As I near the end of this body's mortal existence here in the realms, I find myself reminiscing about the days of my youth and the many challenges to my faith as a naive young deacon. For the benefit of my own ailing memory as well as the interest of the younger generations of my family I have decided to put quill to parchment while my fingers can still manage such fine work. But where to begin. Where to begin....
. . .I suppose it is best to begin at the beginning. Or at least, the beginning of this chapter of life about which I speak. The Sword Coast. What a fickle and unusual region it is, plagued by disaster after disaster. It was one such calamity that brought me there and I suppose that is where we shall begin.
The Undead Scourge
In the days of yore, year 1352 - The year of the dragon by Dale reckoning, a great blight shook the Baldurian region of the Sword Coast. It was such a confluence of evil and destruction that the high clergy at the Spires of the Morning called upon members of the clergy to travel south and provide aid to the distraught region. I was one such pilgrim.
Sent Away...
It has happened. That which I have feared has come to pass. The Master of Summer has chosen my surname. Armstrong...what is this farce. No one would consider me strong of arm. More importantly it validates my wariness that I am to be turned out of the cloister. I have spent hours praying for forgiveness; Many more hours spent in contemplation as to of what sin I am guilty to warrant such a punishment. No answers have been forthcoming.
No Recourse...
I have petitioned the council of masters to reconsider this forced pilgrimage. I was granted audience and allowed to plead my case. I felt as though i ably articulated my inexperience and naivete. All to no avail. I do not understand what I have done to earn the ire of the council. I have beseeched the Lord of the Morning for blessings and they have been granted. I have not lost His grace. I must assume that this forced emigration is of His will. I know that it is sinful to doubt His judgement yet I find my thoughts drifting along this very path. I must seek confession and absolution one last time whilst I still have these walls in which to do so.
Leavetakings...
I cannot look behind. I must remain steadfast to move ever forward. The temple fathers insist that I possess that which I need for success and the strength of faith to nurture my purpose as I go. I will defer to thier experience and wisdom as I so constantly pleaded with them I have neither. The caravan leaves with the dawn, and I am to be with it. At least the dawn is a fortuitous portent for this venture. South we tread, toward Baldur's Gate. Rumors of war and a great host of wakened dead had breeched even the closed walls of the monastery. The merchant guards have spoke of this at length. I cannot hide my revulsion at mention of these tormented souls denied their eternal rest. I wish to be away from the City of Splendors. It is too painful to be so close to my brethren yet refused access to my home.
The caravan was attacked yestereve. Some greenskinned humanoids with teeth the size of a mastiff's. The guards referred to them as orcs and apparently they are widely known. Surely their looks held disbelief when I queried as to what manner of beast they were. The guards drove them off, though not without injury. I was not called to do battle, likely for the best. I treated the wounds taken by several of the guards and they were quite gruesome. The beasts must care little for the condition of their weapons of war as the wounds were more torn flesh than the slice of a proper blade. The Lord's blessings have kept us safe thus far and likely saved one of the guards, Davan, from a change of profession. At least I was of some small use.
Nearly every evening we have been beset. More often than not it seems a coordinated attack. Orcs and goblinoids mostly. The guards have begun to whisper of bad omens and ill fortune. I have taken it upon myself to reassure them on an individual basis. My morning benediction has become a matter born witness by others. I am unused to the attention but, all credit to the Lord of Dawn working through me, I have done my best to welcome them to watch, listen and even partake if they wish. I daresay I am becoming part of the company rather than a piece of its cargo.
Finality....
They say that today we will reach the city of Baldur's Gate. In some small way I will miss watching the camradarie of the guards. Their laughter, drinking, even their crude jeers have become a staple. Pride besets me, hoping that they might remember me in some small way after our ways part. I know I shall remember them and their bravery...and sacrifice.
The city is in ruins. I do not mean to tend toward melodrama but it truly is in shambles. An entire section of wall has been completely pulled down. A keep belonging to an order of paladins, The Radiant Heart as I hear it told, has been razed to the ground. The farmlands are destroyed, the people are downtrodden. Lord have mercy. If ever there was a place needing to look forward it is this. The Most Radiant was indeed correct in sending novitiates south. There is no temple within the city but one is rumored in northern Amn; Inside of a town called Beregost. South, then, once more.
An elven army of sorts...
This is not a civilized land. How different it is from the cloister. Even well traveled road is beset by bandit and beast. I made it as far as the river Chionthar alone but I suspect going farther alone would have been the end of me. I prostrate myself before you, Lord, for the aid you sent. I know it was you that touched the fey folk. They nearly leapt at the opportunity to accompany this humble pilgrim south. I had never seen elves such as these. They were wild and rough and one with the land. And archers? Everything I have read is true to form. The de facto leader, a fey called Celduil could pin a flea at a hundred paces, I'm certain. Without their escort I certainly would have been forced to turn back at the least. Still, your providence has provided and we made the journey to Beregost with all haste. I must confess apprehension for what is to come. Will the clergy of this temple accept me into the fold?
The Song of the Morning is a radiant temple! Where it lacks in the majesty of the Spires it makes up for in intimacy with the congregation and compassion of the staff. The High Dawnknight, one Eldarian Al'maire, I find to be fiercely dedicated and suffers no wavering of our duties. He is a man worth of admiration. The Dawnbringer is no less so, a woman of prim attire and meticulous detail. Alesea Abbott is pious yet compassionate, finding a balance between serving the Lord and the people of this troubled community. Her patience, especially with me, seems endless and for this I am grateful and fortunate. It seems that there is much going on behind the scenes hereabouts but I do not expect to be privy to such, being newly arrived and evaluated for service.
The High Dawnknight set out this morn. His demeanor was of reserved stoicism yet he seemed...tired. I offered to accompany him, though I know not his destination. Such things are above my station and I fully appreciate that. Still, my concern for him is genuine. The guards feel much the same. His words to them upon setting out were very...final. I fear that the High Dawnknight does not expect to return from wherever he travels. Surely the Lord of the Morning does not mean to leave us without his steadfast leadership in these dark times. I will pray for him.
