# A Paladin's Heart



## LostSoul (Oct 28, 2002)

Following is a story written by one of my players, journal style, about an adventure that focused on his character.  (We had played once without him, so I thought I'd focus on him this time.  The other regular PCs were replaced with one-shots.)  It's about a Fighter's discovery of his Faith, an emotional adventure, and the grim fate that waits for us all.


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## LostSoul (Oct 28, 2002)

from Theron's journals...

            It has been two weeks since we came up here, up to the summer cottage on the Thyrikian Plateau.  It’s been two weeks of waiting for the inevitable.  Nothing has helped.  No one we’ve seen has been able to do a thing to help her.  Now all we can do is wait, but what fills my head with greater terror is what I will be called upon to do after the waiting is over. 

            It is this horrible waiting that eats at my nerves, and so I thought I should write instead.  It is a distraction and, in these quiet moments between the heaven of her eyes and the darkness of the thought of her life’s twilight, every distraction is welcomed.  She is asleep in the next room, her breath still coming out in rasps and wheezes, and I am here, searching for where to start.  But where to begin?  I am not a performer like Lahad, or quick with words like Artellan, all I have is the simplicity of what I feel.  Maybe that is the best beginning point of all; start at the beginning and hope the rest falls into place. 



            The beginning.  The beginning for me is not in birth, but in death.  Only in death did I learn why I was born.  Only in death did I understand my purpose.  I died to my old life and was born to a new mother, but not one of flesh and blood.  But even that is saying to much, claiming something less than what I saw.  Was it a mother?  Was it a father?  Does it matter?  When the universe stretches out before you and you see infinity merge with eternity, it is all that I could do just stay sane.  Sometimes I wonder if I have? 

            That is when my faith carries me.  I have a duty to do, a purpose to fulfill; God has decreed that the end of my life is not yet.  In short, it is when I doubt that faith sustains me.  But where does that faith come from? 

            I don’t know.  

            Before a troll nearly ripped me in half, I was ruled by a bloodlust that controlled my actions.  All I wanted was to kill.  And all I wanted of immortality was a name people would not soon forget.  But I was already dead; I was walking in a body, but my soul was dead.  And then . . .  Some times I wonder if that troll wasn’t some heavenly guardian in disguise.  

            Then.  How do you describe the indescribable?  I remember light without light, warmth with no feeling against my skin.  I remember . . . peace; it was an odd feeling, one that I had not felt in a very long time.  Had I ever felt peace?  If I had, it wasn’t like this.  I simply was: no expectation, no fear of the future, no conception of time, no fear that I would fail and die in a gutter somewhere.  I simply was and was content in that feeling.  It was peace. 

            From within (or was it without?) a voice called to me.  A voice formless yet full.  It said, “Where are you?”  Not knowing who or what it was I answered; “Here I am.” 

            It called again; “Where are you?”  Again, I answered with no understanding; “I am here.” 

            A third time it called; “Where are you?”  This time the revelation hit me with the force of a thousand thunderbolts - I was lost.  I did not know where I was.  But I was not lost in my body; I knew that it lay bleeding on the ground somewhere far away, but closer than I knew.  It was not my body that was lost, but rather my soul was lost to myself.  I did not know who I was, so how could I know where I was.  I was lost, and the only hope of finding myself again was to heed the voice that called to me.  

            “Where do you come from my child?”  the disembodied voice asked.  I was not so impetuous in my answer this time.  I knew the question was not one of birth or travels, but where was it that I, my lost self, truly came from. 

            “I do not know.”  I answered.  Humiliation at the recognition that I had fallen so far threatened to engulf me. 

            And then, from out of the void a hand appeared; a radiant, glorious hand that I somehow knew was only a image created for my benefit.  That if I were to see that ‘hand’ uncovered in all its glory, that I would be burned by the sight. And my body, so far away, would be destroyed as well.  “Then I will show you,” the voice offered.  In that moment everything washed away and I learnt more than I could ever have in a hundred thousand years.  

            Perhaps, someday, if I am allowed by God in the course of time, I will put to paper what I saw then.  But not today.  Today is not the day that that revelation is revealed.  All that I will say is that in that vision I saw all that was, all that could be, and knew, through it all, that I was loved.  I learned what is changeable and unchangeable in all things.  I learned who I was, where I was, and where I was going.  I was no longer afraid.  God would be with me in all things and that was enough. 

            When I awoke to my bodily existence I found myself in a monastery.  How God provides! 



            I continued to adventure and travel with Artellan and Lahad, but my mind was troubled.  I knew such peace, I merely wanted to exist in that peace, so why was I bringing death to others?  I feared that all I had seen was for naught, and that I had learned nothing.  I had seen the web of life, the wonders of life, and here I was taking life - was I forsaking everything that God had shown me?  Then, again on the brink of death, the Spirit called to me once more. 

            Once again, safe, secure, at peace, I was taught the true nature of the world and where my duty lies.  My purpose was strengthened, for what I am is a warrior.  It is my duty and purpose in this existence to fight without fear.  To fight to preserve the universal order and to fulfill the higher purpose of maintaining my duty to which I was born for.  

            I was taught that I presume too much when I believe I kill another.  For who can kill an immortal soul?  Upon death the soul shirks off the shell of the body to travel on its way.  As I do not kill the soul, so neither do I kill.  The span of life is already known by God and in following the proper course of conduct and duty, I am a instrument for an eternal purpose.  Everything has already unfolded, all that I can control is my reaction and my will to follow duty as best as I can. 

            When I once again returned to the world of the living, all my doubts, all my fears had shrunk away.  I was, and am, an arrow springing from the bow - no hesitation.  I know my mark, my purpose and my place.  I knew all that I needed to live, truly live.  But still one vision was left at the doorstep of death, the greatest of them all and that which from all doubts and uncertainties flee.  As a gift of God, I was granted a sight that surpasses wonder.  The veil of my eyes was lifted and I saw to who I was speaking. 

            I saw in that form countless visions of wonder: eyes from innumerable faces, numerous celestial ornaments, numberless heavenly weapons.  The Infinite was facing all sides, all marvels in him containing.  If the light of a thousand suns suddenly arose in the sky, that splendour might be compared to the radiance of that Supreme Spirit.  And I saw in that radiance the whole universe in its variety, standing in a vast unity in the body of the God of gods. 

            There is more, by now is not the time.  I would need the guidance of God to speak of God’s glory, and that moment is not yet here.  It is those visions, though, that give me the guidance to faith to weather the storm that life brings.  It is the rich soil on which the roots of my existence are founded.  Without my faith I would be dead, or as good as.  Before I used to live my life in hesitation, but now . . . 

            Nows change.  A storm of doubt assails me; why the Lady Cassandra?  All that anchors me to this world is my belief in what I have been shown.  Without that belief . . . 



            After the visions, after my new birth, the course of fate drew me on its never-ending path.  I fought, as is my duty, with no desire for reward: for while it is my choice to fight, the outcome has already been determined, so why claim reward for something that was not yours?  To claim that victory as your own, to say it was I who did those deeds, leads to an arrogance and pride that does injustice to the true Maker, Creator, and Sustainer of all.  I am but an instrument, acting as my duty calls to further His creation. 

            Despite all that, I will admit it came as a surprise when the trail of our foe turned to Thyrik.  I do not know why the surprise.  If evil and disorder have a home it is Thyrik.  Thyrik - a city of thieves, cutthroats, and murders.  A city of vice where wealth and position only signals a change in the magnitude of the crimes being committed against their fellow creatures.  At the docks a sword is drawn openly, and a throat slit.  But behind the walls which the wealthy erect, plots are hatched to cut the throats of entire families in their sleep.  Blood seeps along the streets.  But for those who can afford it, the blood never stains there hands.  

            I know.  I was there.  I let the blood run so others could sleep easier.  

            Thyrik.  Once it had destroyed my heart to the ways of God, leaving bloodlust in its place.  I thought I would never see its shores again.  I prayed I would never see its shores again.  God had other plans. 

            We followed chaos to its nest in Thyrik, sailing over the sea that separates that foul land from the rest of the world.  And then I saw it; the grey, sickly spires reaching up in mockery to the heavens.  The air began to burn my lungs with hellfire from the foundries and chimneys eager to burn up the entire world.  I had returned to my earthly home of so many years.  I only prayed that if I were to die here it would be with honour, standing tall in my duty to the Almighty. 

            Dreadful portents of death and destruction were all around us.  The forces of chaos threatened on every side.  Through it all Lahad walked bravely, not a trifle of wavering in his step.  Artellan, too, with his dark magics, became stalwart and firm in his resolve.  But the reason for their steadfastness was fear: if they failed here the world would be plunged into darkness and destruction would reign. 

            It was then I realized how different I was from my companions.  And in the twilight of that moment I knew I could never dare speak of that difference.  They told themselves they were fighting for light and goodness, but they were fighting out of fear.  How feeble a reason is that?  How sad an excuse to save the world? 

            No.  The simple truth, that I would never utter in their presence, is that we did not save the world.  If we had failed, if the unmovable hand of Fate had decreed that instead our blood would stain the stones far beneath the city, then darkness would have spread its hand across the surface of the earth - but not forever.  No, others would have risen in our place, they would have taken up the fight.  They would have fulfilled their role and done their right duty.  And when the universe was satisfied, then the oppressive weight of darkness would be lifted.  No, nothing lasts forever: not this world, not this entire plane of existence, not even the possession of my own soul.  All that truly is, and will forevermore be, is the One whom I follow.  

            That is where my courage lies: not in the ultimate victory of light, but in the fact that darkness will never finally prevail.  That in the Universal Dissolution at the end of time, that all things will be eaten up in the mouth of God.  That only God will remain, and so only God truly, eternally, is. 

            What need have I to tell the story of our march into the gates of hell.  Others will tell the tale better, and so I leave it in their capable hands.  I leave the story of blood, sewers, the threat of overwhelming darkness, death, destruction, and our ultimate, albeit temporary, victory to others to write.  

            I did what I did for I could do nothing else in the face of what we fought.  Lahad fell.  I picked up his enchanted sword.  And the angels fought for me.  I surrender the victory back to the one who gave it.  I can do nothing else. 

            I hear a stirring in the next room.  The Lady Cassandra awakes.  Life stops.  I can give her a moment of comfort and so the gates of hell themselves could not bar me from her side.  I will write again later.


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## LostSoul (Oct 28, 2002)

She sleeps again, in the next room, never far.  So, I pick up the pen again to distract myself, to find my way home again. 

            Why is it that, though I can face down an army of winged denizens of hell with not a single fear of doubt in my heart, yet at the plight of one young woman doubt enters my mind?  A raging giant could not make my limbs quiver, and yet at the thought of her innocence, and the death she is to face, my body trembles.  I should accept what fate has offered, but can I? 

            I remember how it all started, so many weeks ago, how the Lady Cassandra entered my life.  At the time I thought nothing of it.  How was I to know the effect her life would have on me? 

            As I said, it all started plainly enough.  We, Artellan, Lahad and I, had vanquished the evil that laid under the city.  We were resting in a series of well-furnished rooms in the sewer, healing from our wounds and preparing for what might lay ahead for each of us.  On that night Lahad had gone out doing . . . whatever it is gypsies do at night.  Artellan was busy in the next room, in his own false heaven of scrolls, tomes, and other magics.  And I, I was getting sick of the smell of the sewer.  Picking up my cloak I left the fetid smell of the sewers for the putrid smell of what passes as Thyrikian air.  

            Walking on those cobbled streets, I remembered back to younger days.  Though the ruddy complexion of youth coloured them, they were not pleasant memories.  I walked further into the night, alone with my thoughts and the embrace of my God.  Drops of refreshing rain began to fall on my face, awakening me to my surroundings.  The freshness of rain - the only thing that can wash away the foul odour of that festering wound of a city. 

            Raising my head to the rain, a movement caught my eye.  I recognized the walled homes of the rich neighbourhood that I had wandered into, on one of those walls dark shapes were scrambling over.  There was something sinister about those shapes, not the least of which was the familiarity of their criminal movements.  I approached the wall. 

            As I enquired as to what they were doing, one of them made the mistake of drawing their sword.  I needed no more convincing as to the illicit nature of their activities.  Drawing my own blade, or rather the hard won blade of an enemy, I waded into battle.  Two strokes of my sword and two bodies lay broken and bleeding on the ground.  I knew many more dark shapes to be within the compound.  

            Yelling, and running to a door set into a wall, I awoke the house beyond into action.  For the next few moments there was a flurry of activity: weapons clashing, chests being opened, people dying.  One thief even managed to make it back up to the top of the wall, before an axe buried itself into his heart.  

            In the rush of activity, I was finally granted admission into the walled compound; my aid before and voice providing proof as to which side I had fought for.  After several more moments, I learned what the thieves had been after: a young woman, the lady of the house.  It was then that I also met two bodyguards of the lady, Andre and Mok. 

            Fearing for her safety and health after having almost been  abducted, I found my way to her chamber.  The woman lay on her bed wounded and ill, the pale spectre of life threatening to disappear entirely from her body.  The possibility of her death, after her recent rescue, galled me.  That could not be, it must not be.    And somewhere deeper within myself I realized it would not be.  God would not let it. 

            Led by the surety of my faith, I laid my hands on her cold forehead, sweeping back strands of hair that had fallen there.  My other hand, unconsciously, was on her stomach.  I prayed that God would be forgiving that night.  Then, a miracle occurred. 

            I could feel the power of God in my hands.  I could feel the healing that they delivered to her body.  As I opened my eyes, I watched as coloured returned to her cheeks and her eyes fluttered open.  And what eyes they were!  A deeper blue I have never seen except in dreams of angels.  

            The moment was all too quickly broken by others asking of her welfare.  The room being occupied by her bodyguards, not to mention a stranger, her eyes quickly opened wide.  Odd, it was the first time that I noticed she was wearing only her night gown.  She quickly blushed and sought to cover up.  I, too, blushed and looked away.  I, a warrior, a bringer of order and death, blushed in the presence of a woman.  It was an oddly pleasant feeling. 

            The master of the house soon arrived, to check on his wife so he claimed; I would counter that and say he came to check on an investment.  He was an older, lumbering, brute of a man, and I will confess that when I watched him embrace his wife, watched as she cringed in that embrace, a part of me wanted nothing more than to plunge my sword deeply into his body and rescue the lady from the agony of the life I saw etched in her eyes.  It was a sore temptation, but God gave me the strength to overcome. 

            Before leaving her to her rest, she bade me return to see her before I left the house.  Turning from her door the Master of the house, Lord DeWinter, thanked me for my assistance.  It was an empty thanks in more ways than one.  I would have done what I did regardless of his praise or rejection - I wanted nothing from him, not even his thanks.  I knew his type, weighing the world, every transaction with every individual, in a scale of checks and balances, always hoping to come out ahead.  His wife, the Lady Cassandra, was just one more piece of his scale to balance.  I could see it in his eyes, recognized it in the eyes of others; she was not even a person to him. 

            I wandered downstairs into the sitting room of the house.  Andre and Mok were both there as well, discussing what to do about the apparent attempt on the Lady Cassandra’s life.  Much discussion was had: in the end it was agreed that after I had left, one of them was to leave one of the prisoners escape, in the hopes of following him back to those who had hired them.  I was to wait outside, then Andre and Mok would join me and we would follow the man back to his employer.  That was what was agreed to, before I left their company for the night. 

            I returned to the Lady Cassandra before leaving the house.  In truth, the armies of the underworld could not have stopped me from that task.  She was still recovering from her misadventure that evening, a pale pallor to her complexion.  It was only later that I was to learn that her paleness was not from fright.  And yet, there was a undeniable strength in her eyes that belied her slight frame.  We talked of innocent things as people who are eager to know each other are wont to do.  Then, as I prepared to go out to my post in the pouring rain, she asked if I rode and if I would like to join her for a ride in the morning.  

            I was only too eager to say yes.  In truth, I was eager for an excuse to see her again.  Perhaps she was too.  I quickly agreed and bounded out into the night.. . . 

            . . . Where it was that I waited a good many hours being rained on.  Perhaps an hour’s time would have been appropriate for Mok and Andre to wait before releasing one of the captives of the house.  Two, and, while my feet would have grown cold, I would have borne it with more ease.  But after what must have been over HALF THE NIGHT, I will confess - and pray my God forgive me if these thoughts are wrong though - that I began to entertain dark thoughts towards the Lady Cassandra’s bodyguards, Andre and Mok, I had meet earlier in the night.  

            AFTER finding myself, drenched, freezing, weary, and companionless (neither Mok nor Andre appeared at all the rest of the night) a lone figure stole away from the house I was watching.  Painfully rubbing the circulation back into my cold muscles, I followed the shadowy figure.  Alas, I was not stealthy enough (as perhaps was ordained by God at the start of creation), for the figure soon realized he was being followed and took steps to avoid me.  Soon he was lost to the night - imagine that, someone lost to the night in Thyrik. 

            I returned to the house in the morrow’s morning.  After having a few words with Andre and Mok, I went in search of the Lady Cassandra.  I found her out by the stables, grooming a great bay stallion.  I know little of horses, I will freely admit, but I doubt whether I have ever seen its like in my life.  It was raised in the great plains of Maigne, the Lady Cassandra told me.  It had been a gift for her from her husband.  It sight seemed oddly fitting - an incomparable stallion, and an unrivalled beauty.  She lent me another horse from the stable and soon we were riding away from the city, out onto the plains. 

            We rode for many hours, talking about nothings, just sharing the company of the other.  Those were moments of joy that were destined to me since the world was created.  I thank the Holy One for those memories and will treasure them always.  We rode to the summer cottage that she retreated to when the opportunity permitted.  Up here, in the cleaner air, colour seemed to return to her cheeks.  She almost seemed to dance as she showed me through the house, returning to the kitchen and busying herself there preparing a meal for the both of us.  The lady of a wealthy merchant house of Thyrik preparing a meal for a simple warrior, and yet she seemed to take such simple joy in it.  May my joy come as simply.  

            All too soon we felt the call of return beckoning us back to Thyrik - me, to hunt out those who would do her harm, and the Lady Cassandra to run her house.  There was no fear of impropriety between us.  She is married, and though unhappy, is loyal to those vows.  And for me: I would not act against my God, and those bonds are stronger than any that might be forged in earthy fire.  We returned to the city, a promise between us to ride together the next morning. 

            I met again with Mok and Andre, preparing to uncover the heart of transpiring events. Andre had played the part of the turncoat, though he was not completely above suspicion himself.  Regardless, my future lay ahead and I followed to where Andre was to meet with the man who had organized the attempted kidnapping: left-hand Mack - ‘left-hand’ being a Thyrikian term denoting the fact that he had killed someone for money. 

            Before Andre’s arrival, Mok and I carefully situated ourselves in the bar to be of assistance in case things went badly.  As we were dealing with killers and thieves, it seemed wise to expect the worst.  I watched as Andre was led into a back room, and it seemed as if no sooner was the door closed than the sounds of combat erupted.  I did what I could and our foes were soon defeated, though Andre had been a little over-zealous in his efforts.  With a mighty blow he decapitated left-hand Mack before we could question him as to his role in the kidnapping affair.  

            In Thyrik kidnapping is rarely a game for base criminals, but is rather played by those in a far higher station in life.  That was why, I do not know if they were aware of it or not, that Andre and Mok had been able to find employment as bodyguards for a merchant house. 

            Despite our failure with left-hand Mack, Mok soon found another trail.  There had been a dark cloaked figure in the bar who had quickly scurried away when the fight was joined - a figure that Mok seemed curiously obsessed with.  As we had no other leads, and as I saw the hand of God guiding us in this endeavour, I followed as Mok weaved his way through the streets tracking a trail only he could see.  The trail ended abruptly at a city wall, seeming to disappear beneath it.  The stench of evil befouled that place moreso than the usual Thyrikian stench. 

            A bush through which the tracks appeared to travel turned out to be nothing but an illusion - like much of the world.  Guided by the inescapable hand of fate, we quickly descended into a dark passageway beneath.  Finding only one way forward in the darkness, illuminated only by a few torches set into the wall, we made our way to a single chamber.  The floor seemed to writhe in the darkness, the sad shapes of several small dogs and cats kept in cages on one side of the room. 

            Soon we found out the floor did writhe with the movement of hundred of snakes.  We found out when a hideous snake-like abomination appeared out of the gloom.  She was soon followed by two half-human, half-snake creatures, who descended from their own crevices in the wall.  Hurling curses and strange spells, they threw themselves at us.  Andre went down somewhere behind me, the victim of the snake-like creatures’ foul sorcery.  Even in that, though, the hand of God was not far removed.  He had been transformed into a peerless snake - a match for the hundreds that threatened us from the floor. 

            Mok leaped into the fray, attacking one of the humanoid creatures.  And I, I laughed quietly at the absurdity of these creatures.  Wading into the room, feeling the coarse venom of many snakes, the strength of my faith allowed me to ignore bites that might have crippled others.  The battle was short.  Magics flew, snakes died, as did their masters - as if there was any other possible outcome. 

            Rescuing the puppies and kittens from a dire fate, we corralled the snake-form of Andre into a bag.  Knowing Artellan’s dark power, I brought him this changed snake and with nary a thought, the accursed magics were dispelled - Andre was himself again.  But something still didn’t seem quite right about the situation.  

            I returned with Mok and Andre to Lord DeWinter’s house and we pondered our next course of action.  As I expected, the master of the house barely paid us any heed; he had returned to his world of greed.  

            While there I checked on the Lady Cassandra.  When I entered her room, she seemed paler and weaker than she had been this morning.  This caused me great concern.  While it was known amongst her servants that she suffered from some ailment, it was unclear from what.  She bade me speak of my adventures and I told her of them as simply as I could; fearing for her health if I told her in detail the horrors we faced, but fearing a rupture in our friendship if she were to discover I had not spoken the truth to her.  I inquired into her health, and what was the cause of it.  She was uncertain, but did recall that it seemed to have been brought on by a snake bite she had received one evening when she was preparing to sleep. 

            My concern grew.  I feared a connection between the great snake-beast we had fought in the darkness and her present condition.  Time, that implacable foe, has proven me right, though I wish it had not.  I prayed for her then, calling out to my God and asking that a healing hand be placed upon her to remove whatever foul disease afflicted her.  Before my eyes her colour seemed to return, as did some of her strength, we were both greatly relieved by this event - we did not yet know that her sickness would return. 

            Her sickness returned.  Was it a failing on my part that caused this return?  Was the purity of my wish tinged with temptation?  Did I seek, in someway, to accrue the reward for her health upon myself?  Or was this simply meant to be, as avoidable as the rising and setting sun?  This question perplexes me, robbing me of sleep in the night.  I examine myself, my mind, and I cannot see where I went wrong, what I might have done differently.  Perhaps . . . perhaps this was meant to be - a most difficult test of my faith.  I believe, and so that must be enough. 



            I returned the next morning and, though paler, she still seemed better than she had been.  We rode for a few hours in the joy of each other’s company before returning to the world. 

            I met with Andre and Mok again.  In the course of the day we were to learn a terrible secret - the husband of Lady Cassandra, Mok and Andre’s employer, was a slaver; that was the reason for the attempted kidnapping.  As proof we were taken down to the docks at night, to the merchant’s warehouse.  We watched as cargo was placed onto a ship: a most human cargo. 

            My rage was kindled and fanned into a flame.  Some might suppose that rage is not seemly to one devoted to God - they would be wrong.  True rage - a righteous rage that devours the self into a holy instrument - is a gift of God.  It was in such a mood that we were ambushed.  What’s more, the one-eyed man was momentarily with them.  He made himself known, though I would have known him regardless, by yelling out; “I told you, you wouldn’t be rid of me that easily.” 

            Nane, the name of the one-eyed man.  Nane.  I have already made this vow to the heavens, to the universe, to the order that sustains all life, to God, but writing it down here and now brings added weight to this oath.  If he is brought before me again, brought within the reach of my sword, I will bring the world a measure of relief by killing Nane, or else die in the attempt.  It is a most solemn vow. 

            Returning to the events of that night, I wonder if those that stood in front of me realized they were being lead by the hand of destiny to increase the population of the underworld?  They were caught in the terrible mouth of God and gnashed to pieces.  I pray that those cut down entered the gates of heaven that night, with no fear in their hearts as they were cut down by my, Mok’s, and Andre’s blades and magic.  

            They could not stand before us, that was sure, but a greater threat loomed in behind them.  The boat that contained the human cargo was quickly finished being loaded and slipping its moorings.  It could not be allowed to slip away.  Heedless of life, embracing duty, we flung ourselves aboard the ship.  The crew fled before us; after all, they were sailors, not warriors. 

            We went below decks to where the would-be slaves were being kept.  I quickly started smashing open that which would restrict their freedom.  Still, there was an ominous presence on-board.  A dire presence of evil, as if I could sense it radiating from the stern of the ship.  I was not proven wrong.  

            Exploding from one of the crates was another coiled snake abomination.  It spat and cursed us for killing its sister, vowing revenge.  

"You should not have come here, Giant-Killer!  And you should not have brought the Slayer!  But you shall not avail.  The one you serve is weak.  I shall show you true strength!  True power!  Now you shall pay for destroying my sister!" 

I can only assume it was referring to the other hideous human-snake we destroyed under the wall.  It launched itself at me, eager to devour me, casting its dark magics in my direction.  Suddenly, the world went dark.  But his sister, too, had tried this same ruse, and I was ready for it.  As my companions sought to fight this beast, I quickly doffed my shield and flung it out a porthole and into the ocean.  The world was light again. 

            Perhaps, in that moment, I was throwing away more than just a simple shield.  I had carried that shield as a burden, though I knew it not.  I cared it hoping that one day I would paint on its surface a symbol of my faith.  I had not realized what a weight that search had been.  More than that though, as I drew a simple silver dagger, I recalled the other me who used to fight with a weapon in each hand.  He, too, was a part of me, and in that moment he found his way home, brought under the fold of God. 

            Blades slashed and whirled, the creature could not touch us who were under the hand of God, and snake beast soon fell.  Yet, in its dying breath it smiled, claiming that we could never kill it.  Anyone who had been touched by the breath of the snake’s servant could serve as a new host for its body.  As it died, we were witness to this fact.  The eyes of one of the captive slaves shone with a new malevolence, his voice that of the snake. 

"You cannot win." 

            I have never been a wise man, have never claimed that for myself.  All I can claim is faith, and a desire to root out evil.  But my actions were also motivated by another desire.  I now knew who had infected the Lady Cassandra, and I wanted no more than to return to here.  So . . . I threw the snake out the porthole, drowning it in the process.  I left Andre and Mok with the task of attempting to save the life of that fell creature, as I raced back to the Lady Cassandra’s house.  There was no change in her condition. 



            And that is the end of the story.  Well, not quite.  There is a grave chapter yet to be written: for those who have suffered the snake’s bite slowly become the half-human, half-snake, mindless abomination that we fought under the city wall.  I searched everywhere for a remedy or a cure for the Lady Cassandra’s condition - all for naught.  Slowly, in front of my eyes, she is wasting away.  Worse, I see traits of that other form slowly growing within her. 

            So, here we are.  It has been two weeks since we left the city to stay in the summer cottage she brought me to on that first ride.  Here we while away the time, enjoying the few restful moments in each other’s company.  She has told me much of her self and her life.  She was to have been a scholar, but her parents, in debt, sold her into marriage.  There are moments when I can still see the scholar in her words and her actions, but they are growing ever rarer.  

            I have administered the last rites as best I can for her, prepared her soul for her new journey.  She, for her part, has given me her horse and made me swear to ride him to further the cause of good.  I will do so as long as God allows my sword arm to swing for the cause of duty.  And so, we wait for the inevitable. 

            It seems strange but the horse, Arenval, seems to sense the sadness as well.  It sounds odd to my ears, but I find comfort in his presence.


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## LostSoul (Oct 28, 2002)

It is over.  She is dead.  So, too, the snake that finally overwhelmed her.  Last night I lit her funeral pyre and commend her soul into God’s hands.  The funeral pyre.  A Thyrikian custom.  I am leaving this island hell as soon as I am able. 

            Thyrik.  May I never see your shores again.


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## LostSoul (Oct 28, 2002)

DM's notes:

This was the "Mount Quest", a little overdue for the 7th-level Paladin/4th-level Fighter.  The bad guys in question were Yaun-Ti, the result of a demon who possessed people through the poison in his bite.  Theron's attempt to Cure Disease failed because of this, where a Dispel Evil would have succeeded.

The game really worked for Theron's player; not so much for the other two, but they had their own adventure the week before, so it was okay.  

I had intended for them to talk with "left-hand" Mac, but a critical hit when you're sitting at low single-digit hit points doesn't make you too talkative.

Here's a link to the miniature pictures of the game.


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