Of Compassion and Steel: An Ilmatari's Tale (A work in progress)

[docmartinst]

The sky is always black.

For as long as I can remember, my dreams have been troubled. They do not come for me every night, but when they do come, I am less than helpless against the visions.

I stand in a meadow, the grass stained with the blood of countless battles. My breath hangs in the frosty air, and the stench of decay pervades my nostrils, almost overwhelming my senses. I can feel their hot breath on my face, the back of my neck, against every patch of bare skin my armour does not cover. The most horrible creatures I dare not record, but I am surrounded by a host of lesser evils. Werecreatures, Dark Fey, countless mindless undead. Vampires, and warriors clad in black.

And I am afraid. I am shaken to my core.

The sky is always black.

I fight. I always fight, and I always die. I am overcome by the innumerable fiends, the fetid black, and the fear that grips my heart. A face hovers close to mine as the last breath escapes from my lips. It is a hairless face, with black locks that hang low over it's features. I can barely make out the fangs as they lower themselves towards my neck, but I can smell the stink of undeath. Just as I feel the tips of the elongated canines brush against my throat, I awaken, covered in a cold sweat that chills me from head to toe.

And the sky is always black.

[docmartinst]

My birth was nothing to tell stories about, I am told. There were no Lunar or Solar Eclipses, no storms, no significant anniversaries marking the day I was born, and certainly no prophecies. I was as normal a little babe as there ever was. My father was a textiles merchant with a knack for tailoring, and my mother was one of a hundred archivists in the grand city of Suzail. I was expected to take over my father's business whenever I was old enough, although I was never really any good at brokering deals. Truly, had the business been in my hands, we'd be bankrupt within the month. But I wasn't bad at tailoring, even though I hated it with a passion.

When I was seven summers old, my entire world changed.

My mother had died. Violently, as I learned later. Although I was too young to truly understand what was going on, I saw the change in my father. He no longer smiled, let alone laughed. The house fell into disrepair, and his neglect of me grew with each passing day. I would show up for my lessons in the previous day's clothes, my face unwashed and my hair unkempt. It was not long until the local authorities stepped in. The guardsmen took me from my lessons, and told me I was going away somewhere I would be taken care of. We arrived at the temple to Ilmater, where I was put in the care of Father John Mullahay. When I close my eyes, I can still see his smiling face, feel his hand on my shoulder, hear him whispering in my ear that everything would be fine. But I was a child. I did not hear his kind words, did not feel the genuine love that the kind old man had fostered me. I was shaking in absolute terror from the time I arrived, to the time I went to bed that night.

That night, in that holy place, I first had my nightmare. The gnashing of teeth, the ripping of my flesh.... I almost died of fright, I am sure. My screaming awoke Father Mullahay, who rushed into my room, holy symbol held aloft and a fire in his eyes. Had I not already been hysterical, I imagine the sight of his holy wrath would have sent me into a screeching madness from which I would never have recovered.

His gaze softened, and he wrapped his arms around me, almost like my mother had. I sobbed into his tunic as the sun began creeping over the horizon, revealing the effects of my terror.

My hair had turned stark white.

[docmartinst]

To hear Father Mullahay tell of it, I was a terror in my youth. Not a week went by that I wasn't dragged by my ear to the temple by the truant officer, or that I was sent home with a bloodied nose from picking a fight at school, or was caught sneaking into one of the many burlesque houses that dotted the city of Suzail. Every time I committed some small misdemeanor, Father Mullahay would take me into his tiny living quarters and sit me down in the high backed chair facing the fireplace. He'd put on a pot of tea, and then the lecture would start.

I'll admit that more than once, I fell asleep during these lectures. Father Mullahay never seemed to (or pretended not to) notice these lapses in consciousness, as he was fond of speaking while facing the window outside. It was not the grand view one would expect to enrapture a holy man. I had looked out that window many a time, and saw nothing but the slums where the temple was situated.

In any case, I would be sent to my room after I promised to never do whatever it was that landed me there, again. For years this was the routine, until one day, just after my twelveth birthday, Father Mullahay did not tell me to go to my room until supper. He told me to go to my room and pack my things. I imagine, had I not been half asleep, I would have understood what was going on. Unfortunately, that was not the case, but I did what I was told anyway.

The most difficult part of this, I think, is that my sister Ana'Sytry, begged Father Mullahay to let her come with me. I have not spoken of Ana in over fourteen years. Nor written of her, either. I suppose if you're reading this, I'm dead anyways, so there shouldn't be any more secrets.

Ana was two years my elder, and was more prone to lecturing me than Father Mullahay, if you can believe it. Still, I loved her as all children love their older siblings. Father Mullahay eventually relented, and told us that we would be sent off to live at another temple, one that followed the doctrine of the Golden Cup. The old cleric believed that a few months of back-breaking work would curb my... mischevious tendencies.

The journey did not take long, and when we were situated in our quarters, we were immediately put to work. Ana'Sytry was to help out in the kitchens, and I was to tend to the needs of the sick and wounded within the hospital there. Not as a healer, mind you, but as a sort of servant. I changed the sheets, I brought food, water, and medicine to the infirm, and scrubbed anything and everything that needed it.

I had never been in a hospital before, to be honest. Most of my bumps and scrapes and bruises over the years had been tended to by my mother, and then by Father Mullahay. I knew little of death, and of sickness, and of infirmity. I did my best to push it from my mind and tend to the work I was given, but my mind always came back to that little girl in the blue dress....

I never knew what had happened to her, nor did I even know her name; But she was taken into the temple with a terrible wound on the back of her head. Looking back, the damage looked to have been made by a mace, or a club. Who could do that to someone? Who could do that to a child of three winters? The healers told me to leave, that I did not need to see... but I couldn't go. I don't know why, but I was rooted to the spot.

Had the priests been at the temple, they might have saved her. If I had known then what I do now, *I* could have saved her. I watched them work for what seemed like hours, but it was to no avail. That little girl died there on the table. Without her family... alone.

It broke my heart.

[docmartinst]

Not long after the incident with the little girl in the blue dress, I decided to go for a walk in the forests around the temple. This was strictly forbidden, but I always seemed to find a way to sneak by the temple guardsmen and venture out on my own for an hour or two after the day's work had been completed. It was just after the first snow, and the world was covered in white. A breath-taking sight, for a boy who had lived in the city for most of his life.

Of course, the snow made everything look quite different than in the summertime, and I soon found myself quite lost. I must have walked in circles for hours, with a blizzard rolling in overhead. I took refuge in the ruins of an old keep, staying just inside the doorway for fear of going deeper inside.

I had been out there for over four hours when I heard Ana'Sytry's voice being carried over the wind. At first I thought it a trick of the mind, but when it drew closer, I went outside.

And there she was... she had come to rescue me. I broke into a run to get to her, tripping over snowdrifts and my own feet to get to her. I curse myself for my eagerness now, for in my haste, I awakened something best left sleeping.

They poured out of the ruins, their decaying purple flesh stretched far too tightly over their sinewed forms and wicked teeth. They ran after me on all fours like apes of some sort, cackling and hissing promises to suck the marrow from my bones.

I looked back at them and tripped, screaming, into a snowbank. I tried desperately to claw my way back to my feet, and I am ashamed to say that I wet myself in terror.

Suddenly, I felt strong arms jerking me to my feet, my sister screaming for me to run. She pulled me through the snow covered brush by the hand, shielding me from the stinging snow and whipping branches with her large form. Ana'Sytry had never been a small girl, in fact, her weight was a source of constant torment by some of the children we had gone to school with. In that moment, however, she ran like the hordes of the abyss were chasing us. In my mind, they were.

We burst into a clearing, and she threw me in the direction of the temple and screamed for me to run home before taking off in a seemingly random direction. I know now that she was trying to lead them away from me, but I ran anyways.

She hadn't even gone twenty paces before they were on her... Gods how she screamed.... I couldn't stop myself from looking back. They were laughing.... those damned ghouls were laughing as they tore my sister apart.

When I finally made it back to the temple, I was in a state of shock. It took the elders almost an hour to get a single word out of me. After I told them what had happened, they formed a party to hunt down the ghouls and lay them to rest.

They returned six hours later, bloodied, and battered... But "there was nothing left of Ana'Sytry", they said in hushed tones to the elder while I listened by the door. There was nothing but a few scraps of flesh and fragments of bone.

The healers described my condition as a mental breakdown. But I didn't see it that way. I threw myself into my studies, into my work, and demanded that the warriors of the order train me. It took some convincing, but they eventually relented. I assume they thought I needed some sort of outlet for my emotions.

I would never be helpless to save someone again.

[docmartinst]

Father Mullahay got himself transferred to the Order of the Golden Cup after my sister's death, feeling somehow responsible for the tragedy that had occured. I of course didn't blame the kind old priest. I had been the one who had snuck off into the forests. There was no one to blame but me. I tried not to dwell on this, keeping myself busy with my duties in the temple, my training, and my studies.

By the time I turned twenty years of age, I had been granted the rank of Paladin. For those not of the Triad's clergy, I suppose some clarification is needed. The Term "Paladin" is used to describe any person who has been knighted by the Church, while a Paladin as described by other faiths instead are granted the title of "Temple Warrior". I know this has caused some confusion since I've arrived here among those not familiar with my faith, but I hope this will help dispel that confusion.

By the time I had completed my initiation, the Goblin Wars were starting to consume my beloved Cormyr. Having a sense of patriotism, I enlisted myself as a Medic against Father Mullahay's wishes. Due to my having already received training, I was immediately put under the command of Captain Seymour Jackson. The Captain was a bit of a war hero, having lead countless successful missions against the horde's supply trains and halting their advances all over the country. At the time, I considered it an honor to serve under him.

As a member of Jackson Company, we were regularly put into what the Captain called "The Shyte". Many of the battles resulted in high casualties, as the brutality of the Orc and Goblinoid hordes was evident in their refusal to take prisoners. Still, it was a very rare occurance for the Captain to signal the retreat. I first thought this was due to over-confidence, yet another mistake that I will forever regret.

The true reason became apparent during one of our longer patrols along our western flank. We came upon a small orcish encampment along a small stream. It was far too small for a war camp, so we simply assumed it was a scouting party for a larger force. The Captain gave us our orders, and we prepared for the attack.

No Prisoners.

We descended upon them like locusts, bolts and arrows loosed, swords held high. It was a slaughter. Within minutes, their fighting force had been laid low. All that remained were the old, the young, the sick, and their leader. The Captain ordered me to execute their chieftan, and I was all too eager to comply. These creatures were beasts, savage things that deserved what they were given.

I raised my sword, and brought it whistling down. I had shut my eyes as I swung. Partly because I didn't wish to see the gore, and partly so that his evil blood would not get into my eyes. The cry I heard as my blade struck true was not the deep throated growl of a beast. It was too high-pitched, too fearful for an orc chieftan. I opened my eyes.... and my heart quite nearly stopped beating.

The orc chieftan was still on his knees, seemingly unharmed, but covered in blood and gore. Draped over his form was a small figure... a child, obviously of orcish blood.

Gods, what had I done?

[docmartinst]

A year passed. Not quickly, as one would guess in times of war, but achingly slowly. My Lord Ilmater had judged me on my conduct, and had punished me accordingly. I had heard, that when a Paladin falls, his powers are stripped from him. This was not so, in my case.

My powers still functioned perfectly, but utilizing them had... side effects. Were I to use the healing touch, wounds would open up upon my own body. If I blessed one of my comrades, I was similarily cursed. The wounds would heal rapidly, the curses fading quickly, but still my suffering persisted. I could no longer feel *His* hand guiding my movements, or his light filling me with joy. I was a cursed, wretched thing.

The captain bestowed upon me a powerful gift in the form of a scroll, to be used in the unlikely event that he were to fall in battle. The Spell of Ressurection was a potent one, to be sure, but I secretly feared the effect it would have upon my mortal form were I to cast it.

My fears were confirmed the day we stumbled upon another orcish encampment. This one, did not appear to be a war-party at all. In fact, it looked to be more of a nomadic tribe of herdsmen. The Captain did not care. To him, they were naught but more savage beasts to be slaughtered, more notches upon his sword.

He gave the order to prepare for the assault. These people had only precious moments before the patrol would descend upon them and slaughter them to the man. I would not be part of this again.

I grabbed my thunderstone pouch at my hip and threw it as close as I could to the encampment. The deafening cacophany was too far away to cause any real harm to the inhabitants, but more than startling enough to cause them to run away from the encampment and into the surrounding forests.

Thankfully, my action had not been noticed by my comrades, who were far too busy huddling over the the Captain as he drew a map of the encampment in the dirt. The Captain was thoroughly confused, but ordered us to charge and block their escape. The company was fast, but not nearly as fast as the inhabitants of the encampment, who disappeared into the underbrush like fey creatures of some sort.

So the Captain amused himself with his second favorite passion (the first of course, being the wholesale slaughter of orcs), looting what remained in the village. I refused to take part in the activity, simply watching as my comrades got themselves half-drunk off of orcish mead.

A cry of surprise roused me from my brooding, and I turned towards the source of the noise. It was the captain, but he was not alone. Held aloft by the scruff of it's shirt, was a young orcish man, who looked to be barely seventeen winters.

The captain threw the orc onto the ground, unslinging his bow and drawing an arrow from his quiver. I could not hear his words, but I could read his lips, and see the cruel glint in his eye.

"Run, little orc"

The youth did not need to be told twice. He took to his heels with a speed that might have impressed me, were I not so dumbfounded by the situation. He was taking off south-bound, directly at me. I moved a few paces to the left, planning to let the orc boy pass without molestation.

Just before he would have reached me, I heard the tell-tale *Twang* of a bow string. Time slowed to a crawl as I turned back to look at the captain. He was smiling... smiling in a way that no one should ever smile when they are taking another person's life.

At that moment, I saw him for what he truly was.

My head whipped around just in time to see the arrow collide with the back of the young orc's neck, the arrowhead ripping through soft flesh and tearing apart bone with equal ease. It burst forth from his throat, and the young orcish warrior fell forward onto the ground. It didn't take medical training to know that the boy was dead.

I rushed to the boy's side, my knees sliding across the dirt as I furiously tore into my satchel. I heard the Captain call out to me to get away from the boy, but I ignored him as I found the scroll just where I had left it. I felt the impact of an arrow thud into my breastplate, but it did not penetrate my armor entirely, so, again, I ignored him.

I raised my hands to the sky, uttering the words written upon the scroll in the celestial tongue. I then placed my hands on the bows heart, whispering the final syllables of the incantation... A moment paced... two.... I could hear the thundering footsteps coming closer as the captain rallied the troops onto my position.... Then I felt the young warrior's chest rise with breath. I was overjoyed, but my elation was short lived... The backlash from my curse coursed through my body, burning my skin, and much of my hair away. I was thrown backwards onto the ground, my flesh charred and unrecognizable. But yet I lived... My last conscious thought was one of satisfaction as my damaged eyes caught the blurred image of the orcish boy rising to his feet and taking off into the underbrush....

And then all was black.

[docmartinst]

When I finally awoke, I lay upon the rack. A crude torture implement that had once been the holy insignia for my church. Darkness swam before my eyes and I could hear words being spoken around me, though I did not undestand their meaning. When my vision finally cleared, I could see Captain Jackson before the rest of our unit, decrying me as a traitor to the crown of Cormyr and to Azoun himself. My blackened flesh chaffed and split beneath the iron cuffs that held me fast against the rack, a hacking cough escaping my lips.

He turned to me, and took hold of the lever that controlled the tension of the device. He cackled like a mad man and gave it a savage turn, sending a torrent of pain throughout my entire body. I am not ashamed to say that I screamed as the device twised and pulled my already ravaged body apart.

"Renounce your treason, heretic!" He spat at me, his eyes full of hatred and malice. They were not the eyes of a soldier, but that of an animal. Although it pains me to write this, I admit that I called him a string of things that were quite unpaladin-like. He responded by cranking the lever another few notches, my skin splitting from the pressure.

I was delirious with agony, crying out to Ilmater, to Father Mullahay, to Ana'Sytry... But there was nothing, save a field mouse who had scampered up onto the torture device and regarded me with curious eyes.

For what seemed like hours (my sense of time was skewed, it could very well have been minutes), he continued his torture, stretching me, slamming an iron bar against my ribs, always making sure to dribble a healing potion down my throat when it seemed I would soon pass out. Yet the fieldmouse stayed where it was despite the noise, never taking it's eyes off of me.

I didn't break. I wouldn't. I would not renounce the act of mercy I had shown that boy. I knew I was going to die, but I would die a Paladin of Ilmater, not as a broken, mewling thing. That boy deserved more than an arrow to the throat.

And then.. I felt it. Something I had not felt in more than a year.

I craned my neck upwards, to try and locate the source of the sensation, and instead of the field mouse, I saw a face staring down at me. It was a kind face, but beaten and broken. He smiled at me, and I knew. I don't know how I knew, I simply did.... I could do nothing but smile back.

((OOC Note: For more information on what occurs next, please see the article on Ilmater in the Forgotten Realms wiki under Appearance.))

My entire body was bathed in a gentle light, my aches and pains washed away in the sensation. I flexed my arms. They felt powerful indeed. The iron bonds holding me seemingly burst of their own accord, and I silently hopped off of the rack with the same ease as you would slip out of bed in the morning. "Repent" I whispered. Although I had intended for only The Captain to hear, the looks of fear and surprise I received in return from the crowd intimated to me that they had all heard my whispered words.

The Captain, being the vile creature he was, instead drew his blade. But I could see his fear. I could taste his evil stench.

I will not write down what happened next. To do so would be crude, and boorish. Suffice it to say, I walked out of that encampment and into the forests while The Captain's corpse lay there smoking on the ground.

I walked for hours, until night descended upon me. The forest path grew misty, but still I pressed on. Soon it was so thick I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, but still I pressed on. My senses grew as cloudy as the air around me, and I must have missed a step and fell.

When I awoke, I found myself here, in this accursed place.

[docmartinst]

It has been too long, Journal. Too long indeed. So much has happened since I last wrote. Much of it I dare not speak of, but there are other events of a personal matter that I feel would be safe to write about. I suppose the most pressing matter on my mind is Tatiana. I don't know what to say about what happened between us. For a while, I thought that perhaps I had done something. It was only through Serafim and Grevis's guidance that I realized the truth. There wasn't anything wrong with me. Nothing at all. It wasn't something that I had done. Tatiana had made her own mistakes, and broken our Promise.

Ilmater, I will never understand women for as long as I live.

As much as I want to hate her for her idiocy, I simply cannot. To be sure, I was hurt. I would even go so far as to say I was murderous (not towards her, of course, but it is a failing that I am embaressed of). She has made her decision on the matter, and I have made mine. As much as it pains me, I don't believe I can ever take her back. But so long as I live, I won't ever stop loving her. She holds my heart, and I would give it to no other.

Lady Serafim has been troubled for some time. It was confusing at first, since she didn't wish to speak of it to me. This in itself was troubling, as we've had no trouble talking to each other before. My confusion was put to rest, however, when I was present for a macabre reunion between herself, and creatures of the plane of shadow. After they had gone, she told me why the were seeking her. It was a tale told in confidence, and I treat it as her sacred confession. Thusly, I will not speak of it here.

In any case, I should get back to my patrols. These damned vrolocks aren't going to stake themselves.

[docmartinst]

I've returned from my vacation in Port-au-Lucine, and am back in Vallaki for the time being. My time there was rather relaxing, barring a few small incidents. However, I've gathered a wealth of information pertaining to several world-threatening dangers, so I haven't been totally idle. Still, for the most part, while I was there, I could forget my worries. I forgot about the vrolocks of Barovia, I forgot about Tatiana, and I even forgot, for one night, that I was a Paladin. That's not to say that I did anything unsavory or immoral, but for that one blessed night, I wasn't Paladin Shy'Nar. I was Shy, the tourist.

 I was given a guided tour of the city by Lady Lia Cali, a rising actress in the Thetre du Cathedrale (sic). We visited the art museum, and the wax museum (where I received a deathly fright which I fear I cannot write about here safely), had dinner at the Golden Fig, and even found time to visit the arts museum before a long walk in the Quartiere Publique. There, I saw the old opera house, and it was there that Lady Lia and I shared a bottle of wine and gazed at the stars. She pointed out many different constellations to me, formations of stars that I had scarcely had time to notice when I was in Vallaki.

Verily, it is difficult to appreciate the stars when there is a Neuri or Vrolock breathing down your neck. I had never given pause to how beautiful the night sky of this land could be. Tiny points of light scattered about in the midst of a black pool of ichor. In a way, it is not unlike the land itself. It is a dark place, a black place, this land I now call home, but there are good folk here. Points of light in the darkness... Lady Serafim, Sir Grevis, Brother Allek, Lady Lia, Illyana, Sir Purist, Lady Cornelia... The list goes on and on, but I have come to realize that the stars alone cannot burn away the night. The people of this dreadful realm do not need another star in the night sky.

They need a Sun.

[docmartinst]

Shy'Nar, Paladin of Ilmater's Mercy- The day has been bittersweet, indeed. I am overjoyed to know that I am not alone in this wretched place. A childhood friend, Sister Katherine Forbes, has come through the Mists. I thank Ilmater every moment for this mercy he has bestowed upon me. If any Land is in more need of Ilmater's touch, I have not seen it. I am saddened, however, that she is here. A goodly woman such as she does not deserve such torment. I have sinned, I have committed atrocities in the eyes of my lord, and my imprisonment here is simply another part of my penance. What could Katherine have done to deserve to come here? Is she innocent in all of this? Was she sent here by Ilmater at my request for aid? If so, then the reward is bittersweet... Bittersweet indeed.

She has brought news from home. The war is won and long over, and I am saddened to hear that King Azoun IV was killed before the fighting ceased. I had heard as much from a woman claiming to be from over thirty years in the future, and while her words seemed truthful, I had some small doubt. Now I know for sure. The second bit of news she brought me however, has left a dagger in my heart. Father Mullahay, the man I grew to love as a father, has passed away. After I had been branded a traitor, the news was apparenlty far too much for his already weakened heart... Katherine was with him in his final days, and I thank Ilmater that he was not alone. I introduced Sister Katherine to Vicar Miklos, and was pleased that her first impression was a good one. The Vicar has expressed interest in Katherine's talents and training. Verily, with such a friend as the Vicar, Katherine will learn much.


The Suffering, Paladin of Ilmater's Wrath- The Red Lady's training goes well. Her spirit, once dulled, now blooms to match her prowess with the blade. It has only been a short time since we made the pact of Student and Mentor, and already I feel as if I am learning more from her than she from I. This is good, as I was beginning to feel as if there was little more to learn about my Red Lady. We have shared much over the past few nights, memories and lessons and experiences. She knows more of my soul now than any other, about how even a tarnished spirit can fight back against the predations of this black land. Dare I say that I am proud of my Red Lady? Yes. A thousand times over. She has learned to accept her suffering, instead of simply repressing it. She has grown in spiritual strength that rivals my own. I pray it will be enough in the coming days, as her training will grow more dangerous as time goes on... Not to mention the trouble she keeps landing herself into.


Illuminus Ilmatari.

[docmartinst]

Shy'Nar, Paladin of Ilmater's Mercy- The day has been uneventful, and it is these small rests that allow me to carry on with my work. Today I slept peacefull for the first time in many weeks, and did not stir until well after the sun was at it's peak. I was approached by two men, Paladins, they seemed to be. They speak of dark tidings, and have asked for my assistance. In another life, another time, I would have said yes without question. Now, however... I have oaths, oaths that cannot be broken.

Illuminus Ilmatari, I need your light now more than ever.

The Suffering, Paladin of Ilmater's Wrath- The Red Lady continues her training, as I continue mine. Together, we have proven to be a nigh-unstoppable force. She and I have even sent demons screaming back to the hells they were spawned from. Still, her inner radiance grows, and I feel that she will soon be strong enough of heart to resist the predations of the ones she calls friends. They are a black lot, save one or two, and they seek to turn her into a weapon, a thing of cold hatred and fiery rage. I'll not stand idly by why her heart is consumed by this rolling sea of evil. She resists them, even if she does not realize it. Her growing strength is a source of pride for me, for it is her strength, and her strength alone that is holding back the blackness within and without.

I have met another priest of the Triad, an acolyte of Torm named Trent. He seems a good lad, and I see more than a little of myself in him. He is stalwart, and strong, and did not falter when we were faced with a powerful vrolock. He performed admirably, refusing to leave until we had secured the safety of the lambs we had come to rescue. Torm's strength is with him, that much I am sure of.

Until the Night presses in no more...

[docmartinst]

Shy'Nar, Paladin of Ilmater's Mercy- Sera Patton. Now that's a name I had hoped I would not have to utter for a long, long time. I had thought that after Father's death, she would leave Vallaki and her people alone. Now it seems, that that was never the case. She was simply biding her time, waiting for the best time to make her presence known. As before, she seems... interested in me. For what reason, I cannot say. I also saw Scurvy in the sewers, but he scurried away before I could confront him.

Illuminus Ilmatari.

The Suffering, Paladin of Ilmater's Wrath- Met a lad in the sewers today. A dwarf, I think. Got himself attacked by the Vampire Harlot known as Mother. I escorted him to the Sanctuary in the slums, but we were attacked on the way by none other than Mother herself. Had I not been concerned with the life of the dwarf, I would have challenged her right there and then. She offered herself to me, but why would I gorge on rotted meat when a glorious feast awaits me home? Nay, I'll not take the harlot up on that offer. I simply pray that the next time we meet, there are no bystanders about. The time for mercy has ended.

Until the Night presses in no more.

[docmartinst]

Shy'Nar, Paladin of Ilmater's Mercy- Sister Katherine has not lost her talent for the apothecaric arts, a skill I have coveted, but have never been able to master. We have spent an increasingly long amount of time together, and I am beginning to realize just how much I had missed her while I was gone. At the same time, I worry about what may occur should we continue along our present course. *The next bit appears to have been added in after, the ink slightly less dry*. The Vicar has been taken. This slight will not be tolerated, and I shall brook no tresspass against her. As I am now, I can do nothing. But *Him?*, He can do what is necessary.

The Suffering, Paladin of Ilmater's Wrath- I prepare for war, today. Vicar Miklos has been taken against her will. This is an act of dessecration that will not go unpunished. I pray that my Red Lady returns to me soon, as my heart aches to be apart from her. She is safe, that much I know. But I will need her help if I have any chance of success.

Until the night presses in no more.

[docmartinst]

I have been here with Tatiana in the Asylum for quite some time now. The screams of the mad bore into my skull day and night. Unseen, I cradle my Little Rose every night until she goes to sleep. I have decided that if she is not out soon, then I will take more drastic measures. We will run away, perhaps to Hazlan. I even have a plan to get around that security door of theirs, the one that operates by lever.

When the Garda finally make it here, they will think the orderlies mad. After all, Angels aren't real, are they?

[docmartinst]

I am in Perfidus. Many would ask why I find myself in this demon infested lands, and my only response is to say that it is for her. I am on the brink of some grand discovery. I can save her, I can save all of them. I hold the Fan in my hand and think of the Silver Heart. Things will never be the same, and I don't want them to be. We both need our time, our space. We both spent the last month in the Asylum, our minds connected, surviving the same tortures. Neither one of us are ready for this, not yet. She and I made solemn vows to be celibate, for many reasons. I suppose the main one is that although she and I love one another, neither one of us really love ourselves the way we should. That isn't the basis for a good relationship. I imagine, that when we are both toothless gaffers with no hair, we'll finally be able to say what we mean and be happy. I will await that day.

[docmartinst]

Yrnivel'Pelynazeln. It is the only word I can use to describe what has transpired. The more I think of it, the more fitting it becomes.

[docmartinst]

OOC: The following is written in the strange, flowing celestial script-

I filr yray yrelnel fal sunel yu laz yutaz. Yayiaca ral vrulelc Saxrielh, act ral yaxelc ris yu reln pelt. I as what lrel ral bicahhz vusel yu a telviliuc uc yrel sayyeln, act I as lonel lrel fihh pel suly raqqz fiyr iy. I nelwnely cuy lazicw wuut-pzel yu reln, poy I belelh yray iy fuoht uchz pnicw reln qaic felnel I yu tu lu. Lyihh, I rajel vusel yu yrel nelahikayiuc yray lrel tuellc'y celelt sel aczsunel. I rajel woitelt reln yu reln icceln hiwry, cuf iy'l oq yu reln yu conyonel iy.

Qelnraql lrel vac vracwel ris bun yrel pelyyeln. I filr reln ahh yrel hovx ic tuicw lu, poy I belelh reln vracvell anel lhis. Lrel act I anel uc tibbelnelcy litell ub a fan, a fan yray vuoht jelnz felhh vuclosel Panujia ic iy'l vucbhawnayiuc. Yrel taz fihh vusel frelc I fihh rajel yu nilel yu selely yrel qneltayiucl ub yray vujelc. Iy il a taz I tnelat, poy soly qnelqanel bun.

Yrel toyiell I rajel vhocw yu bun lu hucw soly pel yrnufc alitel. Yrel toyz yu yrel vronvr il selacicwhelll, pelvaolel yrelnel il cu vronvr yu lqelax ub. I vac'y tu fray il niwry lisqhz pelvaolel sz elhtelnl rajel yuht sel yray il fray Ihsayeln facyl sel yu tu.

I celelt yu tu fray il niwry pelvaolel iy il -niwry-. Pelvaolel frelc yrel elct vusell, act I as huuxicw oquc sz taowryeln bun yrel binly yisel, I facy yu huux icyu reln bavel fiyruoy belelhicw lrasel. I facy reln yu huux ay sel act yelhh sel yray lrel'l qnuot yu pel sz taowryeln, yray iy'l ahniwry yu hely wu, yu lyuq biwryicw.

Bun Vanselc.



OOC: Translation as follows-

I wish that there was more to say today. Tatiana has chosen Makhiel, and has taken him to her bed. I am glad she has finally come to a decision on the matter, and I am sure she will be most happy with it. I regret not saying good-bye to her, but I feel that it would only bring her pain were I to do so. Still, I have come to the realization that she doesn't need me anymore. I have guided her to her inner light, now it's up to her to nurture it.

Perhaps she can change him for the better. I wish her all the luck in doing so, but I feel her chances are slim. She and I are on different sides of a war, a war that could very well consume Barovia in it's conflagration. The day will come when I will have to rise to meet the predations of that coven. It is a day I dread, but must prepare for.

The duties I have clung to for so long must be thrown aside. The duty to the church is meaningless, because there is no church to speak of. I can't do what is right simply because my elders have told me that is what Ilmater wants me to do.

I need to do what is right because it is -right-. Because when the end comes, and I am looking upon my daughter for the first time, I want to look into her face without feeling shame. I want her to look at me and tell me that she's proud to be my daughter, that it's alright to let go, to stop fighting.

For Carmen.

[docmartinst]

I am rather enjoying the rumours that are circulating about my encounter with Toby. Apparently, he is telling people that I was willing to sacrifice Tatiana in order to keep his coffin. If Tatiana could not see into my mind as easily as she could (Thanks to Scurvy's little blood ritual). Then she too, might believe the lies. She knows that I called Toby on his bluff. He wouldn't dare touch Tatiana. She is Makhiel's consort, and a favoured agent of even more powerful Vrolock. Scurvy knows this, and I believe he was surprised to know that -I- knew of it. Since he cannot follow through on his threat, he seeks to ruin my already tarnished reputation.

Unfortunately for Toby, he's shown his hand. Now that I'm painfully aware of his capabilities, I know how I'm going to destroy him. And to think... It's such a simple spell.

[docmartinst]

Raven's Feather, Knights Embrace, a Chosen child, a Secret Place.

A hero forged in day and night
birthed from blackness into light

Death's caress, Carmen's blood
Fight back the blackness of the flood

Blood calls to blood, but is denied
The father beckons son to side

Knights of Black and Light shall shape
And spirit away the child, make their escape

When Raven dies and Dragon flees
Take the child onto your knees

Gods bless their wards, keep him whole
Keep the Vrolock from his Soul,

The Reaper trades her Death for Life
A baby born in a land of strife.

Keep your vigil, at the door
Until the night presses in no more.

[docmartinst]

Shy settled into the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace, a glass tumbler filled with a transluscent liquid in hand. He had paid Angelika at the Nymph a sizeable sum to retrieve the bottles from beneath the counter, and an even larger amount to keep her mouth shut.

Laid before him on the coffee table was a rather large map of the Core, a multitude of painted figurines sitting atop different domains.

He began tracing a small pattern on his forehead, whispering words in an archaic tongue long forgotten. As he did so, he felt his mind becoming clearer, sharper, honed to a fine edge.

Shy'Nar took a rather deep drink from the glass before setting it down on the sidetable next to him. With the barest hint of a smile, he moved a figurine depicting a beautiful, white-haired woman to stand next to another representation. This one carved in the likeness of a halfling with a pair of short blades in hand.

The smile only grew as he took the hin figurine in hand, examining it for a moment before tossing it into the fire.

In his opinion, the victory over Scurvy was worth the small fortune he had paid to have it done. The knights were unaware of his little bounty, and he planned to keep it that way. There was little need for others to know the extent of his wealth, or his goals, for that matter. He pushed another tiny sculpture to stand next to a group of figurines rallied behind a banner depicting a Red Dragon.

He frowned slightly as he moved a figure clad in Morninglordian armour to stand next to a darkly clad male and female. Even the best-laid plans had variables he couldn't ccount for.

Reluctantly, he slid a white-haired male figurine to stand between the Morninglordian and the darkly clad figures, following closely behind was a black-armoured knight with burning eyes.

The white-haired figurine faced no direction in particular, standing with, nor against an singular figurine.

To face any one of them would upset his delicately laid plans. His intense concentration was broken by a flash of distress crossing his features. The Prophecy was clear. She would die. Why did he fight it so? What could be gained from defying Fate? Why did he insist on preparing two spells that he knew simply would not function here in these lands?

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair to think.....

"She's gone." The man whispered hoarsely, his features obscured by a hanging mist. The only things that seemed clear to Shy was himself, and the woman laying on the table. The sound of a baby crying thundered in his ears as he looked upon the strangely still form of the woman.

"It's a boy, Master" Muttered another woman to his left. She was of course, not speaking to Shy, but to the other man there.

Shy'Nar crouched down, smoothing the woman's hair from her face and leaning in close to whisper something in her ear. Even though she was dead... He knew she could hear him.

He straightened back up, slipping his hammer and shield from their harnesses on his back. Then he began whispering a spell....

Shy jerked awake, sweat pouring down his face. The fire had burned down to the coals, and he pulled himself up to throw a log into the fireplace. For a long while, the man simply stared as the flames licked at the fresh log. "I'll burn the whole damned Core if I have to." He muttered, turning back to his maps.

[docmartinst]

Shy sat at the desk in his room, the cigarette in his fingers having long ago burnt down to the makeshift filter. He crushed it out into the overflowing ashtray next to his papers, the notes scattered about the desk and the floor around him. He had spent many nights like this since he had moved away from Vallaki to pursue his studies elsewhere. At first, it was in the cramped quarters of his room in Har'Akir. As his collection of research, notes, and plans increased, so did the space required to hold it all. Shy had not been sleeping well at all lately, but it was hardly due to the stress of planning and preparing his next move.

He just couldn't get -her- out of his mind.

Shy had met her once, shortly after he first came to this gods-forsaken land. She and the Vrolock known as Sera Patton (Better known as "Mother"), were... fighting over the right to drink from some poor soul. He had stepped in to try and save the woman, weaving spell after spell to ward off the pair of vampires. It was to no avail, however. Even though he managed to drive them away, the woman they had fed from died. It was one of his many failings.

The priest poured himself another glass of that strange brew Tatiana had concocted for him, remarking that he was running rather low. With shaking hands, he rolled himself another cigarette before placing it between his teeth and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. Trent would have admonished him for utilizing divine energy in such a way, but at the moment, Shy didn't give a damn.

He had encountered the Vampire again when he had visited Vallaki a short time ago. He had learned much since their last battle. The Sentire, or rather, ex-Sentire Stefania Millea was there, as well as a rather rude man who worshipped some heathen God. The Vampire seemed to be suffering from some sort of bloodlust when she came upon them, showing little in the way of strategy or forethought. Spell after spell fizzled or otherwise unaffected Shy as he strode towards her. He hoped that small showing of ability would frighten her into retreating, but still she pressed on. It was then that Shy realized that this particular Vampiress could not have fed in a rather long time. The four of them sparred for a small while before she retreated into the sewers.

By the time Shy caught up with her, she had fed upon one of the people chasing them... And then the true horror began. He and the others gave chase fighting through wererats and their less formidable cousins, all the while the vampire harried them as they rushed around corners or through doors. She was formidable under the sway of bloodlust, but while she had control of her mental faculties? She was a nightmare.

Still, as Stefania stopped to tend to the wounded, Shy cornered the vampiress and uttered a powerful blessing. The moment he touched her, her flesh burned away entirely until she was nothing but mist. They searched the sewers until they finally stumbled upon the Vampiress's coffin. The Ilmateri approached, stake in hand, and found the vampiress quite conscious. She wept tears of blood as Shy heard her final wishes, her last whispered words.

The priest threw the liquor-filled tumbler across the room, the glass shattering against the opposite wall as he crushed out yet another cigarette. "I didn't even know her name." He hissed, holding his head in his hands as he tried to distract himself with his research. It was to no avail, however, and he soon found himself pacing in front of the fireplace. He had one chance to hear her story, to understand her and not lay her to rest as a monster... but as the person she once was. And he let it slip through his fingers. And why? Because he hated what she was? No... no that wasn't it. The real reason haunted his dreams, even his waking ones.

In his mind, the woman did not have dark skin and white hair... Quite the opposite, in fact. As she lay in the coffin, looking up at him with pleading eyes, it wasn't the Drow he saw. What if... What if one day she became one of them? And some self-styled hunter of the dead did the same thing he did? Plunged a bloody stake into her heart without even -knowing- her? Without knowing the woman she had once been before the dark had taken hold of her heart? He ran his hand through his hair, reaching for his pouch of tobacco. He silently cursed himself, vowing to never just.... end them... again. They were once people... People who lived, and laughed, and loved just like he did. It wasn't enough that their darkness would be stifled by his hammer and stake... He had to understand them so that they wouldn't just be.... forgotten. So that others could learn their stories, and learn from their trials and tribulations.

The priest sighed and stood up from his desk, stalking over to the door and throwing it open, intent on getting something light to eat from the cafe before continuing his work. There was... a woman there. Well... Not right in front of the door, but in the doorway of the room across from him. She was rather beautiful, and Shy couldn't help but offer her a small smile. But when she spoke... it sent a chill down his spine.

Xietta.

[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkdXOar2ZLo[/youtube]

[docmartinst]

Shy set his pen to paper once more, scratching out page after page of text as the candle beside him burned down to a nub. It was time he compiled a new text. One that would detail the various creatures that he had encountered in these lands. Surely, there was always the Van Richten's guides, but they had not been updated in decades. Dr. Rudolph van Richten. An inspiration to all who would face the burning black of the night. Where Van Richten's research stopped, he would begin anew. The good Doctor was a keen observer, and a studious man to be sure, but his guides lacked information in regards to the actual nature of the magical energies that sustained many of these foul creatures. This was not due to some shortcoming of the man, his research techniques were... impeccable. However, Dr. van Richten was not a magi, and couldn't be expected to wax eloquent about the nature of such things. Shy knew the dangers that could arise from the publication of such a treatise, but he welcomed them. If even one vampire was put to eternal rest, -one- phylactery smashed to a million pieces because of the words he was to write, then his death would have meaning.

[docmartinst]

I have plead my tenday rest....

No mercy. No second chances for the irredeemable.

[docmartinst]

Shy stared down at the grave before him, a tiny lily in his hand. He had waited for the others to leave before approaching the mound, as he knew that he would have begun to weep as the others did if he came too close.

"Lady Inari...." He began, his thumb gently caressing one of the petals in his hand. "I tried... We all tried our very best to save you. Eliza, Cozette, Tatiana, Fane... They were so brave, so stoic. You would have been proud of them, I know. I weep for the woman you once were, and I weep for the memories that you will never share with the family you leave behind." The priest took a deep, calming breath as the rain battered against his torn and broken armour. "I know that you and I... Never quite got along. Perhaps we were too different, or too alike, I'm not sure, but you kept her safe when I could not. For that, I will never be able to repay you. Even though we had our disagreements, had our fights, I always looked to you as someone... worth trying to save."

He cleared his throat quietly, his eyes growing hot with restrained tears. "I have lost... A mentor... A rival.... A friend, but you will never be forgotten. I swear to you this, those responsible will be joining you soon." He set the lily down upon the grave, as well as a small wrapped package. "Honey-Cookies.... I... Know how much you liked them."

He drew his blade, and knelt by the grave, resting his head by the hilt. "Forgive me..."

[docmartinst]

When was the last time he actually slept? Only the Gods knew. The Priest had been able to sustain himself with a combination of prayer and various blessings, but he knew he was rapidly approaching the breaking point. But how could he rest when there was so much to do? The Plague, the Ulcissors, Inari?

He crushed another cigarette into the overflowing ashtray beside him, hunched over his books and notes in the small room provided by the Morning Lordian Clergy. The cure he had found seemed to work for some people, in fact, several had made a full recovery. Others however... Others it simply bought more time for. Now Laine, Aurore, and Eliza were sick. Laine had already been administered the cure, and when Shy came back to check on her, she was gone. Perhaps it worked better than he thought for her, but a gnawing sensation told him otherwise. She would have at least left him a note...

Shy pushed it from his mind as he rolled another cigarette and donned his armour. Angelika was safe, he knew that much. It always did his heart good to see the young Barovian working so tirelessly for her people. She was a fine guardian of Barovia... A fine replacement for when he... Well. Best not think on that.

He lit the cigarette as he picked up a few bottles of his concoction and stuffed them in his satchel, closing the door quietly behind him. Shy had to go meet Magister Ana at the Lodge, in order to see to Eliza and Aurore's condition. Ana had... quite a good idea to prevent the progression of the disease in their systems... She had turned them to stone. Shy couldn't help but chuckle at this. Leave it to the Magister to come up with such a unique solution.

It wasn't long until he found himself at the door to the Wayfarer Lodge. They were expecting him, it seemed, as someone opened the door at his first knock. They ushered him downstairs, where the Magister was waiting.... Wordlessly, she dispelled the magic binding Aurore and Eliza in place. Shy'Nar worked as quickly as he could, administering the solution in record time. Almost immediately, he was ushered -back- out of the room and up the stairs. Just in case they were still infectious, it seemed.

Thankless work, but work of the best kind...

"Illuminus Ilmatari." He muttered to the doorman, before stalking back off into the night.