Temple of Torm at Baldur's Gate

[Genuinely Spurious]

In the depths of the Temple of the Loyal Fury, bathed in the soft and warm glow of candlelight, Declan Nash knelt in reverence. The flickering flames danced around him, casting shadows on the stone walls as he began to recite a litany for the Triad.

With a voice that carried a sense of solemnity and devotion, he spoke the words of the litany, each syllable imbued with heartfelt meaning:

"Mighty Tyr, just and unwavering,
Grant me the courage to uphold justice and righteousness in all I do.
Guide my hand and my heart, that I may serve you with honor and integrity.

Compassionate Ilmater, bearer of suffering,
Give me the strength to endure the trials and tribulations that come my way.
Teach me to offer solace and compassion to those in need, and to bear the burdens of others as my own.

Glorious Torm, defender of the innocent,
Empower me with the resolve to stand against evil and protect the weak.
Grant me the wisdom to discern truth from deception, and the will to face darkness without fear.

Triad of Virtue, united and true,
I pledge myself to your teachings and your cause.
Guide my steps and my choices, that I may walk the path of righteousness and bring honor to your names."

As the litany echoed through the sacred space, Declan felt a deep connection to the Triad, the three deities who embodied the virtues he held dear. The words reverberated within him, reaffirming his commitment to their teachings and his duty as a knight to uphold justice and defend the innocent.

In the candlelit sanctuary, time seemed to stand still as Declan offered his devotion to the Triad. The flickering flames danced in harmony with his words, illuminating his unwavering faith and dedication. With each prayerful utterance, he felt a sense of peace and purpose, knowing that he walked the path of righteousness guided by the divine wisdom of the Triad.

After concluding the litany, Declan remained in quiet contemplation for a moment, feeling the presence of the Triad surrounding him. Their divine light and guidance enveloped him, filling his heart with resolve and his spirit with strength. With a deep breath, he rose from his knees, gathering himself and making his way from the temple.

[Genuinely Spurious]

In the dimly lit lower level of the Temple of Torm, Declan approached the Shrine to the Triad, a hallowed place where he sought solace and guidance. With utmost reverence, he carefully laid out his symbols of faith before the divine altar. The embroidered red cord, a sacred token of Ilmater, was unfurled gently, its intricate patterns catching the flickering candlelight.

Beside the cord, he placed the Tyrran Clasps, a symbol of his unwavering commitment to Tyr, the God of Justice. The silver manacles glinted softly, a reminder of the sacrifice and discipline inherent in Tyr's teachings. The holy symbol of Tyr, engraved upon the clasps, emanating a sense of authority and righteous resolve.

Lastly, he displayed his most treasured possessions: Silverbite, the majestic longsword with its engravings of Silver dragons, and his sturdy shield. These represented his devotion to the Loyal Fury, Torm, embodying strength, valor, and duty.

With a deep breath, Declan bowed his head and spoke a prayer to the Triad, his voice a gentle murmur of devotion and sincerity. He expressed his unwavering faith in the teachings of Torm, Ilmater, and Tyr, vowing to uphold their virtues in his heart and deeds. His words conveyed his dedication to protecting the innocent, defending the weak, and seeking justice in a world filled with darkness.

As he concluded his prayer, a sense of peace settled upon him, his spirit bolstered by the presence of the Triad. He felt an unshakable connection to their divine guidance, knowing that they would watch over him in his quest to serve the cause of righteousness.

With his symbols of faith laid out before the Shrine to the Triad, Declan reaffirmed his commitment to their teachings and embarked on his path as a knight, guided by the unwavering light of Torm, the boundless compassion of Ilmater, and the unyielding pursuit of justice of Tyr. In the depths of the temple, he found strength, purpose, and the unbreakable bond with the divine forces that would shape his destiny.

[Genuinely Spurious]

In the solemn halls of the Temple of Torm in Baldur's Gate, Declan Nash received a summons from his mentor and friend, Alexander Marshall. With a sense of urgency, Declan hastened his steps and entered the temple, his armor clinking softly as he moved. The air was heavy with reverence as he stepped into the presence of his brother in faith.

Alexander greeted him with a warm smile, his cerulean eyes reflecting the dedication that both men shared. Declan removed his helm, cradling it under his arm as he met Alexander's gaze. The atmosphere was charged with a sense of purpose, and Declan's heart raced with anticipation.

"Welcome to the Temple of the Loyal Fury, brother," Alexander's words resonated with a sense of camaraderie and unity.

Declan nodded in acknowledgement and stepped further into the temple. The weight of his armor seemed to echo the weight of the moment itself. As they exchanged words, Declan's resolve grew stronger, and he felt a sense of purpose emanating from the very walls of the temple.

The conversation shifted, and Alexander revealed the purpose behind their meeting - an important ritual to observe before taking vows. Declan's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions as he listened intently. He was about to embark on a journey that held profound significance.

Before they continued, Alexander encouraged Declan to take a moment and pray. Kneeling before the altar of Torm, Declan offered a whispered prayer, his voice a mix of solemnity and determination. He sought guidance and strength from the deity he will devote his life to serving.

Time seemed to stretch as they prepared for the upcoming rites. Alexander shared his intentions to cleanse the temple and prepared Declan for the same. The act of cleansing symbolized shedding worldly attachments and embracing humility, a theme that resonated deeply with Declan's path.

Declan nodded, understanding the importance of this process. He humbled himself, removing his armor piece by piece and laying it reverently on the floor. Each piece held memories of battles fought and challenges overcome, and as he stripped away the layers, he felt a sense of purification.

In humble attire, Declan stood before Alexander, his gaze unwavering. The notebook Alexander presented held the carefully written oaths, words that would soon bind him to a life of service and devotion. Declan read the oaths, committing them to memory and heart, knowing that they would guide his every action.

As Alexander explained the significance of the rituals, Declan felt a profound connection to the path he was embarking upon. The importance of selflessness and dedication to others resonated deeply, and he embraced the call to serve with unwavering determination.

A small bundle of cloth was handed to Declan, given as a symbol of humility and purity. Declan changed into the simple garb, feeling the weight of his responsibilities as he donned the attire. This was a tangible reminder of his commitment to a higher purpose, a visual representation of his devotion to Torm and the Triad.

Throughout their exchange, the bond between mentor and apprentice deepened, and their shared dedication to their cause was palpable. Alexander's words resonated, and Declan embraced the challenges that lay ahead with a sense of purpose and humility.

As Alexander concluded their meeting, he embraced Declan, a hug that conveyed a multitude of emotions - respect, camaraderie, and unwavering support. Declan bowed his head in reverence, a silent expression of gratitude and determination.

The scene ended with Declan kneeling before the shrine of Torm, his heart and mind focused on the trials that awaited him. Duty bound him, and as he whispered his commitment to the deity he served, he felt a sense of clarity and resolve wash over him.

The Temple of Torm stood as a sanctuary of faith, a place where Declan's journey was set in motion. The trials of the upcoming day held the promise of transformation, and as he prepared to embrace his role as a true knight, he knew that his path was guided by unwavering devotion and a commitment to service.

[Genuinely Spurious]

In the dimly lit room of the Temple of Torm, Declan began his purification ritual with a heart full of reverence and determination. The air was thick with anticipation as he knelt before the altar, his hands clasped in prayer. With each whispered word, he sought a connection to the Loyal Fury, his devotion unwavering.

Closing his blue eyes, Declan anointed each piece of his armor with holy oil, the fragrant scent filling the air around him. The touch of the oil symbolized consecration, a physical manifestation of his commitment to the path of a knight and servant of Torm. His fingers moved with care and purpose, his thoughts focused on the deity he held in the highest regard.

Silverbite, his trusted longsword, gleamed in the soft candlelight as he tenderly applied the oil to its blade. The sword was more than just a weapon; it was an extension of his resolve and dedication. Each stroke of the cloth was a silent prayer, a plea for strength and guidance in the trials that awaited him.

Declan's voice filled the room, a constant cadence of prayer and supplication. The words flowed from his lips, a steady stream of devotion that echoed through the quiet space. His heart swelled with a mixture of emotions - humility, gratitude, and an unwavering determination to serve.

As the night deepened, Declan's connection to the divine grew stronger. He felt a sense of presence, a comforting assurance that his prayers were being heard. With each recitation, he felt the boundaries between himself and the Loyal Fury blur, as if the deity was reaching out to him in response.

The small room became a sanctuary of faith, a space where Declan's devotion was the only thing that mattered. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of solemnity and introspection. Hours passed, and still, Declan remained locked in communion with Torm.

Through the quiet moments of the night, Declan's heart poured out his hopes, fears, and aspirations. He sought clarity and guidance, asking for Torm's presence to be felt in his heart and soul. With every whispered prayer, he strengthened his connection to the deity he held so dear.

With each passing moment, the weight of his impending vows settled upon him. He knelt on the cold stone floor, Silverbite resting beside him. The anointed armor pieces were carefully arranged nearby, a tangible reminder of his commitment. His blue eyes gazed ahead, his expression a mix of determination and anticipation.

Time seemed to stretch as Declan continued his communion with the Loyal Fury. He recited prayers, meditated, and reflected on his journey. His heart and mind were focused on the path he had chosen, the ideals he held dear, and the duty that awaited him.

Throughout the night, he felt a sense of presence, an assurance that his devotion was acknowledged. The room became a cocoon of faith, a sacred space where he and Torm were inextricably linked. His unwavering commitment and willingness to embrace the challenges ahead were a testament to his character.

As the first rays of dawn broke the horizon, Declan remained in his place. He had not faltered, nor had he wavered in his resolve. The room held the energy of his prayers, his hopes, and his aspirations. He was ready to take the next step on his journey, to stand before the altar and pledge his oaths with a heart full of faith.

[Genuinely Spurious]

With the completion of the solemn ritual of Purification, Declan Nash's heart swelled with a profound sense of purpose and readiness. The dimly lit chamber seemed to radiate with an aura of sanctity as he rose from his kneeling position, a knight-to-be who had weathered the trials of devotion and faith. Beside him stood Alexander, a friend, mentor, and the Lord of House Marshall, whose presence was a steady anchor in his journey.

Before him, three witnesses awaited: Micar'Mizzrym, a loyal friend and House Marshall comrade; Gaven Arkalis, the valiant knight to whom he had squired upon his arrival in Baldur's Gate; and Alexander himself, the guiding figure who had imparted wisdom and guidance, shaping his path.

Declan's blue eyes met those of his witnesses, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. With a heart full of gratitude, he addressed each in turn, his voice resonating with sincerity and respect.

"To you, Micar'Mizzrym, I offer my heartfelt thanks. Your unwavering friendship has been a source of strength and camaraderie, a bond that has fueled my determination. I am grateful for your presence as a witness to this sacred moment."

Gaven Arkalis, the seasoned knight whose tutelage had been invaluable, received a nod of deep appreciation. "Sir Arkalis, your guidance and teachings have been a beacon on this path. Your wisdom has shaped me into the aspirant knight I stand as today. I am honored to have you witness this pivotal step."

Lastly, Declan turned his gaze to Alexander, his mentor and Lord. "Lord Alexander Marshall, your leadership, counsel, and unwavering support have been a cornerstone of my journey. Your belief in my potential has spurred me to surpass my own limitations. I extend my deepest gratitude for your presence here today."

As the exchange of gratitude concluded, Alexander gestured for Declan to follow him across the hall, his steps infused with purpose. The anticipation was palpable as they reached their destination, a room awaiting his emergence as a knight of the Loyal Fury.

Alone in the room, Declan shed the trappings of humility that he had worn throughout the night, a symbolic shedding of his former self. The cleansing waters of the bath enveloped him, washing away the remnants of the past and preparing him for the oath ceremony that lay ahead.

Draped in a fresh, white cloth, Declan emerged from the bath, his aura radiant with renewed vigor. Before him awaited his anointed armor, a reflection of his commitment and consecration. Each piece, lovingly anointed and cared for, represented his unwavering devotion to the Loyal Fury and the ideals he held dear.

With steady hands and a focused mind, Declan donned the armor piece by piece. The familiar weight of the metal settled around him, a second skin that imbued him with a sense of purpose and resolve. As the last piece was secured in place, he stood resplendent in his knightly attire, a living embodiment of duty and honor.

The vow ceremony awaited, a sacred pledge that would bind him to the service of the Loyal Fury and the Triad. With a final nod of affirmation, Declan stood alone, his heart ablaze with determination and his spirit fortified by the journey he had undertaken.

The halls of the Temple of the Loyal Fury bore witness to his passage, echoing with the weight of his purpose and the echoes of his prayers. The time had come for Declan Nash to stand before the altar and proclaim his vows, a culmination of devotion, faith, and unwavering commitment.

[Genuinely Spurious]

Declan's arrival at the Temple of the Loyal Fury was swift and purposeful, guided by the urgent message conveyed through the arcane conduit of a sending spell. Upon reaching his destination, he was met with a sealed letter, the waxen emblem imprinted with the heraldic sigil of his paternal lineage—a symbol of the Nash family.

With a nod of gratitude, Declan accepted the missive, acknowledging the gravity of its source. He retreated to the sanctuary of the temple's dormitory, a haven of contemplation and solitude, to peruse the written pages. There, ensconced in this sacred space, he carefully unfurled the parchment, revealing the words penned by his stepmother, Elizabeth.

~

Declan's heart sank as he held the letter in trembling hands. The seal of his father's house, imprinted in crimson wax, was a stark omen of the news that awaited him. He knew it was from his stepmother, and the words she had penned bore the weight of sorrow.

With each sentence, his father's declining health became an inescapable reality. The words on the page painted a portrait of suffering, and Declan's eyes welled up with tears that blurred the ink on the parchment. His mind raced as he absorbed the news, each word a heavy blow to his spirit.

Silently, he closed the letter and folded it with care. The dormitory room in the Temple of the Loyal Fury, his sanctuary in Baldur's Gate, suddenly felt like a confining prison. He couldn't remain here, not when his father was in such dire straits. Declan knew that he needed to be there, to offer comfort, and to share in his father's final moments.

Gathering his belongings swiftly, Declan made his way to the Outer City. The path to the stables was a familiar one, and he moved with a purpose that left no room for doubt. Aegis, his loyal steed, awaited him in the stables. The magnificent warhorse, strong and steadfast, seemed to sense the gravity of the situation.

With practiced hands, Declan checked the saddle and bridle, ensuring that everything was secure. He packed his belongings efficiently, preparing for the long ride north to Waterdeep. Once everything was in order, he mounted Aegis, the horse's powerful presence providing him with a sense of stability and resolve.

Without uttering a word, Declan kicked Aegis into motion, and the two of them departed from Baldur's Gate. The Tradeway stretched out before them, a path of destiny leading back to The City of Splendors. His heart was heavy with sorrow, but his determination to reach his father's side burned like a beacon in the darkest of nights.

[FearBeforeTheFlames]

The candlelight flickered softly against the walls of the small chamber on the second floor of the Temple of Torm. Alexander sat at the wooden desk; his once-strong frame now marked with the exhaustion of recent trials. His armor, warn and battle-scarred, lay neatly on a nearby stand, while his right hand, free of the gauntlet that had once fused to his flesh, shakily held an ink-stained quill.

For years, that gauntlet had been a constant companion, a symbol of his duty, and a burden that carried the weight of his sins. Now, with its absence, his hand trembled slightly, unpracticed at the craft he'd once cherished. But the message he intended to leave behind was an important one -- one last piece of himself to be shared with the next soul who may find this letter and serve as he did.

The quill scratched against the parchment in clumsy strokes, the letters uneven, but legible. The words he penned spoke of the lessons learned over fifteen years of service to the Sword Coast, the triumphs and failures, the weight of duty, and the light of hope that must never be extinguished, no matter the darkness faced. It was a letter of encouragement, a reminder that even in the most dire of circumstances, one must never lose faith.

His hand paused as he considered the words that might offer solace or strength to whomever would find this letter. With a deep breath, and a moment of introspection, he dipped the quill into the inkwell once more, finishing the final sentence with a careful flourish.

"May Torm guide your steps, as he has guided mine. May you find strength in your duty, courage in your heart, and wisdom in your choices. Know that the path is long, but the light never fades, so long as you carry it within you."

With that, he set the quill down, resting it in the inkwell. He gazed around the room, the memories of the battles fought, and decisions made in this very space lingered upon his mind. The walls, once a source of comfort and protection, now seemed to echo with the past -- a past he was ready to leave behind.

Rising slowly from the chair, Alexander took one last look at the desk, the parchment still drying, before turning to the door. Each step down the stairs felt heavy, yet with each step, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer the paladin bound by duty to serve. He was a father. A protector. He was more. A new chapter of life awaited him.

As he crossed the threshold of the temple, Alexander did not look back. His duty here was done, and a new path lay ahead.

[FearBeforeTheFlames]

Five riders arrived before the bells of second morningwatch, the dust of the Coast Way still clinging to their cloaks and steel.

No fanfare. No banners. Only the quiet gleam of polished mail and the lion sigil of Torm borne clean upon their tabards.

The gatewardens spoke of a knight dismounting first — tall, severe, and weathered by war — and speaking only once:

“We seek the Temple. The Oracle of the True shall know our purpose.”

By midday, they had settled within the Temple of Torm in the Temple District, requesting no quarters beyond what the devout might share. No names were offered publicly — only duty, and the seal of the Order of the Golden Lion.

Rumors already stir among the faithful:
That these five were sent from Tantras.
That they come bearing word of something stirring in the dark.
That even the Triadic priests received them in silence.

Whatever brought them to Baldur’s Gate, they have not come to rest.


Approved by HDM Verjigorm
He wanted the text to be this small.

[Komodo]

Vastan walked into the Temple of Torm, weary with shoulders slightly hunched. Much in the same manner as he had done so within the Church of Ilmater and the Temple of Tyr, Vastan walked a few paces from the altar of Torm. He paused a moment, gripping the backrest of one of the nearby pews. He looked visibly tired, the manner of consecrating the grounds was beginning to take its toll, but he bore a look of resoluteness. Taking a moment and offering a warm, tired smile at Ria, he took to his knees in front of the altar. Fingers interlocked in front of his chest, head bowed in silent prayer.

"Duty Binds. . ."

He offered the words as a finality to his prayer before he leaned down and placed a hand onto the cold temple floor.

He struggled, the consecrations of the temples wearing him down, but he could not falter. Through gritted teeth, he closed his eyes and focused his very being into this place. There was an ebb of energy that came and went in soft pulses all around the sacred halls. 'I cannot falter' he thought to himself, bearing more focus into the act. 'I ask for the strength...' he thought further, the sweat falling into his eyes, salt stinging, but he did not let up.

Sheer focus of will and fortitude he pressed on the act and with a rising chorus of what could be perceived as angelic singing came forth like a wave. The energy pulsed in a rhythmic ostinato before settling gently in the air.

Vastan fell and Ria ran to his side to aid him. This time he did not protest and accepted the help with favor. With the help, he had climbed up into the nearby pew and settled in, resting.

"I thank you, Ria. I will just need but a moment."

And but a moment he did take for after catching his breath, Vastan rose from the pew. Clutching at the backrest in front of him, he thanked Ria for her assistance and made his way not out of the temple itself, but through the side doors, gently closing them behind him.