Date: 9 Flamerule, 1359
Location: The Shrine of Suffering, Chapel
Today, I had a profound encounter with Sister Ashenie Darakh of the Shrine of Suffering. She questioned me about my calling and dedication as a knight. The conversation delved into the depths of my soul, and I shared with her my aspirations and desires to protect the helpless, uphold what is good, and oppose tyranny and oppression.
Sister Ashenie requested that I close my eyes and try to feel the energy of the sacred place we stood in. With a deep breath, I allowed myself to be enveloped by the presence of the Triad and the countless souls who had walked this path before me. It was a moment of communion, a connection with something greater than myself.
She then anointed my forehead with holy water, symbolizing a blessing and a commitment to my chosen path. A sense of peace washed over me as she traced a sign upon my skin. I knew in my heart, this was a profound moment. One that I would carry with me.
Sister Ashenie presented me with a red cord adorned with embroideries. It was a symbol of the Ilmatari Faith, representing the power of mercy and the willingness to face suffering for the sake of others. I accepted it gratefully, wrapping it around my right gauntlet as a constant reminder of my duty and the importance of showing mercy in all my actions.
We discussed the significance of the rose and crocus symbols on the cord, representing valor, dedication, and the opposition to tyranny. The white and black threads honored the Faith of the Just God and His Judgment, while the runes engraved on the cord represented perseverance, justice, and courage. It was a powerful amalgamation of values that resonated deeply within me.
As our conversation came to a close, Sister Ashenie expressed her hope that this moment had been helpful to me. I assured her that it had, acknowledging the wounds I had carried within me and the importance of addressing them openly. She extended an offer to speak further if I needed it, a gesture of kindness and understanding that I deeply appreciated.
In closing, I pledged to Sister Ashenie that I would keep the cord close to my heart and honor its significance in my every action. I expressed my gratitude for her guidance and asked if there was anything I could do to repay the Shrine of Suffering for this profound experience. She assured me that finding my own path and fulfilling my commitment would be enough.
I am filled with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. This encounter has brought clarity to my mind and strength to my conviction.
Date:15 Flamerule, 1359 Location:Cloudpeak Mountains, Border of Amn
Today, I faced a formidable challenge in the heart of the Cloudpeak mountains. While traversing a treacherous path along an icy ridge, I encountered two Frost Giants blocking my way. These towering figures, draped in furs and wielding mighty axes, posed a significant threat.
With my heart pounding in my chest and my senses heightened, I drew my trusty sword and prepared for the clash. Aegis, my loyal warhorse, stood resolute by my side, our unspoken bond lending strength to my resolve.
The battle that ensued was a symphony of steel and ice. The giants unleashed their fury, their massive axes swinging with deadly intent. I deflected their blows with precise parries, my sword meeting their weapons with unyielding determination.
In response, I launched a series of calculated strikes, aiming for weaknesses in their defenses. Each blow landed with satisfying impact, leaving deep gashes in their frost-hardened flesh. But the giants were relentless, their primal rage fueling their attacks.
One of the giants delivered a bone-crushing blow that sent me sprawling through the snow. However, I refused to yield. Rising swiftly to my feet, I summoned the strength to continue the fight. Aegis charged forward, and with a seamless combination of skill and teamwork, we executed a maneuver that left the second giant vulnerable.
Mounted atop Aegis, I rained down a relentless assault upon the giant, my sword slashing through the frigid air. Each strike carried the weight of my unwavering focus and unwavering will. Finally, I delivered a decisive blow that pierced the giant's heart, bringing it crashing to the ground.
The aftermath of battle was marked by an eerie silence that settled over the frozen battlefield. Exhausted yet triumphant, I stood amidst the fallen giants, my breath mingling with the mist that swirled around us. This victory serves as a reminder of my determination and unwavering commitment to protecting the innocent.
As I stand here in the unforgiving beauty of the Cloudpeak mountains, I am humbled by the challenges that nature and fate have presented before me. I am reminded of the strength that lies within, and the resilience required to confront the forces of tyranny and darkness.
With the memory of this battle etched in my mind, I will press forward, my resolve unshaken. The path ahead may be treacherous, but I am prepared to face whatever challenges lie in wait.
As the flickering candle casts its dancing shadows upon these pages, I find myself overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions and thoughts, each vying for my attention. The recent events have left an indelible mark on my soul, and I feel compelled to set these reflections to parchment.
The rooting out of the Lashlord, a vile tormentor of innocent lives, was a task of great importance and danger. In the dim recesses of that grim chamber, Lord Lyonaler, Sir Arkalis, Sir Marshall, Sister Ashenie and I confronted the darkness that had taken root. The desperate cries of those who suffered linger in my ears, a haunting reminder of the wickedness that dwells in this world.
Yet, amid the darkness, I witnessed the profound miracle that Sister Ashenie bestowed upon that small village. A beacon of hope in the darkest hour, she called upon powers beyond my understanding, and the heavens themselves opened before her. The celestial light that enveloped her as she chanted the names of angels defied explanation, leaving me with a sense of awe and reverence.
The village, once plagued by death's cold embrace, bore witness to life being restored in a way I had never thought possible. My own heart swells with gratitude for this miraculous event, and I cannot help but wonder at the purpose and meaning behind it all.
As I sit here in the quiet sanctuary of the Temple, I find myself pondering the path I have chosen in life. The question that lingers like a persistent shadow is whether to remain as I am, a knight devoted to the principles of justice and protection, or to take the sacred vows of a paladin and seek the Light of the Triad.
The weight of this decision bears heavily upon me, and I am torn between the familiarity of my current path and the potential for greater purpose as a paladin. The call to wield divine magic and serve the divine forces of Torm, Tyr, and Ilmater is enticing, yet it also brings forth uncertainty and doubt.
As the candle continues to burn away, I find solace in the flickering light, a reminder that even amidst the darkness, there is always a glimmer of hope. I must trust in the guidance of the divine, seeking their wisdom and clarity in the choices that lie before me.
I will take this time to meditate and pray, seeking the strength to navigate the crossroads of my destiny. For in the stillness of this hallowed temple, I hope to find the answers that have eluded me thus far.
Journal Entry:
Date: 17 Eleasis, 1359
Location: En Route to Arabel, Cormyr
As the sun rises over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the landscape, our group continues its journey through the heart of Cormyr. The road stretches ahead, a winding path that leads us ever closer to our destination—Arabel, a city teeming with history and intrigue. The air is crisp with the promise of a new day, and the sight of the rolling hills and verdant fields of Cormyr fills me with a sense of awe and appreciation for the beauty of this land.
Our footsteps echo on the cobblestone road, a rhythmic cadence that carries us forward. To my left, the towering trees of the King's Forest stand as silent sentinels, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The forest seems to hold its secrets close, its depths a mystery waiting to be explored. To my right, the fields stretch out like a patchwork quilt, each plot of land a testament to the hard work and dedication of the farmers who tend to them.
As we approach Arabel, the anticipation builds within me. The city's spires rise in the distance, a symbol of the bustling activity and vibrant culture that await us. I can almost hear the hum of voices, the clatter of hooves, and the distant echoes of laughter that fill the streets. Arabel is a place of opportunity and possibility, a hub of commerce and connection that has drawn us into its embrace.
With each step, I am reminded of the journey we have undertaken—a pilgrimage of faith, a quest for knowledge, and a mission to uphold the values of honor and duty. The camaraderie among our group is strong, a bond forged through shared experiences and a common purpose. Sir Marshall's leadership and wisdom guide us, and Gaven's steadfast loyalty and courage bolster our spirits. Maevyn's skill and determination inspire us, and Karai’s gifts protect us. Wisica’s care and compassion keep us, and Simon's quiet wisdom and unwavering dedication remind us of the importance of our mission.
As we draw nearer to Arabel, I am filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement for the adventures that lie ahead. The road may be long and fraught with challenges, but together, we are a force to be reckoned with. Our journey through Cormyr is a chapter in a larger story, one that is still unfolding with every step we take. And so, we press on, eager to uncover the mysteries and embrace the opportunities that await us in the heart of Cormyr's vibrant and storied lands.
The journey from the rugged Thunderpeaks to the welcoming embrace of the Dalelands has been a transformation of landscapes and experiences. Rolling hills stretch out before us, adorned with vibrant wildflowers that paint the fields in a myriad of colors. The scent of earth and blooming flora dances on the breeze, a fragrant symphony that speaks of life's vitality. As we enter the Dalelands, it's as if the land itself is whispering tales of its enduring spirit.
Our path leads us toward the village of Highmoon, nestled within the embrace of these rolling hills. Its red-tiled roofs glisten in the sunlight, a beacon of tranquility amid the natural beauty. Fields of golden wheat sway gently, a harmonious dance with the breeze that carries the joyful chirping of birds. It's a scene that soothes the soul and speaks of nature's harmony.
The road to Highmoon is well-traveled, a testament to the constant flow of travelers and traders who journey through these lands. Towering trees line the road, their rustling leaves a gentle accompaniment to the rhythmic beat of our horses' hooves on the dirt path. It's a soothing rhythm, a reminder of the journey's steady progress.
Highmoon comes into view, guarded by a sturdy wooden palisade that encircles the settlement. A testament to the villagers' determination to protect their way of life. The open gates speak of hospitality, a warm invitation to all who seek shelter within. Guards patrol the walls, a reassuring presence that speaks of vigilance in uncertain times.
The village itself is a tapestry of thatched cottages, gardens ablaze with the riotous colors of flowers. The aroma of freshly baked bread and hearty stews wafts from chimneys, a tantalizing promise of warmth and sustenance. The villagers move about their tasks with purpose, tending to livestock and trading goods. There's a sense of shared community, forged through experiences and the challenges of life on the frontier.
A central square beckons, a stone fountain at its heart depicting a majestic unicorn—a symbol of purity and grace. The bustling atmosphere reflects the villagers' resourcefulness, stalls brimming with fresh produce and handcrafted goods. It's a vibrant tableau of life's offerings, a testament to the villagers' resilience.
As we step into Highmoon, warm greetings and nods welcome us. The Dalelands' camaraderie extends its embrace, making us feel a part of this vibrant community. The journey from Arabel to this tranquil village has been a shift from bustling city life to the timeless harmony of the Dalelands.
As the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow upon the village, I find myself immersed in the beauty and serenity of the Dalelands. Here, nature and human endeavor coexist in harmony, and the experiences that await us in this new chapter of our journey fill me with anticipation.
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.
As Declan passed through the bustling southern gate of Waterdeep, he found himself at the threshold of one of the most magnificent and vibrant cities in all of Faerûn. The southern gate of Waterdeep was an entry point where a steady flow of people and goods moved in and out of the city. Towering stone walls, adorned with the emblem of the city, marked the boundary between the outside world and the heart of Waterdeep.
The streets were alive with a cacophony of sounds, as vendors hawked their wares and citizens went about their daily business. Merchants lined the sides of the road, offering a diverse array of goods, from colorful fabrics to exotic spices, and the delightful aroma of street food wafted through the air.
As Declan navigated through the crowded streets, he noticed the varied architecture that adorned the city. Waterdeep's North Ward was renowned for its grandeur and elegance. Noble estates with finely crafted facades and manicured gardens were a common sight, exuding opulence and refinement.
Arriving at his family's estate located at the southern end of the North Ward, Declan found himself before a grand house that exemplified the wealth and stature of House Nash. The estate was a testament to the city's prosperity and the family's long-standing presence in Waterdeep.
Dismounting from Aegis, he offered the reins to the stablemaster with a brief instruction, "See that he is well fed and groomed. It’s been a hard ride north." The stablemaster nodded in acknowledgment and led the massive warhorse to the estate's stables.
Declan's two little sisters, Emily and Sophia, burst through the door of the house and rushed forward to greet him with wide smiles, their laughter echoing in the opulent courtyard. The large knight knelt to meet them, enfolding the young girls in a warm embrace. Their joy at his return was palpable, a welcome respite from the heaviness in his heart.
As he released the embrace of his two younger sisters, they both suddenly took on the sass and spirit that enveloped their personalities. Sophia grabbed a handful of Declan’s beard and retorted, “You look like a bugbear!” Her eyes rolled playfully as she took in his features.
“You smell like one too!” Emily quipped, not missing a beat. The two young girls erupted in laughter as the sturdy knight feigned shock at the comments offered.
“Off with you two, we’ll catch up in a bit; I need to speak with Mother.” With that, they both sighed dramatically and left for the interior of the Nash estate.
Declan's step-mother, Elizabeth, stood just behind with a weary but affectionate smile, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and happiness. She was undoubtedly pleased to see Declan back home, where he rightfully belonged.
“I’m so happy you’re home, Declan,” she offered warmly as she took the armored knight into a motherly embrace.
“It’s been difficult with your father in his state.”
“What is it?” Declan asked as he and his step-mother took to a walk within the estate grounds. “What do the healers say?”
“They don’t know,” her voice cracked as she explained, “It came on so suddenly.” Tears took her composure, and she crumbled to the stone bench before them.
“I’m home now, Mother. We will see him back to himself. Where is Henry?”
She looked up to Declan standing before her, “He is in training. He’s taken to your path, Declan. Your father has been sharing the letters you sent home with him.”
Surprised, Declan smiled briefly, “Training? As a knight? How old is he now?”
“Just had his fifteenth nameday. Father had to erect a shrine to the Triad within the grand hall for him.” She too smiled briefly, seeing the pride on her step-son’s face as she explained.
“Thomas and William? Where are they?” Declan asked as he looked around the courtyard he played in as a youth.
“William is at your father's side, and Thomas is at your father’s shop, taking care of the family business while he’s ill.” Once again, sadness overtook her visage. “Your room is untouched, the same as you left it. Less a few odds and ends that Henry has taken as his own in your absence.”
Helping Elizabeth stand, the knight returned home, leading her into the House, taking her to the library. Once she was settled in, Declan made his way to his Father’s room. Nervous to see his father in such a state, Declan did all he could to remain a rock for his family, but he could feel his walls shattering as he made his way through the house.
As Declan approached his father's room, a profound sense of unease settled over him. The dimly lit corridor, adorned with ornate tapestries and ancestral portraits, seemed to echo with the weight of years gone by. He moved with deliberate steps, his armor-clad boots nearly soundless against the plush carpet.
Pausing at the room's entrance, he steeled himself for what lay beyond. As the door swung open slowly, its old hinges whispered in the dimly lit chamber. Near the door, William, his older brother, acknowledged Declan's arrival. Their silent exchange spoke volumes as they shared a heartfelt embrace, expressing support and unspoken understanding. With a wordless nod, William took his leave, offering Declan the privacy he needed with their ailing father.
The room was bathed in a dim, golden light from the flickering candles on the nightstands. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and ointments, and the subdued rustling of curtains hinted at a breeze filtering in from the garden beyond.
In the center of the room, the large, canopied bed served as a sanctuary of solace and suffering. Lord Robert Nash lay upon it, his once-strong frame now frail and weakened. His silvered hair, once vibrant and commanding, now clung to his forehead in wisps.
As Declan approached the bedside, his father's eyes opened. They were once sharp and filled with vitality but now appeared distant and clouded. A feeble smile creased Lord Robert's lips.
"Declan," his father's voice was a mere whisper, barely audible.
Declan knelt beside the bed, taking his father's frail hand into his own. "Father," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of reverence and grief. The room felt suffocating, like the oppressive weight of the world had been reduced to this single moment.
Lord Robert gazed at his son, his eyes struggling to focus. "You came back…"
“Of course I did, Father. Family is everything.”
Tears welled in Declan's eyes as he squeezed his father's hand gently. Even as he spoke the words, he knew they would do little to ease the pain that had gripped his father’s frail frame.
"Listen, my son," Lord Robert continued, his voice steadying. "I know I haven't been the father you deserved, but I've always been proud of the man you've become."
Declan's heart ached at his father's words. He had carried the weight of expectation, the mantle of a noble family, and the responsibilities of a knight. But in that moment, all that seemed trivial in the presence of his ailing father.
"You've made this family proud, and I know you'll carry on our name with honor," Lord Robert whispered, his gaze drifting toward the window, where moonlight bathed the garden in a silvery glow.
As the room settled into a serene hush, a fragile moment of profound connection hung in the air. Declan sat by his father's side, their hands clasped, not wanting to break the fragile spell woven by Lord Robert's words. It was a poignant moment where the weight of family and legacy transcended mere words.
As Declan listened to his father's whispered affirmation, he felt a profound sense of reassurance and love. In that small chamber, they were not the lord and the knight, but a father and his son. Years of expectations and unspoken sentiments found their solace in that quiet exchange.
"I am proud... so proud," Lord Robert murmured once more, the silvery moonlight turning his aged features into a portrait of serene dignity. The room was filled with a sense of closure, as if all the lessons, guidance, and moments of love had converged into this singular declaration.
The moon continued its silent journey across the night sky, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow. As the night deepened, Lord Robert Nash's breathing grew steady, and his eyes fluttered closed. Declan remained by his father's side, a sentinel of love and devotion.
In the midst of the uncertainty that shrouded Lord Robert’s condition, Declan and his family united, their efforts focused. The days were filled with a blend of hope and trepidation, the ebb and flow of Lord Robert's lucidity a constant source of concern.
As they tended to their ailing patriarch, the Nash family found solace in one another, working together with an unspoken understanding. They made every effort to keep Lord Robert comfortable, their love and care the greatest comfort they could provide.
Amid the hours spent by his father's side, Declan received a letter from afar. It was from Sister Ashenie, the caretaker from Mercy's Orphanage in Baldur's Gate. Her words, filled with compassion and warmth, provided a soothing balm to his weary heart. She knew the depths of the family's devotion and the challenges they faced, and her message was a reminder that they were not alone.
Within the letter, Sister Ashenie had included a heartfelt prayer for Lord Nash. Declan carefully placed the prayer near his father's bedside, as if it were a protective shield, a beacon of healing in the face of the encroaching sickness.
In the midst of these difficult days, Declan also took time to reconnect with his young sisters, Emily and Sophia, and with Henry, his younger brother. He spun tales of his adventures and experiences during his time in Baldur's Gate and Triel, sharing the stories of the remarkable individuals he had met and the friendships he had formed.
He spoke of his mentor and brother in arms, Alexander Marshall, painting a portrait of a man who was both fierce and compassionate, and whom Declan greatly admired. The stories of his friend and sister, Maevyn, the freedom fighter in Amn, showcased her courage and determination in the face of adversity. He regaled his family with yarns about the backpack bard, and how she always found herself in humorous trouble, and tales of Gaven, the knight he had squired to, and the valuable lessons and unwavering bond they shared. Whispered in hushed tones about Micar'mizzrym, and how she knew of everything, mysteriously.
The young knight's stories grew, just as the smile on his face, recounting his friendships with Karai, the enigmatic shapeshifter, Simon, the fiery monk of Torm with a heart of gold, Thok, with his enormous frame and heart to match, and Friend Wisica, the culinary master whose recipes had been a source of comfort and delight for everyone.
In sharing these stories with his family, it took the young knights mind away from the weight on his shoulders. Away from the sadness in his heart and back to his friends and family, so far away.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in rich hues of oranges and crimson, and the cool evening breeze rustled through the courtyard, Declan sought solace in the stables. Here, in the tranquil company of Aegis, he meticulously ran a brush over the warhorse's sturdy frame. It was a place often visited by the noble knight, and tonight, it was his sanctuary.
As Declan attentively tended to the magnificent animal, the door to the stables creaked open slightly. A servant of the House, bearing an aura of respect, peeked inside and gently cleared his throat.
"Master Declan, sir?" he inquired, a polite smile gracing his lips. "Master William and Master Thomas wish your presence within the study. Shall I inform them of your coming arrival?"
Declan paused, setting the brush down and offering Aegis two hearty pats on the shoulder. "Please do," he replied with humility, his gaze sweeping over the rustic surroundings. "Also, it's just Declan. No master, no sir. Just Declan."
After ensuring Aegis had been given a handful of oats as a parting gift, he turned to the servant and smiled warmly. "You can let them know I'll be there as soon as I can be. Thank you for your service, sir."
Declan then made his way from the stables into the heart of the Nash estate. As he walked through the corridors, he paused to peer into his father's room, the warm glow of candles casting a gentle light upon the scene. There, he found his two young sisters, Emily and Sophia, kneeling beside Lord Robert Nash's bed, their voices barely rising above a whisper.
Pushing the door open slightly, Declan leaned in, his heart swelling with pride and affection as he heard the girls reciting a prayer that Sister Ashenie had penned for their ailing father.
"Solace, embrace agony, For what darkness remains, Peace always prevails, And cleanses misery.
Solace, embrace sadness, For no tears are to be shed, When pain is sealed away, With the care of a caress.
Solace, embrace sorrow, For no torment should take hold, Where harmony has bloomed, No pains are sowed.
Mercy, guide Lord Robert Nash, His family united around him. Hear the prayers of solace, And let him find a painless path. In health or beyond the veil, What has been shared cannot die, So shall he always be cherished."
The sight of their father, his eyes closed and a serene smile gracing his face, filled Declan's heart with both joy and sorrow. He could only hope that Lord Robert, in his fragile state, could hear the angelic voices of his daughters, their words a heartfelt prayer for his recovery.
Declan's gentle words broke the stillness of the room. "To bed with you two. Father hears your words, as do I. Now remember him as he was in your dreams."
With soft smiles, Emily and Sophia rose to their feet, each offering Declan a hug and a small peck on the cheek. "Good night, Declan," their sweet voices chimed in unison.
Having seen his sisters off to their rooms, Declan continued his journey through the estate, eventually arriving in the Great Hall that was adjacent to the study. A moving sight awaited him within the hall.
Here, Henry, the younger member of the Nash family, knelt before the Triadic Shrine, a sacred place that Lord Robert Nash had constructed when he first learned of Declan's path as a paladin. Henry was clad in the House's black and gold colors, a shield bearing the Coat of Arms of House Nash on his left arm, and an arming sword held with his right hand, pointed down. His head rested against the cross-guard as he fervently recited prayers to each of the Triadic Gods.
Without uttering a word, Declan joined his brother and knelt in reverence to the Gods of the Triad. His head bowed, he listened to the young man's impassioned pleas for their father's recovery. Henry's voice wavered at times, his breaths occasionally interrupted by attempts to contain the overwhelming emotions he was experiencing.
As time passed, Henry's tears fell, and in a gesture of comfort, Declan gently took the sword from his brother's hand and laid it at the foot of the shrine. Pulling Henry into an embrace, he sought to provide strength and solace.
"What will we do, Declan?" Henry's voice trembled with uncertainty, a plea for words of hope and promises for their father's recovery. "What will we do if Father passes away?"
In that moment, Declan relied on the resilience of his faith to offer an answer. "We will endure, Henry. We will endure."
Declan wiped away Henry's tears and did his best to offer a reassuring smile. "Now, go get some rest. The dawn brings a new day and training awaits. Off with you," he added with a touch of sternness in his voice, guiding his younger brother toward his room on the second floor.
With his brother on his way to rest, Declan's gaze shifted toward the heavy oaken door that led to the study. He took a moment to release a heavy sigh before stepping across the threshold and into the chamber. There, the comforting flicker of the fire cast an enchanting, ever-moving orange glow over the room. William was seated at Lord Robert's desk, and Thomas was situated across from him.
"Come in, brother," William beckoned from his place, extending an invitation to the heavy discussions that lay ahead. "We have much to discuss."
Declan's reply was swift, his tone marked by a hint of skepticism. "Do we?" he queried, prompting a moment of reflection.
William then spoke bearing the air of the eldest brother and the weight of the matters they faced. "We do. With Father in his current state, you do understand that Thomas and I intend to carry on with Father's work, don't you? There will be no division of his legacy, and nothing will be allocated away."
The room became charged with tension, and a sense of discomfort lingered, even in William's features, as Declan invoked their childhood nicknames.
"Is that what you assume, Billy?" Declan inquired, his tone colored with an underlying exasperation. "And you, Tommy? Not a word from you since I've returned..."
Stammering under the pressure, Thomas tried to voice his contribution. "I-I've been at the s-shop, looking after t-things. I-"
William defended his brother, his voice firm. "You don't need to justify yourself to him, Thomas. He is the one who left. He has no claim to what we've built with Father."
In response, Declan clung to the legacy that truly mattered. "All I require from Father, I have received," he declared. "His love, his respect, his name. You're correct—I did leave. I departed to serve a higher purpose, to give without expecting in return, to protect without seeking payment or promise."
Taking a moment to breathe as his anger welled within him, Declan continued. "I have come home to oversee Father's health, to ensure Lady Elizabeth's well-being, and to spend time with my siblings. Nothing more. I am a servant of Torm, pledged to Him and through Him, to the Triad. I harbor no aspirations toward Father's business should he pass."
Acknowledging the unspoken tension, William offered a nod to Thomas, and then to Declan, preparing to address the underlying matter.
"I did not intend to—" William began, but before he could complete his sentence, Declan intervened.
"Yes, you did," Declan affirmed, ending the exchange with a bow to his brothers. "It was good to see you, my brothers. I will remain until Father's health is restored, in adherence to my duty to our family. Afterward, I shall continue along my path."
With these final words, Declan made his way through the spacious house, traversed the quiet courtyard, and entered the bustling City of Splendors, seeking to clear his head, as he contemplated the intricate balance between family and duty.
As the cool night air settled in, Declan continued to traverse the bustling streets of Waterdeep. The city, illuminated by the warm, inviting glow of lanterns, took on a different character under the veil of night. People moved with purpose, and the city's heart pulsed with the energy of late-night revelry.
His steps took him through the winding alleyways, where the rich aroma of street food beckoned. The tantalizing flavors were a welcome distraction from the weighty matters that tugged at his thoughts. He sampled a skewer of venison from a street vendor's cart, savoring the blend of spices that graced his palate.
Despite the vibrant atmosphere, Declan's mind remained preoccupied. He contemplated the intricate web of family ties and the duty he bore as a paladin of Torm and a servant of the Triad. These roles often felt like pieces of a complex puzzle, pieces that sometimes, didn’t quite fit.
In the heart of Waterdeep, a bard began to play a soul-stirring melody on a lute, and Declan paused to listen. His thoughts drifted to his sister, far in the south. With a glance to the moon above, a few words were whispered softly.
“Miss ya, sis. I hope you're staying out of trouble...”
The minstrel’s fingers danced gracefully on the strings, weaving a narrative that resonated with the paladin's heart. A soft smile found it’s way to his visage, if only for a moment.
As the song came to a close, Declan nodded in appreciation and continued his journey through the city. He knew he needed a place of respite to reflect on the matters at hand. He stumbled upon a quiet courtyard, surrounded by ivy-covered walls and softly lit by moonlight filtering through the leaves.
Amidst the peaceful surroundings, he took a seat on a stone bench and let out a deep sigh. Here, beneath the starry night sky, he could finally collect his thoughts and seek clarity. Declan bowed his head, offering a silent prayer to the Triad, not only for the well-being of his family here in the City of Splendors, but also for his family back in Baldur’s Gate and Triel.
As the night air whispered through the courtyard, Declan's heart found some peace. Leaning on his faith and the lessons taught to him, he took a deep breath and made his way back to the Nash estate. Finding rest for the night, hoping the new day would be better than the last. . .
The days turned into weeks, and despite the tireless efforts of the healers and apothecaries, Lord Robert's condition continued to worsen. The Nash estate became a place of somber anticipation, and an air of sadness hung over every corner. Lady Elizabeth, a model of strength and grace, was a constant presence at her husband's side, rarely leaving him except to attend to the needs of her young daughters, Emily and Sophia. The girls, though young, could sense the gravity of the situation, and their innocent laughter was replaced by hushed whispers and solemn faces.
Declan, in his capacity as both a son and a knight, divided his time between assisting in Henry's martial training and offering his presence and comfort to his ailing father. His two older brothers, William and Thomas, took on the responsibility of managing the family's business interests, ensuring that the House Nash continued to thrive despite the absence of its patriarch. They were determined to honor their father's legacy and carry forward the work he had begun.
As the sun dipped below the horizon one fateful evening, the Nash estate was plunged into darkness. The family and the household staff moved about in subdued silence, their hearts heavy with the looming inevitability. The healers and apothecaries had done all they could, and it was clear that Lord Robert's time was drawing to a close.
The moment arrived as if cloaked in an eerie stillness. Lord Robert Nash, a man of strength and wisdom, took his final breath. Lady Elizabeth was by his side, holding his hand and offering silent words of comfort. The girls, Emily and Sophia, were elsewhere in the estate, but they sensed the profound change in the air. The world grew a little dimmer, as a noble soul passed on.
Word of Lord Robert's passing quickly spread through the household, reaching the ears of his sons, Declan, William, and Thomas. Each reacted in their own way, shaped by their unique roles and relationships with their father.
Declan, with a heavy heart and tears in his eyes, knelt by his father's bedside. He offered a prayer to the Triad, expressing gratitude for the lessons his father had imparted and asking for strength in the face of the family's loss.
William and Thomas, in their roles as stewards of the family legacy, had to maintain a semblance of composure. They exchanged solemn nods and shared a moment of silent understanding. Together, they would ensure the House Nash continued to prosper in honor of their father.
Lady Elizabeth, though grief-stricken, remained steadfast. She knew that, in the midst of mourning, there were practical matters to attend to. With a heavy heart, she gave her husband's hand one final kiss and then rose to take charge of the arrangements that would follow.
Outside, the world went on, oblivious to the loss within the Nash estate. Stars adorned the night sky, and the city of Waterdeep continued its bustling activities. But within those walls, a family was beginning the process of healing and remembering, even as they mourned the passing of Lord Robert Nash, a beloved husband, father, and patriarch.
In the heart of Baldur's Gate, where the city's labyrinthine streets wound their way through time-worn stones, Declan stood sentinel outside the Shrine of Suffering. The night enveloped the sacred grounds, casting long shadows that danced in the flickering light of a lantern held steadfastly in Declan's left hand. Its glow painted a warm path, illuminating the solemn street that connected the shrine to the nearby orphanage.
As the lamplight spilled onto the cobblestones, Declan's armor gleamed in the subdued radiance. His gaze, firm and vigilant, traversed the path he guarded—a bridge between sanctuary and hope. The Shrine of Suffering, with its austere architecture, stood as a bastion of solace, while the distant silhouette of the orphanage echoed with the laughter and dreams of innocence.
He maintained a solemn posture, the lantern casting shadows that danced upon his armor like silent companions. The sacred oath he had taken resonated with every beat of his heart. Duty and loyalty formed the pillars of his commitment, and tonight, those principles manifested in the simple act of standing guard, holding the lantern aloft like a beacon of unwavering faith.
His thoughts occasionally drifted to the recent letter from Sister Ashenie, warning of ominous signs near the Shrine. The memory of the unsettling crimes and the mention of dark entities lingered in his mind. It fueled his determination to keep a watchful eye over the sacred grounds, ensuring the sanctity of the shrine and the safety of the orphanage.
The hours wore on, and the lantern continued to cast its glow, a solitary flame in the vast tapestry of the night. Declan's vigil became a communion—a silent conversation with the divine forces he served. Torm, the embodiment of duty, and the compassionate Ilmater, both found a place in his whispered prayers.
As the first tendrils of dawn began to caress the horizon, Declan's watch neared its end. The city, awakening from its slumber, embraced the soft hues of morning. With a final, contemplative gaze at the Shrine and the orphanage, Declan extinguished the lantern, a symbolic conclusion to his night-long vigil.
The city of Waterdeep stretched before Declan, its bustling streets filled with merchants, nobles, and adventurers. The cries of vendors and the clatter of hooves on cobblestones painted a stark contrast to the quieter days of Baldur’s Gate, yet the noises of this lively city did little to fill the silence in Declan’s heart. He stood near the window of his modest home, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rooftops.
The familiar scent of the sea wafted through the open window, mingling with the faint aroma of bread baking in the kitchen—a small comfort provided by his mother and sisters, who worked tirelessly to maintain their home. Declan had returned to Waterdeep to tend to his family, a duty he embraced wholeheartedly, but he couldn’t shake the ache of absence that gnawed at him. Though he was surrounded by his loved ones, his thoughts often drifted to the companions he had left behind in Baldur’s Gate.
He thought of Maevyn, the fiery bard who had always filled the air with her laughter and music. She was more than just a companion; she was his little sister in every way but blood, her playful jests and sharp wit a source of joy in the darkest of times. He could almost hear her teasing him for brooding too much, urging him to crack a smile as she strummed her lute. Declan chuckled softly to himself, the memory bittersweet.
Then there was Micar’ Mizzrym, a friend whose unwavering loyalty had become a foundation for Declan during their many trials. Her sharp mind and steady demeanor had saved him more than once, and he trusted her as he trusted few others. She was one of his closest friends, someone he could confide in without hesitation. He missed their late-night talks, the quiet moments of camaraderie forged in the crucible of shared hardship.
And Gaven—Declan’s mentor and guide, a steadfast presence during his days as a squire. Gaven had taught him what it meant to be a knight, to uphold honor and duty even in the face of insurmountable odds. The lessons Gaven had imparted were etched deeply into Declan’s soul, and he often found himself recalling his mentor’s words when doubt crept into his mind. Gaven wasn’t just a mentor; he was a brother in arms, a trusted companion who had always stood by his side.
But above all, Declan missed Alexander, his sworn lord and brother in every sense of the word. Their bond had been forged in fire and tempered by loyalty, and Declan couldn’t imagine a more steadfast companion. Alexander had been a source of strength for him, a pillar of unwavering resolve. Declan’s chest tightened as he thought of the countless battles they had faced together, the quiet moments of understanding that needed no words. Alexander was more than a friend; he was family.
The sound of a child’s laughter pulled Declan from his thoughts, and he turned to see his youngest sister chasing their dog through the garden. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Though he missed his friends dearly, he was grateful for the opportunity to be here, to protect and provide for his family. It was his duty, just as his bond to his companions had been.
Yet, as night fell and the stars began to glitter in the sky, Declan found himself lingering by the window, his lantern casting a warm glow around the room. The city was quieter now, the bustling streets subdued. He leaned against the windowsill, gazing up at the constellations. A small part of him hoped that, somewhere, his friends were looking at the same sky, thinking of him as he thought of them.
He whispered a quiet prayer, a habit ingrained in him by years of faith.“Torm, watch over them. Keep them safe until the day we stand together again.”
With a heavy heart and a glimmer of hope, Declan turned from the window, his duty in Waterdeep ever-present but his heart forever tied to those he had left behind. Though miles separated them, the bonds of friendship and brotherhood remained unbroken, a light that guided him through the darkness.
The sun hung low over Waterdeep, casting golden light upon the Nash estate as Declan stood in the courtyard, ensuring every last detail of his departure had been addressed. His time at home had been one of duty and devotion, but now the road called to him once more.
With a final glance at his packed saddlebags, he turned to find Henry approaching. His younger brother stood taller now, wearing the colors of their house with pride, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Training had hardened him, and though Declan knew he still had much to learn, he also knew Henry would look after their family well in his absence.
“You’ll keep an eye on them while I’m gone?” Declan asked, fastening the straps of his saddle.
Henry crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly in mock offense. “You think I wouldn’t?”
Declan smirked, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Not for a second.”
The two shared a quiet moment before Lady Elizabeth arrived, Sophia and Emily trailing close behind. Their mother, ever composed, studied Declan as though committing every detail of his face to memory.
“I suppose there’s no convincing you to stay?” she asked, though her tone lacked any real expectation.
Declan shook his head. “I’ll only be gone a few weeks, Mother. You’ll be in good hands.”
She nodded, a small sigh escaping her lips as she reached out and adjusted the clasp of his cloak, the way only a mother would. “Then go with the gods, my son.”
Sophia and Emily rushed forward next, each throwing their arms around their older brother. He knelt to their level, embracing them tightly. “We’ll be here when you get back!” Emily declared, while Sophia clung to his shoulder. "Bring us a surprise back with you?", Sofia's soft voice spoke up.
Declan smiled warmly. “For both of you. Be on your best behavior, for your mother and Henry.” The girls both let out a soft giggle.
With his farewells said, he climbed into the saddle, gripping the reins of his trusted warhorse, Aegis. The steed snorted, shifting beneath him, eager for the road ahead. Declan cast one last look at his family—his foundation, his home.
“Henry,” he called out, his voice steady. “Send word to Triel if anything changes.”
His younger brother nodded. “And you do the same.”
With that, Declan urged Aegis forward, the estate fading into the distance as he rode through the streets of Waterdeep, heading for the gates. The city had been a place of duty and love, a reminder of where he came from. But the road stretched before him, and his extended family awaited.
For now, Waterdeep would be behind him, but in his heart, it would never be far.
