With Fire and Sword

[Pav]

Prologue,
Of Brimstone and Cloven Hooves

I turned sixteen years of age when it all started.

The onset of winter was felt during Eleasis, the month of High Sun. Travellers from the frozen, glacial northern realms of Damara and Vaasa, mostly refugees from the War with the Witch King, spoke of blizzards and storms unlike any they have ever seen in their lives - men five times my age, broken shells that barely survived the journey south, to Impiltur's rarely bothered corner of the Realms... they spoke of it in plain horror. Homes and castles buried underneath snow, whole hills and forests disappearing under a soft, white blanket, and the sun itself, Lathander's Light, blotted out.

Of course, us Impilturans waved it off, as we do any warning of danger - the horde of Tuigans that swept through Thesk, to the east? We paid little mind until the refugees came swarming, or when the Purple Dragons of Cormyr that came through with sour looks at our near-full garrisons. Only then did we finally pledge our armies to the cause, when the threat was so dire soldiers marched from across the continent to the aid of our forlorn neighbors across the Reach.

Us Impilturans are a stubborn folk. That was our undoing, in the winter of the Sixty-Second year of the Fourteenth Century to Dale's Reckoning.

The Triad - Tyr the Even-Handed, Torm the True, and Ilmater the Broken - had been the dominating faith in our kingdom for hundreds of years, since the time of Sarshel Elethlim. Their temples and monasteries dotting the land as frequently as farmsteads. Ilmwatch, a fortress city entirely dedicated to Ilmater, on our northern borders, kept the realm safe for as long as it existed independently, from barbarian incursions and other such wayward threats. Their grandest, most monumental centre, where all the leaders of the Faith convened, was the Temple of the Triad in Sarshel. As the most holy and culturally important centre of our land, it is ironic that it all started there.

The clergy had become corrupt, and careless. Some whispered that the arch-priests could not even command the powers given to them by their gods any longer, with how self-serving they have become, and how they shifted the entire Church along with them. Of course, this was not true to all followers and men-of-cloth or steel, not even the majority,
 but such was the way, and the cancer spread. Slowly, but surely, the Temple of the Triad became nothing but a name.

We did not care, at first. The Triad's tenets have been ingrained in our culture for as long as it existed; other deities were reserved to the rebellious, or to the fringes, or for lip-service and nothing more, but... we simply did not care, or seem to give it much mind. "The priests will do as the priests will do", my father always said. "Our role is to follow the creed, theirs to perfect it." The infamous stubbornness, once again.

When the snows fell a whole two months earlier than usually expected, they did not come alone. The men and women of Sarshel had all witnessed the strange lights emanating from the Temple at night, but none spoke of it. They lit up the sky from dusk to dawn, dancing malevolently, in a myriad of colors. This went on for but a tenday... I was only sixteen years old.

~~~

A private yard, surrounded by all sides with the walls of an inner city estate. A mother called for her children, a girl, and a boy, both barely of age, both with haystacks for hair and with the green of olives for eyes; glittering smiles as they break off their sparring with wooden swords and head for supper. It is a light jog to the dining hall, with teasing prods, light laughter, and the amused looks of servants following them where they went.

Sweaty, they sat down with their parents for their daily gathering - these days, the one time a day they got to see their father out of armor. A Knight of Tyr and a Nobleman of the Realms, his moustached smile always made his children's days a touch warmer, a touch brighter. Their mother stayed at home, to manage the household and the twins. All at the table had the same haystack hair, the same olive eyes, and the same bright demeanor reserved only for the well-to-do.

Their exchange of pleasantries lasted only so long, before an unnatural sound shook their home - a quake, and an eruption. Something exploded, not too far, and panic within the house ensued... then came a roar, so unholy and powerful it caused their ears to bleed. The servants ran to and fro in a hazy swarm, unaware of what to do. The father took charge immediately; the household guard was called, and they all marched out, together, to find the cause of the sudden screaming, and the sounds of battle and bloodshed.

~~~

Sarshel, my city, my home, came ablaze one night. My father, a righteous, giving man, had joined the fighting the instant he had his wits about him, he and all our men. I wanted to go with him. I had the desire, the will, to put myself to the test against whatever enemy came to disturb our quiet lives. To defend my people, my family, to stop the madness now raging through every street and alley, but I did not know just what struck us. If I knew at that moment, I would have ran and hid.

Like a coward.

~~~

The three had ran and barricaded themselves in the upstairs solar, keeping as quiet as they can. Questions came from the children, to which their mother had no answer. A low, rumbling sound, came from the window, and without warning the glass shattered. Something snaked its way inside, a sort of dark gray that nearly mingled with the late-dusk sky. It took a collective gasp out of all within, and the boy ran for one of his father's swords.

It was as tall as a human, when it finally stood, though it was almost skeletal in frame. A sort of horn grew from its nape and over its head, and it had four talons on its near-black hands, and two talons on its bent feet. It wagged its jagged tail, and chittered, speaking in a harsh, though awfully pleased tongue unknown to anyone else in the room, as it slowly moved toward its prey, two women paralyzed in terror.

~~~

I had never felt the sting of encroaching doom so vividly in my life, as I did that night. The people of my homeland, the commoners and refugees and farmers... they felt it every night, with the usual woes of those that lack privilege in all the Realms. Roving bands of highwaymen, hobgoblins; a forest spirit, or two; and more mundane hurts, like starvation, or disease.

Fear and instinct ruled my thoughts.

~~~

The boy charged, angling the gold-gilded weapon to strike at the creature's side, to drive it deep - his plans were thwarted by a smack of the thing's backhand, sending him onto his back where he struggled to stand. His sister cried out for him --

~~~

I saw it happen. I knew it would, but I still denied it. I closed my eyes and wept, shrieking against that crime. I can only hope the pain did not linger.

~~~

Grabbing his sister with unnatural elasticity, the creature tore at her like one would tear parchment. Innards and blood spilled, and the terrified screams of agony and grief came from more than one place. The boy stood, finally, to at least save his mother --

~~~

She died. That creature was not there to eat, it was simply there to kill, and revel in mindless slaughter. It was not there for any other reason but conquest and bloodshed. What personal motives, other than those, could emit such gleeful laughter?

~~~

...But it was already too late for her. With a lightning-fast swing of its unassuming tail, the woman was impaled, gurgling blood and choking on whatever words she had for the being's would-be assailant. In that regard, it was a small mercy.

The boy drove his sword where he first aimed it, those scant few moments ago, moments that seemed like a passing eternity. His enemy bellowed in pain, a horrible, grating sound, and skittered out from where it came, the sword still lunged in its side. He wept, then, given company only by cadavers.

~~~

My whole world collapsed in front of me in less than a minute's passage. I sobbed, uncontrollably, for many minutes more; then came cohesion.
I swore at the Triad, and their priests. I swore with all of what was left of my voice, cursing them with as much ferocity as I could muster, and with as much vulgarity a soft boy could bare. It mattered little.

A host of demons crawled out of the Abyss and into Sarshel, that evening of Marpenoth, the Month of Leafall.

~~~

Even when his cries subsided, the sounds of a battlefield came from the outside, from the city. He collected himself, with great difficulty, and dragged himself out of the estate. His father was still somewhere in the city, and he had to stand by him against this evil.

He started running, his vision blurred by blood - when did it get there? When he fell, earlier? It did not matter, now. All around him were scenes of carnage he had to avoid; market stalls toppled by rampaging dog-like creatures, doors broken open by swarms of creatures that appeared as fat, malformed children, and a similar creature to the one he faced before, pulling apart a young woman in an alleyway.

He could not stop for any of them, and he would not stop for any of them. All that matter was the last of his blood still breathing, somewhere in the city...

~~~

I never truly understood, before that night, what it will mean to inherit my father. I was being groomed to become a Knight of the Triad, of the Even-Handed, just as he was, but the teachings never really pushed through my thick skull. I wanted to enjoy life, to make out of it the most for myself and the ones I loved, not be bound by shackles to the duties of a justiciar.

But that was not all that made one a man of God.

~~~

A rundown courtyard behind one of the breweries by the docks came into view. It was littered with debris, the once beautiful marble statue of a mermaid was broken in half, no longer spouting water, its pieces laying in a dirty, bloodied pool. A group of three knights, with their swords aglow with the righteous gifts of their gods, were mostly unarmored and without their shields. Yet, they fought against a horror the boy could equate to the stone mermaid - except, its lower body was that of a snake, rather than a fish, and it held sabres in every single one of its six hands. Though it had two sabres to each sword, it was being pushed back against the wall of a nearby building, slowly but surely, their onslaught unrelenting against a creature three times their size, against a creature born of the most primal of evils.

The boy had seen his father spar before, and indeed, sparred him himself, but when his features came into view, he could not believe that it was the same man. The ferocity of his strikes, and the bright shimmer every time his sword struck flesh nearly gleamed off of his eyes, his visage set with determination, his seemingly sole purpose to destroy the fiend.
On they went, for what seemed like many minutes, but eventually the creature succumbed to its wounds and fled back whence it came, dissipating from sight. The knights were not without their injuries, each scrambling to heal each other's' wounds with what little magic they still had to control. A sudden shadow covered the courtyard, and all looked up.

A huge creature with skin the color of dull red flew overhead, its enormous bat wings flapping with thunderous booms. Its horned, dog-like head sneered at the scene, with eyes alight with fire, it dropped down, causing the very earth to quake underneath their feet - the boy fell onto his back, once again, his breath knocked out of his lungs, and finally, his father managed to notice him. The boy heard his name being called, and the scuff of giant hooves. He managed to look up, to see the fiend stare directly at him. He was now like his sister, and like his mother, when that creature crawled through the window - terrorized and frozen, his eyes widened with disbelief.

The creature drew its weapons - a sword, and a whip, both coming to life with fire from the Abyss, the sight engulfing the glow coming from the holy weaponry held by the knights behind it... but not for long. The three charged, in unison, as the demon was distracted, and though it noticed their approach late, it was not late enough. It cried out when the sting of their swords came through its ankles, then turned to face them with the same ear-bleeding roar they all heard before.

It swiped its weapons, aiming to kill while they were disoriented - one knight was charred by a blazing strike of the whip. The boy heard his name being called, again - he was being told to flee. But he could not. His father was still fighting!

The second knight fell, cut asunder by a sword twice his size. Enough time passed that the boy was hearing and seeing things more clearly - his father was ducking, bobbing and weaving beneath the thing's feet, slashing whenever he had a free moment to move his arm. It was a futile effort, and only served as an annoyance to what was without a doubt,
 the leader of the incursion. Yet, still, he did not relent, calling again and again for his son to escape.

~~~

I did not understand why he did not flee. I could not fathom any reason for him to stay, after his companions were butchered in the blink of an eye by the most terrifying being I have ever laid eyes upon in all my journeys. Somehow, he kept heart, and kept fighting, and to this day, it serves me with an example - a reminder that duty-bound men are the only thing to keep the world around us from shattering into pieces.

~~~

The boy finally found his will, and stood, fleeing the courtyard and leaving his father behind, to struggle against impossible odds. He went as fast as his legs could carry him. The city still smoldered, and the hour hadn't even turned since the first sound of conflict, though it suddenly grew... silent. Eerily so, for a few still moments - then came another of the roars. Not one of defeat, or of declaration; but rather one of victory. A triumphant shout to shake the city, and the looming shape now flew off to the north. Chittering, skittering, and other, smaller, flying shapes, followed in its wake and dispersed in all directions of the land, some even flying out to sea.

It seemed that Sarshel was, for now, safe.

The boy ran back to his father.

~~~

It has been a long ten years. There is not a single day where I am not haunted by the sights of that evening. They were all certainties, all ringing fresh and hurtful, and no questions accompanied any of them. Fates were sealed, that night, for the whole of the city, and for the whole of the realm.

There came the question of how they appeared in the first place, and that was answered nearly moments after. The roof of the Temple of the Triad was shattered and collapsed, as if something burst out of it. The Temple itself was littered with debris, blood, and corpses, and it was no longer hallowed ground. An artifact, thought to be Narfelli in design, was found in the chambers of one of the Arch-Priests - it brimmed with malevolent, latent energies, and it was conceived that the incompetent mishandling of such terrible magic brought the allies of Old Narfell back into the Material Plane. It was as best as people got to an explanation, and the Triad lost a good portion of its credibility, for the first time in centuries. People turned to other gods - Lathander, the Morning Lord, Sune Firehair, all had representatives in the region, and now those numbers were swelling by the day. More sinister cults had sprung up, in the sewers, in abandoned forts, and on the edges of civilization. While the Triad remained the dominant faith, it never held the same splendor and prestige again.

It took nearly a year for the combined forces of the land, with the aid of capable mercenaries, and the devout priests and knights of all faiths, to cleanse out the demons from Impiltur. That winter, that savage, relentless winter, had lasted just until midsummer, when the host's leader was finally confronted and toppled, confirming everyone's suspicion that it was an unnatural, vile thing, taken out of the Frost Maiden's control. All acted with methodical precision, and the process was relatively swift, yet pleas for help went ignored. None came to our aid, as we had always stubbornly kept to ourselves. Such was the price of our decadence, the price for our selfishness.

Yet, one thing remained a mystery to me.

~~~

The boy ran back to that ruined courtyard, his breath coming in ragged bursts that were barely complete. He nearly collapsed, steadying himself on the debris of the mermaid statue, then as the moments passed and he caught his breath, his eyes scoured the area.

There was no victorious, moustached man there, and there was no corpse, either. Not in the alleyways near, not in the streets, nor the docks. For the entire night, he and the City Watch searched all of the premises of the city. They found naught.

When the Heralds declared his father dead, the day after, the boy buried his mother, and his sister, said a quiet word of blessing, and as the new Lord of his House, he abdicated his titles and returned them to the Queen.

~~~

I do not know if my father is dead. I hope he has died in battle, and not carried off by that fiend to be toyed with until it was brought low by the Warswords. It seems unlikely that he survived, but my own stubbornness, my own blood of Impiltur, denies that I am the last of my blood.

My name is Elkhas Theanskyr, firstborn of Heinar Theanskyr, Knight of the Realm, Knight of Tyr, and firstborn of Talia. Brother to Samina, and a man of Impiltur.

I vowed never to return to Sarshel, that night, a promise I broke on many occasions for reasons I cannot fully explain. I had set myself on the path to bring myself some satisfaction over the events of that night, and now serve a God that would sponsor my whims with a delicate touch. I cannot end the Blood War, and erase the Abyss from the Cosmic Wheel, but I can certainly bring as many of those creatures as I can under my heel. There will be nothing standing in my way, and all will be spent on my own conquest of the dark.

With Fire and Sword.

[Pav]

I have been asked a very interesting question, from various different individuals over the last few weeks I spent in these Lands of the Mists. While the land itself is embroiled in darkness, light dots the horizon, in brief flashes of hope for those that would look and listen, and in such an environment these lights can only shine bright.

However, for those that came from home, my brothers and sisters of the Realms and of the Cloth, this light is hard to see. It is clouded, oft, by the silence that enshrouds our minds.

"Has your Faith wavered at all?"

Such an interesting question, to me. We cannot hear the voices of our Patrons, our Lords, in this bleak and detached world, that much is true. None of us can. In a sense, the local priests have a blessing in disguise, that their Gods have never spoken to them, but to us it should be a universally harrowing experience. Yet I, do not feel this void.

No, I cannot even begin to describe the incredulity I feel when I am faced with such questions. It is true that we are all mortal, and all prone to mistakes, and doubt, though I am led to ask why one would take up the Cloth, should he not be able to stand such duress. Why one would take up the Cloth, if they are not so full of devotion, so as the silence of their Lord hurts them so.

My Lord walks with me wherever I go. He is in my memories, in my blood, in the very bone. What makes me an Impilturan of the Times, makes me His devout. What has made me turn away from the Triad, from a lineage of Knights and Priests of Justice, is what made me turn to His dogma. When I remember my sister, my mother, and my father, I remember that which guides me, and His silence becomes a whisper, then the roar of thunder in my heart.

My soul is full of zeal and conviction, and so it shall remain until the end of days.