Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Lyria… Favoured of the spirits, the spirit who walks… Only she’s not Lyria, she is Lannia Tannen, and for all she knows she is all the remains of her proud Chauntean tribe. Months ago she became Derik’s fiancé, but she still calls him her boyfriend.

A secret engagement, a happy moment forced into shadow because Marius’s existence forces her to hide.

Bitterness sets into her very bones. She watches friends who got engaged after her get married before her and she lives life as Lyria… Just Lyria. Not Lannia, proud sole survivor, not the would be bride of Derik Ranloss; Lyria.

A giant that somehow thought it was getting the drop on her swings at her back... As if she didn’t hear his thundering footsteps? His club meets only air as it passes through her spirit form. As she solidifies she places a hand upon him and watches him crumble at her touch of death. His clansmen take offense and converge on her. She counts them as probably one more than she can handle alone and steps into the spirit world, disappearing from their sight. She walks away, casually to find a more peaceful place to think. She leaves the giants milling and confused.

Surely she is ready. She is strong and her friends are stronger. From the time she was six to the time she was 22 she lived as anyone Marius wanted her to be. She kept her name but she was not herself. Now her 23rd name day had come and gone and she finds herself still living as anyone but Lannia Tannen.

She felt the time was upon them. It was time to shed her disguise and be Lannia at last. To be Lannia and marry her love as Lannia. However, her pesky shaman wisdom and sense of fairness made her hesitate. If she exposed herself, it wouldn’t just be her. Marius would come and for her allies first. If he caught them alone… Death would be a kindness.

She scratches at her scalp beneath the wig and mutters. It can only be with their permission. She searches them out, one by one to garner their blessing. They will risk all with her, so it is their choice to make as well.

Of course, with the upcoming trip to Rauthym she may be exposed regardless. The island was calling her. She sees it every night in her dreams; the spirit of her grandfather standing on its icy shores. A little while longer… Just a little while longer.

Her allies fell around her under the unforgiving assault of devils and hell hounds. Her favor with the spirits kept her up and moving. She raised her dead comrades, healed them and gave what wards and enchantments she had left. There were too many allies, she was spread too thin to protect them all. She made a tough decision to use her strongest remaining spells to shield those in the core group and not those recklessly diving into masses of devils screaming "follow me" as they were torn asunder.

A name like "Marius" had been heard twice. They couldn't be sure, so she had exposed herself to this large group to let them know what they might face. Here she was, fighting as Lannia Tannen, at last. Arrows flew off her bow, and then the sick crack of the skull of a hell hound was heard. It approached with confidence that it was inside the archer's circle and she was doomed. When it staggered back at the thundering blow of her mace on its head, she pulled an arrow and stabbed it in the eye. It fell in a sick lump at her feet.

"I am the spirit who walks," She thought as the seemingly hopeless numbers descended upon them, "I am the spirit who walks!"

She put down her bow, throwing out wave after wave of healing energy to the allies closest to her and opening herself to attack as she focused entirely on what spells she had left. Ice storms, lightning, and finally just blasts of acid poured out from her. Another healing wave and her allies seemed to find their wind.

The day was won. Thankfully... Because she had used everything in her arsenal and was down to trying to blind the enemy with a light spell.

Her chest heaved, but she drug herself along to one corpse after another. She rose the dead, and gave them bandages and potions. She had no healing magic left to offer. She looked around the battlefield. There were people she didn't know, and people she knew she didn't trust in the party. At this point... Her secret was out.

So she left the brown wig on the battlefield. Collected herself and staggered to the caravan. She was elated, though she didn't say it, when the caravan master agreed to take them back to the gate. She didn't know if her weary legs would carry her, and she certainly did not want to camp there. When she laid down in the wagon, sleep was quick.

They arrived at the gate, and after the ordeal her stomach woke her angrily. She announced that there would be pancakes at her house. After all, she was Lannia Tannen.

"And I make the best blueberry pancakes, I like blackberries, and I love Derik Ranloss."

She smiled in spite of her weariness. She couldn't wait to tell Derik.

She stood upon the frozen sea. All around her the storm clouds billowed. The spirits of air and fire danced in the sky, angry and impatient. She looked across a vast sheet of ice to a shoreline. It was this dream again...

She suddenly found herself upon the shore walking beside her grandfather who was carrying a turtle. To her rear the spirit she'd so often referred to as Cider followed. They walked through a grove that opened around a great, glowing tree. There were names carved all over the tree. She knew they were names, even if you can't read in dreams.

Her grandfather frowned deeply and touched the tree. He looked sad. Spirits gathered around her, looking at her expectantly. She held her hands out apologetically.

"I'm sorry," She said, "I don't know what you want. I am coming to Rauthym, the ship leaves tomorrow. I am coming as fast as I can."

The spirits seemed satisfied. Her grandfather nodded, and then they stood in field with rolling hills beside a forest at the base of the mountains. He knelt and pushed the grass aside to show the charred ground beneath it. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," She said in a strangled voice, "None of it was your fault."

The turtle in his hands glowed and a voice called in the distance, "Little Lani? Little Lani!"

She turned to see who was calling to her and woke up.

She sat forward knocking Derik's arm off of her. She hissed, hoping she hadn't woken him, but inevitably...

"Shhhh," His voice came, "It's okay. You are alright, I'm here."

He reflexively comforted her from back before her memories were restored. She didn't typically need it now, but she knew that if she curled into him and cooed he'd be quickly back to sleep. She cuddled close to him, laid still, and soon his breath was even and deep.

She smiled lightly. He was hers and she was his, and they would face whatever waited in Rauthym together.

They chartered a boat to the Moonshae ilses. It was as close as a boat from the gate would take them. From there, after begging and offering mountains of gold they found an old fisherman who boldly declared that he was not afraid of any raiders. They sailed to Rauthym in a fishing vessel swinging in hammocks within the cargo hold.

She practiced putting beads and feathers in her hair. She looked like her mother, and her mother was a ranger. Her mother traveled great distances with her stride to lend aid to the sick. If someone recognized her mother in her, it would ease their efforts.

However, with the talk of how vicious the people of the island were, she became steadily less at ease with going there. Kidnapped at six, she remembered only what it was like in her village. People were strong and stubborn, but also warm and playful there. The plants were lush and plentiful. Those that had seen Rauthym did not describe a lush garden of strong willed but warm people. They described a rock, barren and cold, and a people that were harder and colder still.

Her stomach tangled as they disembarked. This was her homeland, but 17 years gone she was as much a foreigner as any of those who traveled with her. She was elated they were finally here, she could have danced at the idea of find some family still living. She was excited, she was elated, she was… Going to be sick. A lump gathered in her throat and she swallowed it down.



She steadied herself and approached the first man she saw on the dock. He was a mountain of a man. He took one look at Lannia, standing only 5’8” and the horde of beardless men with her, and openly sneered. He wasn’t much help except in directing Derik to the shrine of Tempus within the city.

They approached a pyre with a huge bonfire at the bottom. To her eyes it looked like Derik’s sword, warwake. She happily let Derik take the lead here as people sneered at the group of outsiders. Some great northman shaman she was turning out to be.

She was dizzy and overwhelmed. Her friends spoke a boy behind her, Derik spoke to an elderly man about Tempus in front of her. She was just sort of… There in the middle.

She was called forward to Derik. The man eyed her and asked her name. When he had it, he made her repeat it and the first blow was delivered.

Everyone knew the name Tannen on these isles. They were cannibals, berserkers that went mad eating human brains and turned on each other, destroying each other in a single night. That was how her grandfather’s attack was remembered. That was the legacy Marius had left upon her name. She closed her eyes as the man said, “Everyone was dead.”

She found a single thread of hope when Derik tried to confirm. Seven siblings, had not one survived? The man who so definitively said there were no survivors said he didn’t know.

She went back to the group who seemed to be sliding coin to a boy and speaking in a strange tongue. She tried to make sure she counted the coins Luke Darius handed over as he and Ronja Leonheart spoke to the boy. A strange tongue… She didn’t even know how to speak the language of her homeland. Blow two.

Cillian predictably wandered about, she grimaced at the behavior but said nothing. If he endangered them she was going to mount his pointed ears over a fire and serve them to him well done. Aidan also wandered off. That she did not expect, and she worried over him.

Luke repeated the awful rumor that her family was cursed, eating human brains and going mad. However, the boy knew of her great uncle and a living brother. He proclaimed that her Uncle guards the world tree, and her brother works for drow. Her mind twisted, confused. All of her brothers had been such kind boys, how could he be working for the drow? Blow three.

She remembered that her great uncle was a shaman. If he was guarding the world tree, he must be powerful. He might, as she’d hoped, be able to teach her. They had the village marked on a map and a lead to the world tree. They chose to go to the village and see who might be there.

As they approached the vegetation grew denser, bigger than anywhere else on the island that they had seen. This began to feel like home. This was her Chauntean village, fertile and strong. Still, as much as she prepared herself, the charred empty husks of building haunted her steps. She reached out to the spirits and all but one fled.

She sensed it and walked to him. This was a spirit, this is what she does. She set up a dramatic and powerful entrance in her mind. She would flip into spirit form and declare, “I am Lannia Tannen! I am the Spirit Who Walks!”

She boldly approached and did just that, but as she looked upon the ghost, Derik asked the important question. Who was he? She squinted past the ectoplasmic wisps that surrounded the figure and recognized her grandfather.

She was suddenly six again, staring at him with her tiny, impotent hands, and watching him crumble to dust. She was not Lannia Tannen, Favored of the Spirit, Spellbow and Spirit Who Walks. She was little Lani, and she nearly broke on the spot.

Somehow, she kept it together. She asked coherent questions and told him how much she missed him. Derik tried to interject one question, but her wise and seeing grandfather answered before he could.

“No you do not have my blessing to marry her. Not until you challenge and beat a man of worth, it is our way,” He said to Derik.

When he inquired who such a man would be. Her grandfather only said that he would know him when he meets him.

As the sunlight threatened, she begged more questions. She asked if there were survivors, where they were and what their names were. He told her she had a living brother and sister. It was more than she dared to hope for. It would have been a great victory if not what he told her next.

She was too small in that moment, to broken to notice the thickening fog. She heard the words, she got the meaning, but she asked again, “Does Marius have my brother?”

“Siblings are often taken in groups.”

It was a thunderclap that shook her very essence. A blow that drove a bunted spoon toward her heart. It was no surgical cut, but a crushing, defeating darkness.

She was stunned and rage filled her. Her grandfather told her she was not ready to face her uncle or stand before the world tree. He would not give her the names of her siblings, demanding that she walk and learn her gifts. She would have to grow so that she could divine their names herself. He spoke to her like she was a child and a failure, and she felt like one.

He told her that her sister was safe, but that her brother needed her. The words carved themselves into her soul. Unconsciously she called the spirits of fire to her. Ablaze she made and oath.

“I will,” She answered, “I will save my brother, I will dream and learn and find a teacher. I will destroy Marius and become the Spirit who walks in truth… I will be who you saw in me when I was six. I promise, grandfather.”

Then a man stepped out of the fog. He told her grandfather that his brother sent his regards. It all happened so fast. A blinding, divine light swallowed her grandfather’s spirit and a horde of northmen descended upon them. The man smiled and said, “I imagine he will pay extra for you, and he lunged at Lannia.”

But Lannia’s shield and her blade were true. Rage flooded her, and for a second the idea that her line was berserk made some sense. She called to the spirits of fire and air and brought down an epic storm upon them, which finished them off. Seeing that the battle had left her friends badly wounded she channeled her divine strength into healing energy, rejuvenating them. Aidan had fallen, and Ronja revived him with a scroll before Lannia could simply recall his spirit. Lannia healed his broken body as he regained consciousness.

After the battle for several tense moments, anger flowed through her. Derik asked frantically, “Where is your grandfather, Lannia?”

He was gone… His connection to this world was burned away in divine light. He was completely gone. A second death, banished from this realm.

“He was hit by divine energy,” is all she said.

It was all she could say. She had now watched him die, helplessly, twice. She grappled in her troubled mind for purpose, for a reason not to crumble where she stood. Her brother. Her oath. She had to make it all mean something.

She would find her brother, she would find a teacher, she would defeat Marius, and her great uncle would die… Screaming.

She planted her sword and sat as her allies were in chaos around her. Her grandfather said she needed to dream so she was going to try. She closed her eyes as her friends all surrounded her. Cillian, in one of his moments of remarkable tenderness, tried to comfort her. Aidan placed a hand upon her, his adopted daughter's, shoulder and squeezed.

She loved them in that moment. She loved this group in every moment. Her adopted family that was risking all to help her. She couldn’t help but feel her inadequacy. Her inability to answer her calling, and her staggering incompetence was placing them in further danger. She would lose a second family if she did not get it together.

She couldn’t concentrate after this day. She barely registered the physical damage from the fight because her mind was drowning.

Derik held her as she stood, she was as hard a stone as she grappled to keep it together. She tried to be strong, to not be afraid, and to have some answer to all this.

Then she broke. Sobbing in his arms.

They went back to the harbor to discuss their next move, but she was a wreck. Completely desolated in her despair. Derik spent the night trying to ease her to restless sleep.

“I am Lannia Tannen… The spirit who… The spirit… No…”

“I am Little Lani… And I am so scared. Gods help me."

“She has the sight,” Her grandfather had scolded, “She should see the path.”
All this time she had forgiven her stumbling for lack of a teacher, but her grandfather’s words made it plain. She should know. She should have always known. She was just a failure.

She had so easily recognized her great uncle’s name. It should have been a warning bell in her head. She should have been on alert. She should have known what was going to happen when those men approached her grandfather’s spirit. She should have saved him.

It pained her that she had not immediately recognized him, and to find out her brother was in Marius’ hands… How long had Marius had him? How many times had she passed her own brother in the stronghold and not even recognized him? Not remembering their names had been something she could forgive herself for. Her memories were a tangled mess, but she had always taken comfort that she remembered their faces, their laughter.

But she hadn’t. Derik caught on sooner than she to the fact that she faced her own grandfather. Try as she may to remember the faces at the stronghold, she could not remember any of them being any of her three brothers. She began to question everything.

She stared at the back of Aidan’s blonde head, walking in front of her, and she wondered. She remembered her father as a fair-haired, blue eyed man. Was that the truth? Or had her bond with Aidan imposed itself to fill the gaps in her torn memories. She remembered thinking of how much Aidan resembled her father when she got her memories back. Was that the case? Or was the resemblance her mind’s broken way of filling a hole.

She had looked at her own reflection and seen her mother, but was this the truth? No one had recognized her. Did she know her own mother’s face?

A deep hopelessness filled her.

A single drop hit the surface of the water, then another. Each drop, drip, drip, dipping. It was maddeningly loud. Her head pounded from days of trying to meditate on what her grandfather had tasked her with. A few ours were spent eating or looking for a teacher because Derik insisted on the breaks.

For many hours between his duties he’d maintained a vigil over her, and she felt his eyes upon her. He didn’t know how to help her with this. He’d taught her to swing a sword. He’d worked with her on tumbling and taught her draconic, but to use a sight he didn’t have? He was helpless to guide her in this. Though he was silent, and stoic, she could feel it ripping him apart.

Distracted again. She berated herself and tried to ignore him. The best way to alleviate his suffering would be to master this. Master this thing she’d never had guidance in. Master this thing she was just supposed to know how to do…

And then she was looking through her fingers in her mind. She watched through small, outstretched fingers, as the most wonderful man in the world was incinerated. The most powerful man, the man who should have lived forever. She watched through the fingers of the hands that should have saved him. Through the fingers of a prodigy, and his successor. She watched those fingers age, and then watched him die again, in blinding divine light.

Her eyes snapped open. Derik’s hand found hers as if sensing her distress. He led her away for another meal and suggested that they seek Lady Fierlith for further guidance. She was not a shaman, but she had visions, and it had to be better than nothing.

She met with the lady and through their discussion, the Lady said that Lannia was not likely to proceed further until she addressed the blocks she placed before herself. Lannia’s guilt and feelings of inadequacy needed to be addressed.

Lannia returned home and meditated. How might she address these issues? How might she gain confidence in herself and forgive herself for letting her grandfather die? For not being able to help her siblings sooner?

Lannia had hidden behind her grandfather, she had been suppressed beneath Marius, and since gaining her freedom had hidden behind the power of her allies and adopted family. She had not trusted herself, her bow, her sword, or her spirits to do anything of significance alone. She only allowed herself to be support, and it was time to take the front.

And so she authored for herself a series of challenges…

Challenge One: Face the Beast… Alone.



How many times had she ventured into the temple of the Yaun-ti to dispatch their new queen with a group of friends? Dozens. She had never once ventured into their territory alone.

As the gravel crunched beneath her feet she summoned Cider. Cider was the name she’d affectionately given the spirit who most often came when she called. He liked to manifest as a wolf or a lion, but today he was a bear. Deep, ageless eyes looked into her and then he was gone up the mountain ahead of her.

Arrows flew, Yaun-ti fell, and soon she found herself at the door of the Yaun-ti throne room. It was time for the big spells now. She opened the planar gate and called Solar to her side. She dumped magic into him to make him stronger, faster, and harder to hit. She ran into the room behind him.

A severely wounded shamaness barely barred the door behind herself as Yaun-ti guardians descended. Lannia managed to subdue them as the queen clawed at the barred door behind her. Out of spells, out of summons, and bleeding out, she did all she could; she ran.

She stepped into the spirit realm and ran through the plane toward the exit. The yaun-ti could not see her like this, but her time on the other side was limited. Just as she began to materialize she threw herself through the portal and into daylight.

She sat in Soubar, replaying her defeat in her mind. She simply had not had the power to keep her summons warded, and fighting. Nor could she keep them or herself healed. It was then that it dawned on her that she was still acting like support. She was relying on her summons to fight the queen while she hid behind them. She downed her cider and restocked her supplies.

Once again she went up the mountain, once again she stood at the door to the queen, and once again she opened a gate and summoned a great creature to her side. This time she chose the bard, so that he might support her with spells and protective wards. She did not pour her magic into making him stronger. The spirits were here to support her, to serve as a distraction, and do what damage they could manage before the were killed or summoned back to the planes.

She placed more trust in her favor with the spirits. She allowed herself to take a lot of damage, to the brink of death, before healing herself. She kept as much magic as she could to rain down blows upon the Yaun-ti queen. Spells echoed off the throne room walls, arrows flew off her bow, and summons appeared, lent aid and fell.

Her quivers nearly empty, her last summon fallen, and the last of her magic power in sight, the Yaun-ti queen still stood. Lannia looked into the cold eyes of the serpent queen and stowed her bow. The queen was bloodied and near death herself, but the snake looked at Lannia as if it sensed the best of Lannia’s tricks were spent and hissed.

Lannia drew her longsword and her heavy shield and roared back at the Yaun-ti queen. She called the spirit of the storm and the spirits of fire to herself. Lightning and flames licked off her form as she mounted her final charge.

Toe to toe, blow for blow, Lannia refused to retreat. Bleeding and out of magic she required only one heal potion to keep going. At just the right moment, the snake made a critical error, bringing her face down to strike Lannia as Lannia brought her sword up.

Lannia kicked the carcass off her with a heavy groan. She sat there a moment and then cackled madly. She’d done it. She’d killed the Yaun-ti queen. She collected her well-earned prizes and left the temple with her head held high.

Challenge Two: Be the Front Line.

She prodded the fire in Nashkel as she listened to a group of three new adventurers talk about their power. They estimated that they could easily storm the frost keep and she looked them over as they spoke.

Lock picks dangled from the belt of one, a rogue most likely. Probably light on her feet but downright squishy otherwise. The other sported long mage robes and thought very much of his intelligence. He would not last if anything breached the front line. The third, an archer, was also sure his arrows would pierce the heart of the great frost king.

Killing the frost king was not her aim. This lot was intent on stupidity, and so it was the perfect chance for her to be the shield that saved them. She meant to take them up the mountain and safely see them back again after they ran from the king screaming.

She replayed in her head all the things she told them;

“Don’t stand in the storm.”
“Kill the minions first.”
“If I say run… RUN and don’t stop until you are back in Nashkel.”

It was that first one. Sure enough she was slinging healing spells left and right to keep them from dying in the storm. The Frost King hits hard and resists most spells. Solar was dead entirely too fast. She was forced to keep the king’s attention, do the lion’s share of the cutting on him, and cast healing spells at the three young ones who just couldn’t stay out of the blasted storms.

Worse, when her healing magic was gone, she told them to run and they all charged the king, refusing to leave. She tossed healing potions to them, using up almost two stacks off kits, and 12 healing potions to keep them alive.



The king finally fell and they all cheered. She would have ripped their heads off, but she was too pleased with herself to care about telling them what absolute fools they were. She led them down the mountain to safety, and they didn’t reimburse her for a single potion or kit, nor did they buy her a drink. Still…

She’d done it. She’d kept someone else alive by standing in the front.

Forgive, dream, walk, learn ((Part One))

It was dark. The fog was crisp and cold. How had she gotten here? She looked up through the swaying grass at the starry sky and remembered her day.

She had spoken a long time to Teris, about life and guilt and change. The part about guilt, and forgiveness had stuck in her gut and moved around. She went about her normal business, and returned home. Then she was here. Had she fallen asleep? Was she dreaming?

She sat up and looked into the eyes of her constant companion, Cider. Cider stood and moved away, then turned and looked back to be sure she was following. She pushed to her feet and followed.



“You have come far,” Cider… SPOKE?

Lannia froze in her tracks, “Since when do you speak?”

“I speak,” Cider answered, “When you are ready to hear it.”

“So,” She started, “It’s working? I am growing in power.”

“More like you are accessing more of the power you already possess,” Cider explained, “But for now you hear me on my power, not yours. Come.”

A tiny sprite-like spirit flittered by. It stopped just short of Lannia’s face and smiled, “Sister! It’s been so long!”

“Begone,” Cider grumbled before Lannia could respond, “Lesser fey, she is not here for a social call.”

The spirit huffed and flitted away. The sentiment was not lost to her, “Here?”

“You are venturing in the deepest parts of your own soul,” Cider said, “Here you are linked the world beyond worlds, where the spirits roam. Shaman are born with this connection to us, elementalists share an even deeper connection, as you are part of the very energy that sustains both worlds on a fundamental level. That is why you can see that water spirit at all. She was excited to see you, because you can see her. Most Shaman cannot. That is why you see so clearly into the value of others, value that they cannot see in themselves. Your sight is linked to the fabric of existence on all planes. There is not a single plane in which you would not see the un-seeable, and sense intimate and hidden truths.”

They continued along and came to a pete bog. A tortoise slowly craned it’s head toward her and cider set beside it.

Lannia let out a sigh, “The tortoise I carry?”

“I exist only in you and for you,” The tortoise said in a shaking voice, sounding much like an old woman, “I am a representation of your core. The essential nature of your wisdom.”

“She is your guide,” Cider added.

“Ah…” Lannia said, rather un-impressed, “I kind of thought that was you, or my grandfather… So out of all the spirits to guide me, the spirits sent a turtle.”

“The spirits do not choose the guide,” Cider grumbled.

“I chose a turtle?” Lannia asked.

The tortoise blurted out a warm, matronly laugh and said, “You -are- the turtle... Er, tortoise.”

Lannia sat and tried to squash her feelings of being, well, underwhelmed. Okay, she was a turtle... Tortoise... Whatever... She asked the most reasonable question, “What does that mean?”

“Do you see yourself, child?” The tortoise asked, “By the form you have chosen. I question if you are ready to speak to me so…”

She looked down at herself and noticed how small she was. She worked round, nubby fingers, but when she spoke it was her adult voice, “I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do, because I understand,” The tortoise corrected, “You do not allow yourself to see. Look over there…”

Tortoise motioned into a thick tangle of brambles. Deep in the tangle was a large, rotten door, locked behind bars, chains, and near comically sized lock. The door was huge, how had she missed it? The tortoise’s voice shook.

“Behind that door are your worst memories,” It warned, “Things that might break your spirit as you are, and plunge you into darkness.”

“Who locked them there,” Lannia asked.

“You did, child,” The tortoise answered, “There were wards to make you forget, placed by Marius… Those are gone. Everything that remains is your own creation.”

She sat silently and stared. Unconsciously she began to move toward it. Cider leapt between her and the door and growled, “You are not ready.”

“You must remember yourself before you will be able to access the inner strength to open and face what lies on the other side of that door,” The Tortoise said in a near whisper, “Sit child, and walk back with me to the beginning… Remember…”

Lannia sat and then suddenly found herself floating. She saw her grandfather fighting evil spirits, saving spirits from becoming evil, and resolving disputes between the spirits and the human realm. As he did a small point of light formed.

“When a person gives more love than they receive,” The tortoise’s voice rang out, “A power otherwise unknown is accessed. This is why love is more powerful than hate. Hate must operate on what already exists, love can create something new.”

The point of light grew and grew. She watched her grandfather meet her grandmother.



“You are a little bit of a man, “The taller women teased.

“I am?” The small red-haired shaman asked, “Oh! You mean standing up.”

She watched them raise a family and start the village together. She watched him cultivate the earth and yield more than the village could ever use. She watched him deliver the extra to neighboring villages when their fields were bare. Still the light grew.

She watched her mother grow up. She watched, as years of courtship passed while her father pursued her mother. Her grandfather continued his service to the spirits, her mother served the sick and elderly, and the light grew blinding.

She floated in warmth at the time of her conception and felt the light envelop her and sink into her.

“You were born to the spirits,” The tortoise said, “They watched over the energy of the love your grandfather created until it required a vessel. Your mother gave birth to that vessel and you were gifted to the world.”

She watched her mother and father, crying tears of joy and embracing the small infant that was her. The tortoise gave a warm, understanding chuckle, “So concerned with being your grandfather’s successor, you have forgotten that you are already so much more…”

Then she saw her grandfather enter and look down upon her. Instantly love washed over his features.

“You are his legacy,” The tortoise said softly, “As all children, you are the gift his love has born unto the mortal world.”

She crashed down upon the earth and opened her eyes to look upon the tortoise once more.

“What’s more… You are the embodiment of all the love and goodness he put into both worlds,” The tortoise explained, “A love so strong, Chauntea still holds a foot on that barren rock. The plants still grow unnaturally to mark the place where so much love and faith once resided. 17 years later, you saw the vegetation there.”

The spirits laughed together and Cider said, “To lower yourself to merely following, to be a mere successor.”

“I am… My grandfather’s legacy…” She said, and more importantly… She believed it. Warmth filled her.

She looked down upon herself and saw her mature body, naked and vulnerable. She clasped her arms over her form and Cider openly laughed out, “What do you think you are hiding from me? Do you think there is something I desire in that form?”

“Still not quite there…” The tortoise said, shaking it’s head, “Go back now. Think on what you have learned.”

She opened her mouth to speak and sudden felt ripped backwards, slung back into conscious reality.

She opened her eyes and looked down on the dough in her hands… She had experienced all of that standing over a mound of half-kneaded sourdough. Then she felt his arms around her.

“Lannia, Beloved Flame of my soul... can we talk for a moment?” Derik said softly…

((Part 2))

The crisp air whisked around her. She was here again, it was getting easier to be here.
“You lost your natural family,” The tortoise said gently.

The tortoise was suddenly massive, and carried a vast wilderness with houses upon its back.



She was barely able to take it in before she was surrounded by her friends. She saw herself fighting at Derik and Ronja’s side, warding and healing them. She drank and laughed with Gunthar. She hugged Aidan fiercely and cast her line next to Michael. She saved Adira, brought her back from death, and Adira’s sword in turn defended her. She met over tea with the foxy four, and joked with Luke over the conflict between Luskan and Rauthym. She showed Adallan her favorite peaceful place, and drew snail shells in painstaking detail for Betha. She called Urth cutie and he called her cuddles over a glass of his finest wine. Adelaide spoke to her about fear and faith, and Gaven made her pancakes.

“And as soon as you were able to be yourself you created a new one. The people around you can sense your profound love… They bind to you willingly, for they know you would give all to protect them. All mankind seems to wear a mask, but around you, they are their purest self. They know they can be, and that you will see and accept them.”

“You accepted me as I was and to you, I was always the best possible version of myself…”

Their voices rang in her ears, and her hands closed around her greatsword. The tortoise continued, “You are born of love, acceptance, and peace, from the fabric that binds all the planes. You bind people with the strongest possible glue; unconditional love.”

“I love you,” She heard her voice saying over and over to everyone, “You are my family and I love you.”

Her skin was no longer bare. She looked down onto shining armor.

“Even those shunned, and people who would not normally come together, would come together for you,” The tortoise said, “The loners, the tired, the forgotten are at peace where you are.”

“Some say you are a wonderful person,” Teris whispered, “Worth more than gold, and it is probably true.”

“You are the one person that might reach her,” a priestess said, “The only one she trusts.”

Voices rang out one after another. There were so many that she only caught a few.

“I never told anyone your secret, I would die before I revealed you.”
“Because you are perhaps the kindest person I know.”
“I have never seen you do anything but give to the people around you. Let us return some small favor.”
“Let us share your load.”
“You are precious to me, as precious as a daughter born to me.”
The tortoise laughed happily, “You are the essence of the best thing to come from love; family. To know you, to be your friend is to be adopted, and to find a home. In return for the spiritual strength, and the support you lend, they pledge their strength to you. Not because you asked it… You never would.”

And then she was alone with Cider in circle of her friends.

“Do you think it is coincidence that the most powerful armoring ward is called tortoise shell?” Cider asked.

“I understand,” Lannia said, “The tortoise, my guide, and that which represents my most essential self is the avatar of family, love and protection.”

Strings of light erupted from her friends, and as they enveloped her she heard Cider’s triumphant howl echo through her soul.

Her head snapped up, and she looked around the room. Derik laid beside her, curled around her in his sleep. She had just sent the letter to Fierlith describing the last dream and already there was another. As with most things she had worked tirelessly to make no progress, and then something gave inside and a flood was started. She could feel it. She was on the verge of truly unlocking her sight.

She rolled over and gently kissed Derik’s forehead, “You knew I could do it. You never stopped believing in me.”

She gently slipped from the bed and ran to write the dream down.

Part 3: Challenge 3: Face yourself and forgive.

Fully armored in shining light and holding her greatsword, she stood before the barred, chained, and locked door. The tortoise was now so large Lannia could disappear into its massive flaring nostrils and never be found. It’s thundering footsteps were heard far off in the distance, but as it came closer it shrank. By the time it stood over the doorway its head was roughly as wide as a person. It craned down to look at her.

“I wish it were that easy for me to lose weight,” Lannia joked, “So I find myself here again… Am I just going to come here every time I close my eyes now?”

Hohohohoooo, the tortoise’s deep thundering laughed rang out, “You will come here when you need to… Or want to.”

Cider let out a small whine, “Are you sure she is ready?”

“She is,” Tortoise said at the same time Lannia said, “I am.”

“One spirit must enter with you,” Cider said in a tone that was not pleased.

A dark shadow gathered and took shape berfore her. Ominous red eyes stared into her and then it spoke, “This one is Twi. Twi is honored to enter with the misssstresssss.”

Lannia did not like what she saw when she looked into the spirit. She looked to the Tortoise and back to Twi, then to Cider.

“You must take it with you,” Cider sneered and laid down by the door, “Trust me, if I could, I was rip that shadow into so many whisps of smoke it would take hours to reform.”

“Twi loves Na'qpote too,” Twi crooned, “Oh great hunter of the spirits.”

Twi bowed to Cider, but Lannia got the feeling it was a bow offered in jest.

“Na'qpote?” Lannia asked.

“I have many names,” He answered lazily, “I like Cider.”

She smiled and looked at the door. She took a breath, not that breathing was necessary here, and asked, “How do we begin?”

“Tis locked by the mistress,” Twi answered, “If the mistress wills it to open… Open it will.”

Cider grumbled, “Remember… There are some truths you want behind this door, but there are also horrors you knew would break you if you had learned them too soon. This experience will not be… Pleasant. You must remember who you are, who you return to, and your mission.”

“Thissss one will be with the mistress,” Twi hissed with delight, “This one, will witness.”

She nodded and looked hard at the door. She braced herself for what she would see and walked toward it. As she stepped closer the chains and bars crumbled, and the padlock fell to the ground with a dull thud and rusted to dust. The door creaked open, she felt deep, deep despair as she walked through the frame and Twi followed.

……

Lannia sat at the table and penned the lastest dream as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“What I saw was indeed horrific. I knew Marius had used me to manipulate and kill people. I could remember their faces like a warning. Now I remember exactly and in painful detail how I did it, the cruelty of it.

I saw the… things… Marius did to me. I saw the various tortures I was subjected to. Worse… I relived them.

Marius gloated every time I was beaten. He told me about the various deaths of the people of my village in graphic detail and laughed at me as I wept in despair. Over and over again.

I estimated I had been erased and rewritten by him 15 or so times. Now I remember every life in striking clarity. I have lived as 23 different personalities, and I almost got lost in them.

All the while Twi was there. He asked, “Why did no one care? How could a small child be taken and tortured like that? Was there anything worthy in the world of the living?”

I realized his cruel function quickly. He was there to tempt me away from the light. As if these memories were not enough, he was there to drag me into darkness.

The final vision was… “

……

Lannia stood at the center of two scenes. A six year old self stood over her grandfather’s ashes, and her current self shielded her eyes from a blinding light. Lannia looked to Twi and said, “I thought the door held the pieces of my memory that I locked away. I remember these scenes.”

Twi laughed cruelly, “This the mistress has brought with her, perhaps she hopes to lock it in here and forget it? All the -guilt-?”

Twi circled the small child version of Lannia, frozen in time with ashes on her hands. She was perpetually looking down into her tiny, sausage fingers with shock and grief etched on her little doll face. It was horrifying; a gut wrenching sight for anyone that ever saw a child smile. There was something unnatural in the viewing of her small face twisted in so much pain and confusion.

“Why didn’t she save him?” Twi asked, “The great avatar of love, family, and protection, and the mistress did… Nothing.”

“I was six,” She ground out.

“And here?” Twi asked walking to the other scene, “Why nothing here?”

Lannia looked down at the ground. Twi spoke softly, “And he was soooo mean to the mistress… After all she has been through. To speak to the mistress like a failure? This one thinks it is a miracle the mistress survived.”

Every part of her soul felt bruised. She ached in the deepest parts of herself, and she was barely hanging on. She felt Twi draw near to her as it said, “This one… Would not blame the mistress if she had let him die again to punish him.”

“That’s not what happened!” Lannia growled.

“Twi must be close,” Twi said, “Mistress is very defensive. Perhaps not… Perhaps the mistress is just not as powerful as Twi believed?”

It was then that she realized she was sinking into the sands beneath her feat. She struggled and flailed, dropping her sword.

“He trusted the mistress…”

She clawed at the edges, trying to crawl free.

“The spirits fled and he stayed to speak to her.”

She grasped for anything that she might hold to keep herself above the shifting ground.

“He stayed and the mistress did not protect him… Avatar of protection and love.”

She gasped a final time before her head went under…

.......

“Widen your stance,” Derik said and moved in behind her, “Like this.”

She listened and tried to adjust. Derik let out a heavy sigh, “Are you ever going to get this right?”

“What?” Lannia asked in shock. Derik had always taught her so patiently.

“I guess your incompetence shouldn’t surprise me,” Derik said in a cruel, distant voice, “You let your grandfather die, your whole village! You are pathetic.”

She stared at him, her heart breaking in her chest. Then she heard Lady Fierlith’s voice.

“Your grandfather should have known danger was coming, like the other spirits,” She said, “He must have known what was coming. There is a reason he stayed.”

“He stayed,” Lannia started, “To warn me… To protect me. He chose to die for me.”

She could see Derik yelling at her but the sound was gone. In her head she heard the tortoise, “In return for the spiritual strength, and the support you lend, they pledge their strength to you. Not because you asked it… You never would.”

“You never asked him to die for you... You never would. No one would ask you to die for them, but you would do so without their permission. That is the nature of love.”

She looked into Derik’s angry, venomous face.

“You accepted me… And loved me… As the best possible version of myself…” she heard the voices of her family say.

She cupped his face in her hands and he froze, confused.

“I love you,” She heard her voice saying over and over, “You are my family and I love you.”

She kissed him as tears ran down her cheeks. She whispered, “This is not you, you always believed in me. Like my grandfather did. He died for me… Twice, because he loved me and he believed in me.”

She kissed him again, “As I would die for you… Because you are worthy. There would be nothing to forgive. Because I chose it… I choose you, and you would do the same for me.”

Somewhere she heard Twi cry in agony, and she found herself back by Cider and the tortoise.

Cider and the Tortoise looked upon her as she cried for several moments.

“Crying is okay,” The tortoise finally said in a hushed voice, “It was gift to mortals to let emotions that are too big to contain spill out and heal the world.”

“Apparently you can cry here too?” Lannia whimpered.

“If you need to,” Cider said, “And you need to.”

.....

As she penned the final lines the tears continued to fall. That is when she looked across the table. Cider sat there as casually as a person.

“It is time to confront your uncle…”

((Story built from DM Hera’s notes, who is on hiatus at current))

Lannia came back from the armory with leathers and special set of light armor. She went to work recreating a set of armor that looked like the ceremonial garb her grandfather had worn. So much like his that it could have been his, but tailored to fit her.

She slipped into it and buckled her belt as Derik entered. He looked at her oddly, “New armor or just reworked what you had.”

“It’s ceremonial,” She answered, “No time to explain. Gear up. We are going to Rauthym.”

At first he had argued, but as she strapped her shield across her back and explained that she had more visions and Cider said it was time, he began to strap on his gear. He grumbled that they should take more people with them, plan the trip some. This was sudden and reckless.

She slid her greatsword, her longsword, and her best bow into place across her back. She packed healing kits, potions, and an arsenal of arrows. She looked to her beloved Derik and said, “You have always believed in me… Believe in me now. It is time to face him and to stand before the world tree.”

She talked as she walked outside about her latest visions. She told Derik her entire family tree, from Arlen Jerrogeon to herself. She grabbed ahold of him and whispered, “We will have more time to talk when this is done my warrior.”

She touched the plant by their home and disappeared in a whirlwind of leaves. Once again they found themselves in the port village. Lannia walked to the town center. She had no fear this time, looking upon the faces of her people. She was no lost girl. She was a woman, a shaman with a divine purpose.

“I am Lannia Tannen!” She announced confidently as ripples of disgusted whispers spread through the crowd.

“SILENCE!” She howled, “My family is falsely accused and I demand my right to trial by challenge! I call out Uther Jerrogeon! Bring the snake to face me!”

She felt their eyes upon her, she heard the shocked whispers. No one dared to challenge the head of the temple of Umberlee. Her eyes washed over the growing crowd, and everywhere they spoke of how small she was. The madness must indeed be deep in her veins to challenge Uther.

Still, some time passed and a ripple of activity shook the crowd in the distance. Her eyes strained into the horizon down the narrow roadway. Finally she could see people parting before a procession. At last a group of barbarians baring the symbol of Umberlee broke through the crowd into the square. The first two stopped, looked at her, and laughed. The taunted her for her small frame, and she snarled.

“I will prove my strength,” She growled, “Stand aside and let Uther face me… If he is not a coward.”

The guards filed into the square and created a human perimeter. She could see Derik’s ill ease as he was forced to stand in the crowd away from her. She met Derik's eyes and she smiled.

Finally, Uther emerged. He was as big as any northman. He stood almost two heads taller than her and he drew a great two-handed axe from his back. He looked at her and chuckled.

“When they told me my mad brother's mad grand-daughter was back from the dead I laughed at them,” Uther said as he laughed, “But as I look on you now, there can be no doubt. Little Lani… How about a hug for your dear old great uncle?”

The tone was mocking. He spread his massive arms holding the two handed axe in one hand and flexing muscles upon muscles. Lannia stared at him, unflinching. She drew her longsword and her heavy shield and she said, “You set the drow, Marius, upon my village. You betrayed your own blood and he destroyed my village. Marius uses mind magic to hold my brother as her held me… As he used it forced my grandfather to slaughter his loved ones.”

Uther looked upon her with a cocky half smile, “Quite a story, little Lani.”

“Don’t call me that!” She shouted, “You -never- call me that! You were jealous of your brother, and WEAK! You called Marius upon us and now you will answer for your crime.”

She called the spirits of the storm and fire to her. Lightning licked from her form, twisting around flames as blinding as the sun. The crowd and the guards took a step back and she watched Uther’s expression lose confidence. She called the howling frozen winds to her blade and held it at his eye level.

“I am Lannia Tannen,” She said confidently, “Daughter of Imogen and Carlin, granddaughter of Arlen and Tamara. I am a shaman like my grandfather before me. My grandfather… Whose love was powerful enough to break the drow’s enchantment and save me that I might return to face the man who soiled my family name. I am here for you, Uther. I am here for my family name!”

She took a single step toward him, the ice on her blade crackling, the flames and lightning snapping around her, and blinding furious light pouring from her eyes. Uther took a step back and his voice cracked, “W-wait… I am much bigger than you, little girl, you sure you want to do this?”

“Trial by challenge,” she chanted and took another step the crowd joined her.

“Trial by challenge, trial by challenge, trial by challenge!”

“I am the head of the temple of Umberlee!” He squeaked, “I am twice your size, don’t be a fool girl!”

She flew at him, her sword came down as his mighty axe came up. He shrieked as the blaze around her burned his forearms. When the lightning cracked at his weapon he was forced to drop it. It hit the ground with a clang and he hit his knees, “M-Mercy… MERCY! I yield!”

She brought her sword over her head snarling at him. He held his hands up over his face and began to beg, “I admit it! I gave information to the drow named Marius. I swear on the waves that did not know what he would do with it. I didn’t know you were alive! I swear I would have come for you! Please! I swear I didn’t know! Please!”

The growl resonated from deep in her stomach, and her sword began it’s descent.

“LANNIA!” Derik howled, and her sword struck the ground by Uther.

She breathed deeply as the spirits left her. She looked into the terrified eyes of her uncle and said, “I will not lower myself to soak my blade in your filthy blood… Serpent, live in your shame, live knowing you couldn’t touch me, not even if you spent the whole of your existence trying to amass the power. You are hereby relieved of your post guarding the sapling of the world tree. If you are seen near it again, I will personally hunt you down… and end you. When you close your eyes, when you look into your darkest nightmares… Remember my face.”

He crawled away and his followers scattered after him as the crowd began to cheer and become rowdy. She held her sword high and howled, “I go to the sapling of the world tree. My sight is true and will lead me! If any remain that doubt the purity of my family name I invite them to come. Bear witness as I am judged and carve my name beside the name of my grandfather. Arlen Jerrogeon!”

And so a procession followed as much to be a part of the party that would surely erupt as to see if she would be judged pure by the world tree. The whole of them stood at its mighty base. As far as she looked to the right and to the left, she could not see the end of its massive trunk.

She removed her glove, and by some magic she found herself directly before her grandfather’s name. She placed a hand upon his name and wept...

And so her name joined his on the great tree, she left raised upon the shoulders of her northman brethren, carried off with Derik to drink and celebrate.

The next morning Derik teleported them home. There were only two days left before their wedding.

It was the final day before their wedding. Lannia and Derik spent most of the day in last minute alterations with tailors and tasting the food. Weary from planning, they went to the Muse for a little rest and relaxation.

Finding the muse empty Derik lit the torches as she sat at the bar. He leaned on the opposite side, playing bartender, and with a cocky half-smile asked, ”So gorgeous, what'll it be?”

How she loved that boyish grin of his. She answered, “Whiskey, love.”

Derik grabbed a bottle and two glasses. He set them down, popping the cork, poured three fingers into each glass before he set the bottle down and replaced the cork. Picking up his glass, he held it out towards her and said, “To us... Soon to be the best damn looking married pair on the whole damn Coast.”

“To us!” She cheered happily and raised her glass with a chuckle.

Derik chuckled back, clinking the glasses before downing his whiskey. Lannia was distracted by the opening of the front door. She looked to the door and smiled brightly at the stranger as he entered. Never missing a chance to be friend Lannia called out, “Hail! Come on in and welcome to the Muse!”

She then downed her whiskey in a single pull as Derik showed his hospitable side as well, “Heyo! Welcome to the Muse! I'm pretending to be the Bartender today, what can I get you?”

The large man walked in, greatsword slung over a shoulder. He approached the bar with a loud thud, thud, thud of his heavy boots. He looked around some before putting his attention back on the pair and said, “S'pose this will do, Somethin’ strong!”



Lannia took a moment to size him up. Derik stood near six and a half feet and this man was a good half head taller still. Thick furs did nothing to hide his frame which sported muscle upon muscle. Blinking she blurted out, “Woooah, make them big where you come from eh?”

He gave a boisterous laugh and smiled at her, “Aye that they do.”

Derik chuckled and asked, “Right then. Ale or liquor?”

“Ye have to ask?” The imposing man scoffed, “Ale, boy!”

“Well, you said something strong, so,” Derik shrugged, “Just making sure.”

Derik pulled a stein down and filled it up. He used one of the biggest steins he could find. Nearly overflowing with ale Derik thunked it down in front of the newcomer.

“About as stout-y as is gets,” Derik explained, “You'd have to go find dwarves to make anything stronger.”

The man took the stein and looked down at it, shrugging before gulping it down. Lannia tried to make small talk, “I'm small for where I come from. They used to pick on me for it. Called me Little Lani.”

She stood 5’8”. She was tall for a woman but small for her northman heritage. Still, she blushed and straightened a bit, suddenly a bit self-conscious. The man’s eyes flicked up to her with recognition his deep voice rumbled, “Little Lani, eh? So you are Lannia… Heard you had a bit of a journey recently.”

Derik went back to his own glass, pouring himself another shot of whiskey. Lannia puffed up and beamed a smile, “Heard of me? I've had many journeys, most recently to Rauthym. Hey, Derik, I'm famous!”

She winked at her warrior and laughed happily. The man sat down with a thud, smiling over at the woman. He flashed a rather dashing smile and said, “Heard of ye? Why you are the reason I sailed all this way!”

His laugh echoed off the walls. Lannia blinked and looked at the large man oddly before asking, “The reason you sailed this way? You need help with something? A spirit matter? Maligned spirits stalking your tribe? An old curse perhaps?”

Derik looked the man over, “Well, it's probably not because he needs someone to stab something...”

“I gathered by the look of him,” She agreed, “Though I do stab things well too.”

She laughed and Derik nodded, “You do indeed. You get the award of the ‘most progressed Bladestone Student.’”

The man let out another hearty laugh, “Nothing like that, lass. Names Halred the Axe, perhaps you have heard of me?”

“No, can't say I have,” Lannia answered with a light frown, “But if you are known in Rauthym, please forgive me, I've only recently visited after being gone 17 years.”

Halred, who was now paying little attention to Derik, held out his stein absently, “Thing’s got a hole in it lad, how about another? The mugs here are so tiny.”

“Yeah, well, the owners are from Luskan,” Derik said with a good-natured chuckle, “What can you expect?”

Derik grabbed the stein and tapped her lisp, “Wait... Halred... I think I remember someone saying you were quite the warrior in Rauthym. Do you remember that at the party, Derik? Was it Halred that the one man was boasting about? ‘7 foot and muscles upon muscles, lass!’”

He poured some more ale into the stein and scratched his head, “Um... I'm not sure... I was busy doing the arm-wrestling thing over the knives...”

The stein again landed before Halred with a heavy as Derik added, “Was a bit distracted.”

“Oh right, well,” She blushed and smiled awkwardly, “I was pretty drunk by then myself. I am truly sorry, but I can't be sure.”

Halred seemed rather proud of himself as he announced, “Quite the warrior? Lass, thats an understatement. Aint no greater warrior in Rauthym.”

“That's a claim,” Derik rumbled, “There are some pretty solid warriors up that way.”

“This here pelt?” Halred said, pointing at the pure white dire wolf pelt on his shoulders, “Killed the beast with me bare hands.”

“Oh-ho!” Lannia cheered, “Your bare hands? That's something. Looks like it was a beast!”

The door opened again and in strolled a familiar monk who had been gone some time. Lannia’s expression brightened and she squealed out, “Adallan!”

He glanced over, offering a wave. He smirked at her and simply said, “Hey there.”

With that Lannia was up, launched from her chair. She bridged the distance between them and tackled the monk. She coughed at a small plume of ash erupting from him, and that is when she noticed his clothes were singed at various points. He didn’t budge at all, giving her a hug in return. Lannia then took to fussing like a mama bird, “Oi! Look at you!”

AS she tried to dust him off, he steadied her hands and laughed, “Oh, don't mind that. It's...a long story. What's everyone all gathered in here for?”

“Just a good time!” Lannia chimed cheerfully, “Come in and have a drink! Halred, this is Adallan.”

Adallan looked over the massive northman and gave a level, “Ah, evening there.”

Halred looked over to the Adallan and gave a solid nod, drinking down his ale again.

“Adallan, meet Halred,” Lannia continued introductions, “He's from my home island of Rauthym.”

“Rauthym, aye?” Adallan said and make his way to a stool, “I've heard a bit about it. Quite a ways out. If it's any consolation, I'm not exactly from around here, myself.”

The northman grunted, “They make small off our island eh?”

“Hey, I am small too but I pack a punch,” She chuckled and reclaimed her stool, “And so does Adallan.”

Halred smiled as she returned and winked at Lannia, “It’s that northern blood.”

“Adallan pretty much literally packs a punch,” Derik said and retrieved some whiskey from the well for Adallan, setting the whole bottle down in front of the monk. Adallan smirked and took a swig right from the bottle.

“I like to think I make up for my size in pure spirit,” Lannia smiled back at Halred.

“Aye, of course you would know all ‘bout spirits,” Halred said with a light twinkle in his eyes as he laughed a bit.

Derik went back to leaning against the bar near Lannia and and said, “Aye, she's got a fair bit that blow things up when she asks.”

“Indeed, so back to your problem,” Lannia returned the conversation to track with a serious tone, “I am a shaman like my grandfather before me. Whatever troubles you, it would honor me to help my countryman.”

She smiled with warmth and genuine kindness, clearly meaning what she said. Derik poured himself another glass of whisky, sipping it this time. Adallan, having walked in on the conversation looked between them curiously. Derik began to chat with the monk, intending to let the two northmen talk business.

Halred placed the mug down on the counter and laughed, “Well now it’s not really a problem. I’m actually here for yer hand in marrige! Ye need a strong Northern man at ye side and there ain’t none stronger than me!”

Lannia sipped her whiskey and then coughed, sputtering it out. For a second a stunned Lannia questioned what she’d just heard. Halred beamed at her, awaiting her answer.

“Wh-what now?” Lannia croaked.

Adallan looked to Halred, then to Lannia, then to Derik. Adallan quirked a brow and said, “Well...I eh...may have missed something when I was out...”

Halred gave another boisterous laugh, “Ye heard me lass! Think about it? Your spiritual connection, My strong northern bloodline! what could be better?”

Derik froze looking like he was about to say something to Adallan and then stopped dead. His head turned slowly to the left to regard the large northman as a quiet sizzling sound came from his glass. The sound ceased quickly as he asked, “Do what now?”

Lannia blushed wildly and tried to smooth it over, “I am very sorry you haven't heard...”

“Havent heard?” He asked smiling confidently at her.

“I am to marry this man,” she pointed to Derik, “Tomorrow in fact.”

Derik set his glass down, with what appeared to be finger divets in it. He smiled good-naturedly and reaffirmed her statement, “The lady is spoken for friend.”

Halred looked back and forth between the two, then back to Derik sizing him up. Halred scoffed, “Him?... but he is just a lad... You need a real man!”

Halred laughed again and pummeled a fist to his chest. Derik, while clearly not the size of Halred, was not of any small stature. He was clearly struck by the insinuation. Lannia’s sapphire eyes were wide with shock. Her blush darkened the freckles on her cheeks and she said, “He's a great warrior, I assure you. I am flattered but I am spoken for.”

Adallan stoically raised his brow, assessing if he would need to step in for his friends. Halred shook his head some, looking a little solem. He considered and looked at Derik darkly, saying, “If he is such a great warrior then have him prove it! I challenge his right to marry you!”

He thumped his fist down on the counter and eyed Derik sternly.

“Fight me like a true Northerner and show your worth lad!” He ground out in Derik’s direction.

“Eh...how does one fight like a true northerner?” Adallan interjected.

Adallan looked between them, curious. Lannia blanched and swallowed before croaking out, “Normally with axes or swords…”

“It’s simple really,” Halred explained, “We both beat each other till one man can’t stand. Winner gets her hand!”

Halred beamed a large smile at Lannia. Clearly, he thought this was charming. Derik’s eyebrow over his left eye quirked slightly, and his eyes flashed as he regarded the large northman in front of him. He was silent for a long moment. Adallan looked to Derik, reading his expression and nodded.

Lannia lost color completely, trying to think her way out of this situation as she numbly said, “It is... Technically... My homeland's custom...”

Halred nodded firmly and said, “Aye, one must prove their worth.”

Halred beat his chest again and pointed his large finger in Derik’s direction, “I, Halred the Axe, challenge you for the hand of Lannia Tannen! Lest you’re afraid?”

“I fear nothing,” Derik’s voice was deadly even, “The question is, are you willing to face Warwake, Holy Blade of Tempus?”

“I ain’t afraid to face anything lad,” The northman answered in a similarly ominous tone.

Lannia’s head flitted back and forth between the two men. Adallan frowned and her brow furrowed. Derik spoke softly, “North of the city there is an arena. Meet me there in five minutes. I accept your challenge.”

Lannia’s jaw hit the floor. Halred hopped up, looking rather pleased with himself and said, “You best be prepared lad.”

As the loud thumps of the massive northman faded in the distance, Lannia rounded on Derik and shrieked, “You are not serious???”

“Eh...hrm...” Adallan puffed his cheeks, and slid a hand back through his hair. After looking over Derik a moment, he simply nodded. Derik was already strapping on his armor.

“I am very serious, Beloved,” Derik said, “Adallan, I'd appreciate a witness.”

“Aye, I can be there,” The monk nodded and stood ready to leave with his friends.

“I'm not a citizen of Rauthym anymore!” Lannia argued.

Adallan nodded to Lannia, in a "there's no stopping Derik" way. Derik swirled on his cloak.

“No,” Derik said calmly, “You are not.... but your family is. Remember what your grandfather said? I would know.”

She stopped and remembered her grandfather’s words about the challenge. She nodded slowly, “Okay... Love... Kick his arse.”

Derik put a hand to her cheek, “You know me better than that... I don't lose when it matters.”

She nodded, “I will go find myself a seat then.”

“Be ready to heal his bleeding Northman self,” Derik said, turning warwake over in his hands.

Moments later she sat in the balcony overlooking the scene. Derik strode up and paused. “I, Derik Ranloss, am here to answer the challenge of Haldred the Axe for the hand of Lannia Tannen, the Sprit who Walks.”

Derik pulled up his hood, and with a slow, deliberate movement and a metallic rasp, Warwake was drawn from the chainmail scabbard on his back. The warrior muttered to the blade and it burst into flame. Halred let out a mightly cry and the battled was on. Adallan officiated the match, trying as best he could to settle Lannia who looked on tensely. Metal clashed with metal, ringing in the night air.

… And then it was done…

Halred fell with a mighty thud, and did not get back up. Lannia cheered and ran down to her beloved Derik. Adallan appeared at Halred’s side in and instant, applying a healing salve. Adallan then stepped forward again, offering a hand to the warrior to help him up. Halred took the monk’s hand and with a loud groan, pushed to his feet.

His face was somewhat calm as he said, “Well lad...”

“I believe that means she's mine, friend,” Derik said over him.

Halred looked at the man dead in the eyes for a moment with a serious expression before beaming a large smile, “HA! Ye done good.”

Lannia, who had been watching the two closely, sighed with relief. Halred looked her over and smiled, “Seems ye picked the right man after all, lass.”

“I never had any doubt of that,” She said and smiled warmly.

“There are many strengths for battle, my friend,” Derik explained, “Strength of arm, strength of faith, strength of allies... Lannia is my strength of purpose. She is the reason I go to war and why I fight so hard to come home.”

A slow smile crept over Adallans lips as he watched the exchange. Derik smiled as well and added, “You never had a chance.”

With a nod of his head Halred said, “Then I, Halred, will honor the tradition of our people. Ye beat me fair and square lad.”

“And I thank you,” Derik said solemly, “By the custom of your people I accept the honor you allow me.”

“Ye not so bad after all, I be thinkin’ you and I could be friends!” Halred brought his massive paws down and pat the Derik on the back with another jovial laugh.

Derik gave a slight “oof” and actually bent forward a tad at the large man's whap on his back.

Derik smirked, “It would be my honor.”

“uh-oh,” Lannia groaned, “Am I going to have to hunt enough venison for both of you?”

“The three of us,” Adallan said with an innocent smile. His love of Lannia’s smoked venison sausage was no secret.

“Ye may want to take some friends,” Halred suggested, “You know how much we northmen eat!”

Derik’s eyes narrowed at the monk, “And stay out of my sausage, Punchy!”

“I try to avoid your sausage, Stabby,” Adallan fired back with a smirk.

Playful banter continued until Halred suggested the boys head out for drink and merriment. Derik agreed after he finished some important business. That business was to grab his beautiful shamaness, pull her to him, and dip her into a long, savoring kiss. Her grandfather’s spirit would surely be appeased now, and her family’s blessing upon them. Tomorrow they would wed.

They were finally married. An hour before the ceremony she changed her name from Lannia Tannen to Lannia Thatcher, adopted legally by Aidan as his legal daughter. Then she became Lannia Ranloss. The custom of her people was for the woman to carry the name. Had she married in the land of her tribe, he would be Derik Tannen. However, with as much kinship as she now felt to her homeland the fact remained; She was no longer a citizen. She was 17 years removed.

They spent a glorious week of wedded bliss honeymooning in Selune’s bracelet. Adelaide returned from the dead. Ronja left Luke, Luke went back to Adelaide, and Ronja began a relationship with Gunthar. A new face entered the scene in the form of a snarky rogue named Marie. In a little over a month Marie managed to steal the heart of Cillian and the two eloped. Antje left Aidan, Aidan was now with Kirri who was another new face.

Cultists terrorized the coast along with mysterious spirit creatures. The white order had shown up and no one knew if they could be trusted. Tieflings, a normally rare hybrid race to behold seemed to show up on the coast by the dozens. Who knew how it all related, or if it all related?

Time marched on…

The warsworn seemed like a perfect application of her talents. She felt like she could be useful for a change, but while Shaman were a revered class in Rauthym the sword coast looked at her like she was alien. They simply seemed ignorant of what she could do, and so they ignored her.

She could detect and commune with the spirits, she could push them to the edge of the map and back again, she could significantly weaken them at a word, and she could take their form, stepping into the spirit realm with her physical body…

Yet she was useless… Present in three major spiritual events lately, she was all but ignored. Shoved aside… “Let the paladins, priests, and the favored souls handle it…”

A plan was put before the powers that be outlining her potential contribution to hunting and ridding the coast of the warsworn. She had little hope it would be taken seriously. The coast seemed almost willful in its ignorance of her gifts, even after proving herself time and again over the past year. What does it take to be acknowledged?!

Still she knew that bitterness was more a distraction for herself. No new visions of late. Nothing new pointed her to the two siblings who yet lived. Nothing to even tell her which two siblings yet survived. She knew only that Marius held one… A brother…

Which brother? How had she not known him, not seen him? Why, after her memories were restored could she not put a face or a name to him? Had Marius kept them separate all those years? Why had Marius taken him? Marius didn’t just take people. They had to have a purpose. What talent might one of her brothers have shown to be singled out?

Conner was a sweet older brother and very responsible, but too gentle. He was not a particularly well-known warrior, ranger, or anything. He was just a responsible, sweet boy, with a crush on a Tempite girl one village over. He’d have lived an average life. He’d been well loved and respected, and have kids by now… Except…

Feris was a bit of a troublemaker, getting into fresh baked pies, and generally making a fuss. The girls all love him for his bad-boy charm. As much as he seemed to want to be Connor’s opposite, they were fond siblings. Feris had a flash to his eyes and a fire for living… He would have been a wild and charismatic man, like her father… Except...

Donnel was a tender boy, and was always attached to her mother’s hip. Her father worked with Donnel on his strength. Her fatehr kept trying to make a proper Northman of Donnel. He was of proper Northman size, but always strangely meek. At the end of the day Donnel would end up tugging on Imogen’s sleeve, begging his mother’s protection from shadows and monsters no one else saw. Young boys often had imaginary villians, so it was a little too early to say that Donnel would not have been a proper Northman. He was born blond and becoming a darker brown every year. He was increasingly handsome and he had the size. Life and who he would be was still wide open to him… Except…

She had a sister out there. The spirits said she was safe. Who knows, now that her family name was cleared and Lannia's legend was spreading on the island, her sister might seek her out. Her sister was okay. Her sister was not a concern. Except that she once had four of them… Except…

Except… Except… Except…

Marius…

“You will have another vision when it is time,” Cider interrupted her meditation.

“When will it be time?” She asked in a cold, bitter voice.

She opened her eyes and looked into the great spirit. She had come to know it wasn’t normal for a shaman to be accompanied by a greater spirit like the great hunter Na’qpote. Yet there he was, a near constant companion.

“What was it like?” She asked and the spirit stared at her, unblinking, “Watching me through all the lives Marius imposed.”

“Inspiring,” Came his simple reply, eventually he added, “Painful… To see you twisted and rise above it, again and again. Your spirit is stronger than you ever give it credit for. 23 times he tried to permanently warp you, and 23 times he ultimately failed.”

“My brother is still there,” She spat at him.

“It is not the same for him,” Cider explained.

“So what?” Lannia asked, “The new personality took? Is that supposed to make me feel better? That he’s spent 17 years so far as Marius’s brainwashed murder but at least he’s only lived one story? How long does one live like that before it becomes who they truly are? How far gone is he?”

“I didn’t say-,” Cider started.

“YOU NEVER DO!” She cried and hurled a book at the spirit.

It passed through him and hit the wall with a dull thud. Derik would be upset at her for throwing a book, so she got up and put it away. She growled, “You know where he is… Don’t you? You know what he’s been forced to do… You know what he is still being forced to do! Tell me where he is!”

She stepped eye to eye with the spirit and all but screamed the last bit in his face. Cider’s ears went back, and for the first time ever he bared his teeth at her. He disappeared suddenly, and she could feel that he was completely gone. He was never completely gone. She fell to her knees and hit the ground, repeatedly, until her knuckles bled. She cried out her frustration.

She would have 3 brothers and 4 sisters and be the head of her tribe.

Except for Marius…



Hours later Cider returned finally. She had fallen asleep on the floor where she had howled so long her voice was hoarse. Cider didn’t ask for an apology. He just curled around her as if his spirit form could offer warmth. There they stayed until Lannia remembered the floor was cold and Cider made a poor blanket in this physical world. She got up, pulled herself together, and went to meet Derik at the Arms.

For the evening she went back to being Lannia, like she always did. Happy, unflappable, Lannia… But somewhere out there her brother was doing Gods knows what. Worse, he had been convinced that he wanted to…

How does one really live with that?

More botched events...

The others were patrolling for more orcs. She, Vendor, and Teris looked over the piles of white order bodies; some smoldering, some yet to be added to the flames. With the plague of undead and Lannia's ability to call upon the spirits of fire they decided it was best to help them with the incineration. They offered and the guards accepted. She moved to the center and asked the gaurds to clear out so she could handle this unfortunate business.

Then the patrols returned and everything got confused. Standing among piles of dead bodies, half way through an incantation to call down the spirits of fire, she reminded the gaurds that they needed to step out of the way and allow her to finish this grim task.



The patrol, not having been privy to the conversation before, reacted with horror. They acused her of terseness, and unfeeling for the dead. Clearly... None of them knew her well or that she was a shaman. She sought to end undead suffering at the necromancer's hands before it began and what's more she was following the orders of the two people supposedly at the head of this effort.

She looked at the crowd, some 13 adventurers where there should have been 5 or 6. No one could tell her what half of them were doing there accept seeking glory and lending chaos to someone else's fight but she was the over-zealous one. She was the one acting out of turn in their eyes. As far as she could tell, she was one of the only people there invited well in advance and who actually knew something about the relic that they sought. She was also the only one consistently listening and following orders.

Of the people that did know her, not one questioned that the situation was not as it appeared.
Not one lifted their voice to defend her. Teris and Vendor went mute. Neither defended her actions that they moments earlier agreed to. Then the guard also back pedaled, seeing a group of fierce adventures stare at the piles of bodies aghast.

Did they honestly think -this- was how she wanted her shaman powers put to use? A year on the coast baking for these people, making pancakes for these people, laughing with them, helping them through this and that, did they honestly think she was so cold? Did they think she enjoyed being center stage to roasting human flesh? She opened her mouth to defend herself when Derik arrived, surveyed the scene and motioned her to him, "They aren't listening, love."

What followed from there was not the mystic quest she was expecting but a stream of killing. Just non-stop battles and hundreds fell. When they found the relic it was almost an afterthought. She remained silent for most of it. Her arrows flew with scary precision, covering the front line with a hail of arrows. She reserved her magic, just in case the situation would become grim. One ally fell, and she used her shaman powers to recall his spirit and heal him... No thanks was offered.

By the end of it Teris was near catatonic from all the killing, and she wondered if she was really any use at all. Surely someone had a raise dead scroll that would have been just as effective.

She collect herself up and went home with Teris and Derik.

Not but a day later the goblins attacked the tradeway en force. Her arrows flew as she hastily warded herself and Derik. They ended up pinned at the bottom of a cliff under a hail of arrows. She was the only one for this task, her spirit walking abilities would make her impervious to the storm of arrows and nearly invisible as she made her way up the cliff. No one was listening and -GODS- she was sick of no one listening. On the third time she repeated the plan with no response she nodded to Derik and just did it.



Near 20 archers fell to her arrows at the top of the cliff before two other members of the party were able to free themselves enough to come up the cliff and help her. Pleased with herself for the first time in a long time, she relayed what she had found at the top of the cliff when she arrived, intending to also relay information about the direction of the attack and more forces that surely lurked in the distance. She was cut off in her telling, ignored and treated rudely. Her spirit sank. Contributions again discarded; She just couldn't be good enough.

As the rest of the party joined them, she made note of one important fact... Derik was not there.

There was not a question to her. She saw the strength in the party and that they no longer needed her. She gifted them a few wards and began her frantic search. She sent Derik a sending and got no response. The spirits said he had not joined them, so he was not dead. After grid searching most of the nearby areas, she decided to regroup. She left word a a few local taverns for Derik to contact her and that she would wait at the Muse.

He final turned up, hours later. He had sustained a blow to the head and been drug off into a cave. The goblins mistook him for dead and were searching him for items of value. He awoke and instructed them in their error by way of a flaming sword. He arrived covered in blood with a concussion, semi-staggering, but he found his way to Lannia. He always found his way to her. She threw her arms around him and held him tightly. Then she seated him and addressed his wounds.

She decided, then and there, that all that mattered was on the stool in front of her. Never again would she leave his side in a battle. Never again would she worry over thanklessly aiding so many that didn't appreciate her. This man always had. This man had never taken her for granted. This man had always believed in her.

She would be Lannia, and the coast could take or leave her. As long as she had Derik, nothing else mattered.