These are the written Chronicles of Corvin Aegerfeld, Priest of Torm.
Foreword :
I have heard it said that the summation of a mans life can be read within his actions and deeds. In honesty, I have never agreed with this line of thought, for in mine mind it is the wisdom and legacy he leaves for his children that defines him most. Over the years, this has become a source of foul irony to me. I will never know the truth of what befalls my own children, and whatever wisdom I have accrued in this accursed land I now find myself within will never reach their ears. Perhaps, given the environment in which I have found myself thrust into, this is for the best. Yet I cannot help but be troubled by the lack of legacy I am leaving to my children, and thus I chose to put to pen these words, in the thin hope that someday my story might pass unto them.
This is the story of my life, penned in those rare opportunities of quiet Barovian nights. It is the tale of my time before the mists took me, and after.
I.
I am Corvin Aegerfeld, a priest and devout follower of the great god Torm, the Loyal Fury. I was born in the Torillian Kingdom of Cormyr, within a small, remote farming village known only as Heartspear. It was by far a simple place, little more than a closely knit series of neighboring families. Few troubles ever touched that calm little hamlet. I myself was born as the second son of Anna and Tobias Aegerfeld. My parents had a large family, as most among that region tended toward; practically a small clan of our own right. I was one among five brothers and seven sisters, and we were prone to mischief, the lot of us.
It was that mischievous spirit that proved the eventual downfall of my elder brother, Bronn. Never content with what we had, and eager to see the world, he left our village as soon as he reached the age of majority. Less than a two year later, word was given to us that Bronn had become a murderer, with a price upon his head from the Crown. I still remember the anguished look upon my fathers face, as he listened to an outrider of the Purple Dragons, reading us the writ of bounty. I had never before nor after seen such a look of shame upon him.
I was, I will admit, filled with youthful idealism and a foolhardy desire to see things set right once more. I pleaded with my father to grant me my own freedom to go forth and forge my own path in the world, and win back our family back its pride. Tobias refused me for many months, until at last my relentless begging, coupled with my mothers urgings; made him relent. With best wishes and few possessions, I set foot into the world, hopeful and intent toward one purpose.
Since the my childhood days, I had been deeply enamored with the Golden Griffons, the knighted order in service of Torm. In my great eagerness, I thought I could simply stride forth, join the order, and change the world. Hindsight, that cruelest of realizations, shows me I was aspiring far beyond my station. My origins and lack of any formal training made me a poor candidate to become a Knight of that vaunted order, and the priests of Torm deemed that my service would best be served in simpler yet equallly important clerical duties. I was disappointed at the dashing of my childhood dream, but still determined not to become yet another failure in my fathers eyes. For six years I served dutifully as a temple acolyte, learning the arts of healing and divine teachings of the Loyal Fury. After this time, at the age of twenty four, I was given my first true duty, to spread forth the word of Torm in the farthest reaches of Cormyr, the trade city of Arabel.
Arabel, though, proved to be nothing like anything I had ever expected. I served as best I could in that turbulent city, and I had many adventures that a simple farm lad never could of expected. The ruling trade houses of Arabel had deemed that religious tolerance was to be practiced within the city confines, to further help promote the one thing that mattered greatly to Arabel, that being profit. The result of this was that cults of all manner of foul deities had sprung up, some daring so much as to speak forth commonly. It was a battle for souls, in Arabel, as much a trade as the coins that passed hands each and every day. It was a battleground for theologies.
For myself, countless times I came into conflict with the more verbose minions of the god of death, Velsharoon, and fought against them with all I had. One of them in particular, a man named Aborlyn Ruha, was always the most outspoken and lethally antagonistic of my opponents in Arabel. Many were the times we declaimed one anothers faith, and equally many times did we face one another in combat. I have never been able to ascertain for certain, I believe the man once even went so far as to call down the Hand of his dark lord to curse me. Fortunately, he met his eventual demise at the hands of War Wizards, but his ilk ever remained.
It was in this troubled state of affairs, that several of the true faiths found themselves equally vexed. Eventually; along with the Priest of Lathandar known as Oriseus, I formed a secretive alliance, the so called “Unnamed Council” between all the goodly priests of Arabel to work together against that which threatened us individually. Together we combined the Justice of the Holy Triad, the Light of Lathandar, the grace of Chauntea, even the grim duty of the Kelemvorites into a cohesive and thoughtful council of equals, willing to defend the city, albeit quietly.
In my time the Unnamed Council helped fight off many threats both within and without Arabel, but the worst day we faced was when the city common broke into riots against the local Embassy of damnable Thayvian Wizards. Mobs attacked the embassy, perhaps with righteous reason, but the bloodshed that the wizards would of wrought upon them would have been an unholy massacre. Myself and other members of the Unnamed Council joined with the City Guard at the gates of Embassy, holding back the mob in a shield wall. In my nightmares I can still remember the angry shouts and howls of the throng, while shadows danced from the flickering flames of their torches.
In the midst of this, someone, I could not even dare say from which side, fired an arrow. It was the spark that set off the mob of commonfolk. They howled in maddened fury, and charged against us, brandishing whatever crude weapons were at hand. As they came against our shields, I reacted purely from training and instinct, and struck down two men with my morningstar before I could even think. This remains the single worst moment of my life, my greatest sin, and my greatest failure. The two common folk I had killed were simply farmers, men with families, incited into riot by foolish Tymorran priests. Never did I live down that moment, even when the City Council later “absolved” me of blame. It mattered not, for it could not change the deed I knew I had committed.
The Unnamed Council failed, that night. The crowd broke through, with some of the ill-fated City Guard even rushing to join them. The Red Wizards responded exactly as we had known they would. In a single, massive, torrential explosion of fire and death, they destroyed their own Embassy, the mob inside. Hundreds perished. We carried the dead, the only task left us, until dawn. That day I renounced my position as one of the leaders of the Unnamed Council. I had far too much to atone for.
Time passed, and I continued in my duties, though the youthful eagerness I had once felt had hardened into a grim, mournful spirit. It was in this time I first met the sweetest of elven women, my beloved Kiara Crystalline. Having never known any elves beforehand, I was quite honestly enchanted by her disarming smile and easy grace. Over time, as we talked and I came to know her better, I felt certain I was in love with her. But Kiara was engaged to another elf, by the name of Sinsane Duskflower. He was a dangerous one, Sinsane; marked by the Unnamed Council long ago as a cultist of Cyric. A taut series of standoffs between the myself and Sinsane occurred, with dangerous conflict brewing each time. In my heart, I despaired, for although I deeply loved Kiara and wished to see her safe from this fiend; I honestly did not believe she could ever bring herself to love a human. At last, though, Kiara chose between us, and to my great amazement and greater bliss, I learned she had chosen me. After three further years in Arabel and many more adventures together, we wed, and at last returned to my home village of Heartspear.
Kiara and I lived blissfully upon the Aegerfeld family farm, constructing a small homestead and quickly beginning our own family as well, having two sons and a daughter. My little darling daughter Elissa, and the cherubic boys Abin and Jasper; became the light of my life. If ever this book comes into any of your hands, know your father loved you with all his heart. I would of given anything to see you grow up, to watch you set foot into the trials of life. Now, I can only beg you forgive me, for what must surely of seemed my abandonment. And Kiara, my beloved, I pray that in your long years you find happiness.
But returning to the tale I set forth to pen, those years as a family were the greatest of my life. Once more I was helping on the farm, just as in my younger days; beyond that I had even taken up duties as the local priest and healer. For once in my life I was content, even given the sins I had committed the night the Embassy burned. With Kiara and the children, everything had possibility, and the future was a star just beginning to shine. Our life was peaceful and happy. And then… and I curse this day, now… I made a final trip to Arabel to check upon old friends. On the trip home I found myself within a strange bank of mists, and taken into a world far from all I had ever known or loved.
