Gallery/Profile of Ser Anthem Arnemeiger

[Darradarljod]

Anthem's devotion within the shrine was trespassed by the arrival of a squire of the Order. The world-weary paladin's eyes opened at the sound of the footsteps behind him, hard steel eyes, yet wet with solemnity. Rising from his knees with the help of his greatsword Anthem turned slowly, levelling his cold gaze onto the apologetic aspirant's approach - a scarred face of grim apathy obscured by a thick patriarchal beard and set stern under a clipped tonsure of greying chestnut.

Holy incense, bitter and burnt, waft lazily from a swaying golden orb brazier dangling from a nearby chain fixture. It perfumied the chamber, polluting the beams of morning light piercing through the stained glass window over the altar where these men met. Without word, a scroll changed hands from squire to knight.

Only when the young man had withdrawn from the sanctuary and Anthem was once again left alone did he unfurl the parchment.

His expression softened with awe as he looked upon the work of cartography - a map, and notes with it. A small - somewhat amused smile creased the hard lines of his face, dry lips shifting beneath his mustache, "Helm be praised."

A while he stood there, browsing the other documents, before rolling them all together once more. With his greatsword at rest on his shoulder, and the scroll in his fist, the paladin made his way slowly out from the chapel to meet the day.

[Darradarljod]

Ser Anthem Arnemeiger, Senior-Knight of the Order of the Radiant Heart
Sponsoring Squires Taevemira Fjord of Lathander and Gaven Arkalis of Torm during the Squire's Oath Ceremony
Witnessed by the Prelate, the Brotherhood of Knights and Grand Historian Thedran Ansen

[Darradarljod]

While purging the corruption within the Cloakwood labryinth a small party of the Order of the Radiant Heart and her allies encountered a drow wizard in consort to a baatezu devil daring the surface realm.

Necromantic spells burned the knights and smiting blows answered - yet the dark elf managed to evade the crusaders by going unseen.

Here, the knights barricade the only exit of the maze to catch the villain;

Eventually, the drow wizard did attempt his daring escape. The Lauded Historian of the Order, Brother Thedran Ansen, heroically pursued the dark elf and struck the killing blow on the infidel, afterward removing the creature's head.

Findings taken from the slain drow have aroused much intruige.

[Darradarljod]

Ser Anthem Arnemeiger of the Order of the Radiant Heart stands a nigh vigil at the Tomb of Sir Billy Williams.

[Darradarljod]

On the evening of the third day Anthem Arnemeiger presented himself at the Flaming Fist Compound. He had a letter in hand ready to present to the stationed guard - a letter addressed to Duke Eltan.

[Darradarljod]

Guest of Distinction: His Grace Duke Eltan at the Chapterhouse

[Darradarljod]

Returning to the Duchal lands on his white destrier "Saxon", Anthem Arnemeiger rode alone into the citystate of Baldur's Gate and dismounted at the stable.

It was eve when the man entered the city and not an hour later he was within that sacred cloister of the Temple of Torm. The thick scent of holy incense, the tall and artistically decorated walls and ceilings, the warm brilliance of fading light through colorful stained glass... it was immediately and overwhelmingly otherly - all together a glimpse of perspective gleaned in the natural; Anthem was a small thing, compared to the glory and lustre of his god.

His soul quieted from the hustle and bustle of the city outside as he moved down the isle of the holy sanctuary to approach the altar. He was alone here. The clank and shuffle of articulated platemail armor rudely disturbed the still of the holy place as the paladin made his advance.

When he reached the altar, Anthem made the sign of Torm over his body with a mailed fist and collapsed to his plated knees. He found himself clutching the altar for support for weakness, a low gasp of relief escaping the lips of the man as sore sorrow wracked his breast. His tonsured head bowed and his perspiring brow pressed against the cold stone. Iron grey eyes closed hard, grief drawing wrinkles across his scarred face.

Slouched on the altar a string of Tormtar prayer beads found their way into a large but feeble hand and fed hungrily between his mailed fingers and thumb. A bearded mouth stuttered orisons without volume. Soon enough his wet eyes had lift to the heavens right devoutly as if he sought out the face of the one known as the True Deity, Torm himself.

Only a cold statue stared back at the man - not Torm, but his likeness... staring with a demeanor as stern as iron. That winnowing, unchanging gaze baring down on Anthem was righteous judgement. It seemed to demand of the Paladin's conscience; why wont you do what must be done?

In the mind's eye, Anthem saw there the smiling face of a raven haired Calishite girl travelling beside him in days of Marpenoth gone.

His eyes lowered from the statue, somber, to the temple floor. Regaining a reverant posture Anthem leaned back to sit on his heels and offered his hands upright to receive. His spirit hardening with grim resolve to Duty. The man of Torm droned his supplication;

"Lord Torm,
Loyal Fury,
Give me strength."

[Darradarljod]

She halted as she approached the mountain path...
Anthem knelt like a statue on the rise, overlooking the road. As the dark armored figure appeared he became animated, rising very slowly to stand. Then, it was clear he was armed - a single edged sword hanging point down in his articulated gauntlet.
"And this is how friends part, is it?" She gripped the handle of a long, ash-black morningstar.
His falchion lift to level at the woman, his expression tortured and disgusted in his open faced helmet, "I am not here to command your repentance."
"You want to kill me? I asked you yesterday but you refused... Why the sudden change of heart?"
"I did not know yesterday what I know today." his sword tucked under his arm, freeing a hand to draw a fistful of rolled parchments from a scrolltube on his belt.
She smirked faintly. "And how does that make you feel?"
Anthem ignored the question. He threw the papers to the wind.
"We could have been a good team, you and I. If only you had seen the truth of things. But it is too late now, isn't it?"
"Truth, Machshikhah?" Anthem trod slowly down the slope. "You dare to speak of truth, after so many lies?! You have deceived me!"
"Yes. I confess. I did. But it is not as you think it is." She approached closer."But I never expect your ilk to ever understand someone like me."
Anthem beat his sword on his shield twice firmly in warning, that the woman should not come any closer. His face is set, grim and severe.
"What are you going to do, Anthem? Reap your vengeance on me? Smite me where I stand? Go ahead. I surrender to your judgement. Do as you see fit. Do today what I asked you to do yesterday."
She surrendered on her knees before him.
"I have no pity for you, Calishite ... you have murdered my love for you." his head bowed, but eyes still locked vengefully on the woman. His zeal surged. "I will send you screaming to Helm, and he will Judge you for your transgressions in his name!"
"Then let the Watcher judge me. Do it. Kill me. Take your vengeance."
He approached quickly, staying no wrath - his sword lift and fell in a brutal chop.
She cackled in laugher as the blade slid right through her. She was not even tangible.
"What sorcery is this?!"
Realization dawned suddenly on the man. He spun, looking in all directions.
"A power you will never understand, Anthem. Behold now your fate."
"Torm wills it!"

Her arms raised, and the fabric of the realm tore open...
Foul denizens from another plane began to pour forth!
Anthem lift his gauntlet palm outward in the sign of Torm. Great light burst from the paladin, obliterating a mob of undead Shadows that had crowded around him.
Immediately after, a pack of other-worldly hounds conjured around the paladin, rushing him on all sides and tearing at his armored body. All of them fell in turn to his heavy blows. Before the last was slain a terrible nightwalker tore forth from some otherly plane, striding toward the lone knight. Anthem met the abomination readily with sword and shield, smiting it back furiously but not felling it before he cried out;
"Reveal yourself, witch!"
"So be it!" came the answer - closer and sooner than he had anticipated...
A gauntlet struck out at Anthem from the shadows they were in, striking with the full fury of everything abhorrent and evil in the world...
The magic was utter repulsion as it coursed through Anthem's mortal frame, virtually opening every injury he ever had...
As the gauntlet seized Anthem he was flayed with unholy power, collapsing like a bag of rocks to the ground. Wracked with agony his discipline faltered and he cried out, eyes wide and glaring up at the black cowled one.

"Here I am, just as you requested..."
She knelt over the probably dying old man, her eyes showing no remorse. No kindness. No mirth. Just utter emptiness.
Anthem spasms and writhes in the unsettled dust of combat, trembling violently.
"I suppose you want to know the real truth now, don't you? It would be merciful of me to do so, don't you think?"
She cast aside her mace, and placed her gaunlet over his face. The palpable sensation of her aura was no longer withheld or concealed in the slightest.
He glared up into the eyes of his once dearest friend, dazed with pain and barely conscious. Her aura repulsed him in his very spirit, arousing a holy hatred in his heart. His hand clutched not for his sword, fallen a metre away, but for the string of Tormtar prayer beads on his belt, though robbed of any fine movement he could do no more than lock them in his hand and bring them to his breast.
She whispered; "We could have done great things together, my friend. I would never have abandoned you. If only you knew the truth."
"Hnnggh...."
"Oblivion comes for us all. And you will never stop its advance. By giving in to hatred, to vengeance... I already won..."
The Paladin could only grunt defiantly where he lay, a dry gulp. He tried to lift his head or summon strength but found all empty. Blood seeps freely from every gap of his armour.
She whispered again, "We will never meet again. Now, you will serve me. Forever."
She stared into his eyes, uttering a foul prayer, her eyes turning into malicious empty pits of pure, unadulterated evil...

From the 22nd day of Hammer, there would be never be a reply to any missives left for Ser Anthem at the Temple of Torm - nor would he ever again be found on the Sword Coast or abroad. The arranged trial before the Dukes on the 25th day, where he was required to answer for commanding the Duchal repentance from dealing with the Zhentarim and drow - as well as unlawful execution, would go unattended by the Paladin, likely much to further besmirching of his name and honour.

It seemed a logical conclusion that the Tormtar had, for fear of Duke Eltan's wrath, withdrawn from the realms all together - perhaps he returned to Tantras, or sought sanctuary in Elturel...maybe he returned to Neverwinter, the place of his birth, to hang up his spurs and take over his late father's business as a shipwright...but those who knew him better might conclude such was not his character.

Here, the Knight of Torm Ser Anthem Arnemeiger's tale is concluded with his betrayal and demise - though he lives on, in a sense abominable and tragic, within that grim fate of all who are slain by a Bodak's Gaze...

[Darradarljod]

Worn, rough hands worked the wood - shaping the hull of a vessel. Soft morning light filtered through the dusty windows of the dockside workshop where a young boy sat on the workbench, watching his father and listening to him speak.

The young boy frowned at the older man a long time. Meekly, he asked, "Father, will I be a good man?"

The patriarch rose up from the work he had bent over and looked to the boy, catching his breath and considering the question. Setting down his tools he dust off his hands and approached his son, taking by the cheeks and staring down at him kindly.

"Torm made man to go by motives, and he will not go without them, any more than a boat without oars or a ship without sail."

Darkness. The light of the workshop had vanished. A Bodak returned to its senses, cold and alone. The flash of a memory from its mortal coil had held it in fascination - it did not know for how long. Time was no longer a sharply defined concept for its crude intelligence, nor any longer relevant.

A tortured cry broke from the throat that once belonged to a man. A wailing that pierced the silence through the halls of its imprisonment in a long and anguished din echoing into silence once more.

Chains of restraint rattled. Again, it became still.

Time went on.

The tonsured boy walked the temple grounds of Torm at a hurried pace in keeping with the stride of the knight who led the way. His robes were too big for him and were frayed around the trim from much dragging and the scuffing of his sandals.

"Come along boy, you don't want to keep men this old waiting."

Ser Jacques d'Astier de la Vigerie led the child into the temple cloister where a long curved table of elders sat ready to receive them. Peacocks roamed the court at their leisure and the scent of jasmine from the garden was rich.

Ser d'Astier, clad in a sky blue gambeson and wearing his longsword, bowed with a flourish and began to introduce the child. Much was discussed in the presence of the child - too much for him to comprehend.

"You are confident, Ser d'Astier, that this boy is called to Paladinhood?" an aged judge murmured toward the pair.

Jacques looked down to the boy, lay a gloved hand on his head and returned his gaze to the council with a gleam of conviction in his azure eyes.

"Torm wills it."

Cold, dead lips drawn tight over his jagged teeth quivered as the searing vision from a broken mind was cut off leaving him again in darkness.

The Bodak hacked and cursed in protest. Its limbs wrenched as it fought against his chains before squatting down like something small and pathetic. "Maccchhhsshiiikkhaaaahhh." it whispered.

Unheard and alone. A rattling breath was drawn, crying out again in gurgling despair;

"MMMACCCCHHHHSHHHHIIIKHHHAAHHH!"

[Darradarljod]

Anthem Arnemeiger on his second playthrough, somewhere between 2005-2018. Here are some old clips of his RP from 2012 (in his original concept before BGTSCC, Anthem was Tyrran);

"...Be aware those who stand with me that this obedience will offend man; for this my hands are made sword-able. I know I will shed blood.
But that I may first serve you, my friends, as a lantern can.
For you I pray I be as a lantern, lit with the oil of Tyr's anointing.
Surely I will come to be extinguished, and perhaps violently. But tell me; what need does a lantern meet when the new day arrives?
Look then, my friends, for the sun to rise!
And know that the need I have come to meet is to keep you only through these darkest hours.
So let us hope in the Triad, you of faith. Our hope is like that of the bird that sings even while the morning is still dark.
We will overcome these times of trial for as long as we remain within the Truth."

~

Adrian sighs due to his tiresome yet failed deed, "I desired to inflict further punishment, but ..." he rubs his head while looking at the ground with doubt in his eyes. "But I was afraid we would be bordering revenge. Is it so Sir Anthem?"

"The same temptation was on me brother," the paladin trudges up the slope alongside the young knight as they leave the cavern behind. "But we are not called to be enslaved to it."

Adrian rubs his face and narrows his brow, trying to absorb the importance of the conversation, "It is a constant battle isn't it?" his eyes shift from ground to sky, "to know the thin line between what is right and what is not..."

"To know the line is one thing, to obey its boundaries is another." The paladin speaks calm and even but as well firm and careful. "Do not feel condemned by temptation...for the battle is common to all men. Many shall fall, but by resistance the war will be won."

"I feel the gods ... did not bestow us the power to do their bidding ..." Adrian sighs, "who am I fooling ... no matter how I avoid this subject it will haunt me ... I have a revelation to make brother!" He falls silent for a brief moment observing Anthem's semblant.

With great relief Anthem halts on the road and turns to better face the troubled man, "Peace brother. Torm has revealed his glory to you has he not?" his hand falls on the shoulder of the knight, the other gesturing. "Why now have your eyes strayed to the perils of this realm? This realm is passing - be not led astray, do not sink. Reach for Torm and call his name.Trust not I, nor this," the paladin grips his sword in example, "nor in any man. Trust in Torm and he will bestow you all you need for your quest. That is his duty and promise to those he calls."

Heeding Anthem's words Adrian's revelation is cut short. But to discern if it was the truth, emanating from his friend's wisdom, or the fear to reveal his dark secret that closed his lips is hard to sense. A thin smile appears slowly in Adrian's face. "Yes ... I guess you are right ... I am sorry for my weakness ..."

"Embrace the Triad. Feelings will challenge us, but they are ever changing. What remains steadfast is the truth. Build your faith on that." the paladin smiles, clapping the shoulder of the man, deliberate eye contact as he speaks the next words, "I believe you are called to greater duty than those who came before you. The greater purpose of the greater good is revealed to us one day at a time, through patience and prayer."

~



~

(written by player Pokechop):
Pierre d'Astier had finally found peace for his world weary soul. The last two years (80 days game time) had given the disillusioned knight time to heal. The soothing peace and tranquility of the Ilmatari monument to the anointed Saint Toman calmed his troubled mind. The hundreds of earnest pilgrims who made the journey to Saint Toman's Tomb gave him hope for the realm. Indeed there WERE honest, decent, and good hearted families in the world after all.

Even more encouraging to him had been the reassuring news coming from the occasional visits from old friends and allies. It was reported that the winds of change had shifted the balance of power in favor of the forces of light. Lord Tahr, for all his capitalistic faults, had effectively cleansed the corrupt evil from the cursed Port of Harrow.

Above all, Pierre treasured the visits from the ancient Tyrran 'Old Man Trake' (aka Sir Trake Winston, Council Elder from original Council of Light). After all, the legendary Battle Cleric was (alongside Lord Rynne) his father's closest friend. While most were repelled by the haggard, senile, terribly scarred and maimed old man, Pierre embraced his 'rough wisdom' (socially clumsy) with the highest respect.

It was from such a visit that Pierre learned of a new arrival to the realm. Old Man Trake had spoken at great length of a 'Damn Fine Arse Whooper Of Evil Sons-A-Bitches' that the 'Sweet Arsed Bard With The Sugar Breeches' was singing about at Lady R's Teahouse. And while Pierre blushed at the bawdy, crude comments (in great detail) of the pretty bard's physical attributes, he was intrigued by the stories of valor, duty, bravery, and dedication of the unknown Knight of Tyr.

Pierre's father, Sir Jacques d'Astier had always intended for Pierre to perfect himself as the embodiment of a Triadic Knight through Himself(Torm), Sir Trake(Tyr), and Father Toman(Ilmater). During his lifetime, he had passed down the wisdom of Torm to his son. Unfortunately Pierre's training in all three faiths remained incomplete due to the death of Toman, and the (mild) insanity/senility of Sir Trake. And while the last two years stationed as 'Honor Guard' for Toman's Tomb had immersed him in the noble Ilmateri faith, Pierre was only two-thirds complete within The Triad.

Tyr remained a mystery to Pierre. His only formal teachings of the faith was through the unbalanced, raw rantings of Sir Trake (not exactly the ideal teacher). If Pierre were to fulfill his father's wish, he would need to seek out this unknown 'Beacon of Tyr' that the local bards were singing about...

"Sir Trake, if you have the inclination, would you be so kind as to seek out your 'Brethren of Faith' to find this Tyrran Knight you speak so highly of. Invite him here to this sacred resting place of Ilmater's Annointed as my personal guest. I am very interested in meeting this honorable knight".


(answer by Darradarljod): It was a crisp Valenglen morning, still before sunrise, and the locals had already awoken to go about their daily work. But Anthem was not partaking in the new day, not yet.

Dressed in his armour and coat of arms the knight was knelt before the stone altar of Tyr in the local mansion. His sword was drawn and his gauntlets rest atop it, head bowed as he sought his maimed god's wisdom.

Anthem's opened his eyes as the perfect silence was broken by a muffled thud in the hallway and the sound of dragging dead weight. He frowned, listening carefully, only to hear the same sounds repeat. A drawn out groan followed, sending an unsettled shiver down the paladins spine. Arising from his knelt position he took up his sword and turned slowly to face the entrance of the shrine as the clumsy, dragging steps neared the altar doorway.

Word had reached Anthem that one of the prominent undead in the region had been vanquished, but everyone knew that the land was still infested with the scattered remnants of his legions...

As the putrid stench of festering necrosis came into Anthem's nostrils he tightened his grip on the undeath bane longsword in his hand and prepared himself to meet the invader.

Two steady thuds were pounded upon the door by bare hands, then silence. Anthem held his breath.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Candles flickered at the cold gust of air spread the stink of necrotic decay. This shuffling thing invaded the holy ground without hesitation, dragging a maimed leg behind itself. On a face distorted by bodily agony a pair of wild and cataract eyes glared upon Anthem, arms reaching out to take the young paladin.

"Sir Trake Wistan!" Anthem's stern face lit up with sudden recognition, sword lowered as he took the old battle cleric into a brotherly embrace with his free arm. The ancient old cleric laughed hoarsely, slapping the younger Tyrran on the back then shoving him away, holding him steady by the shoulders to get a better look at him. "Sir Arnemeiger; knew I'd find yer sorry arse in ere gatherin dust!" The cleric legionnaire's eyes gleamed with fondness, his warm breath sticky with malt liquor - 'a man's breakfast'.

He slaps the side of Anthem's face, pushing his upper lip up with a clumsy thumb like an owner examines their dog, "Ah see ye still got all yer teeth boy," he remarks, releasing the paladin from his inspection with a bare toothed grin to ruffle his hair. Anthem responds as graciously as he can to the boisterous cleric, his respect for the veteran demanding all tolerance - despite the bitter taste of the man's thumb (and it was bitter).

With a wheezing sigh, the crusty juggernaut turns his attention to the altar of Tyr. Now Anthem can see the spirit in this washed out legend's eyes come alive. The young paladin follows by turning to the altar, himself for a moment silence.

Soon, the cleric speaks with a humble severity. "There's a man I'd like ya ta meet, Anthem. Ya'll strike up like a flint, a new spark, a new fire," his cataract gaze falls to Anthem, appraising the young paladin with time tested discernment, "The light ah the Triad is like the light ah the sun. We don't see it - but we see all things through it. Ye gotta shine out the darkness, boy," his imposing stare locked on the young man a long moment, Anthem's eyes still fixed on the artifact sword of the altar before him as he considered what he was instructed.

"When yer ready ta meet ma lad Pierre, we servin daily at the shrine o' Toman. Make sure yer ready an' nothin' less." Slapping the young paladin on the shoulder one last time, the lame legged cleric Trake Wistan whispers with a rasp, "and when the time come, when its yer turn, boy....you be sure ta give all ya been given," Anthem turns to face the cleric and nods gradually, letting the spiritual guidance soak in, "Give it all back ta Tyr."

Trake turns to go, but hesitates at the door, as if something neglected weighed on his very heart of hearts.

"..and fer Tyr's sake boy," he looks over his shoulder to Anthem who hangs on every word of his elder in the faith, "git a haircut, wont ya now? Ya lookin' like a strong-back woman with all that friggen fluff past yer collar. I didn' say a word in the winter time, but tha time is gone. There no excuse fer it now, understand?"

Shaking his head, Trake begins shuffling back down the corridor, dragging his limp leg behind him as a fountain of profanity trickles out of his mouth, "...bloody pixies and thei..mumble grumble.."

Left a little uninspired by the recommendation, but none the less bolstered from the visit of the veteran, Anthem returned his heart in prayer with a curiosity kindled in his heart...He would seek this man, "Pierre", and see perhaps what fellowship the gods had ordained them for.

[Darradarljod]

Arledge Arnemeiger, Inquisitor of the Triad

Dear Arle,

Thank you for what you are doing. I know it is the work of the Church foremost, but in this you also serve your family. It has been over a year now without word from my son. Are the gods so cruel that I should lose him, so soon after they have taken my husband also?

Please, when you find Anthem, send him directly back to me here at Neverwinter.

Love, always, your aunt,

Mallorie Arnemeiger.

Inquisitor Arledge Arnemeiger,

First and foremost, understand that the Church entrusts you this task - against its better judgement - largely by the persistence of your request. Despite the obvious conflict of interest we have confidence through your history of steadfast service that you will judge fairly and impartially in the matter of Anthem Arnemeiger.

Our last correspondence placed our Paladin on the Sword Coast at the metropolis city-state of Baldur's Gate. Triadic churches in Baldur's Gate all report that the Paladin had served at the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, but abandoned his position. There are rumors that he has come into conflict with the Duchal authority and may in fact be a wanted outlaw.

Learn the matter in full. If the Paladin has fallen from grace, and proves reprobate against his redemption, you have the Church authority to smite him as an infidel.

If he is on live, and an outlaw, bring him unto the Duchal Authorities for trial and, should he be released alive, return him to the Temple at Tantras for discipline.

Otherwise, you have permission to return his remains to his family in Neverwinter for burial.

Be ever vigilant, as those who fall away from the light of the Triad rarely land outside the hands of a darker god.



Duty Bind you in this Holy Work.

High Inquisitor Undrek Baldyre
The Church of Torm at Tantras

[Darradarljod]

At the Shelf of Many Books, Arledge sat to himself. A desk piled with parchment was before him, a place of study where he browsed through pages of duchal court publications from the years that Anthem Arnemeiger was known to have walked the Coast. When one particular article was taken into his hand, and perused busily with his stone grey eyes, his investigation suddenly came to a halt. He read the paper carefully, only to re-read it again;

Let it be known that the public trial of Ser Anthem Arnemeiger of the Radiant Heart will be held on the evening of Hammer 24, 1354. He is to face charges that include acts of sedition, unlawful execution, and overall besmirchment of the name of the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate!

Let it also be known that Ser Arnemeiger's accomplice, Mae yr Machshikhah, is Wanted for questioning and trial by the Flaming Fist for the crime of sedition as well. Mae is a tall, raven-haired woman of Calishite descent wielding magics divine. Any citizen with information on her whereabouts is encouraged to step forward. A reward of seven thousand gold pieces will be offered for any information leading to Mae's capture, and an offer of eighteen thousand gold pieces will be offered for successful capture and delivery to the Flaming Fist alive.

Before he had even set this paper down the next was in his hand and held his full attention. His stoic demeanor faltered, the hard expression of his face breaking with disbelief before he composed himself once more, and read in full;

Let it be known that Ser Anthem Arnemeiger of the Radiant Heart has evaded Ducal justice! He is wanted by The Duchy for the following crimes: Sedition, unlawful execution - now increased to murder and besmirchment of our Grand Dukes. Grand Duke Eltan of the Flaming Fist offers a bounty of ten thousand gold pieces for any information leading to his apprehension, and twenty five thousand gold pieces to any man or woman who bring this vigilante in alive. May gods have mercy on his soul.

The papers in each hand sank to rest on the table and the young knight bowed his head, wet eyes not daring to look up to heaven.

Earlier in the day Arledge and his hired man Cristoff had met by chance with a man called Styrbjorn at the Friendly Arm Inn. A rough Northerner who claimed to have been a constant companion to Anthem - so much as to declare they were not friends, but brothers. The Northerner had his own suspicions, and ideas of how to proceed. He pledged his aid to Arledge in whatever capacity might help to find the man.

Moreover, Styrbjorn told how Anthem once led the Order of the Radiant Heart, and there took reprimand from Duke Eltan for 'strong opinions', and a 'loud mouth' - he had preached against trade arrangements with the Zhentarim, and 'called the Dukes to repent'. It was thus informed that Arledge supposed to find public records in Baldur's Gate - and here he certainly had. But 'Sedition'? 'Besmirchment of the Grand Dukes'? 'Unlawful Execution' - 'Murder'? ... these were findings that left Arledge with more questions than answers.

Styrbjorn's chance meeting proved invaluable. Arledge now had the names of some of Anthem's other allies to investigate; 'Raghandar', 'Rolan', and a man called 'Alexander Marschal'. Arledge had hired the dwarven ranger, Higan, to track these men down. If they were to be found he would find them and direct them to him at Baldur's Gate. But nothing was ever told to Arledge of the 'Mae yr Machshikhah' mentioned herein.

The former Grand Master, Lord Al'maire, had failed to meet with Arledge's inquisition. This much was clear; it was time to approach the Order of the Most Radiant Heart more directly. One way or another, the matter would be learned in full.

[Darradarljod]

Lore: Royalty & Nobility (Luskan, Neverwinter, Tantras) DC 25

Today, the Arnemeigers are spread from The Sword Coast to the Sea of Fallen Stars. The largest family resides in Neverwinter, naturally, as the bloodline origin is rooted there - but two other branches of the Clan also hold family estates in Luskan and Tantras. Though there are rivalries between the Arnemeiger lines, their common bond is the near-mythical ancestral figure named Arne, the 'Warrior-Saint of the Lion', from whom they all claim to trace their descent. By the glorification of generations, Arne has become depicted in Arnemeiger legend as a noble knight riding a huge lion armored in steel barding, questing the Heartlands and smiting evil. Though this knightly archetype may reflect what the Arnemeiger's largely are today, those depictions are not entirely true.

Historically, Arne was a great warrior of the Ruathym who left the islands behind and traveled North in the Year of the Hoar Frost, 87 DR. He was among the men who founded Eigersstor, a small settlement built around Castle Never that eventually grew in importance. An adventurous man by nature Arne regularly traveled abroad, questing for wealth and fame with his fellows.

In an 'enchanted forest', or likely what is now known as the Neverwinter Wood, Arne is said to have come upon the defiled ruins of a primitive Temple of the Triad. As he explored the ruin's depth he came upon a furious Leonal Guardinal, desperately outnumbered fighting to reclaim the ruins from a force of skeleton blackguards. Arne perceived the Leonal would be overcome. Wielding a Ruathym broadsword 'blessed by the primordial wargods', Arne threw himself into the fray to assist the celestial without hesitation. The battle tide turned, and the undead horde were broken under their joined onslaught. The Leonal Guardinal was so impressed with the human's selfless courage that he swore a blood oath with the man, joining their destinies, and furthermore repaid the favor by bestowing Arne a great Celestial Lion for a companion, and guardian.

To this day, the Arnemeigers keep lions in their estates as guardians and friends. These creatures are highly prized and meticulous breeding records show them to be descended from the original kept by Arne. Every Arnemeiger on beginning the path of a Paladin, Cleric or Favored Soul is ceremonially assigned a lion companion. When that lion dies, it is tradition to wear its pelt to honor its memory. Occasionally, an Arnemeiger is born showing signs of Celestial lineage from the blood shared in the ancient oath. This serves as a reminder, both of the bravery of their ancestor - to which standard they strive - and also of their ancient Leonal ally in Elysium.

[Darradarljod]

Early Mirtul; details of the death of Ser Anthem are relayed to his cousin, Arledge, in the privacy of the Friendly Arm Inn.


~~~~~~~~~~


Far away in Neverwinter, a silver haired elderly widow living in her late husband's derelict boatswain workshop at the docks district received an envelope from a courier. Her heart fluttered with anxiety as she saw the wax seal of the Triadic Church. Trembling hands broke the envelope open and took the paper within. World-weary eyes took in the brief missive, before the light of hope in them suffocated with a sudden pain as if she had been struck. A trembling hand came to her brow, a weak wail of protest escaped her thin lips, then for grief she sank sit in the doorway, the parchment falling from her hand to lay on the ground beside her;

Dear Aunt Mallorie,

It is with great sorrow I must inform you that in the early days of 1354, your son Ser Anthem Arnemeiger of Neverwinter was killed in action against the forces of Evil in the Sword Coast.

He did his duty.

Arledge Arnemeiger

Arledge's grieving was a private affair. The news of this cousin's death, though it was considered a likely possibility, had still taken him sorely by surprise. The report that he was dead, and yet his Soul had never carried on to Torm's Judgement - that broke the young man's sleep night by night. What Evil had prevented his cousin's final rest? Had Torm rejected Anthem before his death? Was something more sinister - or sorcery - at work?

The circumstances around the events leading to Anthem's demise had cleared, with both investigation and providence - enough to turn the young Inquisitor's face in the general direction of his elusive enemy. Was it grief alone, or perhaps the scrutiny of a goddess of Evil, that had the young knight feeling as though a cold shadow had been cast over his soul, or even his very fate?

With so much unknown the soldier of the Triad could only resolve 'what was done in the dark, would be brought to the light'. He knew he did not struggle in his own strength, but by the power and grace the Triad provides; for gods, Good and Evil, warred one against another through their mortal servants.

For all that remained unclear, the formation of The Coalition meant the chances of seeing Justice done by this Inquisition had increased mightily. It seemed there were yet good and trustworthy men in the realm, and it became his comfort. One thing was certain; it would be a longer, more painful and more arduous quest than Arledge had ever anticipated.

~~~~~~~~~~

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953