly turned away from knighthood for good. He was, quite clearly, not good at change. Of course, the most recent change was not nearly as dramatic, but he had still not adjusted well. He was no longer fighting to understand the new ideas presented by Lillian; he was a full-fledged knight of the Novus Midorum. What he had seen and learned had inspired him. He knew it was the way, the only way. His ascendance and self-discovery should have energized him, and led to a life similar to what he enjoyed as a knight-errant of Midoran. Yet, it had not happened that way, far from it, in fact. A series of incidents had changed his perception and outlooks. Lillians’ departure. The incident with Lucius and him in Desthades’ crypt. The revelation of Father Certos as a Supremacist. The search for the true meaning and secrets of the Coruscanti. His feelings for Rosen. Rosen. Of course he would begin there. For the umpteenth time he thought of her. It didn’t bear trying to rationalize or describe how he felt when he finally saw her up and moving about. He recalled being affected by one of Lucius’ time stop spells when they had been fighting frost giants. Something like that, he thought, only better. That he had actually agreed to go mining with a group of adventurers (and he hated mining) just to be with Rosen probably said more about his feelings for her than anything else. How do I place her in my life? An odd, practical, rational, hideously unromantic thought, but one that had to be considered. He had to admit to himself that every now and then, between the high tides of exhilaration that accompanied thoughts of her, he still wasn’t sure if their relationship, if there was to be one, had any chance. Wasn’t Byron somehow involved or betrothed or married to the woman Eliana Khalid, whom he had talked to just briefly in Haven? She wasn’t a knight but she seemed very involved in the Aristi, and they made it work somehow. He snapped his fingers, realizing he had seen her briefly in Buckshire just before the ill-fated expedition to Nethar’u. I should have asked her, he thought immediately. A sarcastic voice further back in his mind quickly rebuked him. Sure, go up to a near complete stranger who thinks you’re allied with a lich and ask her how she keeps her relationship strong with the last son of the Aristi. That’ll go well… Cedrych let out a soft sigh and rubbed his eyes, weighing the thought of asking Byron for advice versus the scorn he would heap on himself if he did so. How low will I go, he thought, first asking Lucius and now Byron for relationship advice? Bah, how unfair was it that he hadn’t even been alone with Rosen since there publicly proclaimed discussion at the café. In his mind, he took a step back from his thoughts and realized again how much time he was devoting to her. In the name of the light, can this truly be a good idea? As pedestrian as it sounded, he knew he needed to redefine his life and priorities once again. It would have to include Rosen Vimes – somehow, of this he was certain – but there would need to be other changes as well. He feared he has grown too soft, too accepting. He had worried recently about his quickness to judge, yet he wasn’t sure that the tendency wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yes, he had been wrong about Midoran...heck, they all had. But that didn't mean that the things he had believed in then and now were wrong. Far from it. There needed to be principles, some line, some judgment, or else the whole world would just start sliding into a morass of uncertainty and rationalization. But the question remained for him, had he been abiding by -- and more imporantly -- advocating those principles over the past couple of months? A recent encounter still galled him. He met the strange gnome wizard Eibellenith on the Great Plains with her familiar, a beholder-like creature of all things. If he had still been a knight of Midoran, he was fairly certain he would have attacked the creature on sight. Now, though, while he approached it with much suspicion, in the end, he had let the thing live and listened to the strange gnome’s story. Perhaps the beholder-thing was benevolent, or at least non-hostile. Perhaps it was some sort of strange offshoot. But given that the gnome thought it perfectly all right to be traveling with the dang creature (even going so far as to express surprise that the owner of some inn wouldn’t want the thing in his establishment), trouble was undoubtedly not far behind. And what did it say about the gnome that she had chosen such a creature for a familiar? Undoubtedly the wizard’s head was in the clouds, obsessed with teleportation and whatever other infernal devices she might think up, but wasn’t that how evil was oft created? The insatiable quest for knowledge and power at all costs… At that thought, his mind immediately jumped to Lucius. No surprise there, he supposed. Now there was a situation that was rapidly due to boil over soon if it hadn’t already. The man was his friend, but connections were being frayed. Lucius’ relationship with Ulalume was disintegrating quickly, which was affecting Cedrych’s own relationship with the man. Of course, Dana’s constant ridicule and insulting of Ulalume didn’t help. Blast, if the crazy woman could accept Cedrych, why couldn’t she accept Ulalume and Rosen? He didn’t know why he had insisted that Ulalume accompany them to rescue Lucius. But with all due respect to Sir Holace, Cedrych was fairly sure that Ulalume was the best fighter of any of them, and that, along with her healing skills, made her an obvious asset to the mission, not to mention her relationship with Lucius. Dana, of course, hadn’t agreed, but Cedrych had told her that if Ulalume couldn’t come along, he wasn’t going either. It was not terribly respectful of him to do that – Dana was, after all, Lucius’ lover, and it had been her plan to rescue him. And he wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done had Dana said that neither he nor Ulalume could go. But he was tired of her ignorance and prejudice in the matter, and he and Ulalume were Lucius’ friends. It simply didn’t make any sense NOT to have Ulalume along. Fortunately, Dana had acquiesced. He would like to have hoped it was a another break in the iceberg, but with Dana, you could never tell. He’d been very proud of Ulalume and the way she had behaved during the mission to rescue Lucius. But he had been equally shocked when afterwards she told him what she had hired Karlina to do. It was so…he couldn't find the right word....unlike her. In his opinion, she had always been the best of them, but this recent revelation simply didn’t make any sense. Had he misjudged just how scarred she was by her relationship with the wizard? Even worse, he briefly wondered if the same thing might happen to him and Rosen. He would need to have words with Ulalume, although he wondered if what he said to her would just make him a hypocrite. But it would need to be done. A cleansing was needed. He chuckled slightly. Now there was a loaded word. But he knew what he meant by it and what it would mean for his life. If was time for a new series of priorities and rededication in his life – and he knew it was high time for such changes – it would have to begin with a renewed sense of faith, self-control and judgment. And it would not only have to be applied to ones such as Eibellenith, but to his colleagues and himself as well. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Reflections on Apples and the War Posted: 15 Aug 2006 01:01 AM Midor was closing – closing down, closing up, closing in on itself – and Cedrych needed to find out anything he could about the city before the flow of information (and people) came to a standstill. The woman, the exile, the one who had rescued him when he had been transported to Midor by the mad wizard Xaranthir and had come face to face with the Righteous Swords, had mentioned the Dragon Wyrm Estuary. There was a contact there, someone who might know something about what was happening in Midor. Something more than just the rumors. Too many loose ends to tie up still, and he was just grasping at them with no idea which strand was truly important, and which end was connected to others. Lillian and Nightshade. The chilling reference by Vidus to the poor in Midor. And, most importantly, the appearance of the Supremacists led by his former mentor, Father Certos. Fennigan had delivered the letter, but Cedrych had heard nothing. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The meeting time he had suggested in the letter was still a ways away, and it was far more likely that the priest would either ignore the letter entirely or send a group of Righteous Swords in his place. It didn’t matter to Cedrych; he would still go, and he wasn’t about to tell Rosen or Ulalume about it. No sense in risking them too. This was his matter, best to deal with it alone. From his vantage point, Cedrych looked down on the estuary, his eyes moving swiftly across the panorama for anything that looked out of place. The sun was just rising, and the blazing oranges and yellows tore into the waters of the river mouth, the dazzling landscape of color and tranquility belying the mountain trolls and other dangers that lay close around. He paused for a moment to take the scene in. The last time he had experienced such color, he thought ruefully, he was looking upon the city – his city – and the great arc of light that had risen from Midoran’s temple and smashed into the island that had housed his brothers and sisters and the life he had held so dear. Midor. Why did he care anymore when clearly no one else did? He had given up Midoran, given up his family and friends, given up the knighthood and his life. But the city would not let go of him. Because home isn’t a location, the voice said. It’s the people. You’re not fighting for a piece of land. You’re not fighting for an idea. Maybe you’re not even fighting for your faith. You’re fighting for them – the people of Midor. ************************************ “Ricky, wait up!” Cedrych sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes and turning around with an exaggerated swoop, as if Sara had just committed the worst of sins. She only used that particular nickname when she was annoyed with him, even though she knew it roiled him like no other, probably because the appellation was a lasting and unfortunate present from his big brother. He waited until the short, dark-eyed girl with the autumn, willowy hair caught up with him, glaring at her all the way. For her part, she steadfastly ignored his gaze, never wavering from her steady, flowing gait, her eyes taking in the entire marketplace, always quick to the give the vendors she knew a dazzling smile. “You know I --” “Oh, shove it, Ricky,” she interrupted, walking right by him, never looking at him. “I’m so sorry your brother roughed you up this morning, but honestly, you have it so easy. Don’t be pissed off at me because you can’t deal with him.” He opened his mouth in a retort, but she had attacked with an argument he hadn’t been expecting, and he winced slightly, his now lame reply falling silent on his lips. He had it heard it many times before, but it still hurt every time. “Blazes, Sara!” he called to her, lengthening his stride as it was now his turn to catch up with her. He was now truly annoyed. “I’m sorry my father is such a successful merchant. I’m sorry my brother is the biggest problem I have. I’m sorry the weight of the world is upon you and your family! But do you have to call me that?” She stopped, and inwardly, Cedrych briefly smiled, although he was not proud of it. Sarcasm like that always got to Sara. Her family may not have had much, but they worked hard and were proud, never accepting assistance from anyone. She turned to him, her face clearly struggling with how to respond. Cedrych gulped. She really wants to hand it to me now, he thought. But Sara had a generally sunny, jovial and, most importantly in this case, forgiving disposition, and fortunately for him, that side of her seemed to win out. Plus, they were best friends, both by their personalities and by the simple fact that neither had many other friends. She sighed heavily, putting her hands on her hips and trying to put up a display of irritation, but the slight twitch at the ends of her mouth gave her away. “Very well, Ricky – I mean, Cedrych von Maistlin, but next time, watch your….” She paused briefly, her gaze extending beyond him into the marketplace proper, her whole face scrunched up in an expression of disgust, as if she had just smelled something rotten. “Did you see that?” she asked, pointing at a particular vendor’s stall. Cedrych turned abruptly, his gaze following the trail of her finger and alighting on Mr. Bundron’s fruit stall. Bundron was a short, overweight man who, it seemed to Cedrych, had an endless supply of odor and sweat to bestow on any who might walk by or, Midoran forbid, talk with him. But he also never failed to have the finest apples in the city. Currently, the rather piggish man had his back turned to them, talking to an elderly woman, while a figure in blue and purple was just walking away from the wicker baskets of fruit. “That man,” said Sara, her finger tracing the figure’s motion as he walked off. “He just walked up and took some fruit without paying for it. I mean, he just walked off.” Cedrych had heard enough. He reacted instinctively, running quickly after the man and shouting in a surprisingly deep voice for his age: “Stop thief!” The marketplace reacted as if Midoran himself had just appeared. While all the vendors immediately moved to cover their stalls and looking for missing items, several buyers noticed the figure Cedrych was running towards and quickly moved to prevent the man from escaping. No one, he would remember later, had just stood there and done nothing. A crime had been committed, and everyone took it as their responsibility to act. For his part, the wrongdoer had turned quickly at Cedrych’s outburst and looked around the marketplace. Only when he realized that he was the target of the pronouncement, and that several pairs of hands now held him tight, did a look of puzzlement cross his face. It looks almost natural, thought Cedrych. “Me?” the man said. “I – I didn’t take anything.” At this point, everyone was buzzing about something, making intelligible conversation difficult until Cecil Rynmor, the wheelwright and the tallest man Cedrych had ever seen, motioned everyone to silence. He was the unofficial leader of the marketplace, having been selling his wares for nearly four decades. Once the marketplace was relatively quiet, no small feat given the large crowd of people now gathered to watch the spectacle, Rynmor turned to Cedrych. “What did you see?” “My friend,” said Cedrych, motioning to Sara, “saw this man walk up to Mr. Bundron’s fruit stand, take several items and walk off without paying for them.” He turned to the man. “You have the fruit in that bag, don’t you?” “I do,” said the man. “But you don’t understand. I…” Rynmor cut the man off, but turned to Cedrych. “You know who this man is, don’t you?” Suddenly, all the moisture left his throat, and he could feel his forehead growing hot. “No,” he said slowly, his confidence now gone, looking from Cecil to the man, trying to figure out if he should recognize him. “Cedrych,” said a figure behind him, and he turned to see Mr. Bundron approaching him. He knows my name, he wondered? Mr. Bundron’s voice was much softer than it usually was, almost empathetic. “That’s Sir Peryine, a merchant who I know well. He buys his fruit early in the morning at the beginning of his workday, but often doesn’t pick it up until evening so that he can still have the choicest produce. He's already paid me for today.” His head was now a raging inferno, and he could feel the sweat dropping from his hair into his face. “I see,” he said weakly, clearing this throat, dabbing at his forehead. He glanced briefly at Sara, who looked horrified. Still, there was only one thing left to do. He turned and walked up to Sir Peryine, who, to his credit, was still standing there with little expression, although the accosters’ hands were now off him as people muttered their apologies. “I apologize profusely to you, good sir, for accusing you without fully knowing what had happened,” he said. He said it surprisingly smoothly. Maybe he had a career in apologies? "I hope you can forgive me for this misunderstanding." And then the man – Midoran bless him! – the man actually smiled, a sincere, happy smile, and slapped him on the back. “Cedrych, was it?” asked Peryine, and Cedrych could only nod. “You did exactly what I would have done, and had it been my stall, I would be happy that you did exactly what you did. We all have to help one another, eh? And with that, Peryine nonchalantly tossed him an apple and winked, then turned briskly around and walked out of the marketplace, the crowd parting for him as if he was a noble lord. “Just a misunderstanding, folks,” Rynmor called out in his commanding voice. “Move along.” Then he turned to look at Cedrych, who was still standing there speechless with an apple in his hand. “He’s right you know,” said Rynmor. “Midor’s Midor. We all gotta help one another.” He grinned and walked off. Another buzz began, but it was just the sound of everyday traffic and bartering, the marketplace once again springing back to life as if nothing had ever happened. ************************************ He looked over the estuary again as his thoughts returned to the present time. How many people in Port Royale would have reacted that way, he wondered? And then he wondered how many people in Midor would react that way now. Maybe Midor could never be that way again. Perhaps too much had changed. But it could be something worth preserving and fighting for. For the people. For Sara. Light, I haven’t seen her in ages. He hoped she was still alive. But how to fight? He had never felt more useless than he did now, and much of his ire was directed at Lillian and the other leaders. It was a different kind of war now, not one that needed general and armies and fighters and blunt force. It called for secrecy and coordination and misdirection and…well, things he was not necessarily good at. He acknowledged all that, but surely Lillian and the others must have a better way of using the three paladins than just knight-errants. Hells, the Novus Midorum only had three paladins! Surely there something more productive they could be doing than…well, whatever it is they were doing now. Before, being a knight-errant made sense. But now, the world either shunned him, looked at him with suspicion or wanted to kill him. And there wasn’t any religion to bring to the uneducated masses, and to a certain extent, he didn’t care what anyone thought. He knew what he believed, and he knew what was right. He was in the middle of a war, and knight-errantry held little interest for him now. If he was not a warrior at heart, he was certainly a warrior by training. And the war had to be brought to Vidus Khain. To restore Midor. For the people. If only he knew how… The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Alone Posted: 17 Aug 2006 02:22 AM You are alone, and you don’t even know it… Why? He rubbed his temples and lightly tapped the armrest of the giant chair in the Icy Vale Inn for perhaps the 1000th time. Why would the woman tell me that? Why? He looked up, realizing he had actually said the word out loud, although clearly it wasn’t for the first time, as Mr. Miggins was no longer acknowledging him when he said it. He looked around, but the common room was empty, everyone else having left already. He had stayed, not capable and, in truth, not interested, in moving. For her words had sucked out much of his energy and had changed his perspective on Rosen, the Novus Midorum…everything. But he focused – obsessed really – on Rosen now. Nine little words. “You are alone, and you don’t even know it.” He said the whole question out loud on purpose this time. Who said words don’t have power? He slammed his arms down forcefully, and the chair actually moved an inch, which given who was in the chair, was an impressive feat. He gazed back into the fire and thought about the young woman who was his love and his tormentor all at the same time. It had started out as a very nice day. Just he and Rosen, traveling to Ice Vale, talking, enjoying each other’s company, and ultimately, preparing for a journey to battle the frost giants who, it was said, were on the march again. That they had run into Sir Ayron and Lady Ophelia had not bothered him one bit. In fact, he had welcomed their company for different reasons – one, to gauge Ophelia’s reaction to him and two, to learn more about Ayron – and it seemed Rosen did too. If their private conversation would have to wait, they were both happy for the company on their expedition. Lady Karlina and Sir Allan had joined them, as had Sir Yggsdrazil, making their company even more powerful. It should have been a successful expedition. And it was, for most. Only he had died…or been at death’s door….or in the same sort of state that Rosen had been in he had rescued her (What was about the Vale that brought such pain to paladins?). It had been a foolish move, to try to protect the flank all by himself. One or two he could handle, but three was ridiculous. He should have fallen back to the middle, inviting them to circle the group, for it was clear that Sir Ayron (an impressive warrior, he thought) was going to punch through the middle very soon, and then they would have been able to encircle the frost giants themselves. Cedrych always seemed to do his best strategizing after the fact. He and Sir Allan, Lady Karlina’s lover and fiancé, had fallen, and their comrades had taken them to the witch of the north, seeking to parlay with her and convince her to heal the two. And after much bargaining, some sort of deal had been reached, for the witch had been able to raise him and Allan. Afterwards, she had asked to speak with the two of them alone. For some reason, it was who got to receive the good news:“You are not alone, and you don’t even know it.” No doubt such tidings referred to Karlina or the Aristi or whomever. Well, good for him, he thought. But for Cedrych, she had turned the phrase just enough to be a knife into his heart – to undo all of the soul searching and contemplation and reflection, just when he thought he was beginning to put his life again into some sort of order. Just when he thought that while he was many things, alone was not one of them. Rosen. Ulalume. His other companions. The Novus Midorum. Big-boned perhaps, but not alone. Nevertheless, the words had come: “You are alone, and you don’t even know it.” He had pressed her for more, but the old crone had said nothing more, other than to insult him. Of course, Rosen was there, standing outside the hut with the others. How could he talk to her? What could he say? He was numb and barely acknowledged as they trudged back to the Vale. The witch had hit with something that hurt far more than what the fire giants had done. Everything that he had trusted – that he had faith in – seemed gone. That the witch might just be wrong, or simply saying such things out of spite, had occurred to him, and when he had told Ulalulme and Ayron what had happened, they seemed to think that such was the case. But it didn’t make any sense, and the question still nagged at him. Why? Why would the crone help him, and then say such a thing if it wasn’t true? She wasn’t just anybody. She had survived out in the frozen wastes for decades. She had raised him and Allan from the dead, or near dead, with what seemed very little effort. Why go to that trouble just to spout off some meaningless words? The words were haunting him, and melancholy was not far behind. He had grown testy with Karlina during an exchange back at the Inn and had managed to insult her and her faith, something he was not terribly proud of. But that, he knew, he could ultimately deal with. She of all people, he thought, might understand. Ulalume certainly thought so. But alone? He had been alone once, after the Isle, and it had not gone well for him. Solitude was one thing. Alone was something entirely different. He knew he should probably disregard the witch’s words. After all, it seemed clear to most that he wasn’t alone. That Ulalume and Rosen and his other companions were there for him was the proof. That Rosen was…she had said…He must know in his heart what she felt was true, right? It doesn’t change because of what some old, mean-spirited woman said. But of course there were things – truths – that none of them could know. The witch was old. Wise. Maybe she meant altogether something different… But the thoughts gave him little comfort. He knew nothing would until he had gone over everything 1000 times in his mind, searching for every possibility, touching on every doubt, opening up every closed wound, even though he knew he still wouldn’t have his answer. Clenching the chair once again in frustration, Cedrych von Maistlin turned his gaze back to the fire and began to obsess about the nine little words… The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Lucius Posted: 31 Aug 2006 07:29 PM He had not written a letter in a while. Who would he write to? Father Jerec, now dead? Father Certos, now a Supremacist? It would seem that whoever Cedrych wrote to, whether he sent the letters or not, did not end up well. When the idea finally came to him, he wrestled with it for a bit, but in the end he felt his decision made sense. The father had always been his teacher and mentor. He would not mention certain things, like the Villa or Rosen, although he suspected anyone with half a brain could find out those things in general (and the father had never lack in wits). And in the end, all that would be received was a letter from Ferein that might never be opened. So with a slight twinge of guilt at not printing Rosen’s or Ulalume’s name, Cedrych von Maistlin resumed his writing to Father Certos. Dear Father Certos I find myself in Ferein of all places. I have not been here since the incident with the druid in Dr. McGillicutty’s Inn, and unfortunately, the times are as trying now as they were then. This time at least, I am not so much in search of myself (though aren’t we all forever searching, yes?) as I hope to help others search for themselves. I suppose this would be seen as supreme arrogance by some, yet we all have mentors and teachers for various activities, just as you were mine. Why is it so foolish then to believe that someone might help another as a mentor in the areas of faith, truth and life? Certainly we can help one another in this cause. Again, though, I wonder how this would be taken were I to announce as such. Why am I in Ferein? You have heard of the trial of Ladies Dana and Ophelia, accused of killing six elves in Ferein? Given your current position, no doubt you have, and assuming that, I shall not bore you with the details of the trial and the circumstances surrounding it. I know both of the accused somewhat, yet it is not either of them on whom my thoughts fall tonight. I suspect, if the trial continues as it has, that they will be found guilty and their fates fairly sealed, and there is little more to say on the subject. I hope their sentences, assuming they are found guilty, are meted out with some mercy, a point you and I would probably disagree on now, yes? But despite what everyone seems to be saying about me these days, I certainly do not hate the Lady Dana (just as you taught me), despite her crimes. And I feel nothing by sympathy, tinged with regret, for Ophelia. If anything, I feel a certain measure of guilty and responsibility for what has happened. I have had, on many occasions, the opportunities to speak with both of them, and have tried in my own way to teach and guide them, even in some small way. Not about the specifics of the Novus Midorum way, to be sure, but of good and evil and consequences. I can recall vividly one night sitting by the Krakens camp, speaking with Dana quite intensely about love, life and hate. There was a moment of pure joy – I believe she experienced an epiphany of sorts – when I finally got her to see that her soul had room for compassion beyond just herself and her tribe. But in the end that was as far as I got with her, and I suppose other events focused my efforts elsewhere, and at some point my human frailties prevented me from picking up those threads again. I remember Dana offered me a gift from one her bags – she is well known for her generosity to those she likes – and I told her that I could not accept it from her in good conscience. I told her that despite our conversations, I didn’t feel we were friends yet, and I don’t think she understood why. Now, as bad as this sounds, I feel somewhat validated for doing what I did, though there is no joy in such a realization. In many ways, Dana is a child and as such, she is capable of great acts of kindness and love. And just as a child, she often thinks only of herself and fails to appreciate the consequences of her actions. That is perhaps the greatest tragedy of this situation, that she was given so much power without any training as to how that power should be used. Thus, my compassion for her. Yet, we all must be measured by what we do. We cannot separate the Dana who killed these six elves from the Dana who is generous to her friends, although her strongest supporters seem to think this possible. If she is guilty, she must be punished, although hopefully in some way she might learn from this all while keeping the punishment commensurate with the crime. Is such a balancing act possible? And how do you teach a child-like person who can stop time with the wave of her hand and who is already convinced her world-view is correct? I am glad I don’t have to judge her, for it would be a difficult decision. For me, anyway. As for Ophelia, I feel even more guilt, for she and I are in some ways inextricably linked. When a companion of ours fell in the desert and a ghoul came to take his soul, she volunteered to take his place. I counseled her against it – not because I wasn’t sympathetic, to be sure – but perhaps I should have done more. I shan’t go into the troubles that occurred to her from there, but I tried to reach out to her on several occasions, although it would seem that what I did sometimes did more harm than good. I cannot say for sure, only that I meant nothing but the best for her. Yet she drifts toward Dana like a moth to the fire, although given their heritage, I suppose it’s only somewhat natural. Yet, I hope she learns something from all this, assuming she is not killed for her role in these events. But oddly enough, it is not these two who consume my thoughts at the current moment. Curiously, I find myself focused on the one who is truly at the center of all this, the wizard Lucius. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him in my earlier letters to you, as we were close then and went on many expeditions together. That he is the lover of Dana has caused much consternation and anguish, as she hates Midorans and her world-view is, as I’ve mentioned, somewhat skewed in my opinion. That he seems to be good friends with Jessup, an underworld criminal in Port Royale, also has done much to rend our relationship. And he apparently tried to pay Jessup to help Dana flee the crime or cover it up, according to what one of my companions saw, plain as day in Buckshire. My great surprise, then, to find out that he wrote a letter to the elves that, whether intentional or not, will no doubt help convict Dana. The letter was made public during the trial, and it is as honest and heart-wrenching a letter as I have ever read. That Lucius loves Dana, I have no doubt. That he wished to do the right thing, in as much as felt he could, I have no doubt of that either anymore. Of course, he did not offer to give her up, but I also have to imagine his state of mind at the time too. There are mistakes of differing magnitude, just as there are crimes and punishments of different consequences. To not give up the woman you love is one thing, I suppose. To try to cover up such a crime is another. I had hoped what my companion saw was untrue, something else misunderstood, but that does not seem to be the case. And yet, what is the penalty there? What does that say about the man, his love and his mental state? Had I continued my training as a priest, I feel like I would know how to reach out to him. That I could find a way past our feelings that seemed to have hardened our exteriors to one another. When we meet, it’s as if we now steel ourselves to the slightest comment or question that might be misconstrued. I suspect I’m the last person he wishes to see right now. And in truth, I’m not sure what I would tell him even could I? As unworthy as it is, part of me wishes to scream at him, what did you expect? Shake the man and ask him, <i>did you honestly believe that this part of Dana would never emerge, that she would never put you in this situation? I suspect there is a part of him that wishes he could have changed her, as did I, although I wonder too if he simply chose to ignore what he didn’t wish to see. The same is true for his friendship with Jessup. How many times must Lucius tell me that Jessup doesn’t judge him and truly listens to him and they can just talk? What will he do when he learns that Jessup has ordered someone else dead to protect his little empire? Will he just ignore that too? I suppose if Lucius defines friendship as simply someone who will talk to you and accept you the way you are, then he will do fine. I don’t think my standards are terribly high for friendship, Father, but I do think that friendship is slightly more than just that, yes? That friends can still disagree with decisions made and try to help them see that. I don't know. It seems like a good idea, but it never seems to work out well in practice. And yet, I cannot tell him this now without our conversation coming to a quick end, or without sounding like I’m saying “I told you so,” which in truth, would give me no joy at all. I watched him closely during the trial, and his heart is burdened. I feel like he is at a crossroads, and while he might enjoy a great epiphany, he might also simply lie down with the devils and demons that he has let get too close. In all honesty, there is a side of me – a very Midoran side, I suppose – that says he has been given enough chances, that he has made his choices and now he must pay his own price. But there is another side – and dang Ulalume for her eternal optimism – that demands that I continue to reach out to him. That perhaps I let go of Dana too early and that I dare not do the same here. In the end, I can only try to be there. Cedrych von Maistlin Knight-Errant of the Novus Midorum The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Return (Again) Posted: 21 Dec 2006 11:44 PM (rambling script, another letter never sent) Dear Father Certos: It has been a long time, has it not? I know that I missed our proposed meeting date, although perhaps you were not there either, being as you must be busy with your Supremacists. Was I scared? Was I worried you might betray me? Even worse, I think. I simply did not care. I have been away for some time, trying to make sense of everything that happened. The trial of Dana and the revelation of Elbereth was simply too much for me. For all of us at the villa, although I think Ulalume handled it the best of course (no surprise there). For me, I simply could not handle my carefully put together faith once again being shattered. I tried, the light knows, to keep it together. I tried to pretend that I could find a new way all too easily. I tried to convince Rosen of the same thing, which made matters even worse, for her psyche seemed even more crushed than mine. So I left. Sometimes one must leave behind the trappings of civilization and be by one’s self to truly find answers. Thus, our meeting date passed by with nary a thought. Perhaps we shall meet again someday. I doubt it will be under good circumstances, to be sure. Did I find answers? The simple answer is no. What I did find is resolve. Resolve to try again. I’ve often heard stories of men and women falling so far that that they could never return, be it a fault of their situation or their own failings. But I have never found that to be the case. A man either decides to go forward or not. A man either wallows in his decision or he moves on. Is there a point from which he cannot return? I don’t believe so. We are the sum of our actions, which means that the final verdict is never upon us until death. We always have that chance, I think. So here I am, returning to what passes for the civilized world, with still no answers yet a renewed sense of purpose and energy. And the world has changed immensely even in such a short time. Lucius Edmonds is dead, as is his killer. I have been unable to find Rosen. I haven’t seen Ulalulme either, although I suspect she is in Faerun somewhere, doing the will of Elbereth. I wonder about Byron and others, the Aristi movement. I am especially worried about Rosen, given her fragile condition ere I last saw her. I have missed her immensely and would like nothing better than to see her again. I never told her my true feelings, although I think she understood them and perhaps in her way, returned them. Now I wish I had. The streets of Port Royale are filled with new faces. The dangers of the world seem to have only multiplied. And to top it all off, Jessup has been knighted by the Queen. A truly crazy world. All of this would make one cynical and weary, yet I find myself recharged by the new atmosphere of the port. I’ve seen Timik, bless his heart, still a good man beneath all the alcohol he has imbibed. I’ve met a man named Tristian who put together an expedition to save Salt…I think he must be a worthy and valorous sort indeed. A crazy woman named Josaphine whom I cannot figure out. And Sylune…Sylune…I would have tabbed her as just another arrogant follower of the sisters of beauty, but I had a delightful conversation with her, and she is much more than I thought. Nor did I realize that she was Natalyia’s sister. Another person I would like to see again. I suppose it is expected that followers of these goddesses of beauty would be arrogant to some extent. They are told that beauty is everything, and they are living embodiments of their goddess. How could one not be somewhat arrogant under such circumstances? Yet I found Sylune to be good-natured and open, if somewhat obsessive about Juylina, yet again, who could blame her for that? In any event, the world changes. We’re born, and we begin dying. Such is the way of the world; it is no use fighting it. Indeed, in some ways, I relish it. For it gives me new inspiration to see another day, a day in which I can make some sort of difference. Somehow. Cedrych von Maistlin Knight of Old Midoran The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Week of Darkness/Day of Light Posted: 30 Dec 2006 07:37 PM For the first time in his life, Cedrych von Maistlin was not celebrating the Season of Midoran. The Week of Darkness and the Day of Light had passed, and he had barely thought of it. He would like to have said it was because he was busy. But mostly it was because it hurt too much to look back. One year ago, he had been a knight-errant of Midoran. He had been welcome in the city, his city. He had just been getting to know Lady Ulalume and Sir Enacra, his brother and sister in arms and faith. The isle had still been…an isle. He had hardly known who Byron was, just another heretic. And he hadn’t even met Rosen yet. And now what did he have? Exile. A temporary return to grace through the Novus Midorun, then another fall. The loss of many friends. Where had they all gone? What had happened to them? He couldn’t even name one person he thought he could truly depend on anymore, save Byron and Ulalume, and the former he rarely saw while the latter had chosen a different path. Had it just been a few months ago when he, Ulalume and Rosen had been a family, like brothers and sisters, united in faith and cause? Rosen….what had happened to them? To her? Had he been in love with her, and her with him? Was he still? In the midst of the confusion regarding the Villa, Elbereth had appeared to them, and they had all reacted differently. Ulalume, in her typical optimistic and forward-looking way, had handled it extremely well. He, while wary and ultimately rejecting her offer, had been open to the idea, as if the revelation were simply another equation he added to his thoughts and ideas about faith and the world. But Rosen…it seemed to him that the appearance of Elbereth had hit her like a ton of bricks, as if it had been the last straw. He sensed that she has lost something on that day, something integral to her ability to believe and have faith, for since then her demeanor and personality had changed. It was not, to be sure, an obvious or quick change. She had always been quiet, more hard, stubborn sometimes. But there had been little things, not the least of which was a sense of hopelessness he felt from her. She felt faith probably more strongly than any of them, so perhaps it was not surprising that her fall was farther than theirs. Their most recent meeting was the most disconcerting for she had kept secrets from him, and she had never done that before. Cedrych’s other recent encounters had gone equally poorly. He had the great misfortune to run into Lady Fri’el, and her arrogance and selfishness remained unmatched. Making it even worse was her companion, a man by the name Malkivi, whom at first Cedrych thought he might try to educate about Fri’el. But when the man had intimated that the torture, killings and other atrocities of Midor might be justified because they served the purpose of cowing the general populace, he quickly realized that such education was hopeless. The dwarf Aeli had been helpful in telling him about the strange occurrences on the Aquinas Coast. The two had investigated the Nebwood and even set foot briefly in the temple, only to face the foulest ghoul-like creature Cedrych had ever seen. He had fallen, and if not for the quick feet and thinking of the dwarf, most assuredly would have died there. Later, it had taken all of his patience to get a large group together to more fully scout the area, all the while Cora coming up with excuse after excuse as to why they should not go. Even the others seemed at times to be completely apathetic about why they should go, or if it was best just to leave the situation as it was. Cedrych was stunned. The port was hardly his favorite place but zombies and worse were outside the gates, for light’s sake! Was appeasing Guthakul really a good idea, ever? He knew that going there was the right thing to do, but he could barely focus for all of Cora’s yapping. That a great many undead had been slain was little consolation that the expedition had ended with half of its members dead. Fortunately, Salt had showed up at the end, the rest were all healed and most in the party had focused on the wizard’s presence. In retrospect, it was the Week of Darkness, after all, and it might have well seemed that perhaps Midoran was having one last joke at his expense. Indeed, even just a few weeks ago, the events might have shattered his confidence once again. The truth was, he didn’t have a whole lot now. And maybe Fri’el and Alton were right, maybe paladins were becoming extinct…but he was not about to go down without a fight. Thoughts and plans were in motion once again. He had reached rock bottom and looked squarely into the face of what he had seen there. If he was not completely where he wanted to be yet, he was confident he would get there. It would start with some help from an unlikely source, a man and an organization he had maligned for too long. His Day of Light was coming. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   The Chasm Filled Posted: 03 Jan 2007 03:33 PM Cedrych had asked to see the sword – the sword of Marcus Aristi – and Rosen had given it to him freely. She knew him all too well. He would never just simply take it and run off. “I’ve never been a thief, and I’m not about to be one now,” he said solemnly. “But this sword is not yours, it belongs to the Aristi. I will give you one chance to give it to me, so I can return it to them. Otherwise, you keep it.” He paused. “And we begin a new chapter.” *************************************************************** There is a difference – a wide chasm, really – between suspecting something and knowing something. Of having the slightest faint hope that things aren’t really as they seem, and having cold, hard reality shut the door on dreams that have taken so long to grow and bloom. The chasm can be filled quickly – a few words, an overheard conversation, an ill-timed encounter – but it is still a chasm. That Rosen had aroused his suspicions from the beginning when they had first met again in the Buckshire Merchants Guildhouse was no surprise. Her clothing, her demeanor, her words, the way she carried herself – it was all different. Their expedition to Nethar’u with Ulalume, when she had boasted she wielded the ancient sword of Marcus Aristi, had of course further aroused her suspicions. But he had never suspected she had fallen as far as she had. After all, they had all fought their private battles before. What had Luther said, the line between righteousness and hope, corruption and despair, is a thin one, and even moreso for a paladin? He had seen Rosen angry before, bitter, close to losing all faith and hope. They had shared those feelings once upon a time. And they had fought back and found purpose and hope renewed once again. She was strong, far stronger than he. If anyone could do it, she could. At least, so he thought. After the Netharu’ expedition, he resolved to find out what she had been doing and where she had been. A little investigation brought him to Icy Vale, where he saw Tristian. He had asked the man if he had seen Rosen. And Tristian’s reaction had been stunning, for he had immediately wanted to speak to the paladin alone. Cedrych learned about the trip to Maldovia, the death of the Kazim mage Cuthbert, and Rosen’s escape with the sword. Conversations with others in the party crystallized other details and flamed his worst fears. But it had taken the lady Emma Robinson to lay the final nail in the coffin. It was only when Emma had foresworn the false oath that Rosen had made her swear, and he had seen the pain and shame it caused her, that he realized why he liked and respected her so much. Everything that he once saw in Rosen, he saw in Emma. A warrior living through faith, immediately seeing what needed to be done and unafraid to do it, respectful but stern with the highest standards, and not one to suffer fools. That was the Lady Emma Robinson. It had once been Rosen too. But now he knew she was something else, in service to a god that represented everything that he and Rosen had once fought against – together. The chasm was filled, but the pain was deep. **************************************************************** “Leave the sword,” she said, staring out at the coast, her back to him. “At the least, I can negotiate with the Aristi for its return.” Holding the sword by the hilt, he placed the point on the ground and slowly let it go, the blade rattling around as it hit the wooden planks of the floor. “I doubt they will want to negotiate,” he replied. His face was calm, unmoving, but his mind was whirling. Was this really happening? Had she really just made that choice? They had spoken for hours, she trying to illuminate him about her new faith, somehow trying to justify her service to her new god, and he doing his best to bring her back. It was appalling and horrible, and he couldn't understand how she could ever make that decision. Their words had been cordial, calm, angry and even friendly. But now he was having trouble coming to terms with the situation. He had never really expected her to keep the sword, just as he never truly expected to believe that everything about her was indeed true. But it was, and he had been wrong both times. She had turned back to him and was speaking and laughing, at him presumably, but he barely heard her, snippets of her words floating in and out of his consciousness. “—just running from one god to the next…do you even know—” And that laugh, a cold, bloodthirsty cackle that only barely sounded human. This was going nowhere. Their conversation had gone around in circles, and she had made her final decision. It was clear. She was lost to him. There was one final thing to do. Whether it was a final last-ditch, against-all-odds effort or simply something that he needed to do, he wasn’t sure. But he knew immediately it had to be done. Cedrych walked up to Rosen slowly, his body now calm, his face almost serene. He leaned into her just slightly, his face close to hers. “I love you,” he said quietly, saying those words for the first time in his life. “And that will be the last time I ever say that to you.” He turned quickly, his face and demeanor quickly transformed into that of the hard, stoic paladin, and thus he never saw her reaction. But he had only taken a few steps when he heard her voice. “Cedrych.” The old Rosen, a voice she had used with him hundreds of time when spoke privately of faith and virtue. He stopped, but didn’t look back. “Thank you. For everything.” The words came out chokingly, as if just for a brief moment it was cracking. He paused for the longest time, closing his eyes. He wanted to do something – he must do something! – but he remained still. His chest ached, a dull pain that seemed to be carving him up on the inside. Years passed, and finally, a decision came to him. He kept walking. But only a few more steps, as she once again said his name. “Cedrych.” This time, he turned, a wave of emotion swelling in his face, as if the impossible might actually happen. And just as quickly, it died as he saw the cold, calculating, far-away look that had returned. “I will decide when the chapter ends.” She wrapped herself up in a dark cloak and disappeared from sight. He blinked, opening his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. Today she would have the last word as this chapter ended. He turned slowly and began the long trip to Midor Mountains and Haven. (((thanks to Rosen for some outstanding RP)) The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Faith and Fear Posted: 07 Jan 2007 03:21 AM Cedrych: "What lies beyond the door?" Luther: "I don’t know. Does it matter?" Cedrych: "Well, the dark one himself might be there. It could make a difference." Luther: "Does it matter what lies beyond the door, or whether the door needs to be opened or not?" The fear of the unknown. It is, considered Cedrych, the greatest fear – the fear from which all other fears originate. Is the spider in the corner? Will I fall if I try to climb the cliff? What lies beyond the door? And it was more insidious than any other, because it didn’t necessarily cause dread or horror, though it could, but instead, it brought about inaction, paralysis and even apathy. Most people know how to fight dread and horror, or at least understand them. They know its symptoms and know how to avoid them. But inaction or apathy? Most rarely see that sneaking up on them, and fewer would know its symptoms or even how to fight it. That was why the Academy stressed knowing and doing the right thing based on the Code of Brakus. Instructors provided hundreds of scenarios that students were expected to take apart, discuss, analyze and find the right answer. No amount of training could of course ever address every situation, which was the whole point of the Code. Use the Code and Midoran’s teaching, look in your heart, find the correct action and most importantly, carry it out. This was, Ced had conjectured, the beginning of how the paladins’ famous resolve and immunity to doubts and fears were first developed. Resolve based on righteousness, derived from faith in a one true god. If the fear of the unknown was conquered, what could truly ever stop a paladin? But somewhere he had regained that fear of the unknown. Somewhere, probably when the Isle had been destroyed and the Order dissolved into the wind, he had lost not the knowledge of what was right, but the will to carry it out. To not let the doubters and ne’er-do-wells taint his mind with fears about what might happen if he did this or that. It had happened far too often, as he thought about leading the group into the Nebwood. ************************************************* Rosen: “I went through all the possibilities, Cedrych. Consider who is the only god that is present at the beginning and at the end? There is only one answer.” He had never realized it until now, his fear of the unknown. He suspected it had happened to Rosen too and had a great influence on how things had transpired. For when you fear the unknown, then you seek to protect yourself from it with any force or power that seems attractive. That offers honeyed words of answers and explanations, but may be bereft of righteousness and lack a true spiritual foundation of faith. And it seemed to Cedrych that he and Rosen had done just – seeking explanations that did not have any foundations of faith, but answers layered upon secrets and shadows. The experience at the Villa had been uplifting for a while – poultices for a wounded soul – but had not provided any real sustenance. Too many things left unsaid, hinted at, quite conversations, meanings read between the lines. It was history and enlightenment, but it was not a faith. At least, not for him. And now, as he recalled her words, it was almost as if she had found her new god by deduction, faith becoming simply a mathematical equation: Add A and B together, divide by C, and the remainder is your new god. He realized that he had been seeking answers in a way that denied faith, and she still was. They had been denied, betrayed in some occasions, given everything to a cause only to see it fail or be destroyed, that their cynicism demanded absolute answers to questions that no one had ever answered. Seeking finality, when in truth, there is none. Whatever her new god had given her, it had been enough to make feel as if the whole truth was revealed. And the feeling she had described when she made this dubious revelation seemed to him nothing that they hadn’t felt before. Had they not felt something similar in the Villa, or even when Elbereth had briefly appeared to them? Powerful beings can make one feel many things. Although given her new taste in clothing and behavior, it seemed to Cedrych that whatever feeling she had felt, it had definitely touched her body in areas that Midoran and Elbereth had not gone. His reasoning about Rosen and her faith gave him the slightest glint of hope that one day, somehow, she might return. He knew who she was now, but that didn’t mean she might not change. People did. It was undoubtedly tougher to climb than to fall, but if anyone…and he let the thought drift away for now. ************************************************* Rosen: "Ah, the myopic paladin returns. Listen to the lectures from a man who doesn’t even believe in the gods." His own revelations had occurred much more slowly, although his meetings with Luther had crystallized certain aspects. The man could be single-minded and had little sense of warmth or collegiality, but perhaps, Cedrych mused, that was exactly what he had needed. He wondered briefly who would be a more demanding teacher, Luther or Father Certos, and chuckled at the thought, deciding it would be best to name the contest a tie. Action, Luther had preached. Action. Do what you know is right in the face in the unknown. And so on and so forth, until Cedrych had considered punching the man. But it had finally clicked for him, somewhere in Nethar’u, somewhere as they paused before the door of one of Nu’men’s many lairs there and considered what lay beyond. Regardless of his faith, regardless of which god he had thought he served at the time, his actions hadn’t changed. He would have been doing the same things regardless if he had been a knight of Midoran, the Novus Midorum or Elbereth. It simply didn’t matter. All that mattered was the action itself and its outcome. Which of course led him to the next question, one that he would never have considered even just a year ago. Did he truly not believe in any gods anymore? He paused, wondering if that was even the right question to ask. Belief was perhaps not the issue, for he knew such powerful beings existed. Were they gods? He could hear Luther’s voice in his head. Does it matter? Actions mattered. Actions, based on a code of standards that applied to everyone, mattered. Actions, performed from righteousness serving justice and the greater good, mattered. The greater good, he thought. Where had those words come from? Hadn’t he heard those once before when-- And it was with those thoughts that everything had fallen into place. And that he finally knew his place. He smiled to himself briefly, not just because of the clarity he had found, but because of the rich irony that life had handed him, bringing him to a faith that he had once considered heretical, whose leader he had once hunted and sought to bring back to Midor as a rebel and traitor. After he got off the flying machine, his face slightly green from the experience, he showed his pass to the first person he saw and said simply, “I seek Byron Lorian. I wish to become a Herald of Aristi.” The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  pdwalker Joined: 08 Jan 2004 Total Posts: 5692 Send PM   Re: Faith and Fear Posted: 07 Jan 2007 10:50 AM *the man turns out to be a guard* Wait here warrior. I'll see who's available to speak with you. *the guard assigns another guard to stand with you, and he runs off to the top of the hill* Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly. -- "...Cause he mixes it with love And makes the world taste good." -- <@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Women Posted: 10 Jan 2007 07:46 AM (((all transpired before reaching Haven)))) Cedrych, I have grave news. I don't know how much you understand of Rosen's current state of faith, but she has fallen farther than I had believed possible - I witnessed her commanding the undead. Given her recent penchant for all things Maldovian and her unease in handling holy water, I strongly believe she has been corrupted by the forces of Syn. I understand that this may be difficult for you to accept, but if there is no hope of redeeming her (and given Rosen's legendary stubbornness, I would be surprised if there were), it is our duty to destroy her. As much as the mere thought tears at my heart, we very well may find ourselves her executioners. I pray that we shall find another way. Please come to me as quickly as possible - I am positioned at the entrance to the Nebwood, guarding the site from the curious and the foolish. We must discuss our plan of action, and number what allies we may trust. I am very sorry to have to report this to you. -Ulalume It was just like Ulalume to write it in Old Midoran. Even if someone were to intercept the message, there were few even in Midor who could read the tongue any more. It was also just like Ulalume to cut straight to the point. She was the truest paladin of all of them. He re-read the letter, which was shocking in its straight-forward candor, even for her….it is our duty to destroy her. Not stop, capture, prevent or even kill. Destroy. He lashed out briefly, his mind racing back to Ulalume’s short and ill-fated relationship with Lucius. He didn’t recall writing any letters stating that Lucius had to be destroyed. He didn’t recall any— And he stopped, for it was an unworthy thought, and he let the short wave of emotion die down within himself. The two circumstances couldn’t be more different. Yet, there was some irony between them. Dana’s murder of the elves and the paladins' attempts to capture her had ultimately been the beginning of the end of their close triumvirate friendship. Ulalume had not liked his and Rosen’s idea to capture Lucius and Dana, and although she had been the one who provided the information that led to Dana’s arrest, something between them had been broken then, especially between Rosen and Ulalume. He recalled vividly in the villa being worried briefly that the two might come to blows. And despite their words after, things it seemed had never been the same. The three had gone their separate ways, and yet Rosen’s fall might bring them all back together, albeit in a way he was sure none had ever imagined. ************************************************************ Uphold Justice, for it is your strength Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good Protect the weak, for who else will defend them Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil Be peaceful to the peaceful Walk with honor and uphold all good things. He repeated the words to the Code of Aristi over and over again quietly. He repeated them so often that the individual words began to lose their meaning, and they became simply a series of syllables. He began to feel removed from his body while still very much in it, and he felt a warmth spread over him as he reached a place within himself. There was a light there, like a will-o-the-wisp, but warm and solid. He touched the light, and for a brief moment felt like he had reached Lanhesian. And just as quickly, it all broke, for he knew such thoughts were false. For he was no Aristi yet, nor was he in a place of great darkness. But it was a start, he thought. He returned to the one line that captured him now. Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil. Certainly he didn’t imagine having to destroy Rosen. But could he, if had to? Everyone else seemed prepared to, especially Ulalume and Emma. He sighed. Emma. So like Rosen, yet so not like her too, which is why she confounded him most likely. He would do something, and he would expect her to respond like Rosen had used to. Which, of course, was patently unfair. He did not want to like Emma as much as he did. He did not want to like her in the face of his feelings for Rosen. He did not want to like her for the risk it might pose for her. And he certainly did not want to like her if she was just someone to fill the void left by Rosen, his heart simply looking for the next person coming along. There were so many reasons not to like her. But he did. And even worse, he had failed her. He had let Rosen get to Emma. He was responsible for that, and when Emma had confronted him about it (not confronted, he told himself, you asked to know, you dang fool!), he had not taken it well. He had become slightly melancholy And then she really started berating him once when he tried to explain that he was never supposed to be a paladin. Of course, she hadn’t understood what he had been trying to say. That he was supposed to have been the priest, and that his brother was going to be the paladin, only things had changed (thank the light he hadn’t had to explain that). That he wasn’t the stoic type, but wore his heart on his sleeve. He needed to release his emotions, not in public of course, but in front of someone who understood, who could sympathize and inspire. Rosen had been that once. He wondered if Emma might be one too, although after their last meeting, he wasn’t so sure. But she had said she believed in him, and he had assured that he would be ready to deal with Rosen however need be. Only now he wasn’t sure if they had just been trying to convince themselves. He looked at his sword, the graceful but deadly blade reflecting in a silver glow the light from the common room of the Four Winds. Then he turned back to his mantra, repeating the same line: Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil. He could destroy her, if need be, couldn’t he? …Couldn’t he? The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Aid from Midor Posted: 14 Jan 2007 02:19 AM The thought had come out of the blue, and it seemed more of a jest at the time anyway. He had been going through the list of cities and towns to visit, warning them of the Atalan and offering the aid of the Aristi. And for a brief moment, he had thought of Midor. And quickly dismissed it. If there was any city that was ready for such an attack, it was Midor, and in any event, what would he tell them? That the Aristi were ready to aid them? He was already a traitor marked for death by the city, he didn’t need to be a laughing stock either. But as he was praying and going over some of the Aristi philosophy Byron had taught him, another idea had occurred to him. Nearly barreled him over, actually. And he had felt compelled to stop praying, walk to the desk and begin writing a letter. Dear Father Certos: It has been a long time since we have corresponded, but I felt compelled to write you this night. I wish I could say that my impetus for writing is simply to see how you are, though I think we both know the paths we have chosen leave little room for the ties of the past. No, I write you this night to request a favor from you and from all of Midor. First, let me explain that my long journey has taken me to – are you sitting down – the Aristi. Yes, father, I remember some of the letters we shared during my travels about the Aristi, about their heretical faith and the supposed Last Son. Yet, I now serve him, or rather, the ideals and principles he espouses. They are mine, as I now believe they are all of ours. Perhaps one day in this life or some other I can tell you what has happened, we can have an extended theological debate and you can explain to me patiently why I am wrong. I tell you truthfully that I would look forward to that. But for now, I ask your assistance and those of the church and the city of Midor in aiding Brandibuck Vale and Port Royale. As I’m sure you know, both of these cities have come under attack from the Atalan. As Midoran preaches that all of us are his children, even the lost ones, I am certain that Midor wishes to come to the aid of these cities. I do not say this bitterly or sarcastically. I may not follow the true light anymore, but I hold no grudge against the people of Midor. Far from it, I know the people of Midor believe in justice and righteousness. While the city has become closed recently, I know they do care about what happens beyond the city. Wanton killing, chaos and anarchy cannot be anyone’s idea of justice and righteousness. So I beseech you, as Lord-Bishop of Midor, to help the people of Brandibuck Vale and Port Royale. I understand politically if Midor is not able to directly send aid. However, I believe that Midor could work through the Illumine Alliance and send assistance that way. I would be pleased to help you in this matter. If you wish to reach me, you may send your correspondence to the Four Winds outside Port Royale. Your student, Cedrych von Maistlin It would be an expensive proposition to get the letter to Midor and into Certos’ hands, but he wasn’t worried about the cost, a small price to pay if it actually worked. He was doubtful, though, about success. He could still picture Father Certos next to Vidus in the square outside the temple in Midor, when Certos – his teacher and mentor – had been named head of the Supremacists. That had been a great shock. The father had changed greatly, no doubt, since they had last corresponded…or perhaps, maybe he had stayed the same and it was Cedrych who had changed. At this point, it was a distinction without a difference. He was sure the person he had known was gone, an eerie similarity to someone else he had once known well. But he had to try. He folded the letter neatly and resumed his prayer. The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway  Imperious Joined: 21 May 2005 Total Posts: 303 Send PM   Death, Wind and War Posted: 19 Jan 2007 12:39 AM The two days at Haven following Byron around in what seemed an endless supply of requisition meetings had at least one advantage. They kept his mind occupied from what would otherwise have been very sobering and depressing thoughts. Salt was dead, or so it was said. A suicide even. That news had made him pause. He remembered clearly the image of Salt’s face at the Broken Masks…hurt, despondent, despair. He had felt betrayed, and Cedrych couldn’t blame him. But suicide? Cedrych could understand, but he couldn’t condone; no faith he had ever followed could. Still, he wished the wizard well in whatever afterlife was awaiting him. He hadn’t known Salt well, but the man, despite his gruff exterior, had a warm affability and genuine humility that touched everyone that met him. But the news that had truly shook him was the death of Lady Zubeida, or Djinn. He had been surprised by his reaction. They had never encountered each other all that often, and on many things, especially faith, their viewpoints differed dramatically. But he felt – no, knew – that Djinn was a good person, a steadfast friend who understood right and wrong and, most importantly, did something about it. He would miss their long discussions on faith, as she had been an important sounding board as he had worked out his own issues on the subject. And now, she was gone. Why, he thought, in a brief moment of despair, did the good ones pass on, leaving the world with fewer beacons and in the hands of those whose lives were ruled by apathy or tastes even worse? How in the light did someone like Ophelia, who had made deals with beings of pure evil, who apparently had brought the Sugar Man back to the world (if Fenn was indeed right), continue to live and prosper, while others like Salt and Djinn have to die? How many more mistakes would she make that would cost people’s lives? Shouldn’t she be judged on her actions? Should he even bother reaching out to her anymore? All those times he had tried, and what did he have to show for it, save vomit on his boots? As a knight of Midoran, he would have been done with her by now. As an Aristi. Hells, what would Byron do? He considered. Probably lead me around two more days worth of meetings until I got pissed off enough to do something, babbling something about insight. He decided to leave the question unanswered for now. Still, he was not completely lost in pathos, for he had received a letter from the Lady Emma, which always brightened his day. Ah, the Lady Emma. If only more people could be like her. She was a study in contrasts. A worshipper of Vilyave who openly questioned her own beauty. A simple country girl, in her own words, yet with a quick wit, scathing tongue and wisdom to study at the Asashi Not physically strong, she said, but enough strength to face the hordes of Gukathul, and defeat them. She would have made a great knight. He had even mentioned the Aristi to her once, but she had immediately though he was prosletyzing, and maybe he had been, but the point remained. He could not figure out why she was so intent on Vilyave, save that was what she had ever known. But neither was he going to harangue her about it. The contradictions were what made her so fascinating. He had once thought she was interested in him, given how she acted sometimes when they met, but now he knew better. She talked often about fairy tales and the heroic knights, and he saw the same reactions in her when she was around Byron and Sir Kelten. It wasn’t necessarily him she liked. She wanted the idea of the knight, the fairy tale. Her words at the Four Winds, when he had briefly succumbed to a moment of despair, finally made sense when he thought about her that way. In the end, it was fine. Maybe she liked him well enough, but he didn’t need anything from her, not now. Things were complicated enough…She was a true and stalwart companion, and he appreciated that, more perhaps than she knew. The world needed more like her, that was all that counted. His thoughts were interrupted by yelling outside. He looked outside his tent quickly, for he knew --something-- must be happening. A cacophony like this was rare; Haven was too well run and trained. And there was something else, an edge to the voices. And when he heard it, he knew why, and returned to his tent promptly, preparing a second letter to an old friend whom he hadn't spoken to in so long. Father Certos: I know it must be odd to receive a second letter from me in such a short time when we haven't corresponded for so long. I'm sure you know why I am writing. And I suspect that while my pleas may fall on deaf ears, given the choice you have made, I must ask -- nay, beg of it from you. You cannot allow Midor to go to war with Ferein. You know as well as I do, whatever our faiths, that the Atalan are not the elves of Ferein. Countless souls on both sides will perish should Midor take this course. Please, I implore you to look at the larger picture. I almost wonder if the other previous Atalan attacks on Brandibuck, Port Royale and the dwarves were simply a feint to cover up what is the true purpose. To bring Midor and Ferein, the two most powerful fighting forces in the world, to a conflict that neither can win. Father, you know that Midor is key in this. It is the only power in the world left that has a significant and capable army that is not currently fighting elsewhere. Midor must not waste its efforts on fighting someone that is not its true enemy. I know of Vidus' power, his force, his personality. But I implore you, for the sake of the young warriors of Midor, for the sake of the entire world, please do what you can to prevent this course of action. Your student, Cedrych von Maistlin The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for... -- Ernest Hemingway Previous Thread :: Next Thread  Page 2 of 2 Goto to page: 1, [2] Prev   Forums  > Roleplay  > Character Backgrounds  > Letters to Father Certos