# Preludes



## Renfield (Oct 28, 2004)

I haven't written on here in a long time, it's been almost as long since I've attempted to write any sort of fiction, I must say I'm a tad rusty. When I am ready I shall begin posting in a campaign thread, this is simply to begin giving a feel of the world I've created for the setting. In the world their is no magic, many amazing things can be done in the same sense that many amazing things can be done in our world, though too many are skeptical of most of them for lack of personal vision.

The first post referrences the Naer Dess, these people are healers and martial artists from a community of people dedicated to perfecting their nigh supernatural manner of healing, and only a fool would call on them a bandaid.
Eventually I'll post the home made core class that is the healer. Any advice on it and any comments on the first Prelude are more than welcome.


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## Renfield (Oct 28, 2004)

*Prelude 1: Jaded*

Syrith smiled, more of a smirk really, a light upturning of the corner of the mouth that was larger than the upturning of the opposite corner. The object of his mirth sat before him at the table. A young lad of about eighteen winters (for winters were the basis of age in the north rather than summers) with sandy blonde hair and angular features that would be considered handsome if the youth ever learned to smile. His dark blue eyes stared up at the older man awaiting some words of wisdom.

	 The sounds of the tavern were soft and rather pleasant at this time of day, that time a few hours before the evening rush where a small number of people would mingle and relax after a hard days work. The orange glow of fires and torches gave off something of a classic and rustic feel that comforted the Naer Dess Master, the town had been modernizing heavily under their new mayor, and seeing as Syrith would have preferred being stationed in a village this tavern simply felt comfortable to him.

	“So,” he said after a long pause, his deep baritone befitting his stocky if not tall stature, his face had a rough quality to it, befitting a hardworking farmer more than a Master Healer “you want to know why I was trained by one of the Jaded?” it was a statement posed as a question, a small test, though he could already tell the young Orpheus had a lot to learn, the boy had potential and the drive to reach it, however his mind needed to be opened to a few things. 

	The youth nodded and waited until after he took another drink from his mug of ale before speaking, “There are some at the commune who consider ex-Naer Dess a liability if not a downright danger to peoples lives.” The youth had a point, Naer Dess new things about the mortal body that could make them an efficient murderer if not an outright assassin... too efficient. As a rule a Naer Dess who turned away from the teachings of the order was spied upon to see if they would become a threat, those who were deemed too ‘unstable’ were killed. Every rule, however, has an exception to it.

	“Very true...” Syrith said as he leaned back tilting his chair so that it reclined and propped against a support beam. “Jaded however are, well, a different matter altogether.” he was about to continue when a figure pulled out the one empty chair at the table and sat down with a laugh. 

	“Syrith you boring old sod!” the man said scooting his chair back and propping his muddy boots up on the table, it was raining outside and he had apparently just arrived his blue cloak stained to a deep midnight shade from the water. “Don’t listen to him boy, the man could be telling you of life and death escapes and you’d be snoring like a babe inside of ten minutes, that’s how he helped me with my insomnia.”

	Syrith rolled his eyes, he was actually a year shy of thirty though his face looked like it could belong to one of twenty five winters as much as thirty five. “Caldos, aren’t you supposed to be making sure your officers aren’t sleeping on the wall?” he asked the leather faced guard captain.

	Caldos scoffed and then chuckled “At Five Toll? You must be kidding, I have at least six hours before that becomes an issue, besides captains need their breaks too.”

	The youth was smirking, his dark blue eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. Orpheus found Caldos to be entertaining company, and while the lad found him amusing he also looked up to the man, rightly so considering the one time he had seen the Captain truly plying his trade had been rather impressive. Few Captains in the military had as much strategic prowess as this humble, if loud, Captain of the Guard. Orpheus had wanted to be a soldier before he decided his true passion would lead him down the path of the Naer Dess.

	“Well get your feet off the table and listen if you’ll be joining us, I might even be able to teach the lad something in your presence for once.” Syrith replied with a dry chuckle. Caldos shook his head before he finally took his feet off the table. The Master turned his attentions back toward the youth. “Now, Faeren was a Jaded, they’re a little different from most who stray from the path of our-”

	“Wait, you’re telling him about Faeren?” Caldos interrupted causing both Naer Dess at the table to sigh and roll their eyes. “Fight the sleep lad, this might actually be interesting, though your Master here ain’t no halfling or gnome gleeman when it comes to storytelling.”

	“As I was saying,” Syrith began not giving Caldos a chance to continue after he took a breath “Faeren was an exception. Jaded are called what they are for a reason, they have seen some of the worst sights a Naer Dess can see, gone through more trials than any should, and what they experienced wore on their very soul.”

	Orpheus lifted a brow “That would make them weak though wouldn’t it?” he asked, Syrith saw something in the youths eyes that he would have to annihilate, something that could lead to the boys demise someday if he wasn’t too careful.

	“Yes, after a fashion, they often feel they lack the strength to deal with certain aspects of our trade, this often occurs after a war or in Faerens case, a plague.” Syrith spoke, and while he did so Orpheus listened, the lad knew he was too young to make any solid judgements on how the world worked let alone the people in it. “He was in Sardos when the Boiling Death struck. Two years before you were born.” he said, Caldos whistled, the Boiling Death was a particularly gruesome disease, even as far as plagues went, it had wiped out nearly a third of the merchant kingdoms population.

	“You see Faeren was particularly skilled, the top of his class, he passed the graduation exam with flying colors and was an expert at manipulating the Life Stream.” he said, Caldos was right, as far as story telling went Syrith was poor, his voice was a conversational drone, still, both listened. “Many Naer Dess themselves couldn’t keep the plague from them and plenty of our own in Sardos died with all the others. Faeren never so much as receive a welt.”

	“I think at some point he began to wish the plague had taken him, he lost everyone he loved, including his student at the time. He managed to save a few people but it was small compensation for the hundreds upon thousands he witnessed perish. At one point the only thing he could do was help carry the bodies to the fires and he made himself watch them burn.” Syrith continued, even with him telling it the story was very sobering, Caldos was rolling an iron bullet about in his hands, a nervous habit he had developed during his first combat experience he claimed. “Many of the Naer Dess who survived it became hollow husks of their former selves after feeling as helpless as they did. Faeren didn’t fall that far, but he had been drained, he was... tired.” the Master said with a distant look in his eyes.

	After a long silence Orpheus spoke up, he had a fair idea where Syriths lecture was going to lead, Faeren had essentially been burned out, he had put his all into something and found it helped not a bit, not even the rare success could comfort such a feeling of helplessness and failure. He imagined going through something like that would lead any man to re-examine his faith. Which certainly doesn’t make them a danger, and though the youth couldn’t see how a Naer Dess could give up seeking enlightenment and honing their healing skills after tragedy he figured some simply couldn’t take it, still another question burned. “Alright, well, why didn’t he just send you to another Naer Dess for training?” 

	At this Syrith smiled, “Well, few Naer Dess were as proficient as Faeren, and I had a rather passionate desire to learn how to perfect myself in combat.” he smirked at Orpheus’ and Caldos as they both raised an eyebrow at the same time. “I was about your age and a little more foolhardy despite my training. My Master at the time decided it’d be a good idea for me to learn what I wanted as well as a little discipline. He had graduated with Faeren and they had been good friends at one time so he called in a favor...”

*****

	The bar was crowded, it was late, Sunday was on the morrow and very few of the men and women had any real work to look forward to the next day. Music was playing and people were having a good time, wine was flowing, spirits were high. Dust stirred from the sawdust and dirt floor with the stomping of feat and laughter reverberated among the rafters and the stone ceiling. This particular bar was one of the more rowdy, things were kept in check by bouncers, however some men were left to their own devices even if that included beating on some poor sod for some random offence.

	A young man, tan of skin and dark of hair, sat in a booth against the wall. He watched the crowd, or at least pretended to, the fact was his watched another man, a dark man, who drank from his cup silently at a small table fitting no more than two. If there had been another chair there before it was gone, if it had been there still it would have been as good as gone for all the welcome one occupying it would receive from the man they’d be sitting across, a brooding man. 

	Unfortunately brooding men had a habit of looking tough, this man was no exception, his hair was stringy and unkempt, long as well which was not the fashion. A sickle hung from his right side and a four-shooter pistol at his other side, the sickle seemed to have seen more use, another sign of being ‘tough’ to the eye seeking trouble. His face could use a shave though no the hair their could not quite be called a beard and anyone looking the man in the eyes would swear they were black as pitch, in some of the more superstitious villages or towns that might be enough to get him strung up, which was probably why he was in the melting pot of Sardos.

	A man like this rarely sought trouble, but trouble seemed to actively seek out men like him, this night would not be an exception to the rule, and when the large bald man quite purposefully knocked the mans arm the younger man across the room knew trouble had arrived. Trouble was well over two strides tall, easily towering over the other man, his muscular body glistened in the firelight and bore more than a few scars of battle. He had no weapon, he had probably been banned from weapons by the guard, though he looked like a more than capable brawler. The ale had spilled over Troubles trousers, the only real clothing the man wore was from the waist down.

	Brooding bent down slightly to pick up the mug and expected to see if there was anything salvageable left, Trouble promptly slapped the from the mans hand spilling what little had remained in it over the a nearby patron. The patron stood and turned in anger but when he saw Trouble he swiftly sat down, a damp shirt wasn’t worth a broken arm after all. “That was very rude.” he dialect sounded northern, likely a border lander who didn’t feel obliged to risk his life daily fending off Beastmen and the Fell. “I’m thinking you should be thinking of apologizing to me for spilling your ale on me.”

	Apparently Brooding wasn’t the type to back down when trouble reared it’s ugly head “I did,” he said in a gravelly voice of one who didn’t speak too often “I’m thinking I don’t need to.” he said quite simply, a mere statement of fact, his tone wasn’t snide nor did it hold any contempt, no insult was intended by it which made the insult even worse.

	A fist slammed down on the table, a fist that seemed double Broodings fist, one who the simple sight of would make most men braver than the patron at the next table sit back down. Instead the man stood up. Immediately people cleared the area around the two, the bouncers stood ready to stop an all out brawl from occurring, but a fight between two grown men, especially with Trouble involved, was something they preferred to stray from. The bald man growled, perhaps he wasn’t a border man but one of the few barbarians of the north, it was said some tribes still roamed.

	The man smiled, a tight humorless smile, and took a single step back from Trouble. The bald man smirked, he figured Brooding didn’t know what he was getting himself into, he figured he was intimidating the smaller man like he had hoped and hoped that pride would dictate the man would take his beating and make a meager attempt at returning it. Trouble was very, very, very wrong. The smaller man spoke again as he removed both weapons and sat them on the table, a civil custom in any pending fist fight, weapons were very bad form.

	“Animals, mammals in particular,” the man said in his gravelly voice “when cornered by or faced with a potentially hostile animal typically bear their teeth in warning and in challenge.” he said as if lecturing a student, the young man felt he was correct in his suspicions that the man was a forester, a Ranger some called them. “This signifies the animal is ready to attack when the offending animal crosses a certain line,” Brooding says as his foot moves out and draws a line halfway between himself and Trouble, the larger, bald man furring his brow in slight puzzlement. “Some men of knowledge who study the people say that is where the smile originated from.” he said finishing by smiling wider revealing his teeth. 

	Trouble wasn’t the smartest man about, but he was smart enough to connect the dry humorless smile with Broodings words and see it as the challenge he thought it was meant to be, later the younger man would wonder if the hulking bald man would realize the ‘smile’ had actually been a warning. Before that though, the huge man took a single step across the line.

	What happened next happened too quickly for most to really catch it, the younger man, however, was trained to see such things in their fullest. The people were quite surprised though some knew Brooding, and among them there were whispers that countered those saying Trouble would have an easy match. All most saw though were a few amazingly swift movements and then a huge bald man falling to his back with his nose crushed and streaming blood and his eyes closed as he rested in a land of unconsciousness.

	What the younger man saw was far more detailed.

	Trouble had stepped over the line, literally, and Brooding made due on his warning. The young man saw Trouble take a breath and as soon as that breath was expelled Broodings fist shot out hitting the larger man in the solar plexis promptly knocking the wind out of him. Broodings foot then slipped around Troubles leg and straightened then pulled back causing the larger man to fall promptly on his ass and after bring both hands down in a chopping motion on either side of the mans neck Broodings palm slammed into his nose with sickening crunch that sent the large body falling back completely. 

	The whole attack was so sudden, so vicious and held such a feral grace that the young man didn’t see a human standing there over an unconscious Trouble, he saw an animal who had bested a predator that should have sought easier prey. The man was Feral, funny his name Faeren was surprisingly similar to the word, though he wasn’t feral in the sense most knew the word. He wasn’t a wild and savage beast that lacked control, but a coiled viper preferring to rest itself but ready to strike should some clumsy beast step on it, or a badger content in it home but angry at being disturbed by an overly curious bear and quite capable of sending it away with a nose that wouldn’t be quite whole again. An odd mix of ferocity with the elegance of control and humble confidence.

	Brooding left the bar after leaving a small tip for the smaller mess the ale left, the younger man followed, with the older man being quite aware of him. The younger man would find the following weeks out in the wilds to be some of the most challenging of his life, but he would learn, he would grow, and he would come to respect the man for his knowledge and wisdom. People still came to Faeren for healing, often enough he had the younger Syrith handle the cases that the youth was fully capable of. The larger cases would cause the ranger to grumble as he applied his expertise. The few people who knew of him knew also of a whispered unwritten rule: Faeren was only to be consulted as a final resort, he was retired, period, but couldn’t refuse help to those who were truly in need.

	After three long but short years of learning the young Syrith returned to his master with enlightenment he had not expected to gain from a former Naer Dess. He would complete his training and after being assigned to own town would be assigned a graduate of his own.

*****

	Upon realizing the story was over Caldos made a point of pretending to snore his eyes closed as he leaned back in his chair his boots once again propped up on the table. Truth of the matter was he heard every word, he had heard them all before but listened to the tale just as raptly each time it had been told, which wasn’t too often. Orpheus looked at Syrith for a long moment then nodded slowly “I see.” he said simply, though his eyes spoke a little more as he took a drink from his mug, “I feel the priests were wise in assigning me to you. Still, your bad storytelling require me to ask: what was the moral of the lecture?”

	Syrith chuckled “Well, the moral of the story was never bother a Jaded who doesn’t want to be bothered. Those of us who cease to follow our path as healers tend to seek personal solace in honing their combative abilities, typically for those situations when Trouble comes looking for those who don’t want it, there are reasons the Commune consider’s Jaded to be exceptions to the rule.” Syrith spoke with his knowing look and the smirk that was almost a smile “He was wise, I’d say more so than many of the priests, but his wisdom carried weight and his soul has been tired of carrying that weight ever since the end of the plague.”

	“Where is he now?” Orpheus asked after another drink.

	A shrug of the shoulders “Who knows, he tends to move around now, he left Sardos at one point but could easily have returned.”

	The trio drank from their cups saying few words for the rest of the night before leaving and going their separate ways, even Caldos was surprisingly quiet. If any of the three noticed the man sitting on the other end of the tavern smiling ever so slightly as he watched them, occasionally drinking from his cup, they never said a word of it.


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## Black_Kaioshin (Nov 1, 2004)

Good stuff, Renfield.


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## el-remmen (Nov 1, 2004)

I haven't read this yet, but if I can give some advice.  Using paragraph breaks will make it a lot easier to read - and I know that a good number of folks will give up early if having to read something without breaks.  

Good luck with the story, and I'll be back!


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## Herremann the Wise (Nov 1, 2004)

Hello Renfield,

I really enjoyed this - I'm a sucker for a good patient story that rewards the reader. The lack of paragraph breaks didn't bother me at all, although I would still heed nemmerle's suggestion.

You have given the Naer Dess something beyond the mere stats that go with d20. You have given them personality and respect; I love this depth.

As for being a tad rusty, maybe so although the flow of your story runs very well in my eyes. All that is required is a little editting. I have started writing my first story hour and have noticed the difference between the first post and the fifth. Largely, the editing has become easier and less tiresome. I'll write something flat out then read and reread, edit and re-edit until it communicates what I want it to. Pop in and have a read if you are of a mind. Our writing styles are somewhat similar although I have gone for a slight tongue-in-cheek approach versus your patient 'tale to be told'.

Looking forward to future installments.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Ero Gaki (Nov 2, 2004)

Hello, Renfield. I liked the first installment of your story. Keep it up!!


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## Renfield (Nov 2, 2004)

Hey, thanks everyone!

Wow, didn't expect this many responces, guess I'll have to keep better tabs on this story hour than I did for my last two. Need to start reading more story hours as well as Black Kaioshin would tell me at some point or another. 

As for those paragraph breaks... well, once upon a time I wrote SH's in the SH blocks. I also multitasked by chatting with people and whatnot. Well, one day as I was approaching the end of a particularly arduous post something distracted me and I clicked on a link. It loaded in the EnWorld window I was using. Since then I've typed my SH's with a word processor, merely forgot I needed breaks seeing as it's been so long.

Should be posting again rather soon, and Herremann, I'll check out your SH sometime soon as well.

R


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## Ero Gaki (Nov 3, 2004)

So... are we gonna see an update soon? I hope so.


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## Renfield (Nov 4, 2004)

*Preludes 2: A Time for Peace and a Time for War*

Meldrith grumbled to himself as he rubbed at his aching back, the aging gnome had had a long trip and trains weren't exactly known for their comfort when one rode coach, but it had gotten him here faster than a horse and carriage might have and that was all that mattered to him. He stood on the broad city street and lifted his sizeable nose to skyward and inhaled the salty air. Galedorns capital city lay against the Silver Coast and was was an amazing sight to see on a beautiful day. A pity it had been cloudy for the past tenday.

The past rains however had left the air with a crisp scent amplified by the nearby ocean. His smile faded as he saw his destination. The Palace of Tears. A rather sobering name for such a grand and splended palace, however every country had a history, and Galadorn, as well as the other border kingdoms, had ones with a bit more struggle and tragedy than most. Building these lands to their present state hadn't been easy, much blood had been shed, but such was the way of the world.

Now another aspect of life and the world was going to be faced: War. 

The border kingdoms spent their lives defending the lands to the south from the hordes to the north. It was such that during the rare times of peace the soldiers, men and women both, were kept busy with training. They could never grow lax, the danger was far too great. Unfortunately it seemed that soon their attentions would be divided.

The gnome ran a hand through his stringy gray hair and covered his balding skull with his hat before picking up his small suitcase and began walking toward that imposing majestic symbol of the north. He chuckled as he noticed large winged shapes flying around the castle, the Gryphon Guards of Hallaran were here, which meant the delegates of the same land were here as well. Chances are he was one of the last... well, they would have to wait for him, especially if they wanted any assistance of the Long Patrol.

It was a longer walk than it appeared, the crowds were thinner at this time of morning but the streets were crowded enough, the gnome certainly preferred towns or villages to large cities. Though cities were fine enough to visit from time to time. The palace gates took their time getting closer to him and as he approached he reached into his jacket and removed a folded leather wallet and gave it to the guards to inspect before they could say a word. They were both tall, and both had brown hair, sometimes he swore every guard had brown hair, but whenever he voiced such opinions in would walk one with blonde or black. Well... humans were humans. The guard nodded and handed the wallet back to the gnome who folded it up and slipped it back into his jacket. The guards led him to a door and opened it for the gnome without a word, all for the better, this was not the time of morning for idle conversation.

He made his way to the designated door after getting turned about twice, he managed to get by without asking directions, he had been the best scout in his squad and was far too proud to ask for directions in a city, no matter how mazelike. Finally he made it to the large door, guarded by two considerably large men, then again all these damned humans were considerably large. They almost looked like they didn't need the sabres sheathed at their hips, or the pistols holstered at their sides, and the rifles shouldered looked like they had been used for violence a time or two. Galedorans didn't take security lightly, he could be certain their were sharpshooters eyeing him this very moment.

The guards looked at his pass and opened the door for him so he may save the dignity of having to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the high handle. He was short for a gnome, which helped him in his scouting, but still lead to annoying situations. Still, he was respected for his abilities, even halfling scouts took lessons from Meldrith.

"What do you mean they've crossed the Selgrid River!" a loud voice shouted as Meldright entered the room. "Don't they know that's a clear violation of treaty?" It was a circular chamber with a large round table within, on the table were a scattered collection of maps and charts, as well as carved blocks to show troop movements. The gnome had hoped, that somehow, some way, war wasn't as close as people thought. The looks on the faces of the rooms occupants cleared away every last glimmer of that.

If there was one thing the Border Lands needed, it was more war, let alone war with humans.

The angered speaker was one Bran Cardine. A good soldier, if a bit hot headed, his strategies hit hard and furious and held the philosophy of 'A good deffence is a damn better offence.' "Seems there's no more treaty then." Meldrith said with a dry chuckle as he hoisted himself into his chair. "Now, what did I miss?" 

A dwarf, mountain by the looks of his dusky skin and long beard decored with beads of rank, spoke up first. "It appears Allfather Ossrick is making his move. Arades forces have crossed the Selgrin and are making their way north. It appears more are following behind."

Bran tugged on one side of his handlebar mustache and cursed under his breath "They aren't holding back if they're sending the warrior scholars in are they, what of sects located within our lands?" at this a few other people began to speak as well as more.

There were a few others present. Lady Cara of Hallaran was here, they had actually sent their military leader, not just a delegate. She was a woman in her fourth decade however from the looks of her Meldrith imagined she seemed barely in her thirties, still, humans were humans, though she still had nice raven black hair that was oddly renowned of the populous demi-human and human alike of Hallaran. One of the few Gaian nations left. 

Along with her were some Dwarven representatives including Delgrith Stonebeard of Battleguard Hold. The grizzled veteran had fought many battles with the fell below the surface, and considering he was old by dwarven standards said much of his cunning and skill. Mountain dwarves weren't ones to take lightly in matters of battle and war. The wisdom of their age assisted as well. His head was bald, wether natural or shaved and polished the gnome couldn't tell, but it was his beard in which his beads of rank were strung. With him were a few other key figures of the dwarves though he was quite obviously the spokesman. Dwarves respected age.

Lady Cara had the captain of Hallaran's gryphon riders with her, some elf, rather grim by the looks of him. Of Galadorn there was War Marshal Geraden, a stalwart man who was rather liked among the dwarves, while he was certainly human his still at tactics was legendary, especially considering he was indeed barely in his third century. Quite odd for a human to be so competent when so young.

These were the people who held the most voice, the others were advisors or heads of other military units or branches and, oddly enough, a Naer Dess was here in counsel. No, not too odd. Allfather Osserick would spare no one who were not of the faith. Even those who were and fought for the north would be excommunicated and branded as a trator with the only mercy being a swift death. No, this was their war too, no matter how cloistered their community was. Now if only Meldrith could find out exactly what was happening.

"Will someone tell me exactly what's going on, unlike all you curs I'm stuck in the wilderness for months on end in a light forsaken keep directing patrols in catching the dangers that would come and bite you and yours in the arse." The gnome finally shouted above the din that had turned into a moderate roar. "We're military leaders not councilmen, let's try and show a little more competence." With that there was a hush and a few smirks here and there. Finally Car spoke up.

"As you know Osserick has been building up his forces since he annexed Sardos and Marendia." she said, the gnome nodded, the move had shocked many however the nations had swiftly worked out preace treaties and the like with the kingdom of Ismar in order to avoid further conflict, pity they had actually believed in them. "The church of light now has control of either kingdoms military as well as their own considerable forces."

"Such as the Order of St. Arades?" Meldrith said, St. Arades was the warrior scholor, originally a desciple to Azzel in life who eventually gained St. Hood for his works. His held two deadly combinations: religeous fervor and military might. Needless to say the order was very skilled and not one to be trifled with. Osserick had come from that order before becomming a Shepherd of the Inquisition and later gaining the highest rank in the Church of Light: that of Allfather.

"Yes, as well as the forces of St. Cordell and the Blood." the lady said in her well enunciated no nonsense tone. "They essentially have seventy percent of all the Churches military forces with fifteen percent staying neutral and the remaining fifteen percent fight with us." Grim news indeed, though Meldrith knew which orders would help, the Scholastic Monks of St. Berdine would likely lend what assistance they could as well as some of the smaller more contemplative sects. But the formost would be the Knights of St. Promethius. 

As competent as the Order of Arades was Promethius excelled. Take one soldier of Promethius and pit him against Arades and you could be garunteed the Promethian would win. Unfortunately Arades had greater numbers. The church was divided, the lands were at war after a good couple hundred years of peace, and so soon before Meldriths retirement too. "So, theirs is about as strong as ours..." the gnome mused aloud "However our forces are divided, we cannot focus solely on these damnable zealots but we also have the border to think about. The Fell would love to rain down upon us."

"That's actually why we asked you here." Geraden spoke up, his voice carrying a resonance of one who knew how to speak on the field and be heard without tearing up ones throat. "Our focus is divided, we've all fought the fell, church and country alike, however these are our brethren, be it of our church or of the nations from which our countries sprang. We need as much focus on them as possible.

"You are the head of the Long Patrol, you work with and know the customs of each of the border lands whild calling none your true home," damn them, they were really going to make him work for his retirement, Meldrith knew where this was going. "We need you to take over full protection of the Border. Officers of each land will be assigned to help direct those forces left to defend the northern front but you will ultimately be in charge during our war with Ismar."

Everyone was silent, waiting to hear what the gnome had to say, they were being subtle about it but after a fashion they were pulling rank. When the Alliance council came to a decision and made a demand one who was a part of that council could not refuse. "Allright then, however you're only getting two score of my Long Patrol scouts, Light knows you'll need them." he said at last. Damn them damn them damn them. He wasn't looking to be stuck in the history books, but it seemed inevidable, atleast once this was over he could retire and die in peace, preferrably somewhere warmer than those damn mountains.

Lady Cara smiled "Thank you Meldrith, Gaia grant you an even longer life you crusty old gnome." she said, damn woman still teased and taunted. 

"And may the Creators light fill your spirit in these dark times." Meldrith said in return. 


(allright, a little rusty as I'm still working some kinks out but I hope it satisfies your appetite until the campaign gets on it's feet.)


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## Ero Gaki (Nov 4, 2004)

Rusty? I found it an excellent read, actually. It was not bogged down in detail, and it didn't have too many run-on sentences. I enjoyed reading it, Renfield. Keep them coming!


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## Renfield (Nov 6, 2004)

For those who read about the Naer Dess and want to know the game stats for my core class healer/monk types. here's the link that's in my signature:  Naer Dess


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## Ero Gaki (Nov 13, 2004)

So, are we gonna get an update soon I hope?


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## Black_Kaioshin (Nov 13, 2004)

I agree!! An update should happen soon. Update! Update!


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## Ero Gaki (Nov 20, 2004)

Bump.


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## Renfield (Dec 15, 2004)

*An Update At Last, AKA: A Time For War... Preludes III*

*A Time For War... (preludes pt. III)*



	General Karsk stared through the spyglass at the assembling soldiers. Knights of St. Arades on their chargers, they were a clean and orderly bunch, decked in the blue and white tunics and cloaks emblazoned with the hawk of their order and lined with silver trim. Their armor, well polished and glinting brightly in the sun would inspire fear in lesser opponents, however border men weren’t ones to fear easily. They faced the monsters that their enemies have only heard of in bedtime stories to scare children into good behavior. Still, these were men, despite their cold demeanor and apparent unwavering discipline they were flesh and blood human beings. Most of the border men had never harmed another human being in any fashion greater than a bar brawl. They trained as much to fight them as the ghastly Fell as many Fell were surprisingly militaristic if not quite so orderly and disciplined.

The were arranged appropriately. The cavalry would charge in to break the lines, followed quickly by the footmen, they seemed to be lacking in high numbers of archers. Something he would normally be grateful for if these weren’t the warrior scholars of St. Arades. Archers hindered such men as more than aided. The number of footmen were low save for a unit of ground troops of the order as well. Karsk prayed to the Light that the council had defense plans well on the way, the Grand Marshal would only be able to delay the legion for a little while if Ismar was serious about invasion. 

The general looked about his men in their blue and white tabards, colors of the border region of Galadorn and the region of easiest assault as the foot hills of Aramyr and their strong alliance with the dwarven nation of Steelfast would be too great a thorn in Ismars side to try and deal with initially. No, they wanted the nation of Hallaran to fall first and foremost, the brightest star of the few Gaian nations remaining, the blow to soldiers morale would be devastating. Even the greatest army is easy pickings when their men are disheartened. His men, thankfully, seemed quite ready, they were a people who lived their lives ready for death, and not exactly pleasant death, to come to them. If anything they were angered, piss and vinegar was the term that came to mind, the one Karsks old Captain always brought up when Karsk was but a simple footman.

There was a rustle of movement off to the side and he noticed his men stirring and turning about, lifting his gaze his jaw almost dropped at what he saw, it made sense however he didn’t expect to see such a thing! Riding about either side of his line of pikemen were armored cavalry, not quite as heavily armored as those of St. Arades, no, these men needed no such extra protection, they preferred a little more mobility for their sword arms. These men came on in their bright tabards of red, orange and gold, a bright sun on their shields and a flame on their breasts these were the warriors of St. Promethius, elite of the elite, often those who could find no place further to climb in the order of St. Arades sought to enter the Promethian Order via their strict entrance exam. Most failed and returned to Arades feeling a little more in their element than before. 

This was indeed a welcome site to see. 

Their were but half their enemies number still, even with the new arrivals, however if anything they would make their foes call for further numbers to give their initial invasion a better chance after this battle. A man with three silver stars on his tabard approached. Gold was one of their colors for it’s resemblance to fire, silver was their true color, for in the north silver was often considered far more beautiful than gold, and when life is so potentially short one learns to appreciate beauty far more than wealth. Silver was also somehow attributed to peace, how was lost in the annals of history but ultimately the difference between the two sects philosophies was one preferred war and the wrath of the light of God while the other preferred peace and knew that sometimes, and only sometimes, war must be made to bring peace. Most of these men were trained since infants to be those warriors of peace.

Sidling up beside Karsk the stopped his horse and finally Karsk had a good look at his face. Their helms gave good protection though the face was left open for better vision on the battlefield. Some would consider it a fools gesture, they had never sparred, let alone fought, one of these men. War and knowledge were their life’s blood. The deadliest of combinations. The man had brown eyes so dark one could almost call them black, his beard was neatly trimmed along the jaw and his mustache came down to join the beard in a clean neat style. His posture was relaxed and ready like a viper knowing few were foolish enough to tread upon it’s coils. “Greetings General Karsk.” the man spoke in a soft voice that somehow carried easily to his ear. “I am Captain Bjornson, my men and I are at your disposal.”

“I would have thought the council would focus your order on more primary defenses than send you into a losing battle.” he said a tinge of skepticism in his voice. He knew the Promethean order would not side with those seeking conquest but were obligated to defend. One of the reasons the bulk of their order was in the North, no better place to defend. Granted their purpose of defense didn’t drain their talent at offense in the slightest. 

The man laughed, breaking his disciplined demeanor, the laugh of one who did as much in the face of death incarnate. “That may be my friend that may be. However orders have yet to reach our temple and while we could guess at what they would be we also knew the council would also want Ismar to know the border lands is not a conquest to be taken lightly.” at seeing Karsks brow furrow the man continued “You are a shrewd man. I assure you we sent only enough to give them need to pause and lick wounds. Not to hint at the true might of our lands.” with that Karsk smiled. The sun was shining, clouds were soft and white, brave men were ready to defend their lands their home,

 this was indeed a good day to die.

A horn sounded, the reinforcing cavalry moved off to the side lines where they might charge in after the enemy cavalry hit the front lines, another horn sounded, and war began.


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## Renfield (Dec 21, 2004)

*Finally....*

Allright, at long last I have my SH up. So here's a little summary for those interested. This here of course is the prelude to my SH, sort of setting the stage for the world. None of the characters presented are PC's though may make appearances as NPC's in the campaign and thus the Story Hour. Here you are. Enjoy.

 The Awakening: Eldritch Entropy


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