A Light Forged in Blood - Morninglord Tolan Faeglin

[mireigi]

I will be posting excerpts from the life of Tolan Faeglin in this thread and will keep them mostly chronological.

Be adviced that there may be spoilers about his past for those who haven't met him IG yet and heard the stories for themselves.

For some background info check out the character profile.

[mireigi]

A bloody dawn

The clink of steel boots on the smooth floor echoed through the dark halls as the paladin made his way through the compound. The faint ghostly glow from his longsword, enchanted with the light of the sun, cast the surroundings in an eerie glow, shadows dancing madly on the smooth walls. Behind him, his men, soldiers and priests alike walked in single file, the priests in the middle, protected by the soldiers in front and behind them.

It had already been a bloody battle. He had lost one of his men and three more might not making it through the coming hours. By the gods he hoped they would be done soon so he would not lose anymore. Gritting his teeth, the paladin continued on, never showing his inner turmoilas he lead his men to the next intersection only a dozen paces ahead.

As they neared the intersection, he though he heard voices coming from down one of the corridors and immediately raised his gloved balled fist up in the air, signaling for a halt.

"What is it, commander?" one of his men asked in a hushed voice, some excitement creeping into it, as he stepped up behind the paladin.
"Voices from the right," came the reply in an equally hushed voice, though much calmer and focused.
"Prepare the men," he commanded.
"Yes, commander," the man behind him nodded and turned to the others.

Sheathing his blade, the paladin advanced on the corner, to poke his head out and look down the right corridor. Muttering under his breath from what he saw, he quickly ducked back into cover and turned to his men.

"At least four cultists and a vampire," the paladin explained to his men.
"Priests, focus on the vampire, keep it stunned while we deal with the cultists."
Each of the priests looked at eachother a moment and then nodded to the paladin.
"Yes, commander," came the reply in unison.

Drawing his sword, the paladin held it up in front of him and spoke a brief prayer to bless the blade with the power of his god.
"Lathander, bring forth your light in this dark place as we lay these cultists of Bhaal to rest."
The soft glow from the sword immediately flared brighter.
"Let's go," he commanded, and as one the group turned the corner, the paladin leading the charge.

* * * * *

"Do you think the others have taken care of the intruders by now?" one of the cultists asked the air, the question not directed ay anyone in particular. He didn't like the sound of weakness in his voice as he asked, but if the intruders had been killed, he at least could relax and return to his studies.

As he had suspected no reply came and he shifted nervously, feet shuffling on the smooth foor. He could feel the vampire, summoned by one of the other cultists, stare at him in disgust at his sign of nervous weakness. He turned his head slightly to look at it, which only made it snarl, annoyed by being forced to aid such a weakling.

"Maybe we should send someone to investiga-" a backhanded slap across his face from one of the other cultists silenced him immediately.
"Silence, fool!" came the cold voice from the one who had slapped him before he proceeded to scold him further.

Just then a group turned the corner thirty paces down the corridor. Soon the walls echoed with the clinking of steel boots as the man in front, wielding an impressive looking sword that glowed like the sun, charged towards them, several others following right behind him.

"Damn," the first cultist muttered, the numbness in his jaw from the slap all but gone.
"Playthings," the vampire cooed with an other-worldly laughter as it rushed down to meet the advancing man with the impressive sword.

* * * * *

One of the priests sucked in a sharp breath as the vampire rushed towards them at speeds beyond anything he had ever seen before. An elbow-nudge from another priest brought him out of the moment of fear, and as one they invoked the power of their god. Light rushed through their bodies from head to toe and flew out to meet the onrushing vampire like a wall of light the height of a man.

The first wave crashed against the vampire, but did nothing to stop it. The second wave pushed it back slightly, but it still came rushing in, claws ready to rend flesh to bloody ribbons. Surely the paladin would stop the creature before it reached the priests. And he might have, if not for the magical darkness the creature summoned around his head, blinding him as it rushed past.

The priests both shrieked as the vampire leps past the paladin and crashed into the ranks of soldiers guarding the priests. Claws rended and tore through armor and skin alike, as the vampire raked across the belly of the first soldier to meet it, disemboweling him. It hardly slowed the creature down as it bounded towards the next soldier, a feral grin on it's dead cold lips, black tongue licking the razor-sharp fangs.

The cultists, seeing the vampire at work, found some measure of courage and hefted their weapons, charging towards the blinded paladin. The one who had summoned the vampire, remained behind, weaving a spell and directing at the paladin, only realizing his error as the spell took effect.

Suddenly the paladin could see again, the magical darkness dispelled by the cultist mage, but so was the blessing laid upon his blade. He didn't have time to lay a new one on the blade, as the first cultist was but a few heartbeats from him. Just enough time that he could look over his shoulder to see the second soldier dropping to his knees, his throat torn out by the vampire. Then the cultist reached him and he had troubles of his own. He could only hope that his men would be able to defeat the vampire.

* * * * *

Seeing the soldiers quickly dying in front of them, the priests acted quickly, the terror of the overwhelming fury of the vampire replaced by grim determination. One rushed through the a divine prayer and swung his arm wide. A moment later, the vampire shrieked in pain as the floor beneath it became charged with holy energies, hallowed by the priest.

The other priest invoked a word of power from his god and pointed a finger at the vampire. At first nothing happened, but after a few heartbeats, a keening sound filled the air around them as four motes of pure light crashed down through the ceiling and struck the vampire in the back, driving it forward and to one knee, hissing and roaring in pain.

When the last mote struck the vampire, one of the remaining soldiers pulled a dagger from his belt and quickly slammed it up under the chin of the vampire, pinning it's mouth closed as the pointy end penetrated the creature's brain. The vampire trashed around in agony, claws rending the air like a hurricane of razors, but slicing nothing but empty space. A few moments later it lay dead, the blessed dagger having done it's work.

As one, the priests and remaining soldiers, down to four after the fight with the vampire, turned to watch the paladin plunge his blade through the face of one of the cultists, dropping him dead instantly. The two other cultists advanced on him, seeing an opportunity, while the mage weaved more magic in the background.

The priests and soldiers charged forward to aid their commander, praying they would make it in time before whatever magic the mage was weaving took effect.

[mireigi]

A bloody dawn - part 2

The cultist mage finished his spell and pointed a finger at the paladin. A small orange bead left the mage's fingertip and sped towards the paladin with the speed of an arrow shot from a bow. The bead swerved around the two cultist engaged in a deadly dance with the paladin, steel ringing on steel as the paladin fought defensively, while looking for an opening.

The two priests and four remaining soldiers sucked in their breath as the bead, two heartbeats after it left the mage's fingertip, crashed into the paladin and erupted into a big ball of flame that engulfed the entirety of the corridor. Scream of pain and shock were heard inside the conflageration as paladin and cultists alike suddenly found themselves in the middle of a blazing inferno.

Eyes watering from the sudden burst of light, the paladin's allies looked towards the space where the trio had fought. Lying on the floor, crumbled to a burned husk, lay one of the cultists. The other appeared almost unscathed by the fireball, though he had stepped back from the paladin, covered in ash and smudges of soot.

The paladin's bracers flared a bright orange for a moment and then went dull, all color draining from the metal, the protective magic expended. In a day it would be recharged, but the paladin couldn't wait for that. Stepping over the smoldering corpse of the burned cultist, he calmly advanced on the one to survive the fireball.
"Down to one now. A shame your ally think you expendable," the paladin calmly commented as he lifted his sword to challenge the survivor.
"Surrender and you may live to see another day."

"Never!" the cultist screamed as he raised his sword and charged forward to battle the paladin once more. He only made it three steps before two of the paladin's allies, soldiers both, rushed in to fend him off.
"Finish him quickly," the paladin ordered as he purposefully strode towards the cultist mage. Behind him he could hear crossbows being loaded and the two priests chanting their prayers.

* * * * *

The cultist mage cursed and turned to flee, knowing he was outnumbered and outmatched. He had hoped the fireball would kill the paladin and cause fear to grip the hearts of those who were with him. Even if his two companions had both died from the fireball, killing the paladin would have been worth it.

As he turned, a crossbow bolt snapped against his back, the shaft shattering into a shower of tinders. His protective wards had prevented the bolt from causing him any harm, but the force of the impact still sent him stumbling forward. Even as he recovered, a second bolt shattered on the stone wall beside him, peppering him in splintered wood. Still he continued to run.

Behind him, the clinking of steel boots on the stone floor increased in pace, urging him to run even faster. But still the clinking sound came ever closer. He turned a left corner, crashed through a door on his right and into a small room, then out through a door on the opposite end, and turned another left, looking over his shoulder for his pursuers.

So focused was he on fleeing that he never noticed the figure standing in the hallway until he all but crashed into her. He might as well have hit a solid wall of stone. The impact of the collision sent him stumbling back, and he fell hard on his back, banging his head against the stone floor.
"Idiot! Get out . . of . . my . ." the words died on his lips and all color drained from his face, leaving his skin ashen grey, as he saw just who he had bumped into.
"F-f-f-forgive me . . erck!" a slender hand closed around his neck, squeezing his windpipe shut as the woman lifted him off the ground in one arm.

The woman was beautiful. Even by elven standards she would have been considered beautiful, something she used to keep others in line and obedient. Whether through plays on her alluring form, or, to the surprise of many, the cold malciousness hidden behind her high cheekbones, ivory skin, and voluptuous body, she always got what she wanted. This time would be no different.

"I do not tolerate cowardice," the woman's voice rang icy cold in the stone halls, her calm demeanor only making her even more menacing.
"N-n-no . . nghnn," the mage tried to plead for his life, but the woman squeezed even tighter.
The man's eyes grew wide in shock and pain as the woman sent a surge of necromancy through her hand and into his throat. He tried to scream, but no words came as his skin rotted away in her grasp.

Three hearbeats later the body tore from the head with a sickening plop and landed in a gory pile on the stone floor where it continued to dissolve into nothingness. The woman looked upon the severed head she now held in her hand, a look of dismay on her face.
"So much wasted potential."

* * * * *

She was still looking at the severed head when the sound of steel boots clinking on stone floor caught her attention. Knowing what it meant, she spoke a prayer to engulf the head in noxious fumes and threw the head down towards the door from where the mage had come. Just as the paladin and his men came out the doorway, the head landed and exploded in a puff of poisonous smoke.

The woman was not surprised to see the paladin emerge from the cloud of disease and rot, but when the two priests emerged as well, one supporting a hobbling solider, face and skin covered in blisters and pus-ridden welts, she did raise an eyebrow in surprise. She turned on her heel and calmly walked down the corridor, away from the paladin and his men.

Behind her, she could hear the priests muttering prayers, probably to try to save the soldier, and she knew that pursuit was not far behind. With a sigh she turned left and went through the doors to her private chambers. There she waited for the fools to come challenge her.

[mireigi]

A bloody dawn - part 3

"Solider, can you walk?" the paladin's voice echoed in the halls only moments after the two priests through combined efforts had pulled the one soldier back from the brink of death.
"I . . I can," the soldier answered, though the words rang hollow, even to himself. He knew he was defeated and would not be of much help for a while. Relief was plainly written on his face at the words that came from the paladin's mouth next.
"Good, then take Marcus with you," the paladin looked briefly to one of the priests, "and make your way back out."
He held up a hand as the priest Marcus started to protest, silencing his complaints. "Take the holy symbols and weapons from our fallen comrades and speak the burial rites over them."
"But . . why!?" the soldier asked in mixed surprise and disbelief.
"Because we cannot carry them out to give them a proper burial, but we can at least give their souls rest."
The paladin turned his determined gaze upon Marcus, who, after a few heartbeats of consideration, nodded his agreement.

With Marcus and the injured soldier heading back the way they had come, the paladin motioned for the other priest to follow him. Together they stalked down the corridor, boots clinking in the darkness. Soon after they turned left as well and stood before two massive doors. From under the door a faint flickering light shone out, no doubt from several candelabra in the room beyond.

With a nod to the priest, the paladin drew his longsword, and the priest began to draw upon the divine powers of his god, Lathander, laying several blessings upon himself and the paladin. When he was done, the paladin gripped the handles of the massive doors and pushed, swinging them inwards to the faint sound of rusty hinges creaking in protest.

"Show yourself, Dhalia!" the paladin called out as he stepped inside, the priest a footstep or two behind. From a dark corner came the sound of footsteps approaching the duo with calm and measured strides.

* * * * *

Dhalia watched with amusement from behind a tapestry as the ghoul, the now empty husk of the aasimar lathandarite paladin she had bedded nearly a year ago, strode towards the paladin and the priest. She wondered if they would recognize the face of their former brother in faith, a cruel smile pulling at the corner of her lips at that very possibility.

* * * * *

The paladin turned his gaze towards the sound of the footsteps coming closer to him, slightly surprised that she would do as he commanded.
"Surrender, and your life may be spared," he called out to the silhouette that became visible in the dimly lit room.

When the ghoul stepped out into the faint candlelight, revealing itself for what it really was, the paladin could hear the priest behind him suck in a sudden breath of surprise and dismay.
"Brother . ." the priest began, recognizing the man whom the ghoul used to be.
"That is no longer our brother," the paladin cut in sharply as he strode up to meet the ghoul, sword already poised to strike it down and glowing with the light of the sun.

The priest stood in paralyzing suprise at the sight before him. He knew this creature. Knew the man the creature had once been. He knew he should help the paladin, but how could he? He had known the man-turned-ghoul for half a decade, how could he move against him? So caught up was the priest in his moment of doubt that he didn't notice the figure slipping from behind a tapestry and moving up behind him.

* * * * *

Dhalia flashed a cruel smile as she saw the paladin move against the ghoul, leaving the doubt-addled priest alone. The smile could have made the blood of a demon freeze in it's veins, if they even had blood.

Silent as a cat stalking the backalleys of the cities at night, she glided from the cover of the tapestry and moved in behind the priest. A glance towards the paladin and the ghoul told her that the paladin had already won, it would only be a matter of time by now. She picked up her pace, hoping that the priest wouldn't hear the rustle of her ceremonial robe as it brushed against her naked thighs.

Twenty paces. Fifteen. The paladin pummeled the ghoul with his shield, sending it stumbling backwards. Ten paces! Almost there! The sound of searing flesh filled the room as the paladin's light-enchanted blade cut through the torso of the ghoul. She started muttering a prayer under her breath. Five paces. A dark glow began to surround her right hand, and she lept forward, hand poised behind her as a spear ready to be thrust forward.

* * * * *

The paladin planted his steel boot on the midsection of the ghoul and pulled his blade free, the searing holy energies of his light-enchanted blade spreading like wildfire through the ghoul, eating away at the necromantic energies holding it together, like an eager flame devouring dry grass.

He turned around to check on the priest, wondering why no aid had come, but already knowing the answer. Few were as strong-willed as a paladin and could often become paralyzed with indecision and fear when faced against such creatures of the dark. His mouth fell open and he yelled out for his comrade to defend himself.
"Behind you!"

To the priest's credit, he did not flinch, but reacted with the reflexes of a seasoned warrior, turning around and taking a step backwards, away from his unseen attacker. But it was too late. The hand of the priestess drove forward and plunged through the chain-links of his armor, erupting from his back in a shower of blood and gore.

He tried to scream in pain, but no sound came, the necromantic energies contained in the priestess' hand already draining the life out of him. Within two heartbeats, he shrunk in on himself, collapsing into a shrivelled, dried out husk that broke apart and turned to dust as the priestess pulled her hand back.

"Next," Dhalia purred as she stepped over the pile of dust and rotted armor, her eyes glowing with the power she had absorbed from the priest's lifeforce.

The paladin hefted his sword and charged in, cold determination and outrage shining in his eyes.

[mireigi]

A bloody dawn - part 4

Black tendrils shot out from Dhalia's hands as she quickly spoke a prayer to her god, Bhaal. The tendrils raked over the paladin's armor, trying to find a weakness or seam where they could penetrate to reach the soft flesh beneath. But when the tendrils dissipated into nothingness once more, the paladin had not so much as a scratch or dent in his armor, protected by the magic of the now fallen priest.

"Curses!" Dhalia spat furiously as the spell had no effect save to slow down the paladin's stride for a few heartbeats.
She started backing away as the paladin came closer, picking up his pace once more. But he was in armor, she in light robes, she knew she could outpace him, she knew it! She just had to widen the gap between them to continue throwing her spells at him, and eventually one would find it's way through. Eventually.

She did have one advantage over the paladin. This was her private quarters. Even if she were blind, she would be able to navigate the room at a running pace. There were several places where furniture and stone pillars matched up where she could easily fit through, but the paladin would have to move the heavy oaken furniture or walk around it.

She stepped to the side and scrambled across the room, narrowly avoiding the sword as the paladin swung it at her, striking nothing but empty air. She could hear the paladin recover and turn to chase after her as she sprinted towards a large oaken table. Already a few paces between them again, she threw herself down on her side as she neared the table. Her momentum carried her under the table, gliding on the smooth stone floor, and out the other side.

Quickly jumping to her feet, she took only a moment to calm herself before starting the prayer for another spell.

* * * * *

"Stop this pointless game, Dhalia. It will not aid you," the paladin calmly called out as he slowed and walked up to the table she had put between them. Planting a foot on the side of the table, he kicked it away from him, like a wooden projectile aimed at Dhalia. Ordinarily he wouldn't have been capable of such feats, but the dead priest had given him another boon - that of increased strength.

The table slid across the smooth stone floor and crashed into Dhalia just as she finished her prayer. The wind was knocked from her lungs and she was thrown away from the paladin to land on her back. At the same time her magic took effect on the paladin, unravelling the many layers of protective and enhancing magic on his person. The paladin, however, didn't slow down, calmly advancing upon the prone high priestess.

"Any last words, Dhalia?" the paladin asked as he stepped around the table and came within striking distance of her.
There was no reply from the prone Dhalia.
"Very well, may your death bring you peace."
The paladin lifted his sword to drive it downwards and through Dhalia's chest.
"DIE!" Dhalia screamed as she lashed out at him with her hand, several black tendrils striking him in the chest as the prayer she had been speaking under her breath took effect. So powerful was the blow that it lifted him off his feet and carried him several feet away to crash into the far wall, his steel armor ringing like a church bell stuck hard by the clapper.

* * * * *

He opened his eyes and looked up at Dhalia standing triumphant above him, both hands on her hips, a cruel smile on her lips. How long had be been out for, he wondered? Not long, given that he wasn't tied down, but still sat against the wall he had crashed into. He could taste some blood in his mouth, and his left arm felt numb. His ears were also ringing slightly from the clang his armor made when he struck the wall.

"Such silly creatures, paladins," Dhalia tsked and shook her head disappointedly as she looked down at the paladin from her dominant stance.
"What should I do with you, hmm?" she purred as her hand moved behind her back to grasp the hilt of the ceremonial dagger that rested horizontally in a scabbard on her belt.
"Maybe I should just kill you," she nodded to herself as she slid the dagger free without a sound, "yes, murder a helpless paladin," she grinned, both a beautiful and terrifying sight at the same time, "Bhaal would be pleased by that."

She leaned down and moved the dagger under the paladin's chin, preparing to slit his throat.
"You are wrong."
The paladin's voice startled her slightly and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Wrong about what?"
"I'm not helpless," the paladin answered as his right hand snapped up to grab her dagger-wielding hand by the waist and forcing the blade away.
Dhalia's eyes went wide and she tried to fight against the paladin pushing her hand away, but even with his body ravaged by the black tendrils and the impact against the wall, he was much stronger than she.

Holding her waist in an iron grip, the paladin pushed Dhalia away from him while making sure the dagger was nowhere near to cutting him. Even as Dhalia struggled to free herself, he managed to twist her arm around and keep her at arms length so he could bend down to pick up his longsword where it had clattered to the floor when he had struck the wall.

Dhalia clenched her free hand around the paladin's forearm, her long nails piercing the skin and digging into the soft flesh beneath, blood dripping out between her fingers. Still the paladin did not let go, not until he had his sword in his hand again, though barely able to lift it with his numbed arm. Sword in hand, the paladin pushed her away and shifted the sword to his other hand, his good arm.

Dhalia sprang back, turned on her heel, and lunged forward, striking at the paladin with her dagger. He deftly parried it with his sword, but she struck out at him again, the dagger far easier to use for quick strikes. The second attack got swatted away by the paladin's sword, sending her arm out wide to keep her grip on the dagger. She jumped back to avoid the thrust she was certain was to follow. But no thrust came. Instead the paladin stepped forward, inside her reach and slammed the pommel of his sword into her forehead, sending her stumbling backwards, momentarily dazed.

She tried to fend him off with her dagger, but the impact had her blinking away the afterimages of her double-vision, and the paladin easily drove the tip of his sword past her attempted parry and through her chest. Blood splurted from her open mouth and she crumbled forward, driving the tip of the paladin's sword even further into her chest, making her gasp in pain. When the paladin pulled back his sword, she collapsed to the floor and lay still, blood seeping from her mouth and the gaping wound in her chest.

* * * * *

The paladin sighed and knelt down to wipe his blade on Dhalia's robes.
"May the gods have mercy on your black soul, Dhalia."
He walked over to the remains of the priest Dhalia had killed in a most grotesque fashion. Wincing uncomfortably, he poked through the remains of his friend to locate his holy symbol. At least he could return that to the man's family.

An hour later the paladin was outside the cult's hideout once more, reunited with the priest Marcus, the injured soldier, and the horses the group had ridden there. Both the priest and the soldier exchanged concerned looks as they noticed the other priest had not returned with the paladin.
"Is . . is she dead?" the priest Marcus asked.
"Yes, she is dead. But not before taking the life of our brother," the paladin calmly answered.
The priest and soldier closed their eyes in a moment of silent respect. A few minutes later, the sun's rays began to peek over the horizon as dawn approached.
"What is in the bundle," the priest asked as he noticed the wrapped cloths the paladin was carrying in one arm.
The paladin looked to the bundle for a moment and then towards the dawn.
"Let us return home. Enough blood have been spilled before this dawn."
The paladin took the reigns to his horse from the soldier, never answering the priest's question. Whether not wishing to force the issue, or too exhausted to pry any further, the priest did not ask again. A few minutes later the trio began the journey back to Waterdeep and the Spires of the Morning, temple to Lathander and the seat of their faith in this region of Faerûn.

Back home the paladin's wife, a follower of Lathander like him, and his son, a five year old boy, awaited him. He had something to show them both when he came home, but first he had to stop by the temple. He looked down to the bundle in his arms, and a small smile formed on his lips.

* * * * *

A dim blue light flashed in the halls of the cultist hideout. Soon it grew to the size of a man and began to widen, creating a tear in the fabric of space and time. A moment later a man stepped through the portal and it closed behind him, winking out of existence, the tear gone, as if it had never existed in the first place.

It was good to be home, he thought as he strode from the room and down a corridor. His mission had been an important one for the cult, and thus an important one to her. The last few days had been stressful for him and it would be good to relax in her company once more, enjoy a day or two of peace and quiet before he - quiet, too quiet. The man stopped in his tracks, listening. Something was wrong. It should not be this quiet.

He muttered a brief spell to turn himself invisible and then continued down the corridor. No acolytes greeted him, no undead servants carried equipment and components from one room to another. He stopped briefly to cast a spell on himself that turned his skin as hard as stone. Then he pressed on and turned a corner. What he saw in front of him made him pick up his pace.

Three men lay dead at an intersection, killed by some noxious gas by the looks of it, their skin covered in blisters and welts. His brow furrowed as he noticed the symbol of Lathander emblazoned on their armor. He looked up and, a dozen feet away, saw a puddle of bloody goo, partially covered by soaked robes.

He did not like it. Everything was too quiet, and these corpses - intruders had violated their hideout and, by the looks of it, made it quite far into the complex. His dismissed the corpses out of his mind when he heard a groan of pain and struggle coming from somewhere further down the corridor.

Quickly he rose to his feet and stalked towards the sound, silently drawing a metal wand about a foot long, from his belt. It would send a bolt of lightning flying towards whatever target he pointed the wand at. He hoped that it was the pained breath of a dying intruder. How he would love torment the fool with his experiments.

He nearly dropped the wand as he was about to turn the next corner. Dragging herself along the wall, one hand on her chest, blood seeping through her fingers, Dhalia all but fell into his arms as she recognized him.
"Dhalia!" he quickly moved to support her weight on his shoulder, causing a hiss of pain from her as the sudden shift in her position tore at the deep wound her chest.
He did not know how she could have possibly survived such a wound, nor did he care, at least not right now. He drove his hand into a pocket in his robe and pulled out a vial marked with a rune of healing, quickly pulling the stopper out with his teeth and pouring the liquid down her throat.

A few minutes, and two more vials later, Dhalia sat on the stone floor of the corridor, the wound in her chest almost fully healed. Her own magic could take care of the rest.
"What happened?" he dared ask, though the fury in her eyes and the corpses in the corridor told him much.
"They . ." Dhalia wetted her lips and swallowed her fury down.
"They took him."
The wizard stared at her in disbelief, his own eyes soon reflecting the fury in hers, though his was more controlled, less driven by emotion than hers.
"We will get him back," he promised her and helped her off the stone floor.

A day later, two figures left the cultist hideout under the cover of darkness, bringing with them several undead servants carrying crates and sacks.
"I have a place we can stay while we find a way to get him back," the wizard explained as they moved into the night.

[mireigi]

Molding a light - part 1

She sat in the morning sun of a cloudless day, the sun's rays already warming the small courtyard. Her chair was near the southern end of the courtyard on a raised dais, which gave her a better view of spectacle below. The baby boy sitting on her lap watched with baffled amazement on the spectactle as only a baby can, occasionally making happy gurgling sounds. She wasn't paying much attention to the spectacle, her eyes on the baby.

How fortunate she were to have been blessed with two healthy boys! Of course there were rumors about the youngest one since neither she, nor the father, had black hair, and there was something about the ears too that seemed out of place. But the high priest at the Spires of the Morning, the seat of Lathandarite worship in the region, had explained it as a rare mutation similar to the one that some times made two brown-eyed parents conceive a green-eyed child.

The explanation had been accepted. How could it not? It came from a high priest afterall. Of course it was made easier for everyone to accept the truth, as it was not the first time she had given birth to a child with unusual looks. Her other son had been born with red eyes, an unusual mutation. She had often wondered what it meant, but the answer had always eluded her. A cry from the courtyard drew her attention away from the baby boy in her lap and out of her thoughts.

"That's it, Miran! Keep your guard up!" the man in the courtyard cried out as he side-stepped and prepared for another attack against the young boy. Both of them were holding wooden swords and had been practicing for almost an hour. They would be done soon, the morning's physical training completed for the day. She smiled as the boy, her boy, with the red eyes and blonde hair, deftly blocked his father's attack and absorbed the blow as he had been taught. He would become just as strong as his father when he grew up. She looked down to the baby boy in her lap. So would he, she thought. Her smile widened as the boy squealed in happy amusement from the training he witnessed.

* * * * *

"Did you see it, mother!?" the young boy, Miran, excitedly asked his mother as he ran over to her when the training was over.
"Did you see it!?" he quickly repeated.
"Yes, I saw it Miran. I am very proud of you," she smiled warm and sincerely to him, which only made his smile even bigger.
"Father says I am learning so quick!" Miran exclaimed, all but jumping for joy, his youthful body still filled with much energy.
"You are," came the authorative and calm voice behind him as his father stepped up and put a large hand on his shoulder, "keep this up and you might be able to help me train your brother when he comes of age too."
Miran's eyes went wide with pride and he started to speak, but his words were cut short by his father's voice.
"Now, go get cleaned up before dinner. Your mother will want to talk with you after, when it is time for your lessons on the gods."
"Yes, father."
Miran bowed to his mother and then his father before running off, a beaming smile on his lips. Aside from the physical training with his father, he enjoyed his mother's teachings almost as much.

"You are a good teacher, love," the woman stated as Miran was out of sight, "but let us not get ahead of ourselves. He is still young and need to fill his childhood with more than training and lectures."
The man sat down on the stone dais beside her, a warm smile on his lips. Before answering her, he moved his large and warm hand to the baby boy in her lap, his youngest son, born nearly two years ago, only a few months before he had left to bring the light of Lathander to the Bhaalist cult a few days ride outside the city of Waterdeep. He had led half a dozen soldiers and two priests into that dreadful place, but had returned with only a single priest, and a soldier who had died from an infected wound only a tenday after returning home.

He brushed a few black locks of hair away from the baby boy's face.
"I know, Camille," he smiled up to his wife and mother of his two sons, "I just want to make sure he is ready when the day comes that he must begin his training at the temple as a squire."
He looked back down the the baby boy as the boy reached for his fingers, clutching one between both hands and lightly nibbling on the dirty digit. He laughed with love and warmth, and so did she. After the laughs they both sat in peaceful silence for almost a full minute before her voice broke the silence.
"It is what he wants, I know that. But it is important that he make his own choices, and is not following in his father's footsteps out of a sense of discipline, but because it is what his heart tells him."
She paused for a moment, studying her husband's reaction for a few seconds before continueing.
"It is what most boys do, follow in their father's footsteps, but few fathers are paladins, and with good reason. Even fewer are as good at it as the mighty and loving William Faeglin," she finished with a teasing laugh, hoping to keep the tone jovial and humorous.

His gaze had wandered to the baby boy in her lap as she spoke. He was playing a light game of catch with the boy as he moved his finger above the boy's head, just within grabbing range of the tiny hands. When she finished on a humorous note, he gave a warm laugh and pulled his hand away.
"There is truth in your words, love."
He moved his hand up to rest on the side of her cheek and leaned in for a brief kiss. When he pulled back, he pushed himself off the stone and helped her up while she held on to the baby boy.
"I will heed your words, and when the time comes," his gaze drew down towards the boy in her arms, "we will let Tolan decide for himself as well."
"Thank you, William, my love," Camille answered him with a smile, and together the three of them left the courtyard to find their oldest son, Miran, who was likely already waiting for them at the dinner table.

* * * * *

Camille was lecturing Miran out in the gardens, teaching him about the different gods of the realms. A little over a year ago, when Miran had reached his sixth summer, she had begun teaching him about Lathander, the god both she and William followed. William of course had taken care of the physical training of Miran, making sure that he was as strong of body as he was of mind. Over the months, Camille had taught Miran about Lathander, Ilmater, Helm, Tyr, Chauntea, and even what little she knew of the elven god Corellon, and the nature god Silvanus. Today she had begun the lecture on Tempus.

Meanwhile William was taking care of their other son, Tolan. He had noticed a few changes starting to come over the boy as he was growing. He wanted to note them down, both when he had first seen them, but also how fast they were happening. He hoped that the high priest might be able to use the information to tell him and Camille what was happening with their baby boy.

The black hair was an oddity in itself, given that both he and Camille had hair so blonde it was like a mix of gold and silver whenever the sun fell on it. But in recent months, he had noticed that Tolan's ears were starting to show a pointed tip, similar to that found among half-elves. Of course, the pointed tip had always been there, but it had not been as pronounced and was well within what would be the norm for a human baby. But now, it was starting to become noticeable - too noticeable.

He wrote down the changes in his book, as he did most everything else of import in his life. Ever since he had taken the sacred vows as a paladin, he had kept a record of everything in his life, that his reasoning and actions could be scrutinized in case they were ever called to question. As he lifted the quill from the page, the ink still fresh, he turned his head to look at the sleeping Tolan. Did his face seem more angular than it had a year ago? he wondered. With a sigh he wrote down the suspected change as well. This was all very strange, and he hoped the high priest had some answers for him.

William sat down the quill when Tolan woke with a squeal, no doubt because of a bad dream. He had had many of those as of late. Another thing to speak with the high priest about. As he carried and gently rocked Tolan in his arms, he looked down at him, closely examining him. He smiled warmly to his son, even as he determined that Tolan's facial features were indeed starting to become more angular than when he had been born.

[mireigi]

Molding a light - part 2

William lifted the quill from the book and blew on the ink to make it dry faster. He had just finished writing the latest entry in what had over time turned out to be a weekly journal of the changes happening to his boy, Tolan. Nearly two months had passed since he had noted the angular shape Tolan's face was adapting, and even though it had been slight, there had been a noticeable change almost every week. It was puzzling.

At least it seemed to be slowing down. The changes in the past two weeks had been miniscule, but to the trained eye of William Faeglin, paladin of Lathander, it was very easy to spot. His wife, Camille, had not noticed it at first, but rather shrugged it off as a temporary thing caused by Tolan's natural growth. However, when William three weeks past had presented her with his journal, she saw the changes too when comparing Tolan's looks to the mental image she had of him.

It had been difficult for her. She already had one child with unusual appearances, their oldest son, Miran, born with red eyes; but now she had another boy, who not only had black hair and ears like a half-elf, but whose facial features were changing to make him appear even more out of place in her little family where none shared similar facial traits!

She had struggled for past three weeks to overcome her own doubts and fears of what others might be thinking of her and her family. She had done a good job at hiding it of course, and noone had noticed it. Except William. It had taken him a few days to recognize the signs, and when he did, he had of course offered her hope and helped her through those hard times. She was a Lathandarite like him afterall, and did not succumb to despair. But she had needed the support of her husband to find a meaning or purpose to the oddities found in her two boys.

Which was why William did not enjoy what he had to do that day. His own studies into the strange changes had gone on long enough. It was time to present his findings to the high priest, and, hopefully, find some sense or meaning in it all. Depending on what the high priest concluded, Camille would either be elated or saddened. And so it was that he tucked the journal into a small bag, and left their estate with Tolan safely riding in the nook of his right arm, wrapped in many blankets to keep him warm.

* * * * *

Half an hour later William arrived at the Spires of the Morning. The journey there had thankfully been an uneventful one. Of course, since he and Camille lived in the noble part of Waterdeep, there were less beggars and drunkards roaming the streets than there would be for those living in the market or docks district. That was not to say that the nobility had less troubles, just that they were of a different sort, and usually involved someone's honor or fortunes. He had lost count of how many times he had intervened on behalf of some lower class citizen, who had caught the eye of a young man or woman of noble birth, and were now being threatened by the other members of the noble family. Such petty feuds.

He stepped through the large doors of the temple and, oddly, was greeted by the high priest himself.
"William!" the high priest greeted him with a mirthfilled voice, "you made it, and on time." he laughed warmly before adding, "As usual."
"Revered father," William dipped his head in a respectful greeting, his own smile matching that of the high priest.
"It would not do well for me to ask for a meeting and then show up late."
The high priest waved his hand with a dismissive shake of his head, though he continued to smile.
"Always so formal, William," he smiled and slowly averted his gaze to the boy William was holding.
"He have grown quite a lot since you last brought Tolan here. Of course, children tend to grow a lot in a year."
William stared at the high priest for a few moments, long enough for him to understand the nature of the visit.
"Ahh," he motioned one of the rooms of the temple, "we can talk more in here."

Following behind the high priest, William carried Tolan with him inside the room and carefully laid Tolan down on the table. Meanwhile the high priest had closed the door behind them and moved up beside him. Tolan made a small fuss of being placed on the table, having found the ride on his father's arm much more enjoyable. His eyes went wide as the high priest looked down at him, and he stared up at the strange man with childlike wonder.
"I have a few observations," William stated as he presented the journal of Tolan's changes to the high priest.

As the high priest read the first few entries in the journal, he furrowed his brows and cast a questioning look to William for a few moments before reading a few more entries.
"Lock the door," he said without even looking up as he turned the page.
William merely nodded and moved to close the door, and returned shortly after, while the high priest continued reading, occasionally casting a glance to Tolan.

With a soft thud, the high priest snapped the book closed and placed it on the table next to Tolan. Slowly he lifted his eyes up to look at William. The gaze that settled on William was one of consternation, reflected all too well in his voice, a mix of reserved curiosity and surprise.
"Tell me, William. Tell me everything."

* * * * *

"Do not speak of this to anyone, William," the high priest said when William, with a now sleeping Tolan riding on his arm again, unlocked the door to the room. Nearnly three hours had passed since William had presented his findings to the high priest and been asked to lock the door.
"Tell your wife, Camille, if you feel she should know, but do not speak of it to anyone."
"You want me to lie to any who come asking?" William asked, a slight furrow on his brow, "you know I cannot do that."
"No, I want you to deflect and avoid the answer. If any pry too much, send them to me."
William clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, thinking on the high priest's request for a few moments as he mulled it over. Slowly he nodded his acceptance.
"I will abide by your wisdom in this, revered father."

With a respectful dip of his head to the high priest, William opened the door and stepped outside the small room, a light furrow on his brow. He had come in search of answers, and while he had found some, he had also found more questions. He looked down at the sleeping baby Tolan in his arm, staring at him in silence for several long moments. Slowly his furrowed brow gave way to a warm smile. He would do as the high priest had asked if it meant Tolan, his youngest son, would grow up to be a happy boy.

Soon after he left the temple grounds and headed back home to his wife. He would tell her all that he and the high priest had talked about, and he knew she would agree to keep it quiet as well. She was a smart woman afterall. She might even be able to help him to keep it quiet when his vows as a paladin prevented him from doing so. He looked down at Tolan again and smiled. Everything for his children.

[mireigi]

Molding a light - part 3

"Tolan, wake up! Wake up! Tolan!", Miran's excited voice called out as he burst through the door late in the morning. Dashing through the room, his excitement bringing him energy, Miran ran to the window and threw them wide open to let the sun's rays inside.
"Wake up!", Miran called out again as he pulled the blankets off Tolan.
"W-what!? Miran!?", Tolan stammered out, only half awake and not knowing what all the fuss was about.
"Father is coming home today!", Miran excitedly explained, and Tolan's eyes widened, a warm and happy smile spreading on his lips.
"Mother say that we will greet him by the east gate, but only if we hurry and get ready!"

Miran slid from the edge of the bed and ran to the dresser, immediately starting to pull out some of Tolan's clothes, picking only the finest pieces he could find. Tolan meanwhile, now a boy of three summers and seven months, pulled himself out of the bed and, on his small legs, turned for the door and ran down the corridor.
"Mother! Mother!", Tolan excitedly called out as he turned a corner, his face beaming with happiness from the thought of seeing his father again. He turned another corner, and burst into the living room, where his mother, Camille, was having a talk with one of the neighbours, a noble lady.
"Mother! Is it true!? Is father coming home today!?", Tolan excitedly asked, his voice a high-pitched happy squeel as he threw his arms around her leg.

The noble lady nearly choked on her tea as Tolan burst into the living room, only dressed in his underpants, and his hair a tangled mess. He hadn't even thought of taking a morning bath before rushing off to find his mother.
"By the gods, Camille!", the noble lady exclaimed as she lowered the cup of tea to the saucer.
"Tolan!", Camille cried out, and picked up her boy.
"How is it you look?"
Tolan looked down at himself, puzzled by the question, not fully grasping the situation.
"Is it true!? Is father coming home!?", Tolan excitedly asked again.
"Yes, it is true, Tolan," Camille smiled to him and set him down on the floor again.
"Where is your brother? I asked him to--", was all she managed to say before Miran entered the living room, carrying with him several pieces of clothing, "ahh, there he is."
"Apologies, mother," Miran noticed the noble lady and politely bowed his head to her, adding a quick "Lady," before turning back to his mother, "you know how he is when father have been away for a few days."
"Yes. Yes I do," Camille chuckled and kneeled down to look at Tolan. "Go with your brother, Tolan. Get bathed, dressed, and then we will eat breakfast together before we go to welcome you father home."
Tolan grinned and rushed out the living room, calling out to Miran as he passed by him. "Come on brother, do not be so slow!"
With a sigh, Miran turned to follow after Tolan. Behind him, Camille was softly laughing. The last he heard before he was out of earshot, was the noble lady laughing as well.

* * * * *

An hour and a half later, the three of them stood by the east gate, waiting for William, Camille's husband, and the father of her children, to return home from his latest mission for the Spires of the Morning temple. This was the third time in a year that her husband had been called away on a mission. Of course, she knew what she was getting herself into when she had first started courting him. He was a paladin, and that meant duties that took him far and wide. The first two times in the past year had only been a tenday or less each, but this latest one had been almost a full month.

A tug on her sleeve brought her out of her thoughts.
"Mother, how much longer until father comes home?", Tolan asked while looking up at her with hopeful eyes.
"Soon, Tolan." She smiled to him. She did not know of any boy who loved his father as much as Tolan did. "The letter said he would be here at midday, which is now."
"But where is he?", Tolan asked again.
"Patience, Tolan. He will be here soon."
Tolan nodded and went back to waiting in silence, his hopeful eyes fixed on the heavy gates, longing to see his father once more.

He did not have to wait long. Only a few minutes later, one of the guards stationed on the battlements called down to the other guards.
"Riders approaching! Open the gates!" and the guards reponded by pulling open the gates.
Tolan's face lit up and it was difficult for him to remain calm, bristling with excitement as he was.
"Calm down, Tolan," Miran whispered to him, but Tolan didn't seem to hear. The sound of horses walking on the cobblestones grew more noticeable as the riders approached the open gates.

Camille had to restrain Tolan when he spotted his father on top of his armored warhorse, the blank steel shining in golden colors from the rays of the midday sun. Calmly he rode in through the gates, head held high and showing no sign of weariness from his long mission. Neither of her boys saw it, but Camille immediately saw that fewer were returning than had left, which was confirmed a few moments later when the procession stopped before two women standing at the front of the crowd.

William slid down from his horse and landed on the cobbled road with a metallic rattle from his armor. The pained cries from the two women made Camille's heart sink, as she knew William delivered word of their husbands passing. She prayed that William would always ride through those gates, that she would never receive a similar message from one of his men. Not only for her own sake, but her children as well.

A few moments later, his eyes weary, William took the reigns of his horse and continued along the road, his men following suit behind him, while a priest from the temple, who had been in the welcoming crowd, moved to console the two women.
"Camille!", William happily exclaimed as he saw her, a dozen paces away or more. The weariness in his eyes instantly faded away.
"William!", Camille happily answered in kind, trying to retain her composure. The momentary lapse in her vigil was enough for Tolan to pull free and sprint towards his father. Behind him, Camille feebly tried to reach for him, but it was too late and he was already out of reach.
"Father!", Tolan cried out, tears of happiness streaming down his cheeks as he quickly closed the gap between them and threw himself around his father's leg.
"Tolan!", William cast a glance to Camille who smiled apologetically and took Miran's hand, walking with him to welcome father and husband back home.
"Oh, I have missed you two," William spoke in a warm and soft voice as he embraced both his boys.
"I have missed you too, father. Please do not go away again!", Tolan cried on his shoulder.
William only smiled and kissed both of his boys on the forehead.
"It is good to have you back home, father," Miran said with a smile, more calm than his little-brother.
"It is good to be back home." William smiled and stood back up, although Tolan's grip around his neck made it difficult, yet he managed. As soon as he was standing, he wrapped an arm around Camille and pulled her close for a brief kiss.
"They have missed you, William. As have I." Camille smiled to him.
"Let us head home," William said, and lifted Miran up to sit on his horse. When he was securely seated, William lifted Tolan up to sit in front of Miran. A few moments later, the procession continued along the cobbled road. No one had thought it appropriate to interrupt a paladin of Lathander in his reunion with his family.

* * * * *

Later that evening, after Miran and Tolan had been put into bed, there was a knock on the door of William and Camille's house. When William went to answer it, he found the high priest of the Spires of the Morning standing outside.
"High priest," William respectfully bowed his head, "come in."
"Thank you, William," the high priest said as he stepped inside.
"Good evening, Lady Camille," the high priest dipped his head with a smile to her.
"Good evening, high priest."
William closed the door and moved to stand beside his wife's side once more, wondering what might have brought the high priest to see them at this hour of the day, though he had a suspicion.

"Is it true?", the high priest looked at William as he asked.
William looked at the high priest, startled by the directness of his question. Beside him, Camille shuffled nervously.
"Is what true?", Camille asked.
William looked in silence at the high priest for a few moments before grasping the nature of the question, and slowly he nodded.
"Yes. It is true," he swallowed, looking nervous for the first time in the many years Camille had known him, which scared her.
"So she lives," the high priest muttered, though it was loud enough that the both of them could hear it.
"Who lives?", Camille dared ask, though her voice was pitched low, filled with worry at the sight of her nervous husband, a man as strong as any she had ever known or even heard of.
"Dhalia, I saw her at the back during one of the battles. Others did as well," came William's reply.
All blood drained from Camille's face as she stared at her husband in horror. She tried to speak, but she could not find the words. Even if she could, her throat had snared itself so tight that she could barely breathe.
"W-What do w-we do?", Camille finally managed to stammer out, her voice on the verge of despair as she sank to her knees.

The high priest kneeled down in front of her and smiled.
"Do not despair, Camille. It is a new dawn tomorrow, and we will find a way."
She nodded to his words, though she barely heard them. She did not register when the high priest started to speak to William. Why did it have to be like this!? Dhalia was supposed to be dead, but if she was not, then how could her and William ever be safe? The words from the high priest brought her out of her thoughts.
".. not tell him."
"He should know!", Camille cried out to the high priest, "He should know so he can be safe!"
"Who should know what?", came a voice from the doorway leading out to the corridor. Miran's voice.
Camille gasped, realizing that she must have cried out high enough to wake Miran. Luckily Tolan did not appear to be awake. Quicky she scrambled to get up so he would not see her sitting on the floor.
"Miran, go back to bed," William calmly said to Miran, trying to avoid answering.
"Wait," the high priest interrupted, much to the surprise of both William and Camille.
"Come closer, Miran," the high priest beckoned him closer, "your father keep telling me how strong a boy you are. I wonder if you are strong enough to help your father, hmm?", he smiled to the boy.
"I am!", Miran proudly answered and puffed out his chest, trying to make himself look bigger.
"Good. Then do as your father tells you. I need to talk with your parents, but in the morning, you and I will have a little talk, alright?"
"Yes!", Miran nodded enthusiastically and bowed to the high priest and his parents before starting to turn away and head back to bed.
"Oh, one more thing, Miran," the high priest called out, making Miran stop in his tracks, "do not tell Tolan of this."
Miran looked perplexed and looked to his father who simply nodded.
"Yes, Sir," Miran answered and went back to bed.

The high priest pushed himself up and smiled to William and Camille.
"I will tell him what he need to know. You can tell him a little more than that if you want to, but I think it might be a good idea to have him look after Tolan for the time being."
William and Camille looked at eachother with Camille searching her husband's eyes for any clue what to say or do. After a few moments she saw it, and slowly nodded. As one they turned to look at the high priest.
"We will let Miran know," William answered.
"Good," the high priest smiled to the both of them and turned for the door. As he pulled open the door, he looked over his shoulder at the two.
"Remember, Tolan cannot know."
"We understand," William answered once more.
"The dawn bring new hope," the high priest nodded and slipped out the door.
As soon as the door closed, Camille threw herself around William's shoulders and started crying. He did his best to comfort her, while his thoughts raced, contemplating the new situation, and what it meant for all of them, Tolan in particular.

[mireigi]

Molding a light - part 4

It had been a month since Miran had spoken with the high priest regarding Tolan. He had been asked to keep a watchful eye on Tolan, noting everything that seemed odd. A lot of things seemed odd about Tolan in Miran's eyes. His younger brother would do the strangest things sometimes. At one time Miran and Tolan had been playing a game of hide and seek, and when it became Tolan's turn to find Miran, he had filled a bowl with water, shouted a string of strange words at it and then poured the contents all over himself, leaving a wet mess in the house as he searched for Miran. According to Tolan he had blessed the waters to help him find Miran.

On another occasion Tolan had blindfolded himself for an entire day and insisted on keeping the blindfold on, even during dinner, which of course ment that most of his food went nowhere near his mouth. He had given no reason for that particular act other than it was fun. Miran didn't think it was fun to constantly bump into walls and furniture when he had tried it the day after. Tolan had only laughed at him.

The strangest thing so far that Tolan had done, was when he and Miran had been playing fencing game and Miran had accidently hit Tolan's shoulder rather hard, leaving a bruise. Rather than cry, Tolan had pointed at Miran and angrily shouted a string of words that made no sense at all. To Miran the words that came out of Tolan's mouth was almost like a beautiful song in the church, except that the look on Tolan's face made it clear that the words were meant in anger. Not even William, who had been keeping an eye on the boys while they played their fencing game, had any idea what the words meant, and Tolan didn't speak them again, although he continued to sometimes mixed similarly strange words into his everyday speech.

* * * * *

Miran and William were on their way back home after a visit to the temple where Miran had reported his findings to the high priest. The strange words spoken by Tolan had interested the high priest greatly. If Miran was any judge on the matter, the high priest had, despite Miran's poor attempt at reciting what Tolan had shouted at him, recognized some of the words. According to the high priest, the rest of the odd things Miran had observed Tolan do was just a boy being silly, although he had smiled at the story of Tolan's attempt to bless a bowl of water.

After Miran had reported to the high priest, William had been summoned to speak with the high priest as well. Alone, just like Miran had. Miran knew that his father was a little upset when he had came back out from that meeting, which hadn't lasted more than ten minutes at most. He had kept quiet and not asked any questions about it, but as they walked through the streets of Waterdeep, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Father, why are you upset?"
William paused in his tracks, unprepared for the innocent and caring, but unexpected question.
"Upset?", William asked and looked down to Miran, "I am not upset, Miran. Just a little concerned about Tolan."
"Oh," Miran looked up at his father, "I am too. He is so strange."
William laughed a little and smiled.
"I think that is a good way to describe him," William admitted with another chuckle.
Miran laughed too, but stopped when William placed a hand on his shoulder.
"But even if he is a little strange, he is still your brother and me and your mother's son."
Miran nodded slowly, unsure where his father was leading with his words.
"It is important that we do not let the strange things he does get in the way of our love for him."
Miran eagerly nodded, "I do love him, father. But why must I spy on him? It feels wrong."
"Because the high priest believe it will help us understand why he sometimes do strange things."
"Oh. Like those words he shouted at me?"
"Yes, hopefully."
"Good. I want to know what he said."
"So do I, son. So do I."
"Let's continue home. I think your mother may have dinner ready for us when we come home."
"Yay!" Miran grinned, and together they continued home.

* * * * *

Later that evening, about an hour after the evening meal, William had gathered Camille, Tolan and Miran in the living room for a game of stories. It was something they hadn't done for several months, and he had missed the game and joyful moments it brought. It was a game that had been in Camille's family for generations, and one they had often played when they were courting in their younger days. The goal of the game was to create a story by rolling a dice. Each player would roll the dice, and depending on the result would either describe an action, something in the surroundings, add a new character to the story, provide a restriction for the next player, reverse the turn order, or roll again twice. Camille would write down the story as they played so they could always continue the story at another time if the hour grew too late, or read it when they were all gathered so they could have a good laugh.

Tolan had just had his turn, introducing a new character in the form of a baker who baked magic pies that always tasted of whatever the eater wanted them to taste like, except for bad people, who instead grew tails like a cat when they ate the pie. They had all laughed at that and William was picking up the dice when there was a knock on the door.
"I wonder who that is at this hour?" Camille asked noone in particular as William rose to answer the door.
Whomever it was, they didn't stay long, nor enter their home, as was evident when William returned a few moments later with a letter in his hand. The seal showed the symbol of Lathander.
"What does it say?"
"I don't know," William responded as he sat down with his family again, "I'll open it after we finish our game."

* * * * *

Two hours later they decided to stop the game for the evening as it was time for Miran and Tolan to go to bed. They had reached a good place for a new chapter in their story anyway, with the baker being chased by a knight after one of his pies made the knight's fiancée grow a cat's tail.
"So what's in the letter?", Camille asked when they were alone in the living room.
William took the letter from his pocket and opened it by breaking the seal. His eyes scanned the contents as he read it, a tired frown playing across his features.
"William? What is it?" Camille tentatively asked, noting her husband's reaction to the letter.
William lowered the letter and put on a smile for his wife, trying to soften the weight of his words.
"I am to leave for Everlund in five days."
"Everlund!? But that's near Silverymoon. You'll be gone for two tendays at least!"
"Yes. I am to make contact with and escort a scribe of Oghma back here."
"Why? What is so important about a scribe of Oghma? Why must you do it?"
"Because the scribe can help us," William explained as he handed over the letter to his wife.
Camille quickly scanned through the contents of the letter and then looked up in astonishment at her husband.
"A scribe of Oghma can help us understand the strange words that Tolan sometimes say? They are not just silly words?"
William nodded.
Camille handed the letter back to him and sighed.
"Tolan is going to be very upset that you need to leave."
William nodded again, thoughtful, his mind already racing as he began the mental checklist of what to include in the preparations for the trip.
"I know. Will you help me make him understand when I tell them tomorrow?"
"You know I will."

[mireigi]

// Trying out a new structure and style. To anyone following along so far, please let me know in a PM what you think. Better or worse?

---

Molding a light - part 5

---The road had been a long one, filled with unexpected stops to provide aid to fellow travellers on the road, including a two day investigation of the death of one of the stablehands at a local tavern roughly four days ride from Waterdeep. The murderer, it turned out, was a drunk self-proclaimed knight whom had struck down the young man in a drunken stupor when he had advised against riding while drunk. The man had been identified when his was the only horse missing from the stables. William, along with one of the local hunters in the area, had tracked the man to a nearby town where they caught up with him and were able to subdue him.
---His fate, William later learned, had been to pay repairs to the innkeeper and the young man's family, as well as banishment from the local community when his two months in the garrison's jail had been served.
---William, the paladin of Lathander that he was, had offered the man redemption for his sins. The man had accepted and listened to William's words quite eagerly for the better part of three hours. When the man's habit of unhealthy drinking had been called into question, with a requirement that the habit be abandonded, the man had yelled at William, telling him to bugger off and not meddle in the affairs of others.

---All that had happened when William was travelling to Everlund. Fortunately the rest of the trip had been rather uneventful. The meeting with the scribe had gone well, and they had set out for the return trip just after midday the following day. The only event worth mentioning at all had been when the carriage had struck against a rock on one side, while simultaneously sinking into a hole on the opposite side, causing the entire thing to lurch to one side, throwing one of the handlers off his seat. He had managed to land on his feet rather than his head, which saved his life, but it had cost him a sprained ankle. It had been three days before the man could comfortably assist his fellow handler with driving the carriage, which meant that progress had been slow for those days.

---With all the interruptions on the road, three tendays had passed before William once again returned to the Spires of the Morning temple in Waterdeep. The scribe had been provided accomodations at the temple, and arrangements had been made to have him meet with Tolan on the following day.
---Tolan, loving his father as much as any other boy, perhaps even more, had, as Camille had predicted, not been happy about William's departure. Often the question of when his father would return, had been raised, several times each day in fact. However, when William returned that evening, all of Tolan's misgivings and sometimes sulking mood had disappeared like morning dew before the sun. His father had returned, and that was all that mattered to him.

* * * * *

---The scribe leaned forward and took another look at Tolan's eyes, his ears, his angular facial features. This was the fourth time in the past half hour that the scribe had taken a closer look at Tolan. Halfway through the afternoon Tolan had been brought to the temple by his father and introduced to the scribe. With both William and the High Priest accompanying them, Tolan and the scribe had moved to small meeting room where they could speak unhindered and unobserved by the masses coming and going in the temple.
---Tolan had initially been a little afraid of the scrutinizing eyes that the scribe had laid upon him, but when the man had presented him with a sheet of paper and a thin block of charcoal with which to write or draw, Tolan had relaxed some and begun drawing scenes from the stories his father had told of his missions for the temple, as well as inspirational tales based upon heroes and champions of light that were now long gone. He no longer seemed to mind when the scribe stared at him, too absorbed in his drawings.

---"Tolan, look at me," the scribe's words made Tolan's attention shift to the man sitting opposite him at the table, "these words that you speak, do you know what they are, where they come from?"
Tolan glanced to his father, standing with the High Priest near the only door in our out of the room. When William nodded, Tolan looked back to the scribe and shrugged lightly.
---"I do not know. But they are fun to say and it feels good to speak them." Tolan replied. There was a brief moment of silence before Tolan tentatively continued, a sudden pang of worry in his eyes as if he had done something wrong. "Are they bad?"
The scribe shook his head lightly, trying to calm the young boy before his livid imagination made his work more difficult than it needed to be.
---"No, they are not bad. Why do you think that?"
---"They are easier to say when I am upset."
---"Can you say them at all when you are not upset?"
Tolan slowly nodded.
---"What should I say?"
---"Anything you like, Tolan."
The room fell silent then, as if everyone were waiting for Tolan to use the strange language that he for some inexplicable reason was able to speak despite having received no training in it at all. Just when it seemed that the scribe would have to encourage the boy to say something, Tolan spoke a few words in the strange language.
---"Faciunt vobis om oi?"
---"Quae i faciunt. Vobis sunt doiyel bona at oi," the scribe answered.
So surprised was Tolan that another could not only understand him, but also answer in the same strange language, that he nearly fell from his chair as he rocked back in surprise. The scribe, however, was quick to grab Tolan's hand, pulling him back before the chair, and he with it, toppled to the ground.
---Over by the wall, both William and the High Priest sucked in a surprised breath, fearful that Tolan would get hurt when he hit the ground. William had even pushed himself away from the wall, already taken two steps towards the table when the scribe caught Tolan.
The initial surprise over, Tolan looked over to his father and smiled.
---"I am fine, father."
William began to speak, but was cut short by the scribe as he further questioned Tolan.
---"Would you like to speak with me using these words of yours?"
---Tolan looked to the scribe and nodded. "Yes, I would."

---The scribe and Tolan then went on to speak to eachother in the strange language that only they seemed to know. Both seemed in a good mood, Tolan especially, finally able to speak with someone in a language that he had come to love ever since first discovering his first words. At first it seemed like Tolan had to struggle to form some of the words, but gradually, as the minutes passed by, his confidence grew and his words came much quicker.
---Nearly two hours passed this way before the scribe decided that he had heard all he needed to hear, and seen all he needed to see.
---"I think we are done here for now. You are quite capable, young man."
Tolan grinned from ear to ear.
---"Continue practicing on your own and you will find that the words come naturally to you."
---"I will!"
The scribe then turned to William and the High Priest.
---"I am in need of some rest. Will either of you show me to chambers?"
---"You will not share what you have learned?" William asked, cearly hoping that the scribe would.
---"Once I am rested, we will speak, Sir William."
William nodded to this and gestured to the door.
---"Very well, I will see you to your chambers then."
Together the four of them left the small meeting room, with William first escoring the scribe to the chambers provided for him, and shortly after returning to take Tolan home.

* * * * *

---Later that day, as the sun begins to set over the horizon and both Tolan and Miran have been put to bed, William and Camille made their way to the Spires of the Morning temple. William had told Camille of how Tolan seemed to interact so naturally with the scribe as they spoke in that strange language. Tolan had always been a little too energetic in his ways, but while speaking with the scribe, he had seemed so calm and well-mannered, as if the language itself commanded a sense of calm upon those who spoke it.
---As they arrive at the temple they are greeted by the High Priest and ushered into the same meeting room that had been used for the scribe's talk with Tolan. After exchanging pleasantries and seating themselves at the table, side by side, opposite the scribe, with the High Priest at the end of the table, William asks a question that had been on his mind since earlier in the day.
---"What was it Tolan said to you?", William asks the scribe, "And what did you answer?"
---"He was very sensible with the use of the language," the scribe answers, "he asked me if I understood what he said, to which I replied that I did, and that his decision on what to initially say was a good one."
---"What else did you speak of?"
---"We spoke on how it was that I could understand and answer him. As our talk continued and his ability to master the language developed, we moved on to speak about the drawing he had begun."
---"Why about the drawing?"
---"Because it gave me the opportunity to hear him speak one of your stories from previous missions with his own words, Sir William."
---"My stories?", William asked, surprised that Tolan had chosen to draw something from one of the his stories.
---"Yes. He went to considerably lengths to explain everything in detail. Whenever he would stumble and not know the word, I would ask him to describe in detail, and then offer him the appropriate word in return."
---"I see."
---"What can you tell us about our son and this language he speaks?", Camille suddenly interjected.
The scribe looked to the High Priest, who gave a slight dip of his head, giving his permission.
---"Tell them. They need to know this."
Although she did well to hide it, Camille inwardly frowned at the thought of others determining what she could and could not be told about her boy.
---"Please, tell us," Camille implored the scribe, her tone neutral, not revealing her inner-most thoughts.
---The scribe coughed and shifted slightly on his chair, getting himself comfortable before speaking on what he had learned from his talk with Tolan.
---"Your son is Aasimar, a human child with a celestial grandparent somewhere in his bloodline."
Neither William nor Camille showed any sign of surprise at this, having already been told such by the High Priest some years ago.
---"But I suspect that is not news to you."
Both William and Camille nodded in unison.
---"His command of the celestial language comes natural to him, as it does most who share a similar bloodline. Given his choice of words and how he put them together, I would say that there is a very distinct possibility his celestial blood comes from a solar."
---"What makes you say this?" Camille asked. William must have been about to ask the same question, Camille noted, for he closed his mouth just as she spoke.
---"Even the celestials have dialects, lady Camille. They all share a similar ancestry and speak the same language, but how the pronounce certain words and what words they use in favor of others, vary from race to race."
---"I see. Are you certain though? Solars are quite powerful angels, are they not?", Camille asked and looked to the High Priest, "High Priest?"
---"They are indeed, lady Camille," the High Priest answered.
---"Tolan's blue eyes, a brilliant topaz color, are also indicative of a solar somewhere in his bloodline," the scribe went on to explain.
---"So our son is part solar, speaking the language of the celestials?", William asked to make sure he had understood everything correctly.
---"That is correct, Sir William."
---"Anything else that we should know?"
---"Aasimar are often prone to turning away from the path of good due to fear and ridicule from others who do not understand their nature. You will need to guide and shelter him as he continues to grow. Something I am told that you are already doing."
---"We have been told as much, though not why.", William said before looking to the High Priest.
---"I did not wish to give you further cause for concern, Sir William.", the High Priest explained.
William nodded once, accepting the explanation and hidden apology. Beside him, Camille swallowed down her dismay of once again having others dictate what she could and could not know about her son. William must have sensed it, for she suddenly felt his hand on top of hers under the table. With an effort, she calmed herself and put on a smile for the scribe.
---"Thank you for telling us."

---An hour later the meeting drew to a close and William and Camille left the temple to head home. In a few days time another paladin of the temple would escort the scribe back to Everlund. William had offered to do it, but the High Priest had declined the offer, stating instead that William's time was better spent guiding Tolan and taking care of his family. There would be a time for William to journey out into the world on behalf of the temple again soon, but for the coming months, his place was with his family as both husband and mentor.

---Over the next many months, William, aided by Camille, continued to guide and train not only Tolan, but also his elder brother, Miran. As the months turned to years, Miran, and later Tolan as well, joined the temple ranks as junior acolytes along with several other children. Upon his thirteenth summer, Miran entered into service at the temple as an acolyte squiring under the tutelate of one of the knights of the temple. Tolan on the other hand, also upon reaching his thirteenth summer, would study as an aide to one of the priests of the temple.
---Throughout all the days that came and went, two things never changed: Tolan's love for his family, especially his father; and William and Camille's vigilance in sheltering him from not only the judgemental eyes of others, but also from the true nature of the strange language he came to master, and the physical traits that set him aside from the other children.

* * * * *

---Meanwhile, in a tunnel complex carved into the hillside by magic and hidden from view in a remote area some forty miles east of Waterdeep, Dhalia, the High Priestess of Bhaal that William had defeated only months after Tolan had been born, seethed with rage at her underlings.
---"You fools! Defeated again by that impudent paladin and the rest of his despicable Lathandarite friends!"
She lashed out with a hand at one of the men covering before her wrath. Dhalia accepted only one price for failure, and each and everyone of them knew what it was. A black shimmer formed around the unfortunate man.
---He tried to scream, but it was too late, his lungs already filling with blood as the powerful spell eviscerated him from the inside out. The others could only look on in utmost terror as their comrade, their friend through the past two years, was torn open like an overcooked tomato ripping from inside pressure. A thin coating of blood rained down upon the remaining men as their friend collapsed into a heap of broken bones and torn flesh beside them.
---"Let that serve as a lesson to the rest of you. I expect better results the next time I tell you do do something. Is that understood!?"
The covering men knew better than to speak any word at all, merely bowing their head low, nearly prostating themselves before Dhalia.
---"You may go. You all have duties to attend," Dhalia commanded them in a light voice that showed no trace of the wrath she had unleashed just a moment before, "and take that mess with you."
---With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the group, letting them drag their eviscerated friend from the room that served as both audience chamber and throne room for Dhalia, their High Priestess, their queen.

---From somewhere behind Dhalia's throne, a man stepped out of the shadows and calmly walked up to stand at her side. He was dressed in a robe as black as night, the laces a blood red that made it appear as if blood was trickling down his body as they swayed to his steps.
---"If you continue to eviscerate our ranks when they fail in their service, we will not have enough left to retrieve what was stolen from us during the raid," the man offered in a low tone as he came up beside Dhalia.
---"Is that a complaint, dearest?", Dhalia asked, her soft velvet voice containing just a hint of annoyance, yet it was all too obvious to the man that he was threading on dangerous ground. He carried more favor than most with Dhalia, even so far as being her consort, yet he fully understood that not even he was above her wrath if he mispleased her in some way.
---"No, dearest, merely an observation."
---Dhalia seemed to think on his words for a few moments before she nodded slightly, "I shall attempt to restrain myself in the future."
---"But I grow weary at our lack of progress. It have been too long and neither of us are getting any younger. If my vision is to come to pass, we need progress."
---"Yes, dearest." the man dipped his head respectfully and began to move towards the archway connecting the room with the tunnels beyond.
---"I did not say you could leave yet," Dhalia spoke behind him.
Halting in his tracks, the man turned around and offered a bow to Dhalia, awaiting her words.
---"You would do well to remember, dearest, that that which was taken, was taken from me, not us," she scolded him.
---"Yes of course, Dhalia." the man bowed low again, accepting her reprimand.
---"Now, go make yourself useful and devise a plan to further our goals." Dhalia waved her hand to inform him that their talk was over and she wished to be alone.
Turning for the archway again, the man huriedly left the room, sinister ideas already forming in his mind. The trick, he knew, was to lure the paladin out of Waterdeep and to a place where they could ambush him. But how to achieve that without inviting all the knights of the Spires of the Morning temple out with him, that was the true task.
---As he rounded a corner and came within sight of door to his private laboratories, a malicious smirk formed on his lips as an idea began to form.
---"Be wary, William Faeglin, paladin of Lathander. Be wary."

[mireigi]

(( It has been some time since I last visited the forums following me leaving the server. A few people, all of whom I respect, and cherish as friends, has asked me what became of Tolan. Due to our friendship, and my respect for these individuals, I have decided to provide a small write-up of what has likely transpired in Tolan's storyline, and where it is now. ))

One day out of many in the months following his initial attempts at raising a shrine to his deity, Lathander the Morninglord, Tolan of the Song of the Morning temple in Beregost, yet again finds himself travelling through the streets of Baldur's Gate. It is morning, just an hour before dawn. The earthen musky smell of pavement and ground, still wet after the night's rain, permeates the air. Already the dark skies are receeding, burnt away by the coming brilliance of the rising sun, each of them cast in hues of red.

As he walk through the streets, Tolan offers a court nod and heartfelt smile to the few merchants he encounters, all of them preparing to open business once more. He has become a familiar sight to many, rarely ever missing his morning prayers by the simple shrine. As has also become the norm for him over his tenure at the shrine, Tolan is approached by some of the merchants, asking a minor blessing of new business ventures they are about to undertake, something he is happy to provide.

This morning he had provided more blessings than usual, with late spring soon turning to summer, and many shopkeepers looking to use the turn of the season to import or export new wares, or embark on travel to other cities to expand their business. Therefore it is late, with only minutes to spare before Tolan finally arives at the shrine.

Rolling out a blanket on the ground, and kneeling upon it, facing east, towards the rising sun, Tolan starts his prayers. First he gives thanks to the Morninglord for allowing him to tend his sacred duty on this day. Next comes a prayer for the good health and fortune for those living in Baldur's Gate, followed by another prayer to encompass the whole of the Sword Coast. His cadence is flawless, perfected over many years, so that when the sun rises above the horizon, and the first rays of dawn caress his face, Tolan stands up to meet it, offering his most heartfelt prayer, asking Lathander to look after his brothers and sisters of faith in Beregost, to bless them with good health, and to aid them in their efforts to make Beregost a better place.

His daily prayers complete, Tolan offers one last prayer, a personal one. Word of his missing brother's whereabouts had reached him the evening before. Already he had sent word to his friends and those closest to him, asking for aid. Both through magical messages, and through couriers and runners. He prays for the Morninglord's blessing in his quest, to aid him and his companions in freeing his lost brother from the clutches of a Cult of Bhaal. Whatever their purpose for his brother, Tolan would set him free, so that they both could return to their home in Waterdeep, to be a family once more.

Finishing his last prayer, Tolan turns for the inn where he usually stays when in Baldur's Gate. Here he retrieves his armor, emblazoned with his family crest, a gauntlet holding a red rose, and the symbol of Lathander. Shield strapped to his back, and morningstar hanging at his hip, he heads out onto the streets of Baldur's Gate, and towards the East Gate. His friends would meet him there, or at their destination, deep in the Troll Moors.

* * * * *

Tolan bolts wide awake, sitting upright, sweat drenching his body and the sheets of his bed. It is still dark outside, with several hours before dawn. Images of his morningstar crushing the dark-haired woman's chest, killing her instantly, linger in his mind as he reels from the nightmare. A nightmare that has haunted him for many years. Twelve years had passed since he and his friends entered a cleverly hidden cave in the Troll Moors to free his brother. Twelve years with nightmares. At first the nightmares had come to him every night, but over the years they had faded to only a few times each month.

Rising out of bed and moving to open the window, Tolan lets the cool night-time air flood his room. Why was it so difficult for him to let go of the past? Of that one moment in his life? Despite his meditations, prayers, and advice from friends, and his brothers and sisters in faith, memories of that faithful moment still haunted him.

He had entered the caves only to find a veritable stronghold inside. His friends at his side, Tolan had swept through the complex, battling furiously every step of the way. The Bhaalist Cult had been prepared for them. He had later learned that the source of his information on his brother's whereabouts had originated from the cult, cleverly delivered to drag him into a fight he would lose. Had his friends not been at his side, Tolan would have lost. But they were with him, at his side, matching the cultists in strength, magic, and cunning.

Room by room they had gone, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake, but always, at the insistence of Tolan, offering mercy and attonement to any who would surrender and subject themselves to be bound and gagged. Despite their smaller, but superior force, Tolan's group had still suffered casualties. Of the seven that entered the complex, two had been badly injured, and could go no further, refusing to accept any healing from Tolan until the task was done. They stayed behind, guarding the prisoners, while Tolan and his four remaining friends had pushed deeper.

Eventually the complex came to an end, with only the altar room remaining. It was here that Tolan had finally laid eyes on his brother, Miran. How dishelved he had looked! Malnourished, bloodied, and emaciated, Miran looked but a ghost of his former self. Where once he had been a paladin of great skill and strength, he now wore an appearance that would make a beggar look like the shining knight he had once been.

Tolan had cast aside all pretense of mercy at that moment, wanting nothing more than to punish the one responsible for their sins and actions. A black-haired woman. A high priestess of Bhaal. Dhalia, whom his father had once thought defeated. No, not his father, Tolan remembered, foster-father. Tolan had learned ten months prior that those whom he had called his father and mother for all his life had, in fact, adopted him after the death of his real mother. A black-haired woman. A follower of Bhaal. Dahlia. The captor of Miran, his foster brother.

The battle had been long and bloody, with Tolan's friends keeping the remaining cultists at bay, while he battled with his mother. Both had been reluctant to actually kill the other, but after a while it had become clear that neither would surrender either, and so Tolan had pressed the advantage. The fight had ended abrubtly when his mother had thought to rush a spell, which had allowed Tolan to crush in her ribcage with one devestating attack. The sound of bones crunching, of his mother's last breath as it was blasted from her lungs, and the gurgling as blood filled them, had seared into his memory, along with the rest of the battle, to forever haunt his dreams. Not even the joyful reunion with his long lost foster brother had been enough to drive away those memories. Tolan wondered if they would ever go away.

Standing there, in front of the open window, deep in his thoughts and memories, Tolan had not heard the footsteps of someone walking up to him from behind. He flinched at first when a small hand tugged at his fingers.
"Daddy! I am cold. You are keeping the window open again!" came the cry from the young girl at his side, his daughter.
Dismissing his thoughts, Tolan closed the window and knelt down beside her, ruffling her blonde hair with his fingers, bringing a happy giggle.
"Come. Let us get you into bed," Tolan said as he took her hand and started out of his room.
"Daddy?" the young girl asked, looking up at him with tired eyes.
"Yes, Lynette?"
"Did you have bad dreams again?"
Tolan sighed softly and nodded. "Yes." He smiled to her when he noticed the sorrow in her eyes, then quickly added "but they do not come as often. Maybe they will be gone soon."
"I hope so, daddy." the young girl whispered, then hugged herself against his leg, nearly making him stumble for a few steps until she released her grip.
"I do too." he said, then scooped her up in her arms, and carried her into her room, lying her down on one of two beds.

After tucking his daughter in, and making sure she was soundly asleep again, Tolan moved over to the other bed. In it lay Dorian, his son, only a few years younger than Lynette. The two were as different as night and day.

Lynette had blonde hair, like her mother, and nearly always had one bruise or minor cut somewhere on her body, the result of too much energy pent up in her ten year old body. She would always run through the garden, climb trees, or use a stick as a club, swinging at the empty air, trying to imitate her father in the stories he had shared. Whenever she fell, she would jump right back up, not even making a whimper.

Dorian on the other hand had raven black hair, just like his father, and was more quiet, prefering to read or build things. Eight years old, he was a better reader than Lynette, and was usually the one who thought out things for them to try together, whereas Lynette would use her age and superior strength to provide the brawn for Dorian's ideas. It had left them with many hours building lean-tos in the garden, mechanical contraptions that usually failed in spectacular fashion, or make-shift training dummies for Lynette to practice on.

* * * * *

A few days later, with no nightmares haunting his sleep, Tolan sat outside in the garden, watching his children play. Dorian was sketching some idea for a sling that could throw buckets of water in the hot summer sun. He was often interrupted by Lynette, however, as she would grab the drawing from his hands, and attempt to make whatever was on it, before it was finished.

The three of them lived alone in the cottage, a hundred or so yards from the main road travelling between Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep. It was a place that Tolan had picked to be closer to his brother, who lived at their family estate in Waterdeep, and his friends still living in or around the Baldur's Gate area. The small cottage sat near the edge of a forest, the front facing the road. In the garden behind it was a small natural spring, which had been the reason why Tolan had chosen it in the first place. That and the fact that the garden was bather in the warm rays of the morning sun every day. The cottage also served as a waystation for anyone the many travellers on the road, whom often stopped by to receive aid for minor injuries sustained on the road. A fall from a horse, a cut from a bandit raid, or the effects of poorly cooked food. Tolan tended them all.

Initially he had lived there with the mother of Lynette, a woman known as Kitten to many in the Baldur's Gate area. Kitten was an assumed name, and one that he not used since she had revealed her real name to him. The two of them had lived together for three years, but had never married. In the end, however, it had not worked out between them. They had both agreed that it would be best if Lynette stayed with Tolan, while Kitten would move to live in Baldur's Gate.

It had been almost half a year since Kitten had initially left before she came back for the first time to see her daughter again, much to the joy of them both. Then it had been a few months before she returned, and eventually it had become a monthly event. Even after Dorian had been born, Kitten continued to stop by for a few days at a time every month to visit her daughter, and spend time with Tolan. She never asked who the mother of Dorian was, and Tolan never thought it appropriate to tell her, except that Dorian's mother and Tolan had agreed that it was for the best.

* * * * *

Over the years, some of Tolan's friends would occasioanlly stop by, though the most frequent visitor was his long-term tiefling friend Alika. Initially she had scared both his children, but with each visit they were elated to see her again, eventually refering to her as auntie Alika. She would entertain them with stories of her travels, and sometimes tell them stories about their father, much to the fake grumbling complaints from Tolan.

Both Ayla a philosopher of Candlekeep, and a close friend of Tolan, and another tiefling friend, Talisen, were among the other frequent visitors as well. Whether by luck, divine intervention, or careful planning on their part, Tolan's three closest friends always managed to arrive for his birthday each year. Together they would tell stories of times of old, and rekindle their friendships.

As time went by, Miran, Tolan's brother finally recovered from his imprisonment and torment at the hands of the Bhaalist cult. He and Tolan spent much time together, supporting eachother, and helping to overcome the troubles they had both endured. Eventually Miran married a Waterdhavian girl of noble birth, and became the father of three children. Several times each year the two brothers would meet, their respective families in tow, to celebrate their respective lives and share stories.

Tolan often visited the make-shift shrine in Baldur's Gate, though without him there to tend it, it eventually fell into disrepair, and it became more of a personal thing for him to visit the spot where it had once stood. With his cottage by the road, and the frequent visitors there, Tolan considered his quest to spread the faith of Lathander complete, and did not attempt to raise a new shrine anywhere else.

His brothers and sisters in faith in Beregost remained in his thoughts all throughout the years, and whenever he was able to, he journeyed to visit them, or sent them offering of gold or various supplies, which had been donated to him by visitors to his home. Despite being closer to Waterdeep, and the centre of their shared faith, he never kept them far from his heart and prayers. With his personal issues resolved, and no longer clouding his judgements or actions, he would share his insights, and parlay on their behalf in Waterdeep whenever the need arose.

In the year 1392 DR, at the venerable age of 71, Tolan passed away in his sleep, surrounded by his brother, friends, children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. He was buried in the garden behind the cottage where he had lived and practiced his faith for most of his life. Both now followers of Lathander, like their father, Dorian and Lynette, raised a shrine to Lathander on top of Tolan's grave, sanctifying the ground around it.

Following their father's burtial, Dorian, a monk and scholar of Lathander, returned to Waterdeep to continue his studies. Lynette, a priestess, following in her father's footsteps, however, decided to claim her childhood home as her own. There she continued her father's work for many years, often spending time in the garden with her own children, and tending the shrine.