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From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 14 Oct 2004 01:12 PM |
Uncle Jochim always advised me to write a journal. He said that making difficult choices was sometimes easier if one could go back and look at how things were in the past. I have waited long enough to start this. I am the last son of my people. I owe this to no one, but I shall do it because it is what Uncle wished.
I must keep what I write hidden, lest it be found and my deeper thoughts revealed. No one must find out what I am. I refuse to allow the sacrifices of my father and my father’s father to be lost simply because I was careless.
But heavens, I am careless already. I apparently have been speaking out loud at inappropriate times. To me, this makes sense; I have become accustomed to the queer dialogue that occurs in my mind. But others would not understand, nor do I wish for any to know. I have gained much insight from….well, I am unsure if I can even write about that.
Yet how can I not, for much that I do is influenced by what I have already done, and what I have yet to do. It is so confusing! Sometimes it scare me. Those times when I do not know where I end or begin, yet in my mind always the presence to which I may lose myself. Or it to me, and even then I would be lost, for I have become almost dependent on it.
What curse have I allowed into myself?
I buried Uncle almost one year ago, and the memory weighs heavy on my mind. Since then, and since the manor was burned, so much has happened. The people I have met! Two weeks after the script is illegible here
I found myself quite a bit lost. I was nearing the ruins of an ancient city when I met two elves! I was not too unexcited, as I had never met an elf before. They were kind enough, though one struck me as odd. To be fair, I had some knowledge of that one, called Macha Sparrowsong, though I did not know she had fallen to Tarik.
I have met her a few times since then. None have been pleasant.
The paladin named Arcane came to me like an unexpected storm in the early spring, fast and unpredictable. He has a stout and brave heart, though even my young eyes can see he is impetuous. (To be fair, I know more then my years….but that is for another time.) His love affair with adventure will make him a powerful paladin someday, and perhaps he will even be a High-Captain. He has that drive, but I wonder what he is running from?
Quite the opposite of Arcane is the paladin Trent, whom I met after a recent altercation with Macha and one of her lackeys. His friends were lost in Lyneaum, fallen at the hands of a powerful medusa. He wanted very much to rescue them…an admirable quality in a paladin. But he is young (yes, I am young to…but I have a different perspective) and I fear he clings to life too closely. I tried to explain this to him, how life and death are merely Myths, and that one needs to let go of them if one is to truly be a servant….but I fear I did a poor job. Trent became angered, and stormed off. We eventually went to Lyneaum, but fate had already intervened. His friends were alive…but I fear a lesson was lost.
But who am I to teach lessons to paladins? I have been called a paladin by many people…Trent, Arcane, Coretta, and Eliana, but I make no claim to that title. I cannot, for I search for a different path. The path of my forefathers, of which I seek worthiness to pursue. For if I die, my line dies, and all that went before is for naught.
Does this sound arrogant? Perhaps, but if there is another like me, I do not know. Sometimes, I wish there were, and this burden could be lifted from me. This is perhaps a sign of weakness. It is certainly a sign that I am till very much human. At least I have not lost that. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 14 Oct 2004 01:17 PM |
| ((wonderful, thank you!)) |
Trishy
Macha Sparrowsong - Song is my life
Coretta Alandar - Cleric of Midoran
Dekla Debena - whatever
Not all people who wander are lost.
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 14 Oct 2004 01:31 PM |
| (( *head still spinning, thankyouverymuch* So evil I can't begin to describe it.... )) |
Consequences
Unsent
It's hard to say it, time to say it...
Goodbye, goodbye |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 14 Oct 2004 05:56 PM |
I met Eliana and Coretta only recently, but already I do not know what to think. Sometimes I think that, after Life, Death, Fate, and Time, women are the fifth Great Myth. I simply do not understand them.
Eliana….she is not the first elf I have yet, but still, there is something about her. She had taken a great interest in me, I do not know why. When I first met her, she was shouting at Arcane (she is good at that) demanding to know where they were going. The interaction was, I must admit, a bit uncomfortable, as I felt very much an outsider. But I somehow ended up traveling a time with them. Such an odd couple, those two…
Sometime later, my tongue betrayed me yet again, this with Eliana present. I think part of her interest in me is sheer curiosity. The other part…I do not know. What I do know is that when I cannot think straight when I she is around. It is the same thing that happened when I first met Bronwyn….
I think she is the cause of my loose tongue. But no, that cannot be right. I find myself speaking out of turn whenever a beautiful woman, be her elf or human, is near. I must be more cautious, and more controlled. I have already told her too much….
And, of course, there is Coretta. Dear, sweet Coretta….what shall I do with you? There was that night, deep in the catacombs of Port Royale, when I failed in my promise to keep you safe, and you fell. You came back, but that does not mitigate my failure. You tell me you are hunted, and maybe you were. But I fear that, through my actions, by confronting Macha and Elrith, I have made it worse.
I have made my vow to you, and no power save your word can break it. And perhaps not even that, for if you fall, I shall be to blame....
... ... ... ... ...
He tells me he does not like the choice I made. He asked me not to do it, to make that vow. He said that such vows are more binding then I realize. I told him I knew. I told him that I understood, but I would do it anyways. He seemed resigned, but…I sensed he was secretly pleased.
I do not want to be like him…I do not want his fate. But maybe, I have already accepted my fate? The Myth of Life, of Death, and of Fate; if for me these are sealed, all I have left is Time. And that, Uncle once taught me, is the greatest Myth of all. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 15 Oct 2004 10:47 AM |
Note to self...
If you ever again see a preson with two small holes in it's neck and looking very uncomfortable, kill him before he gets a chance to turn.
Also,
Learn to be quiet when women are around. You will be safer that way.
And finally,
I have this odd urge to learn elven. Which is odd, because I never had a desire to before. I have my suspicions on where this urge is coming from.... |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 18 Oct 2004 05:53 PM |
I have never met a priest of my own faith, and with good reason. I am the only person to follow the Myths. There are no great cathedrals raised in honor of the Myth of Life, on silent and holy tombs to honor the Myth of Death. There are no books teaching about the Myth of Fate, and I have yet to see a single word explaining to me the Myth of Time.
I am the last of my faith, and I barely understand it.
As a youth, my uncle taught me of the Myths. He explained to me how Life and Death were only temporary states, how they were both real and unreal at the same time. He told me of time, and how it ebbs and flows, causes changes and yet never changes. And he instructed me on fate, how it can rule a man, or a man can rule is, and how a man can have both happen at once. These are real, yet not real, present, yet absent, close to my heart yet as far away as the stars.
I am getting philosophical, and to no good end. The truth is that I fear when I die, knowledge of the Myths will die with me. I am no priest; I cannot teach others what I myself do bit understand. But I must do something, I cannot let the wisdom of my father's to be lost to a Myth.
There is Midoran, I suppose. He stands tall in my mind, a symbol of justice and honor that is clear and resolute. He is nothing as remote as the Great Myths. But his Order is corrupted...I will not throw my lot in with people like Sanner.
Sir Percival Sanner, a presumtious lout if I ever saw one. I noticed him at the inn, observing Eliana, Coretta, Claudia, myself, and, of course, Arcane. He was watching us and writing a book. I quickly sent Coretta away, fearing for her safety. I felt the need to talk to Arcane, to tell him what I noticed.
I brought Arcane to a quiet corner of the tavern and pointed out the proud-faced paladin that took such an interest in us. I told Arcane to be cautious, that he was a paladin of Midoran, and associating with elves would be frowned upon. I asked him to be cautious, to which he agreed.
Note to self: Never trust Arcane to be subtle again.
After Arcane left, I took a moment to gather my thoughts before returning to the main common room. As I approached, I noticed young Coretta hiding behind the door, peaking into the common room. I followed her lead, and to my horror, saw Arcane standing before the paladin in white, with Eliana beside him!
For whomever reads this journal, you should know that Sanner's disgust at seeing a paladin of Midoran openly claim an elf as a companion and friend was palatable. Coretta looked at me, desperation in her eyes. She understood, as I did, the risk Arcane was placing himself in. You see, this paladin, Sir Percival Sanner, claimed to be the protégé of the Lord Bishop Vidus Khain.
Now I do not know much about the Lord Bishop, though I have heard enough to be properly frightened. His distain for elves is notable, as is his zeal in cleansing his church of evil. Standing there, and elf on one side and a possibly corrupted paladin on the other side, Arcane looked like the Lord Bishop's definition of evil. "Go get him," pleaded Coretta, so I did.
I tried to ask Arcane to come with me, that we were late for a previous appointment. But Arcan'e skull is as thick as his armor, and he rebuffed me. I returned to the common room just as Eliana left the inn, but not before she said some not so nice things to Sanner. I sent Coretta after Eliana, to make sure she was okay, and that Sanner did not have any of his comrades waiting in the wings.
It was time to try something desperate. But I am a fool to think that that wool headed paladin could take advantage of the distraction I was about to attempt. I doused myself with ale, and staggered towards the paladin, acting as drunk as I knew how. I then collided with Sanner, pouring my ale over him. He did not seem to notice, but he did look at me. But Arcane certainly noticed. He called out my name, and rather then taking the opportunity to leave so he can help his friend, the paladin instead admonished me. With no further recourse, I left Arcane alone to confess his "sins" to Sanner.
When Arcane finally emerged, I took him aside. I do not believe I have ever yelled that vigorously. I explained to him the danger he placed himself in. I tried to point out what could happen, how he could be branded a heretic and be marked for the hangman’s noose by the Church. But he would not listen. His faith in Midoran, that the god will protect him from all harm, is admirable,yet naieve. I finally realized I could not make him understand. And so I left.
May the Myth of Fate guide Arcane, and Midor. There is nothing more I can do for either. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 21 Oct 2004 12:38 PM |
Last night I dreamed again. Before all this, I never dreamed. But now, I dream every night. It is not always the same dream, but it always ends the same way. And, as always, he is there.
I am surrounded by mirrors, though my reflection is no where in site. Instead, I stare into the eyes of other people, people I have never met before. Of knights and beggars, of kings and peasants, of the rich and the poor. I rushed through the labyrinth of mirrors, the strange faces rushing by me. Some laugh, some cry, and still others wail in pain or sorrow, I do not know, though these I heard clearly.
I run for what seems liken hours…for days, but I can not escape. It is as if the halls of Antiquity trap me, forcing me to look at the joys and pain of all humanity since the beginning of time. And yet, they look back at me…they look through me.
I can take their foul gazes no longer, millions upon millions of eyes trying to peer into my soul, to find my secrets, to use them against me. To kill the last son. And so I crash through one mirror, which brakes into thousands of small shards. Blood flecks into my eyes and slicks my arms as I crash through mirror after mirror, the jagged edges of glass tearing my skin and ripping my body. I have to get out…
When suddenly, I am in a cell. I do not have room to stand straight, nor is there room for me to sit. Hunch over, I look down to see hundreds of spiders at my feet. They multiply into thousands, pouring from the walls and the floor and all other places. They cover me, invading my nose, my mouth….my throat. I try to scream, but my throat is filled with them.
And before I lose myself to the insanity of the moment, I am again in a different place. I am still covered in my own blood, and pieces of glass stick out of me as if I were a pincushion. There is a small room with a simple stone slab, and on that slab a body. And over that body is him…the man that is in all my dreams. I do not now who he is, yet he haunts my nights. He cuts at the body on the slab, his black suit is already caked with old and new blood. I approach, fear welling in my throat, when he looks up at me an laughs.
That laugh….so chilling and evil. I am lost.
She spoke softly while stroking my hair, and the nightmare disapeared like breath on a winter day. She said I had been talking in my sleep and I was making no sense. Her voice showed a gentler side that night, one she does not allow the outside world to hear. She wrapped her arms around me, and the dream faded. We lay there in the darkness, her in my arms and I in hers, and I knew that I would be safe. When I looked over to tell her this, I saw she was already asleep. I kissed her on the forehead and settled back down, drifting off into a sound sleep.
I did not dream again. I think that, when I’m with her, I won’t dream. And for that alone, she is a blessing. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 21 Oct 2004 12:53 PM |
The past should remain dead. The dead should not have concern for the living...
...What have I done? |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 30 Nov 2004 11:12 AM |
I have not written here for some time. Uncle would not be pleased.
Perhaps it is because things have happened so quickly that I have not had time. Perhaps I simply do not need to write here. No, that is not the case. In truth, before now I was afraid to write. And so I write this as testimony.
My name is Byron Lorian. I am the Last Son. I have thrown off the shackles of fear and danger. I am Byron Lorian, but I am no longer the person I was.
Luther tells me that the curse of the mummy lord imbued the poison in my system with negative energy. That is why normal methods could not cure me. His solution to the problem was, to say the least, unique. He tells me that the negative energy was sustained by my life force, and only by removing life was he able to heal my body. I cannot say I felt pain when Luther struck expertly at my neck, but I do remember dying.
I have fallen in the past, but that was not the same as when Luther removed the spark of life from my body. I think that, before Luther’s ministrations, I had never truly died. My soul floated in eternity….I cannot explain it.
Luther was able to return me to a body purged of that awful poison. I am in his debt yet again. Since I returned, however, nothing has been the same. For over a year, a spirit has accompanied me on my journey. A memory, if you will, only more substantial. The presence was distinct and separate from myself. I agreed to take him; to help him complete his tasks. Now, I fear, I am in deeper then that.
He is gone. That which was he and that which was Byron are now one, and I am like a new person. I have his wisdom and his strength. I also have his curse.
The vampire found me today. He claimed Macha lead him to me, but I do not believe Macha betrayed me. Her love would not allow that, and she is not the hunter she once was. We were at the Tears when he came to me. I do not know why he did not attack. He simply taunted us, and left.
I rushed back to Midor with Macha, for I had left my armor at the Unicorn Inn. She helped me get into the armor, tightening the straps on the chest plate that alone I can never reach. I was resolute on my intent. The vampire had found and threatened me. The time for hiding was over. Now, a message needed to be sent.
I gathered those that I trusted. Bronwyn and Arcane, of course, and Eliana and Claudia from my dear family. Bless Claudia, and her bravery for going even though the magic of the realm is in upheaval. An elf named Daimon wanted to come along, but I rebuffed him. I do not know him, and I have no reason to trust him, even though Claudia and Bronwyn vouched for his character. I was in no mood to deal with anyone other then those that I knew.
We met Johe Jaxon, the halfling guyver, on the road to Maldovia. He came along, and I did not protest. We had argued in the past about striking a blow against Maldovia, and I knew this would provide the former squire with an opprotunity to do just that.
I did not go to end the war; I knew I could not. I did not go out of a false sense of power, or security, or vengeance. I did not go to prove my strength in battle, or in a blind rage at all that had come before. I went because sometimes, a message needs to be sent to the forces of darkness. I went because at times a show of strength against the enemy is more telling then the supplications and cries for peace of a thousand martyrs.
I went because I had to go. We killed many vampires that night, and as I cleaned the ichor from my sword I knew they were not permanently gone. It is my hope that they have been put on notice. The war is not over, but we won that battle.
Most importantly, the victory is a morale boost for those taunted by the vampires. Our show of strength will not cow the Synspawn forever, but it shows them, and us, that we can fight back with tenacity and ferocity. Those I traveled with already knew this, they were not scared to go to Maldovia. Perhaps they view me only as a singly determined man with no deeper quality. So be it. I do not need others to undertand my intention. They only needed to believe in eventual victory. Together, we won the day. We gave no quarter to the vampires; each blow landed was in payment for past wrongs.
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the dagger aimed at the heart of darkness. I will not be turned easily. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 30 Nov 2004 11:59 AM |
((dang, I wish I had been logged in as a DM during that trip
saviour and devil...I wish to be both
- 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."
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<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 30 Nov 2004 02:18 PM |
>((dang, I wish I had been logged in as a DM during that trip
>saviour and devil...I wish to be both
>- Paul))
((I was sweating bullets for fear you would log in ... Ken)) |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 15 Dec 2004 11:49 AM |
My name is Byron Lorian, the Last Son, the final bastion for a lost path of justice. All my life I have trained to take on the mantle of my forefathers, for if I do not carry on the traditions, who will? These things defined me when I was young. Mine was a youth spent learning equally how to use a sword and a book. For every hour Uncle Jochim spent drilling me on sword forms and proper attack stances, I spent two hours learning of history and culture.
I am equally at home on the royal court, for I am versed in proper etiquette, and on the field of formal combat, for I know well the ancient codes that guided my forefathers. Lament, then, the loss of the past, the honor that once found the race of men has been left to die and dry in the harsh desert of time. Lament the loss of quality in my people; we have forgotten what is vital! Dogma and rote prayer have replaced knowledge of the greater good and the ability, no, the desire to do what is right and proper.
I see darkness around me; I cannot avoid it. I have seen a halfling bring me close to death for merely a perceived slight. He said he was an assassin, yet claims it was a joke. I do not believe him. He attacked me in cowardly fashion, and claimed a it was because I slighted him. Assassin! Fool! If he wished to truly kill me, he had his opportunity, yet he then attempted to goad me into a duel of honor. And foolishly, I almost accepted. dang me for almost giving this halfling, this assassin, an excuse to carry out his contract. I do not know what game this Pickston plays, but I will have nothing more to do with it. Perhaps it is only a perceived slight, and he is bloodthirsty enough to want to kill me for it. That is a possibility, but there is a greater darkness about that halfling then that. I fear he believes he is right, that perhaps in some twisted fashion, he believes he is an agent for good. If he believes that, then he truly is dangerous.
I see darkness around me, with the paladin of Midoran, my teacher, no longer wearing the colors of his god. He said to me that he would not get “comments” with his new color. “Comments.” He dislikes the stares his station affords him. He dislikes those that look at the paladins of Midoran with distain. He wears his mantle carelessly, and I can no longer remain silent. He is a paladin of Midoran, an honor seldom granted. Yet he rejects his Order, and now the symbol, in form of the white and silver, of his God. He wears his mantle carelessly, yet he still keeps it. He is still a paladin of Midoran, I think. I fear for him, because if he can be swayed by a few comments disparaging his Order, how easy would it before him to fall completely? He would make a very dangerous enemy.
I see darkness around me. The vampire hunts those that traveled to Maldovia with me. He carves into their flesh letters, marking them as his own. So far, they have all been healed, and I am relieved. The greater good has been served, at least in that small fashion.
Soon, we shall return to Maldovia, and hopefully end this. Loccard will most likely want to finish his ritual and finally claim from me what he so desires. I worry, for the only indication I have that this is true is the word of a vampire given to Macha. It is not much, but deep down, I believe this is the only way. I will be cut again, that I am sure, but the pain is fleeting. If all goes well, I will be rescued in time and Loccard will finally be destroyed. But if something goes wrong, I will die, my soul a feast for the wicked Vampire.
And then there is Eliana. We are as close to one another now as any two people can be. I am as surprised as anyone that the ancient ritual worked, but I have heard that such Bonds form by themselves. The ritual and words does not form the bond, they only help us to recognize it. She speaks to me in the darkness, whispering words of encouragement and hope. She sees in me what I cannot see in myself, and by doing so, lifts me above what I would have been. There is nothing in this world more precious then that.
What will become of her, after I die? This is my deepest fear, that she has sacrificed all her years for a mere moment with me. If only there were a way that I, a human, could match her years. If only….
What an odd man, that Horace. He called me a “knight,” and though now I know why, I cannot help but believe that he knows more about me then he lets on. Perhaps he truly is insane, but he had the presence of mind enough to lead my family and myself to the very cusp of Nethar’u. There, in a great hall, I met Sir Toman. He would not answer my questions, rather, he told me the sad tale of his life as a guardian ,or a protector, or….I do not know what. My heart is broken upon thinking of him. I know what he is, his armor, his age…there is no denying it. He is denied a death well deserved. He has served his time; his duty has long since been fulfilled.
I weep for my brother. Someday, I will see you freed. I swear it. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 20 Dec 2004 02:53 PM |
My name is Byron Lorian, the Last Son. While the might of Maldovia ravaged my body, it was not able to destroy my spirit. Now, a new task is before me and I do not know where to start.
I visited the desert yesterday with Macha, Claudia, and Eliana. After Maldovia…after the cutting…after Loccard’s death…I knew I had to go. It was the end for one part of me; a presence that could only be exorcized on those wind swept dunes.
What happened there I shall keep in my heart. Words cannot describe….
He is gone now, that other presence I had kept so close to my mind and soul. His tasks are not complete, and though I am more of him then I was before, that part of him that remained yearned for freedom, for rest. He has it now.
I am alone and I miss him.
There is no time for that, a new task is at hand. I am wearing the armor of my forefathers now, even though I have yet to truly take up the mantle. It came to me in a flash, almost a vision, the inspiration to know what I needed to do. I must find a holy relic of my forefathers. I must find a relic of Aristi. I have learned, and been told, that all relics were destroyed by the Order of Midoran after the Salvation of Aristi. I have been told that the books were burned, and even those that refused to accept Midoran were burned as heretics.
These are the action of the Just Hand?
I have never given faith to Midoran, or any other god. I leave them be, and they leave me be, and so far both parties have been fine with this arrangement. Of course, there is no reason a god should notice me. I am a simple man, and I do not lust after the glory and recognition so evident in others eyes. I admit that I find peace in the garden of Elbereth, but I do not credit that to any special boon that particular goddess grants me. Rather, well, the garden is quiet and well tended to. It would be difficult for anyone not to find peace there.
It may be possible that no relic survives. But I must try, for I fail in this quest, then all the efforts of my forefathers will have been in vain.
*The next several pages discuss the preparations Byron is taking for his journey. They are long, detailed, and rather dull. Finally, the following passage is read *
In the deepest hidden desire of my heart, I wish the burden of my blood could be past from me. A house, some land, the love of Eliana; that is all I need. I have been through my black night and have felt eternal pain. I know the cut of a dark one and the sting of betrayed hopes. I have met all that, and lived. Now I want peace.
This is the wish of my heart, but I cannot yield. I have my duties, to find the artifict, to atone to those hurt by the vampire, and to eventually take the mantle of my fathers. This is my duty, and I will obey. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 21 Dec 2004 02:49 PM |
My name is Byron Lorian, the Last Son, and I have found peace for a time. Through my trials I shall grow in wisdom. Through my actions, I shall atone for my sins. Through my quest, I will become what I must be, and claim that which is my birthright.
Or I will die in the attempt.
It started wth a man calling himself Bereil Yadashem, mage and scholar. It was odd to find a mage and a scholar, accompanied by a stout dwarf and aloof elf, looking for mercenaries. Odder still was the fact that he had pegged my family and myself as such. But there we were, in Buckshire, with Bereil asking us to accompany him to the Gladden Hills to help save the town from the trolls.
He promised to make it worth our while, but I told him in no uncertain terms that I was not a mercenary. I feel somewhat responsible for dragging Eliana and Claudia across Vives to fight trolls; it was my choice, and they went only because I went. In truth, I had no choice, because even though I did not want to go, the thought of a village spoke to my duty. I went because there were people in need. I had no choice.
Duty is paramount. Despite personal feelings, or want, or need.
We went by horseback through the desert and arrived in Midor by midday. We made haste to the Gladden hills; I did not want to waste time. Upon arriving, I asked Bereil what his plan was. The journey, after all, was his idea. Perhaps it was naieve to think he had a plan beyond “find the trolls lair and kill everything there.” A plan like that is worthy of Arcane, but it was not good enough for me. I curtly informed Bereil that I will not risk my family with such a foolhardy plan. He agreed to caution.
I took stock of our resources. Only two people, Eliana and the elf named Azreal, had weapons capable of putting down trolls. I instructed them to be ready, they would be key to our strategy. I then sent Eliana ahead to scout the troll invested hills. She is well suited for scouting, among other things, and is a great asset.
The adventure, if you can call it that, was Bereil’s idea, but I found myself barking orders to the party. To my not insignificant surprise, they obeyed. I am unsure what prompted such teamwork, or why the group listened to my curt instructions But they did, to our advantage, I think. Until that crazy mage showed up.
Horace is an enigma to me. He seems quite mad most of the time, yet I truly believe he has knowledge beyond most mortals. Is he does, then the path from great intellect to great madness is truly a circle. He speared out of no where, and it was then that things fall apart. The original plan was to avoid the war trolls. Yet when Horace arrived, the entire group seemed drawn to them.
We fought the great beasts, and they beat me resoundingly around the head and shoulders. My helm took a might blow and was crushed in deeply, impacting my own head with a sickly crack. Things went dark after that, I must have been near death.
I awoke, and Eliana was wearing her unique expression that combines anger, horror, and distress. I knew then that I must have fallen, however briefly. She does not get that expression often, and when she has in the past, it usually involves people dying. My mind did not register this immediatly, in fact, it did not register much of anything. I had a severe concussion, I think, and it was hard to focus, let alone lead. Eliana insisted we retreat to Ferein. In my addled state, that seemed like a good idea, so I acquiesced to her concern.
We left the cave and started towards Ferein, avoiding the remaining trolls thanks to Claudia’s ever-useful invisibility spell. I must have wandered off in the woods close to Ferein, because Claudia had to come retrieve and direct me towards Ferein. In the process of wandering around, addled and invisible, I attracted the attention of the elven guardian of those woods. Fortunately, the guardian recognized me as not a threat. Unfortunately, that same guardian was Elvalia, an elf that holds no good will towards me.
I really need to learn elven. I found myself in the middle of three elves and a halfling, all speaking that confusing language. Claudia and Eliana seemed upset, and the male elf, I had not met him before, asked in common why Eliana had guided me so far west. I suspected they were upset with my presence so close to Ferein.
Elvalia noticed my wound, and withdrew several bandages I stepped away, a reaction more reflexive then conscious. “Obviously an elven touch offends.” she said, and I could not help but to hear an accusationally tone in her voice. Offends? If only she knew she was speaking to one Bonded to an elf, sharing a link as close as any in true love. Offends! Hardly.
“I do not, but I wish to be tended to by someone who cares for me,” I retorted, motioning to Eliana.
Elvalia was not impressed, but then, I was not trying to impress her. I refused to waste energy in a fruitless attempt to gain her favor. My mind was fuzzy then, and the details of the conversation escape me. I remember commenting on Elvalia's hatred of me. She replied by commenting on why she would even bother to hate me? ‘Indifference is the worst kind of hatred,” I retorted, but I suspect the true meaning of my words were lost.
Elvalia implied that I should know why she disliked me. The answer is, of course, obvious. Loccard. He hurt her sister and her friends. He cut them in brutal and mean fashion, to send a message to me. I know my responsibility on this score, and I will atone for these sins. I told Elvalia as much, but again, she seems unimpressed. It matters not. I know where my duty and obligations lie. It is enough that I have told Elvalia that, for I owe atonement to her as well.
In the end, I came away with an understanding of Elvalia’s desire to protect her wood, though such a motivation is beyond me, I can respect it in her. It is, perhaps, her way of serving the greater good. There is a hidden distain there, towards me, and perhaps towards humans in general. She is arrogant and unkind. I should not expect her to be anything else. She is what her god wishes her to be; I will not try to reason or rationalize her.
We made it to Ferein, where I sat beneath the tree and let the peace wash over me. I covered Claudia with my cape, it was surprisingly clean for all the journeying we had done. Claudia was exhausted from the demands of spell casting, and she was sleep in short order. Eliana followed suit, and soon I was the only one awake.
I stayed awake, and watched over my sleeping family. Peace eventually settled over me, and I forgot about trolls, and injuries, and evil churlish elves. I drifted to sleep, safe in the garden.
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My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 21 Dec 2004 03:19 PM |
| ((good stuff!)) |
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.
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 28 Dec 2004 10:52 AM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. I am the pebble that starts the avalanche. I am the stone tossed into the pond that disrupts the surface calm.
At least I shall try to be. For over a year, I have wandered looking for Fate to find my honor. In truth, fate has no more power over me does the stars in the sky. The faith taught by my Uncle has left me, and I do not lament it’s passing.
Truly, I can no longer put faith in the Myths, for I can not espouse a faith where choices are only the products of a grander design. Choices mean more then that, and while there still may be fate acting in the world, I can no longer wait for it to start me down the path.
Eliana has taught me this; I am more then what I think I am. I do not see in myself what she sees. I may never see it, but she does not love me idly, nor believe in me without cause. I must try, if only for her. Before her I was waiting for some mystical fate to show me my honor. Perhaps she is fate’s agent. Or maybe I do not need fate. I will do what I can to serve the greater good; for it is there I believe I can lift the mantle before me. It is not my own, by her strength that I can do this.
And so I shall make my stand against darkness. Arcane once told me of his plan, to do good deed and gain a reputation so he can have rank in the Order of Midoran. His plan is flawed, for it requires him to seek glory for his own sake, and for the sake of rank. He s a good man, but a flawed paladin. I am no paladin, but I must do what I can, to earn the right to carry the honor and mantle of my birthright. I will serve the greater good, not for rank, or recognition, or glory. Yet I will be a beckon; a light on the hill to show humanity there is a better way. Those Men who yearn for a better way must reclaim the path of justice and honor, of righteousness and nobility that is far beyond their normal ken.
Am I arrogant, thinking I can be the pebble that starts the avalanche? Do I think too highly of myself in challenging the very foundation of Men’s greed and ambition? I pray not. If I do not do this, then who will? The paladins of Midoran, lost in a morass of religious fervor and clerical bureaucracy? The Men of Midor, who share the paladin’s religious fervor and, by doing so, condone evil in the name of holiness? The Men of Port Royale, stymied under the boot of corruption and crime? The Men of Buckshire, or Icy Vale, or Paws, who desire nothing more then to eat and drink just one more day?
I lament the loss of Man's nobility. I pray for a renaissance or honor and justice in the hearts of my kin, for we rise and fall together.
It only takes a pebble to start an avalanche. If I fail in my quest, I pray another will take my place. And another, and another, until the hearts of the people are moved to change. Perhaps I was born to be a martyr. If so, I pray Eliana forgives me this final sin, of showing her love that cannot last against the fire. If I die, then she is alone, and that would be the greatest sin of all. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 28 Dec 2004 10:53 AM |
| She told me recently of the shadows she walks in, how they come to her call to cover her in times of need. I do not believe her to be evil, that is impossible. Yet she is a creature of shadow….could it be that shadows are not always evil? She told me that shadows cannot exist without light. What am I to make of this? Perhaps it does not matter, I know she is not a friend of darkness or evil, and for me that is enough. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 13 Jan 2005 04:59 PM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. I have traveled to the precipice of darkness, to the broken sanctuary of a lone knight. I traveled there again, this time, with an old friend.
She is alive; I had not thought I would see her again. Blanche La Belle, the priestess of Midoran....and one of his oldest friends. And still, even though we are close and distant all at the same time, when I saw her for the first time my heart leapt. She was alive, but what had happened to her?
She told me an extraordinary tale, and I came to realize that her, more then anyone I have ever met, she understands what I have gone through. For over a year before our final venture in to Maldovia, I shared everything with him. After the poisoning and my subsequent salvation at the hands of Luther, two became one, and while the remnants have since left, he is me, and I him, and no one truly understands.
Except for her, and for that alone, she is dear to me.
I have promised to help her in her task. To my surprise, she returned that promise, and has sworn to help me in mind. I looked into her eyes, yet I could not meet them. In her eyes I could see only the truth, and to my shame, the truth scared me. It is not that way with Eliana, of course, her gentle touch and firm belief has shown me more truth then I could have ever found by myself. Blanche, however, must be blessed with some strange power to cut through my defenses so quickly.
She is dear to me, and I will protect her as I can. We traveled to the cusp of Nethar’u to visit the lone knight, Sir Tonan. And there, something amazing happened.
The madness surrounding the old knight of Aristi lifted, and he spoke coherently. The things he said...I will not commit to paper yet. I must reflect on them more. He did prove to me one thing. Blanche La Belle has that which I seek.
And now, I do not know what to do next. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 13 Jan 2005 09:01 PM |
((Byron, I love your Journals, but everytime I read that intro... I just feel like I'm watching a showtime Original Series.... "I am Jeremiah, and I AM the last Son.... It's been nearly Two decades since the big death....."
hehe Keep up the good work)) |
The Legacy Saga |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 13 Jan 2005 09:20 PM |
((Byron, I love your Journals, but everytime I read that intro... I just feel like I'm watching a showtime Original Series.... "I am Jeremiah, and I AM the last Son.... It's been nearly Two decades since the big death....."
hehe Keep up the good work))
((Heh, um...I'll take that as a compliment. )) |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 19 Jan 2005 04:36 PM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. Darkness surrounds me, and long has been my night. dang Johe for not seeing that. dang his accusing eyes and his hateful words. dang him, that blessed halfling. He does not realize how deeply he strikes.
Johe Jaxon, the Guyver. He holds in him the heart of a knight, and though it is expressed more often then not in simple terms, his desire to do the right thing is matched by few. Johe calls those around him to greater things; to fighting evil and doing good deeds. He has the spirit of a knight, indeed.
But he does not understand.
I am not a knight. I suppose I could go to Blanche and ask to see it. I could swear a code of ennoblement on that holy relic, and lay claim to the title of my forefathers. No one would argue with me because there is no one left who knows the appropriate way of these things. But who am I to say I am ready? Who is to say I am deserving?
Eliana says I am enough. Just me, alone. She lifts my eyes when I look down, and gives me the strength to press forward when things seem bleak. She does not see this, and perhaps it is better that way. I know Eliana is not innocent, at least not in the same way Blanche is, but there are still some things to which she is naive. I should like to see he keep that gift for a while longer.
Johe does not see. I do not know what all he thinks or believes is happening. I think he sees me as hiding from my responsibility. Such a cowardly thing to do; the very idea leaves a bad taste in my mouth. How dare he accuse me of hiding! How day her speak of things he does not understand!
Yet I do hide, but not from myself. He does not know the risk I have taken by telling my family everything. They are exposed to the risk, as is Blanche. But still, I have not seen any signs of my family’s enemy. Perhaps after all these long years, they are no more.
No, that is foolish. They burned my family manor and I cannot stop suspecting that they had a hand in Uncle Jochim’s death. No, they must be around, but where are they? And for that matter, who are they? While Johe fights the Night Masks, I fight my own war. The enemy has not found me yet, and so I and my family are safe, for now. But for how much longer?
Perhaps they thought Uncle Jochim was the last of the Lorians. Perhaps they thought he was the last of the line. If only Johe knew my deepest fear, the thing that keeps me up at night…
…that the line truly is dead, and I am only a pretender. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 02 Feb 2005 10:36 AM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. At Luther’s invitation, I again went to the cusp of Nethar’u, and beyond. He and I passed through the defiled mines to the Stairs of Nu’men. I saw the broken wards that once guarded those stairs. Fire heated my face and sulfur burned my lungs. We were on the verge of the Pit, and never before have I felt such taint.
I know Luther had a reason for brining me there. He suggested it so lightly when he saw me along in Buckshire. He asked after Eliana and Claudia, but I believe I was his main focus. He is teaching me through action; and I to my surprise I am learning more of myself then I had thought possible. Before he had taken me to the top of the world. This time, he took me to the depths.
We fought many demons, all far greater then I could face alone. Luther was unflappable as we fought. He calmly instructed me on sword and bow technique. On the remains of some demons he pointed to the areas that were best to strike. He told me not to be afraid to retreat, and retreat quickly, if an enemy was too much. I listened closely, what else could I do? I do not know why he has taken an interest in me, perhaps he regularly takes people to Nethar’u.
If I am to become what I must become, Luther’s lessons will be invaluable.
To become what I must become….I had forgotten bout that for a time. I had wallowed in my own self-pity, thinking I would never be worthy of the mantle of my forefathers. My family could not understand my actions or me. I do not blame them, I was acting like a child.
But no more.
If I am to become hat I must become, then I must fight. I must act justly, live honorably, and strive for righteousness. I must define myself through the code of my forefathers. I must live it every day, as my forefathers did.
It is that simple and that difficult.
If I am to become what I must become, I will need my family, for they see in me that which I cannot. Eliana and Claudia, they both support me. They would see me claim this honor, in fact, I believe they think I already deserve it. They are far to kind; I cannot expect them to understand. They love me unconditionally, and they see in me not the man I am but the man I can be. I cannot yet see what they see. But because of them, I know I am closer.
I wonder if they realize my life is theirs?
My life is not my own, to be sure. It belongs to my family. It belongs to the destiny I am trying to forge. It belongs to my people, to reclaiming the nobility of all Men.
I am Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. The Last Son of my family, the Last Son of my people, and I hope, the Last Son of my Order.
We shall see. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 02 Feb 2005 10:53 AM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. I wrote briefly of my journey to Nethar'u, but I must write more. The things I saw there....
The demons were large and powerful, but they did not frighten me. That is not entirely true, as I did fear for my life, but then, as Luther says, anyone that does not fear for their life is someone to be afraid of. Oddly enough, I am reminded of Arcane when he says that...
We entered a large hall. The architecture seemed dwarven, and though I am no expert, Luther agreed. We fought to large demons there, and I came very close to falling. Once again, Luther calmly instructed me in the heat of battle, and I was able to escape while Luther killed the fell beast. Sometimes, I wish he would show just a bit more emotions, especially there. He seems almost not human at times.
We entered a grant hall, but I did not immediately notice the high ceilings or massive columns. The chilled air, made damp from the nearby river, did not immediately register. The brightness of the room, in sharp contrast the ghoulish dimness outside, did not cause me pain. The only thing I noticed as we entered that room was the smell.
It did not take us long to find the source of the smell. Two large holding cells were beneath the floor. Iron bars on the floor allowed us to look down into the cells. The bards were thick, and it was difficult to see anything clearly. We were able to find a way to open those cells after a battle with two demons even stronger then the one I had fought before. Here, I am ashamed to say, I was useless, and Luther was forced to take on most of the combat.
The pungent stench of rotting flesh assaulted us as we entered the cells. Piles of bodies were stacked like cordwood long one side of the cell. The dead, and the dying, littered the cell floor. Yes, there were some that were still alive, but not for long. I spoke to the one still left alive….I cannot record here what he said, or what he whispered to me before he passed the veil. Some things should be reflected upon in the heart, and not on paper.
I will make my way to Halls of Bregodim soon to bring word of this dwarf’s death to his family. It will be the most difficult thing I have ever done, far more difficult then witnessing the horrors of Nethar’u. Luther smiled his wan, indecipherable smile when I told him of my intentions to go to the Halls. I suspect that the lesson I will learn doing this is far more important then any I learned in Nethar’u. I also suspect that this was Luther’s intent all along.
With him, you can never tell. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 07 Feb 2005 12:16 PM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. But this is not entirely true, for another does exist. I have stayed with him for two days now, and I cannot get through. He ignores my words, spoken in his native tongue. He ignores the food I offer him when before that roused him back to sanity. Maybe I alone am not enough. Perhaps I need Blanche with me again.
I went to Nethar’u again, but the ultimate goal was to see Sir Tonan. We killed some demons, mostly with the help of the large half-orc named Mandrake. Mandrake…I do not trust him, yet he did not betray us, or show signs of evil intent. And Eliana trusted him; that is enough for me.
Claudia seemed upset, dang it! Why do I always seem to hurt her? I cannot take an action without causing her some pain. I still must atone to her. She lost something precious in the depths of Fiirkrag, to the witch. I must retrieve that, yet I vowed not to return. So how shall I do this? There must be a way…
Claudia, whom I affectionately call “Little One.” I fear for her as any brother would fear for a sister. She is close to my heart, second only to Eliana, and even there the kind of love is so different so as to defy comparison. She is my sister, and my friend. She is loyal to me, almost to a fault, when I do not think I deserve such loyalty. I have wondered before, even in these pages, if she realizes that my life is hers.
And Eliana. Dear, sweet Eliana. She tolerates my lack of believe in myself, she bolsters my own faith, and she shares my love. And I return this to her with my very self. She and I are Bonded in a fashion that defies concept. And even when we do not speak openly, we still communicate. With glances, with subtle movements of our hands; we speak the language of the heart. Such a gift should not be treated tritely, and I fear I have done so.
And so they left me at the cusp of Nethar’u. Eliana understood why I needed to stay with Sir Tonan. I must speak with him, I have so many questions. Yet I have failed even in this task, and Sir Tonan is still lost to madness.
I must go see Blanche, and soon. She is in Brandibuck, or so I hear…and if I hear this, it means she does not hide will. It is very difficult to hide the light of a bright lamp. Only the heaviest shades will do, and even then, the light tends to peak out in unexpected places. Such it is with Blanche; her light refuses to remain hidden. Her strength gathers people to her.
I hope she knows how to use that strength.
Tonight, I will leave the Hall, and Sir Tonan. I have done all I can do here. I will go to my family. I do not need to reaffirm my commitment ro them, they already know of my faithfulness. The time has come, however, to turn my focus away from myself. Claudia needs help, she has for a long time. She started to tell us her story a few nights ago, but fatigue stole our time from us. Soon, I will ask her to finish, and we can go about trying to help her. Somehow. I fear I am powerless against this foe.
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. I walk the path of my forefathers, striving to claim their most noble mantle. But sometimes, like when I look at Claudia, I realize that is not enough.. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: From the Journal of the Last Son
Posted: 24 Feb 2005 04:56 PM |
My name is Byron Lorian, and I am the Last Son. We all have duties, and I am no exception. I am pledged to my family, fealty toward the one called “The White Maiden,” and the ever-present pressure of my family name. I am a man with many duties, and I shall strive to be faithful to them all.
Blanche La Belle…how did I become so intertwined with her? That is a silly question, I know exactly how…it is his influence, the one that I carried, but is now gone. He has left in me affection for Blanche that I cannot deny. I do not understand why Eliana disapproves. I would have Blanche as a sister if I could; yet though I am the head of my family I am not the sole decider of membership. If even one member of the family is not willing to enter into a vow with a person, then I must respect that.
I have sworn fealty to Blanche, because I believe in what she does. Still, she has much to learn about leadership. I am no general, Luther himself has said that I am too young to inspire men. But I do have more experience in things then most my age. I will help her, not because she wields the Heart of Aristi, but because I care for her. Not for what she represents, but for who she is. I will not allow harm to come to her. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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