Valiant's Journal

[Hitman Hard]

A year or so before. . .

Valiant stood in a somewhat darkened room but it was company to silvery-armoured knights, warm smiles, and a stone round table--stairs flickered out the corner of Valiant's eye. There was a well-trimmed moustache upon Valiant, his face was tanned, and full of ambition and soft-looking piousnes--devoid of the deep, jagged line of scars that would later plague his appearance and at times confidence. Valiant was gesturing widely and chatting with other members of the Radiant Heart he had met days before when he was allowed into their holy Order. Valiant said firmly with pride--his chest bowed out to make himself bigger than he truly was "I am a Paladin of Tyr, the God of Justice"

The Present

Vomit poured forth from his mouth and he nearly lost his footing if he hadn't caught ahold of the pillar before him. Icy needles firing off in a set of over-bruised lungs.

. . .oh, how I wished to breathe regularly once more. . .

A mountain-man beard sat on his paled-face like wild vines. Fresh injuries from high-spell assault laced his scarred face. Mirthlessness seemed to swirl about him; his kneecaps cracked with every step. He had killed two men in roughly a week; one with the deadly precision of a lie and the second with a rope. He despised them all. Criminals. Defilers. Some needed more than justice. He smiled thinly at the futile struggle and how in a spanse of twenty minutes of torture he could become the judge, jury, and executioner. He could wield power because it was good and produce good from it. The Gods couldn't possibly know-it-all, sometimes one must hold faith in his own instincts. Honour is a sword;lacerate well. He thought within his mind.

some needed to be broken. . . made to feel ashamed for their sins. . .

An old man had been watching him, unbeknownst to Valiant, and the elderly fellow adjusted his glasses so they sat comfortably on his nose before coming a bit closer.

"You've got a demon crawling inside you boy."

"What?" Valiant asked tightly.

"The darkness." The old man looked him in the face with a measure of pity and awe then shuddered and bolted down the road.

((End Of Journal))

[Hitman Hard]

((I lied!))

Losing sight of who I am so I thought it'd be wise to start this journal again. As time passes I cannot deny this mounting sense of uncertainty-- I am plagued by the maddening knowledge I have lost most of my principles. The rules I had set in place for myself have all been thrown out the window. The holy symbol of Tyr I once drew guidance off;used to feel the thrumming of its angelic power-- is cold and weightless. Hoar and his agenda is in my mind's eye and his presence thrums powerfull enough through me. Something about Him unnerves me; I respect Hoar whole heartedly but I will not lie and say there is nothing grudging and regretful about serving Him and his ends. Revenge makes you an empty, sorry son of a bit** and it reflects that when I look into a mirror in the morning; no mirth there just another kind of undead following his duty of self-detruction.

I have rage and no one is a neutral party of it's roar, not even my God. I let him know when I'm upset, he is a pretty understanding guy for being a dark God. Still, after all this time, a small part of me wants justice; wants to cast the burden of hate off my shoulder but Revenge pulls harder. And what can i say, i'm a in-the-moment type of character.

Religion aside, the aging question that plunges into my mind like a cold knife-thrust is a hard one and I can never seem to answer it. What makes me different than a zhent?


I'm not.

I lie, even to those I respect. I'm a liar.

I kill, sometimes they don't even deserve it.

I abuse duty to enrich myself; often when I am running low on gold and need to defile myself with alcohol; I even stole from a decent monk who had hurt no one or broke any serious laws.

I torture, but never for pleasure, (though it may appear that I do. . .) only to gain information or foil a heinous plot. If there is not a reason your no diffferent than the zhent flaying off arms in his dead girlfriend's wine cellar.

So far, I can only think of two things that separate me from the zhents, I never betray friends and I wil never ally with a zhent or compromise with one, not even a little and not again.

Oh. . . and zhents are successful, I'm not.

[Hitman Hard]

I looked about wise-eyed,the pragamtic darkness bearing down on my twisted soul;the void helped him knockdown walls.Shrug off the pain of being a killer.The dull roar in the back of my head was starting to fizzle out, I put a dark-gloved hand over the energizing vengeance symmbol,clasping it all serious-like. I felt it thrum with unquenched fury; it sparked ny rage-- righted my thoughts.I looked up at Lotrik, sharp and edgy; a smile crossing over my ghostly appearance. Lotrik, probably singe-handedly one of the most effective mercenaries on the coast and better yet he was loyal as they come.I had gotten to know him and thought him an evil bastard--like me-- it's always the bloodthirsty who make the most loyal dogs.

He wasn't a dog though, he was a friend.Or maybe we weren't, mayhaps he just liked making that hard-earned gold off me which I couldn't begrudge him for, I merely accepted that most things in life are ill-defined; happen with your back turned.

*****

". . Brother lotrik is that you a-clattering up the road?" I inquired with a wicked grin.
"Brother? Eh... yes its me" His armour was obsessively taken care of; glinting hard.
"Plate brother uh." I said with no emotion.
"Works for me--beats my half brothers for sure.Or well. . . Most of them anyways."

I said nothing, merely popped my back in a splitting, gratifying crunch then stared ahead all thoughtful-like before admirin the scary dragon skull; a smile forming as I glanced to the campfire and a passing tiefling, her skin was all gray and rough-looking. Like she'd been collecting dust and was recently released from a dark prison.

"You should get your own throne Valiant. We could be sitting brothers, too!"He nodded once at that.
"I agree, block off the roof." I said vacantly.
"Ah.Doubt that'll stop the caravan."
"Enough skulls to keep the roof door blocked off well enough, else we'll be looking over our shoulder all the time. . .
"Ah ah."

I wondered if he saw the demon thrashing in me; starting up a dark fire of it's sweet and sour madness within my ever-swirling brain of delusions. If you work hard enough, any truth can be bent with deceptive persistence. it wanted to be let out, an indiscriminate killer with a never-ending appetite.I looked to the shadowed treeline afar and the birds nestling in the copse of a tree.That damn chirping, explodes in your brain like a cracking siren.Sounds sound different when your wearing a hangover; the sun hammering down on my skin merely exacerbated it all.I resolved to drink an ale, it was sour and had a bite to it, some of the previous strangeless left me.

I smirked some. Lotrik's voice came in sharp in my right ear.
"Or just one big skull, there's a rather big dragon up north."
Out of habitm I picked at myale-stained teeth and said kind of lazily: "Mystic blades and all the washed up mercs of the sword coast cant defeat the great white.That's a good ambitious idea though."
Lotrik: "Great white? Never of heard of that one."
"What skull are you talking about? Yes the one past the descent. Legendary strength this one."
"Well something to block the roof door. Either a lot of small skulls or a big one."
I cursed myself for being scatter-brained and said, "Probably the latter, i dont have a closet full of skulls," I laughed at Ferragus as I said this; in a prompting manner to cheer him up a bit. Mayhaps then he would do his duty and pick his head up.
I heard a yawn sounding off from the other side of the rocks.
"Wonder what swam up his butt. must be drinking from the dukes cup too much.I couldn't helop myself-- screaming with a cold fire searing through me. "OF LIES! FREEDOM!!!"
An angry, female voice, I whirled around and saw the face it came from. "Swive'n hells.. Please.. SHUT UP!"
I could only sneer at the rocks in response.
Fionn: He turns his gaze to his left toward the outburst for a moment.
I faced the woman."Look me in the eye when u say that." A silence.
"What i thought. I glanced right, "Lotrik i got your next job. . ."
She brought her eyes firmly to mine, narrowed and annoyed. Her voice in a growl. "I Said.. Swive'n SHUT THE GODS DAMN HELLS UP..."
Lotrik managed a: "Mhmm?"
"Your banter and constant yabber trying to look like the new toughguy on the block plays out like a mouthy little boy having a hissy fit. Now shud'dup and plant it."
I tapped at my strengthened sword threateningly-- "Out of my face before I put scars in it."

The woman shouted hatefully, it was disgusting enough to watch . . "You dumb arse, you just told me to say it IN YOUR FACE."
The yelling awoke the genasi from his temporary slumber, and he glanced sidelong to the pair.
Valiant looked to the paladin, "Officer. . . this ugly (germbag) is harrasing me"
"Wait, genasi can sleep on the spot, nobody ever told me that," Lotrik said, all sarcasm.
The women said, "More childish words...Cute."
I spat the words out sourly, it felt right, "Don't take it too hard, duty-man. Wouldn't want you to break a sweat."
Ferragus Manus, the overlarge knight, scratched at his rocky textured nose, before closing his eyes again and returning to his standing slumber.

[Hitman Hard]

She was a short-haired, red-head, half-elven girl; her age hard to tell but young-looking nevertheless. Snowflakes fell in Nashkel and I knew what must be done. To preserve face, to climb the powerladder. A few ale-boys scurried past and said nothing. I had taken an instant disliking to one of the individuals whom has given me this task. But that mattered little now, I approached her. The sun half-masked by cloud; nothing more than a pale slash in the sky.

When I looked into the face I regretted it. That all-too familiar face.

I said “hello” in a struggling, thickly-accented common and began: my voice even-keeled but with a note of urgency now: “Ah common is not my first language.” I said in elven.
The town-bell rang off in the distance.
She replied: “Nor mine.”
I said, “I was wondering if you could help me? I am Shrae of Shevrash."
“Perhaps.” She appeared calm, bow in hand.
“I lost some of my companions in the foothills earlier today. I know they were outnumbered and then I blacked out.”
I wasn’t sure if she understood so I tapped my masked head, “From a boulder.”
“How may I help you?”
“I merely want to see if they are still alive. . the situation was bad. The storm had subsided earlier but i think it was making them finicky. . . stupid giants. I forced a smile in my eyes and felt a lurching in my belly. She was from Triel, I had helped her before as she had me, had been one of the archers to defend it. She had a sister, more than one.
I realized there was a silence and said: “You look like a fine shot.”
“I must make a stop.” She said.
I nodded nonchalantly and waited. It was about ten minutes later I realized she wasn’t coming back and fought down the urge to sigh heavy in deepest relief. There were shadows watching after all.

I waited till I got inside a restroom in the bar and exploded in a furious chaos-- slamming my fists into the mirror bearing my reflection. Then I got the hells out of there before someone noticed the property destruction. The only thing I felt anger and pain.

[Hitman Hard]

Caravels and longboasts flashed their drab lights and long, slanted night-shadows skittered and gnashed about the dark-clad man in his shadowed vantage; a hard-eyed docksmen sprinted by and bellowed hollow platitudes; mercenaries of the fist traded damaging sarcasm and would-be hero lines like: "There is nothing more deplorable than a divided man without rules."

Valiant pulled up his hood--after a moment he knew his presence was still undetected. The old Valiant would have enaged the fist officer in a sort of animated discussion on religion, politics, and how zhents were gradually and most sinisterly turning Baldur's into a sour, violent boil of scheming mercantilists and necromantic sadists. . . But Valiant cared naught and in that moment he dropped his holy symbol pf Hoar into the still-rippling ocean currents. Most Gods were jokes he concluded. . . he would wait for a worthy one. The fist's conversation was a monotonous blur of the same self-righteous drivel he'd been fed for a miserly lifetime. So the vigilante-turned assassin tried to stare hard into the docks and with great effort tried to see something in himself.

[Hitman Hard]

It was a sweltering, mid-afternoon day when the brown-haired wee Frill and his angular-faced mother with cascading strawberry-blonde hair made their way out of the mouth of the cave. Some monster had horrified them right out of it with a side-splitting growl. Seemingly no one traveled the road save a smithy fellow hammering away on a well-tended forge.

Frill picked up his pace now; branches breaking loudly underfoot as he struggled to follow his mom, All the wee had been told was they must make haste or the hunter of Talos would find them. They did not press onto the city for the hunter would expect such.

Frantic-faced, the woman threw up some complex gestures in the dead air. The two blinked out of sight, a good league away from the smithy now.

"We're going through the ride of Thundar's, Frill. Stay silent." Her voice held an edge to it but it wasn't reproving. Merely scared.

Frill thought the journey to Thundar's was a long, tiresome one and when they finally set up camp his mother said, "Helm is watching after us indeed," for we were fortunate enough to spy a spot faraway from the incessant guttural raucous of bugbears who screamed: "RAGE", over and over again through the shoulder of accumulated hills. Frill kept his head down; only ate the venison and fruits in his little tin bowl. The woman stayed on high alert and not take hits off the copper-boweled pipe that held the pipeweed she so oft succumbed to.

A sudden tearing drew both to their feet and Frill could barely hear his own thoughts over the roar of his still-beating heart. He tried to swallow. Failed and raised his gaze eventually to where the sound came from.

Frill fell surprised. It was the smith from earlier and he held up both hands, all peaceful-like.

The woman visibly relaxed but still held onto her son's hand in a death grip. The smith slowly shook his head at them incredulously and pierced the quiet, "I saw you earlier with you're by." He paused; sun burnt face crinkling, his eyes were a foggy, washed-out blue that you normally only saw on old-timers.

"I assure you it' all fine, on the way to Triel."

Again, the smithy shook his head at them incredulously. "Triel done died, there be remnants of what once was but it ain't the same."

Mother set her jaw like she was trying hard to consider something. Frill gripped her hand even tighter; hadn't the smithy spoke without that pronounced of an accent earlier?

"Appreciate the worry but we have lingered here long enough, thank-you for the information about Triel. Soubar is the best bet than." She smiled insincerely.

"I reckon it looked like you were camping here for the night and that ain't so wise."

"Why is that sir?" Frill remained silent and eyed the paling sky.

"Bugbears growing bold of late." The smith waded up closer to them and smiled wide, a trickle of blood rolling down the corner of his mouth all of a sudden. Mother paled. Frill's eyes welled up with tears.

"Here's the deal, I'm feeling generous tonight and rumor has it yer mom here will fetch a hefty bounty. So haul ye' butt down the hill and forget all about this, boy."

"NO!" Frill screamed, interposing himself between the smith and the only thing he cared about.

"Hot-damn," The smith snarled and hurled Frill many dagger-tosses away.

The smith's gaze burned with rage and he pulled forth a seven-pound hammer and bellowed out: "Seems I got some taming to do round here."

The smith drove his dusty boot into the woman's side and she let out a scream of pain. She coughed up a spatter f blood as he continued ruthlessly. And in a final moment, he raised the hammer to bash her brains across the blades of grass and Frill watched helplessly; eyes agog, mouth agape. He could not bear to see it. . .

The wee heard a violent slashing rip through the air and a swift "Ugh." Moments zoombed by. Frill felt a lurching in his belly and his gaze slowly turned back to see what had happened. The seven-pound hammer had fell to the grass. Fell to the grass. The woman was sobbing more than ever now, although, it sounded relieved, joyful even.

Frill paled as he noticed the figure.

There was a dark-clad man with a huge flaming sword dripping a dark, crimson blood. Frill was not sure he was safe.

The dark man seemed to sense his fear and said mirthlessly, "Run, you have time now to make it to Soubar. The way is clear enough."

Frill failed to speak plainly; it came out all shocked-like, "I. . . what can we do to re-pay you. You're a savior, a hero."

The dark-clad man drew don his hood to treat them to his face. A nasty jagged line of scars ran down one side. They appeared livid in the darkness. A storm started to brew; lightning cracked the sky. it was as if the dark man had conjured it but the wee knew that was not logical in the least. He seemed to respond on his own time, "One: don't ever call me that. Two: Use this gold wisely, as I would not. . ."

Frill's face lit up in a deeper shock, a wonderment really. There were tens of thousands of gold in his hands now; in a huge, brimming sack of endless possibilities.

Frill gave the dark-clad man a long look and thought the man gave himself no credit for his deed. He walked away without saying another thing but Frill could have sworn he felt his presence when the gates of Soubar appeared before him.

[Hitman Hard]

Part Three: Valiant the Mad

((Say no to quotation marks!))

Valiant walked into the chill of the early morning night; grimacing at it all before sitting adjacent to the preoccupied man. The trip had been ghostly quiet. Not even the lawless bands that stalked the un-patrolled roads showed up to throw their oversized stones. A purple morning light high-lighted the features around. It was all so barren, silent, godless. He looked out through the trees toward the road.

Hello Valiant.
Thought i'd bother you.
Bother away. He smirks. it was Luke. What is new and exciting?
A bit difficult to bother you. Your nerves of steel and all. What is on the agenda today?
Luke: Not much, just planning on enjoying the city so far. Maybe get some drink.
Valiant considered.
New. . . hm. Well met a few people but they weren't so rememberable. Drink sounds good as always. Though my thirst doesn't pick up as much in the early hours.

Luke looked quite tired, uncharacteristic for him.
Valiant said after a time, Heh. Who knows. You stayed up late doing something exciting by the look of it.
Something like that. Though to be honest havn't been sleeping well.
Valiant chuckles. Now we're on the same speed atleast. Nightmares of the once-forgotten past boiling up?

Valiant stood a moment and warmed his hands by the fire before sitting back down with a strangely humble regard. My sleep problems come in odd intervals myself.

Aye a few old ones and a few new ones. Usually enough of the juice will put me out though. Not a great sleep though. With that, Luke leaned forward, digging a bottle of wine from his pack and said, So any news about? Some scene at the Inn huh? Bentley must have finally had enough.
Valiant watched Luke uncork the bottle and take a long drink.Valiant sagged his shoulders a bit in prolonged shrug.

I used to seek council with James White, he's a great listener. Though eachtime I tried to ask more about him. . he never said much. A bit of a mystery despite all his well-earned accomplishments. Just Bentley wanting to kick-out unsavory types like me.

Valiant gave that sneer of his, And other hooligans.
Luke chuckled.

Can't blame him really, surprised he isn't crucifying those stepping out of line by now.
Or just shooting anyone from the walls who starts fighting. Hard to say though, guess that's not too great for business in and of itself. So you hear any good rumors floating around?

Yeah he could use a few tips in business. I think he has private advisors or something. Nothing good. Heard one though. But it's kind of stale. . orcs raging harder than ever in Thundars.

Oh really? Havn't seen too many orcs up that way.Know what's stirring them up?
Valiant shook his head.
Luke: Well that's interesting none the less.
I take peeks out there every so oft, but it's always just the bugbears causing their little wars only.
Yes that's all i've ever seen moving through as well.
Valiant made a lazy nod. Yes it is. You heard any, big or small?
Heard a rumor about a paladin who is talking to her sword. Not a good sign that.
That probably happens everyday. Grins.
Luke chuckled.
Was it Wai Li?
I am not sure, I never caught the name. Heard mention of Helmites though.
She seemed rather reasonable yesterday so. Hmm. Valiant twisted at the end of his stash.
It was... Talisen I think that was going on about it.

Valiant took on a thoughtful expression; watching the embers burn and gnash upwards.
I don't know him that well though, just seen him around abit.
Valiant: I know him but I don't. How alot of those sneak-thiefs act. Don't say a whole lot.
Yeah, im way too loud and opinionated to be one. Guess that's why I took to being a minstrel so well. He snickers.
Valiant looked out over the wasted country and said, Mr. Charisma indeed. One thing I wasn't born for was singing lest it's more of a grumbling growl.
Luke: Don't get me wrong, I can still duck and hide if I need to, but that was more of a self preservation thing growing up in Luskan.
Valiant : It certainly makes the top 20 most foul cities of the Realm. We don't really know who we are untill thrown in a rough situation.
Luke: Yes I always say you can learn alot about someone when a little pressure is applied. Luke paused a moment. Okay maybe not always, but I do say it sometimes he chuckles
Valiant: Freedom is a cage in a lot of ways. When I see children growing up under a temple-roof they don't seem nailed down by anything. They have chores, rites to go about, a purpose to follow."
Luke: He nods a bit as he listens.

The dark-clad man shrugged distantly before saying. . . Well you say what you say.
Luke : I don't know too much about temples and all of that, I just know when a gang of guys bigger than you starts calling out at you... best run if you don't want your face rearranged.
But when everything can be bent to a certain angle without preamble of conscious, the soul starts to rot and the slivers of humanity fade away into the blackness-- that is true. Sometimes it is better to just walk away. Makes you bigger, even. Temple life isn't for us indeed, Valiant said the last sentence slowly as he concluded his ramble.
Luke: No, I would think not. Too many rules and chores and... He zoned out for a split-second; a shivering on him.

The sun was rising. Valiant closed his eyes a moment.
Luke broke the silence, I suppose it would depend on the individual though, some folk I would imagine could thrive in that environment. Just not I.
Too much duty. Too much emphasis on the fear of losing honor.
Heh. he chuckles.I have no honor.
Valiant: But honor comes in different waves. Or so I tell myself.
Luke: Aye perhaps
Valiant : True. But I was just saying those with rules don't seem all that discontented.
Luke: No, might all depend on the individual in the situation.
Valiant : He takes a swig off an ale in his hand.
Luke: Takes a long drink of his wine.
Luke: So have you seen Nelwynn around much? Havn't seen many of the Blades actually.
I traveled with him the last time you did. Haven't seen any of the outfit since must be caught up with some kind of pressing issue. Save Elaria who was walking with Wai for a bit, though I avoid her a bit lately. Something seems a bit strained. He shrugged and drank some more.
Yeah... Luke took a long drink.
Valiant said nothing; merely twirled a finger in his ale.
I do need to catch up with her but she's a bit elusive lately.
Valiant: “Somethings going on, just don't feel like digging around it."
Luke : Aye things aren't working out well for us, though not sure if something else is bothering her as well. Anyway not trying to make things awkward he chuckles and takes another long drink.

Valiant fought off a sudden yawn. One of those yawns that come on for no reason. Everyone is bothered or reeling from the latest horrorstorm sweeping across this godless coast. I preferred when the monsters attacked more than the humans.
Latest horrorstorm? Luke looked over briefly.
Just people getting killed left and right over petty misunderstandings.
I haven't heard of too many murders around. Though perhaps im losing my edge.
Well there were those elven murders. . no one knows who did them. I am getting old or the coast is moving slower.
You mean the Crimson Blade? The beheadings?
Yeah something like that.
Luke : Hmm well I didn't hear much after the fact. Few whispers here and there but that's about it. Perhaps the elves solved their own problem, though I didn't think it was limited to elves personally.

Valiant waited for him to finish, leave a man in silence long enough and he’ll spill out every dirty secret. Do you know if gold was involved?
Luke : If who was involved? Gold?
Well I am not sure if they were crimes of a serial killer or shrewd, cold businessmen is all.
Cold businessmen? You mean a bandit?
Valiant scratched at the back of his neck, “A bandit could work too. Their a few medals down the chain though and bandits around here are more often than not hung up to fry.” He paused as rays of sunlight bled through a paling sky.
“Except that Castorious fellow. I think he was touched by a lich--Palemaster or something in all likelihood. Meh."
Luke offered a, Hmm.

Valiant gazed out pensively, almost as if he was looking through himself.
Luke finished off his wine and tosses the bottle into the fire.
Valiant had forgot about the ale in his hand and drank the warm ale left within and wiped his mouth and clacked his jaw a bit.
Luke shifts a bit in his seat. Good wine that, straight out of Luskan, fighting cock. Fortified.
Valiant blinked and inquired, The wine is called fighting cock?
Luke : Aye. Cheap and effective. Spiked to fortify it.
Valiant adopted a sneery grin. Best way to "fortify" is to leave it sitting for a few decades.

Luke laughed. Could do that, but the spirits do the job of time in this regard.
Valiant watched the dwarf move by curiously a moment. You should open up a bar since you know so much about distillation and the different brands.
I thought about doing that, problem is im not sure if I could settle down in one place for that long.
Bah. You stand around the inn like a scarecrow just like the rest of us. It's all about finding the perfect environ for it. A tricksy task.
I almost left on a boat to Luskan a fews ago.
How come?
Get away from all of this, visit my sisters.
That sounds like a good idea. You should see them if it's been awhile.
Left fifteen years ago or so. I Saw a few of them over the years but never returned to Luskan much.
I would hate to get arrested in Luskan.
Yeah, never got caught myself, though it was mostly fist fighting.

Valiant stifled a cough, I hear it takes forever to get guards to step into the bars to keep the peace. All bouncer-reliant.
It's a very rough city.
Then more people showed and a street-performer played a hideous song. Valiant said it was good to be polite.

[Hitman Hard]

Some days back. . .

Not for the frist time, he scrutinized his choices as calloused, raw-red hands hunted through the funeral pure of giant and man; was he not a hardened criminal now. . . A sometimes assassin? If you spent half your time saving and the other half lying, cheating and murdering were you not insane? A trio of boulders flying at his face but he merely rolled aside; stepped into the darkness of his environment.

The giants wagged in their unknowable tongues; eyes askance and roving uncontrollably. A dark sword appeared through the largest monster's gut and Valiant downed the other two before screams could be had.

- - - -

He brought the bodies of the fallen to the temple of Helm; some road-brothers, others not, when he was done he could not deny the feeling of well-being, the knowledge of following a purpose no matter how brief it had been.

- - - -

The writting is written warily.

I was surprised when Cecilia requested to speak with me but I went ahead and met her at the Belching Dragon tavern, we spoke on the past, the future, and the present. Where I was with God. I more or less stated the Gods had abandoned this realm and she replied: the path never moved, only you did.

We spoke on my identity, if I would stand up and speak out against the Zhentarim, that a person needs faith to rely on. We spoke as honest friends but she never delved into the unspeakable sins my madness had perpetuated; we did speak on bad influences poisoning my perceptions and goals.

But still, after all the lives I harmed or left half-killed that goal still coaxes me like a haunting song. It says: This is a way to power; take it.

I would be lying if I could claim all my problems were washed away but I left with some form of confidence. The world will bring you down if you let it and I know now the worst influence around me were not the assassins, not the unscrupulous mercenaries, the commonfolk, but those who wore trusting smiles on their faces. In fact, I know -who- has fed me fears and that power has no sway over me any longer. I will have faith in true allies and friends--because friends are where home is. And if push comes to shove where some might fall in the line of fire then so be it. They chose a bad moment is all. Though lathander's promises and agenda hold no weight with me now, there is an utterly compelling saying that I now wonder whether if it was created by man or God-- i'm thinking man because it's too beautiful.

The dawn is clearer when beauty reigns.

I could say no more son of a bit** amd spurn the one who knew just how to unlock that chest of madness and sink those thorns bone-deep till i'm just stuck drowning knee-deep in a dead mire. And I will, not for the betterment of the realm but for me. Because I know how to move the pieces on the board and this is no longer a game. I've heard that we die every five to ten years and reborn in the bright challenges of suffering, some even sooner and I don't think that's a game either.

((Song to fit Valiant's mood.))

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ix8zAuFwQwk

[Hitman Hard]

Valiant staggered out of the bar; eyeing a child of about ten on the steps. Shit poor farmer-maggot by the looks, but his gaze was blazing and stubbornly determined. Valiant sat on the steps next to him and hunched his shoulders.

"What are you doing out here this late?" As Valiant inquired he grinned thinly and cast the ale somewhere off to the side to a cat's screeching dismay.

"Couldn't sleep, and I can sneak out undetected if I will it hard enough."

"That's a useful skill. Takes half a lifetime to master for some."

"I learnt it from watching others. In casr I have to hide from the bad men. What about you. . . what are you doing here?"

Valiant considered, "Forgetting mostly."

"You got to say more than that."

Valiant eyed him skeptically and opened his mouth, "Trying to forget that the good men are after me."

"Anything more troubling than that?"

Valiant paused and eyed the ale he cast across thew way and said after what felt like eternity: "Sure. Righteous men are much more harder to handle. Because bad men will do anything to win and good men willingly land on their blades before suffering dishonor."

The boy looked panicked; just a moment. "You don't eat people, do you?

"No. I don't eat people."

"Guess your waiting on the righteous man to catch up to you."

"He just might."

"Why don't you let him win?"

Valiant had no answer for that, again the need to say something but nothing coming out;eventually saying: "Darkness is a loyal ally."

"What's your name, sir?"

"Valiant the Mad."

"Nice meeting you, I'm Harold. Hey, mister Mad. . . "

"Hmm?"

"Don't let the darkness eat you."

"Well-noted, goodsir Harold."

"Can you do me a favor, Harold?"

"Ok."

"Keep this talk secreted."

"Ok."

[Hitman Hard]

Some unknown day this week, Eleint 1351

Most problems can be burned clean with the right perspective. But when a long silence stretches on past the crimes and utterly irredeemable atrocities you commit; you know you’d go out of you’re way to be back there in the midst of it. It’s the chaos that keeps us psychopathic killers alive and the silence that tears our insides asunder.

I rented a room at the bar where the sign outback was too blurry and distorted to read; I went about my combat moves, honed in my ability to bleed into shadows, swung that dark sword across the room in a flashing arc; like a bat flying through derelict caves in pursuit of his next meal.

It’s not just the crimes that bother me, you could say I’ve had an extravagant career in killing--being on both sides of the Law. . . I couldn’t tell you which side is crueler.
I kept slashing because If i laid my head down I knew i’d be back in some past blood-speckled battleground. And I could not afford to lie in wait, every moment I rested in this room I became weaker and the righteous man got stronger. Every minute I looked around the room, the walls nearly swallowed me whole; the darkness that was my war moved in a little tighter.

By the end of the third bottle of firebellly-- I saw conflagrations destroying whole forests, a younger me running full speed down a cliff side to cowardly jump into the downriver--families thundering down charcoal roads for safety and dying; children dying. The Gods laughing it up.

People I could not save; survivalism beating justice and goodwill. Memories of being a good guy and breaking all those good promises. How it had never fit me. How most days were empty without the hot rush of crime, getting over people. How natural it was to fester on old scars, old pains.

--------

The knock on the door roused me from my slumber. It had been such a nice sleep. I stared at the man surly; he told me he owned this little inn.
“You alright. . scratch that. I don’t care if you’re alright. You broke everything in here.”

I was about to say something sour but I saw the symbol of Ilmater round his neck, it didn’t match the screwed-up look on his face whatsoever and it took a lot of effort not to inform him.

“Ah. . it was an accident. Was negligent and can pay for the damages.”

“What’s your name?”

“Valiant.”

“Let’s be brave now, Valiant. I want you to take a cold bath and get the hells out of my establishment and never come back.”

“Why? I’ll just leave and pay for what was broke.” It dawned on me that I had always been better at breaking things than fixing.

“Because you’re covered in blood, look like you just got out of the goddamn sewers.Well. . .”
I heard a sword being drawn, sounded like a war-siren.I curled up into a ball on the bed; did not even look up.

“Very well, the hard way it is, dead-thing.”

With surprising and blinding speed I was jerked from my sanctuary, stripped down stark naked and submerged into a needle-cold body of water. Might as well of been a fu**ing ocean.
I still think I surprised him the most when I let out an anguished scream; a howling gale disturbing enough. . . surely woke up anyone in a five-league radius.

[Hitman Hard]

(Tribute to the book: Emperor of Thorns)

Seeing The Coin-Soul’s Fire

Valiant the Mad gazed pensively at the myriad of stone altars and portraits depicting Gods and Goddesses in varying states of affairs in the faint cast of light in the holy-room: some conveying triumph in their upraised stances, others downcast with their bloodstained war-blades in slackened hands.

He listened intently for a sign, some kind of truth-baring voice to pierce through his chink-less blackness and set him free. A harvesting-place of selfishness bound Valiant to his existence, an old vine of greed refusing to wither. An inability to see past the past.

To learn from it and cast the pieces flecked with poison aside. Mercy, as ever, an incomprehensible and almost selfish concept to a being whom wore sin on his pauldron proudly enough.

He knew every fleeting moment of joy, had flipped them from one side to the other as he eccentrically did with a piece of yellow-gold in his hand now. . . searching for the tell-tale laughter of false-hood, a veiled insult in a friend’s selfless gesture, a king’s evil, gloating-festival before the beggared pawn as it’s knocked off the thorn-patterned board.

But there was no loud answer writ on that habitually-spinning coin or the acid-laced memories, only pragmatic knowledge, pure and true. Every good moment was borrowed or stolen for dark souls like him and that’s how it would be for standing too close to the edge. Failure whispered to him: taunting, always taunting.

He gave the altars a last look, mouthing the words, “Foul art,” and left, unchanged.Valiant didn’t fancy audience-seeking with Gods and them harrumphing in kind but could he genuinely expect any other outcome?

The other assassins were still fast asleep or within their private quarters, probably caught up in their own briar patch of thorns.

The sun slammed into his sight as he observed, all surreptitious. The Road was more a home than anything of late, savage and simple.

A white-clad woman apathetically summoning a zombie forth, Valiant stretched out a smile in turn and kept walking.Road-speak could get nasty real quick in such company and on such a widely-traveled road.

His focus went back to the zombie, the hungry glow wobbling in it’s worm-wriggling eyes forced the muscles in Valiant’s jaw to flare about disgustedly, the old pompousness of paladin-hood was buried deep and wanted to burst out from that bottomless pit of icy black and scream: You can’t do that! That was a life and that life held meaning!

Imagery of violent tyranny flashed across his vision; to cut that practically begging throat and take a heathen’s pleasure in the after-effects of wet bellows and despair.

Valiant ended his imaginings and didn’t spare another glance back else he would do the deed more out of purposeless fury than compunction to fight for a dead-thing’s honor.

Funny how the men and women he had been raised to believe were heros and protectors tried to see a problem in everything, create them out of nothing based upon their personal preferences and blurred perceptions. The throes of righteousness a disease that could cripple you enough, hard and fast.

It had been the building ground for his personal demons and he knew it to the letter. . .was super-keen on each edge’s cut.

He passed some pale-looking folks, akin to the same pallor of his own flesh, but their eyes held more of a forbearance compared to the strangely numb sharpness in his own.

(Will finish this up later.)

[Hitman Hard]

So, there I was standing before these two pale skins in their unscathed, yellow-gold breastplates, symbols of Lathander draped round their necks. The sun stabbing us all directly in the brains and yet they praised Him for this slow bake of death. Traces of sandpaper brown in their mainly snow-white hair contrasted strangely on their middle-aged faces.

They both had haughty gazes fixed my way now as if my silence was the bringer of a thousand sins.
Not many trees to obscure the day’s heat, though, the sun climbing climbing; the bright day, free and clear as it ascended.
“Came out for an early stroll, sir?” The fat knight asked.

I could witness every emotion scrawling upon his chubby face, fat people are terrible liars.
Luckily, I was a damned good cheater, liar, and coward-- proud about it even. Cowards see faraway, wait for the brave ones to talk themselves blue, forget where they left the key to the secret hideout in all that worry and bravado, leap into the all-consuming fire of a merchant-daughter’s manse; exhaust themselves in the courageous battle just to die in their tomfoolery dreams heralded by youthful aspirations.

I’m a coward and I’m in it for the long haul.

“Sir. . . you do realize we’re speaking to you?”
“How rude of me, how may I be a humble servant?”
The taller one with a so-so amount of fat upon his tattered parchment cheeks studied me like a barn animal before finally saying: “Merely patrolling the trade-way, have you seen anything unusual?”
“No, but if I did, wouldn’t that be the boon of the day?”
The fat knight snorted, re-adjusted his Dawn symbol as if throwing a half-ass consecration over the area.
I bit at my right fingernail, it was fast becoming an ugly, bloody stump and I told myself in thought I shouldn’t do that, then filled the silence: “This side of the Coast is a wicked and venomous woman,aye?”
I said aye in a mocking, lower-class accent just to put an edge in them.
The fat knight, ever the assertive one, inquired rigidly, “Beg your pardon sir, do we have a problem, sir?”
I cleared my throat with a huge smile, “I did sight a necromancer a league or two back, her zombie looked rather hungry, venomous and wicked eh. . . “
“Have you been drinking, sir?” Still the fat knight, suppose he spoke for the short one most the time.
“My thirst doesn’t pick up till later in the day, mid-afternoon if I’m feeling deliciously evil.”
The river was fast-flowing in the distance. “Not my duty, nor my problem. I have a tight kinship with Darkness.”
The sky was cloudless.
The short knight found his voice: “Our duty is to be a Light in the Darkness. . . you are a dark man?”
I chuckled amusedly, “Oh, rest assured I am a dark man.”

The fat knight was no longer fingering at his necklace but gripping it in his hand, hard; he broke into holy nonsense at that: “Dawn is Lathander’s gift. His Light vanquishes Darkness and renews the world. Will you accept Him as you’re savior and new dawn?”
Sneering, I said it with pride: “No.”
He short knight took a breath, “When you admit of being a dark man, does that suggest you killed innocents?”

But I was not listening, a horde of trolls were stampeding toward our destination, six times a man’s height at least. The knights were a bit slower but realization dawned soon enough.
I said aloud, dripping with sarcasm, “Well now, this has been a deep discussion but I must be off, Lathander’s blessing to you two, though, Tymora would be more appropriate in this regard, gentlemen of the Light.”

They stared at me as if I shattered a score of flower pots over their thick skulls.
The fat knight bellowed: “There are too many, aid us!”
“Have faith. I’ve been in enough scrapes as it is!”

So I left them behind and fled quicker than quick into the nearest sunlight-killing shadow. Here I am now, spying on the spoils of a terrible conversation; eyes looking through me like the ghost I am. Should I of made it right? Probably. . . but don’t forget, please don’t forget. I am a coward and I’m in it for the long haul.

To survive. To write the story.

This pig-headed gnome across from me at this sorry campfire has trouble writ all over him.

[Hitman Hard]

Valiant thrashed in the web, unremitting in his aim to escape. The spiders eyed him predatorily, clacking their mandibles. He skewered one easy enough, spun and cut and stabbed before breaking into a run, his expression flashing bewilderment as he didn’t like fighting something he knew naught about.

He spared a glance over his shoulder, only cold wind for company. No. A pair of giants rushing towards him, he dropped the heal kit in mid-application.

The realization he could not run anymore put real surprise in him, damned ankle twisted all over again; all blood-leaking and feeling sick from the eight-legged one’s poison. Judging the distance, he had enough time to use a scroll. He polymorphed into a Devil half-seconds later, letting out a devilish shriek and started a-clawing viciously.

Sometimes pragmatic people have to do hard calculations.

Valiant grabbed the giant’s head and squeezed it into gory ribbons , he then looked around vengefully for those spiders, growling in his new form. Some time passed and he dropped the polymorph ward, slowly watching his human body take shape again.

He looked around worriedly a moment for any witnesses then chuckled madly, amused even. Valiant rifled in his bag of holding for an antidote and says aloud: “Pah. . .” He hadn’t been in devil form long enough to regenerate his wounds well enough and was limping towards the campfire outside the Belching Dragon Tavern.

Valiant put a hand down his throat to throw up any excess poison pumping through his veins and cauterized the wounds he had gathered. He sighed some and thought about his life for awhile, keeping his back to the tavern wall so he could see everyone coming and going.

Hours Later

“Hey,” Popi said.
“Hey Vali,” Ronald Shadow said.
“Excuse me, Mr. Harrow if I could perchance take up some of your time with an important question or three?” Valiant said and nodded promptly to Popi and Ronald Shadow before directing his attention back to Harrow and ignoring the violent impulse to stab Ronald in the face.
“Harumph, Hunter Harrow puts his chest forward, What c'n an old hunter do fer ya?”
Valiant tossed the carcass of the spider by Harrow’s feet and said, “Can you tell me if these creatures are commonly seen in the foothills?”
Hunter Harrow pondered.
“They speaking giants?” It was Ronald.
Valiant gave a sideways look at Ronald but said nothing.
“Aye giants can speak, Harrow said absent mindedly, as if Ronald were a child, Yes, I do believe I remember seeing Sword Spiders around Nashkel before, to answer your question."
Harrow strokes his chin, “I'm trying to recall if I ever saw any 'round this time. Eleasis and all.” Harrow shrugged. “A few years ago... I remember one of our guards got bitten while on patrol just beyond the village.”
Valiant nodded emphatically, listening intently.
Hunter Harrow: “The rest of his patrol swore it was a group of Sword Spiders, we gave 'm a hard time about it since they don't normally come so here in the cold.”
Valiant chuckles a little, “Naturally.”
A half-orc in black armor with red spikes on the pauldrons strode up,it was Kagger and he eyed Valiant.
Valiant nodded; Kagger nodded back.
“Welcome sir Kagger," Ronald said.
Hunter Harrow looked at the carcass of the sword spider, “Right good dancers that lot."
Valiant: “Well I also saw spiders with a greenish sheen to them, hacking out acid webs at us.
Hunter Harrow replied, “Ahh ye been spat at eh," the Hunter laughed raucously, the laugh of an outdoorsman.
Valiant: “They erupted from the ground, can you identify this kind of spider i speak of?"
Hunter Harrow: “We just call them spittin' spiders in Naskel. I reckon some wizard of alchemist might have a fancy name for them but spittin is what they do, so it works for us." He coughed and spits out some phleghm on the ground.
Hunter Harrow offered."Ye said they errupted from the ground? Might be a lair ye got too close to."
“Indeed. Also, a few giants educated enough--Valiant’s eyes roll down to the mucus before glancing back at the Hunter. Educated enough to say a few words in common but i guess that's not-so-peculiar. A lair, hmm."
Hunter Harrow: “Nah, happens quite often. Usually learned 'm from goblins. They call you names?" He appeared to be joking.
“Nope.”
“Ahh. I met one once tha' called me a righteous bugger."
Valiant seemed humorless now but not offended. “So possibility of goblins in the area."
“Aye, goblins 're always a possibility. Even far up in the peaks," Harrow picked his nose.
Valiant seems to be thinking upon his next question, and scratches at his bald pate momentarily before asking, “You know an easy way to spot their lair or draw them out?"
“The spitters? I wouln't advise it. I said ye got too close, prolly a side tunnel. If its the actual lair ye'd have known. There'd a been dozens of the beasties."
“Admittedly, sort of obsessed about it now,” Valiant said evenly.
Aye, they're a right enough prey for most beginning 'unters.
Valiant: “Hmm. . . a side tunnel. Thanks.”
Hunter Harrow: “What we do with the guard 'ere is smoke 'm out with fire and then use spears with long reach when they try to exit the lair."

Valiant eyes Kagger like he has a stupid idea on him.
Hunter Harrow continued, “But we make sure to collapse all other entrances or put down fires. Ye don't want 'm to get out elsewhere. They can be nasty those beasties. Aye. I remember the great spitter attack from 1340 right enough... most folks 'round here can."
Kagger inquired, “What do the spiders spit?"
Hunter Harrow laughed, “Why more spitting beasties, of course."
Valiant answered, “Acid, saliva webs."
Kagger said, “Good to know.”
“Tha's right enough. Poisonous too.”
Kagger--nods thinking to himself.
Valiant: “What transpired in 1340?"
Hunter Harrow: "Ahh tha' was the spitter attack. I was but a lad back then ye see, or I would' a fought.Me Da' fought though. Wha' happened was there was a spitter lair the guard were smoking out. But they didn' get all the passages.So they were waitin' an' waitin', right? For the beasties to come rushing out, onto their spears. But they ne' er came. So then when 'alf the day passed they went back to Naskhel."
Kagger: “Maybe If I get enough mandables, Boddy can enchant my weapon with it. The acid I mean.”
Harrow: “Now just 's they settled in the Garrison again, the beasties came jumping over the outer wall, ontop of the building roofs, and started spitting down 't us from the church even.Din' take kindly to our visit. The guard quickly sorted it out though.”
No one really got hurt, though me dad got a scar from the acid on his right arm."
“Enough social information. Where are we headed," Kagger asked with some impatience.
Harrow: “Surprised ye never heard o' it, I suppose its not a grand story though, so most woudn't bother with it."
Valiant: “I can imagine so. Well, he sounds like an honorable man. What say you folks about gathering up some firewood and starting a little fire if can discover this side tunnel."
Kagger Redyard: “I can make my own fire if needed.”
Harrow: “Nah, 's the guard that orders that. Ye'll have to petition with them. But ye best be able to show 'm all the passages. 'Ey don't want another spitter attack."
Valiant: “Sounds like a solid plan.”
“‘'Right then good on ya.” Harrow sits back in his tent, apparently preparing something to smoke.

Hours later

The road-band spoke with the Nashkel Soldiers and then Hunter Harrow again, and had developed a plan somewhat. Popi had to leave as did Ronald, luckily, Lisanna Scarlet and Deacon showed up and they met a lady named Meb Berrach in the midst of the short-lived giant war.

They were successful in pin-pointing where all those Sword Spiders and Spitting ones had came from, staring down the passage now, even. The sound of scurrying feet echoed from the passage again.

Lisanna filled the tunnel with a fog of acid and everyone decided to go down it as there were enough singed beetle flesh strewn about. As the band entered the tunnels--they quickly found the passage sloping down, narrowing.

Valiant: Not sure if we are goign to be ableto fit at th is rate
Deacon yelled at Mab and Valiant, “Can ye squeeze through?!"
Kagger replied, “Guess... one by one in a single line."
“Should be able to," Mad speaking now.
Valiant held onto the side of the wall as he descends further and looks to see.
Kagger gets stuck in the passage behind Mab and Valiant
“Damnit Kagger!" Valiant shouted, blood rising in him.
“May Deacon suggest that... Oh."
Kagger: “Hmmm."
Mab Berrach: “Just kick him through."
Kagger got loose and said in a squeaky voice, “Thank ya Lisanna."
The tunnel narrowed further... Mab forced to lay down and crawl.
Deacon followed Kagger with his animal entourage.
Mab sheathes her sword as she crawls--Valiant continues to scan the narrow tunnel.
Ahead, the sound of buzzing became louder and louder, the band concentrated over the sound of their rising pulse; hearing scurrying, much scurrying.

Mab mutters curses, looking for a place to regain her footing. The tunnel remaining defiantly narrow.

Valiant puts a finger to his mouth as if saying for all to be silent and tries to be spectre silent as he progresses on.Deacon happily trots along, animals in tow, unaware of the buzzing and scurrying down in the tunnel. Valiant inquires to Mab, “Let me get ahead of you so they are not alerted."

Mab calls back gently, “I cant see a damn thing, the tunnel is too dark. Mab moves over to allow valiant to pass; but it was to no avail, both of them stuck badly.
Valiant tries to squeeze past here,slithering. He suppresses a foul word.

Deacon trials behind Mab, Valiant and Kagger, with his innate Darkvision.
Valiant moves in front of Mab, and can moves easily on his knees thanks to the spell.
Mab grins to herself, commenting:” Wizard aren’t completely useless then."
Valiant nods thanks to Deacon and requests for Mab to stay put so he can scout ahead.
Mab waves him on. Valiant moves ahead in the dark narrow passage.

Valiant arrives in a large semi circular cavern, filled with veyr loud buzzing beetles, scurrying around. In the center of the room he sights a heat spring, which the beetles surround.
Mab said in frustration, “Stop asking politely and cast your damn spell on us both."
Valiant could smell the scent of ammonia tainting the air as he drew closer.
“I can make five bursts of fire if the need arrives but none of you can be close,” Lisanna muttered.
“Deacon may cast light, if ye wish it?"

Valiant saw heat errupting from the hot spring, with sulphur and ammonia from the ground, along with water.Valiant goes back up and informs the others of what he saw and requests nightvision from the mage.

Deacon interprets Valiant's account as he returned.
Valiant whispers, “I think we are climbing towards the abyss."
Lisanna rolls her eyes in turn.
“Deacon dost not wish to have his beard singed by the heat."
“No spiders," Valiant said tightly.
“Did ya hear anything down there," Kagger asked.
“Just the buzzing of Beetles.Well,I think I should go back down and listen more closely."Valiant puts a spell on before doing so.
Mab said in determination, “Nonsense. we can deal with them. hold them off a moment and I'll crawl in to help you."
"Better hurry. My wards are failing," Kagger said promplty, his voice from a distance above.
“Didst thee see multiple tunnels, expanding from a central tunnel? These attacks... Deacon expects a network in the earth."

Mab crawls behind Valiant, pushing him forwards.
“Uhm, Deacon whispering loudly, Beware!"
Valiant turns to deacon before leaving, in mid-crawl.
“Scurrying down these tunnels headfirst, narrow as they are, seems very dangerous, what with these scarabs about. Perhaps we should forfeit our endeavor for now... Or find a way to create a less confined place for us to retreat to?"
Valiant responded stubbornly to Deacon, “Well just one more peek."
Valiant realized that Kagger may get stuck again, unable to move, surrounded by beetles.

“Deacon thinks ye will not be fine. Surely we have not seen the last of these creatures. Ye are in too confined a place to fight them properly. But they will do well in their tunnels."
Lisanna: “If i cannot cast we will have no chance at a horde.”

Valiant considers deacon and decides to gamble it. “Very well, let's both have one last look."

Deacon's beady rodent-like eyes keep a watch out for anything moving in the dark.
Kagger’s shining eyes are seen from behind his helm.
Mab olds out her hand in front of her face, trying to judge how far she can see in the darkness.
Deacon’s badger looked comfortable in the earth, the badger sniffs and tunnels along.

Valiant farts accidentaly in Mab's face, it tasked like ketchup and onions. A spell of digested onions and sauce wafted back down towards the exit.
Mab coughs, muttering curses on his family. Valiant offered apologetic mumble.

Meanwhile, Deacon’s rabbit hunts for worms and other crawly bugs, while following Deacon.
Deacon ties his beard around his face as the disgusting scent of digested onions reaches him.

Valiant looks on with his attuned sight and ears, suppressing all sounds.Mab's suprised grumble creates a small echo however.
Valiant shoots death stare at Mab; Mad gives him the evil eye in return.The sound of scurrying picking up.
“See anything," Valiant asked lowly.
“Blackness."
Kagger puts his hand on Mab's leg, praying to himself.
Valiant: “That hot spring is curious though. . . I don't know."
Lisanna, finally in sight of the spring, mutters a detect magic looking around the hot spring.
She discovers the spring is unremarkable, it does not produce an aura, although her view is obscured by rock at the moment.
“Deacon thinks we should back up. Deacon thinks ye should listen and crawl back out... These sounds do not bode well. Do not underestimate our position. Literally."
Valiant whispered, “ Spiders are drawing closer."
Mab crawls forwards, hoping to see something, anything
“Here, let Deacon create a little light for thee."

Valiant pushed forwards.

Deacon’s eyed widened, seeing that the walls of the cave appear to be moving, “Uh.Uh? The soil... They must be tunneling towards us! Back, back!”

Valiant and Mab ignored him.
Deacon turns around and tries to head back up, “...Flee!"
Deacon moves to flee and warns his companions.

Valiant scribbles a note and leaves it behind for Kagger to return to the group, It also says tell deacon to shut up.

Deacon’s panicky voice ensured,“We do not have long. Once the sulphur from the hot pool lessens, they will smell us out... And find us. Hurry! Hurry!”

Kagger looks at the note, reads it and crumbles it continuing his descent.

The elven mage, Lisanna, fires two empowered firebursts down the cavern.

And then they were all falling as sheer chaos commenced. The mouth of the passage collapses under the magical inferno... remains of the cave laying before them...

“Nashkel deserves a warning. Perhaps mayor Ghastkill should be informed of the ingestation of scarabs and other tunnel-dwellers just north of his township,” Deacon said gravely.


Kagger said ay and looks at his weapon. “Would love some of those Mandibles to enchant this thing."
Valiant:"You think we killed a legion of them?"
“Did any of you pick up gold? make sure they arent beetles. . . Folk have spoken of dying from them," Mab said as a matter of face.

Valiant Looks down at his armour and shakes his head*
“All Deacon knows is that they will breed and may attack from below. No town wall will stop them.” The dwarf-mage plucked snow from his beard, wrapping his beard around his neck, like a scarf.
“Every ten years huh. . .” Valiant said vaguely, recalling what Hunter Harrow had said.
“Why don't we come another day and jsut blow it to high hells?" Kagger inquired.
Valiant chuckled coldly.
Kagger strokes on the the heads on a pike. “Seems these were put here by the giants. Trying to tell us that there's something of danger here."
“How considerate," Valiant said.
Lisanna: Speaking of I imagine that fire made alot of smoke.”
“Not all giants are bad. . . ,” Valiant concluded, adopting a hippie tone.

Lisanna continued, “Yes and if we do not destroy the lair more will breed im sure you can handle warning the north while i work towards removing the threat here."
Deacon said good.
Lisanna:"I suppose for now however we have done all we can,”
“Whatever ye do, leave the maws of this cavern shut. Opening the lair may be more perilous than do good. As Deacon has noted, these creatures will not survive long in the cold, as they are native to Calimshan. Though... a few may endure and breed elsewhere. Deacon shall go now, and prepare to warn the other townships,” Deacon warned.

A dark idea crawled into Valiant’s head as he thought. . .

Sometimes pragmatic people have to do hard calculations.

[Hitman Hard]

The Truths In The Lies, Controlling The Darkness.

I could start this off with a bunch of oughts, easy and gratifying. I ought of been around more for my companions, I ought of used the Darkness as a shield instead of the weapon cutting at swollen scars, I ought of not killed for money or caused pain for no particularity besides the pleasure of bloodletting, I ought of drank less, yet, the truth is some of these insidious things delight as much as they burn.

One must be honest with themselves to deceive.Truth and Lies are inescapably connected and one cannot exist without the other.

You can’t reach a goal without sacrificing a few compatriots or forcing them to see the coin side they adamantly reject in their hearts and minds.

So how do you go about this? Drag them kicking and screaming towards the lava mountain?

The answer is a resounding no.You study tirelessly, find what pointedly builds that sudden pressure and grace them with half-truths, false promises, sugar-coat their talents to maximize foolish pride and once they realize the futility; fill them with bottomless rage and do it with a thorn-tongue.

Suppose it’s sensible to say, that’s not a friend , but if it’s making them harder in the long haul it matters little as power is the strongest ally one could ever attain.

Gold and claiming victory in duels and all the other commodities drawing your centre of attention are distractions and pale in comparison to power and it’s lifeblood: Lies.

One could say but it’s demented and evil--lying wrecks the balance of order of which beauty and harmony live upon and leaves those manipulated acting upon false pretense and chaos-- bumbling through a maze-like journey,wings broken and wanting revenge.

Someone once told me, “Your getting too good at that for your own good."

I should of said: Well that’s the point, liar. Foul sort I’m almost certain squawks to harper agents. Old friend.”

Every being needs mishaps, it makes them stronger, promotes grit.

And sure things are bleak, slow, and craptastic right now but perhaps it was meant to be this way so when ambition is reached, it’s value will not be diminished.

[Hitman Hard]

The Facade Of The Righteous

Are you taken to replaying old memories within your mind over and over again, trying to make sense of it all? When Lyons Torkel was kicked out of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company for causing trouble and broken bones in just about every bar he entered, he started a vigilante company out of spite, some of the members were even in the Fist. This is a memory-story about them, I was merely along for the ride.

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Ten Years Ago (Red italics are Valiant’s current-day observations.)

Lyons held a pondering, orange-eyed stare across the many bruised and hard faces. His stare alone could squeeze a room to cold silence.

They all sat on their horses, prematurely white-haired Funny pet his horse Glorious affectionately, Death Adams spat a nasty glob of tobacco out but his mouth was so dry the brown spit rolled down his split lip and it burned a little.

Shoulder-long, black-haired, black-cowled, Sam Blackwell had a sneer on him, sitting on his own horse Beautiful, he was the strongest out of the group the only one who wore black armor and was unmolested by Lyon’s discipline-provoking attitude and damaging sarcasm. One vigilante whom refused to give his name out, everyone called him The Governor and it irked Lyons a bit since for a good while he was the only one with the most impressive nickname: The Despiser.

Valiant, with a full head of hair, no edges and lines to be seen in his tanned face, sat silently on his nameless horse in the back, looking glaringly out of place in this grand, rustic picture of havoc-working heroes.

They all gathered around a fire-pit, Hells what else would they do when the day was short and the night was long. Lyons and Blackwell always persevered to keep a distance between them, as if their nightmare of absorbing some of each other’s personalities would come true. There was such palpable hatred between them, so unflinchingly expressive that it poisoned everyone’s mood. The ever-consuming fire was chewing up logs and roasting their mutton.

Funny had his crossbow out and shot birds out of the sky, no reason behind it, they had enough food to last til winter. Death Adams was carrying on about brigands ambushing farmers in the Farmland North but no one was really listening, instead wasting their time at staring into the fire as if it held answers. Lyons pulled out a lute and started singing, marvelous and inspiring.

The months flew by and the vigilante company was a roaring success, for the most part, they had a hide-out no one knew about it and it aided alot in dispensing justice without having the Fist breathing down their backs. Things started to sour when rumors that Blackwell had been bought off by thugs in town were whispered around like gold-candy.

Valiant could not sleep one night and heard voices rising in the distance. It was Blackwell and a female voice. He risked it and silently crawled through the bushes and tall-grass. Moments later, he was looking at a blonde-haired lady with emerald-colored eyes and she wore a gray, traditional-looking dress.
Shana was her name, two-faced sack of manure.
Blackwell’s face was locked in a grimace and he shook his head several times in disbelief before saying in a strained voice: “No, I don’t think that is what it is at all.You hinted at more than just “Friends”. . . is it because of my lack of wit, because I can’t sing those fast-thinking songs He can?”

“Your going down a dark path, Sam. You used to stand-up for others and now you’re always coming up with excuses not to. The others are starting to distrust you, not just Lyons.”

“Don’t say his name.”
“I saw what you did to those people. It’s not right and. . . I'm with him now.”
“I merely did it to gain information. What about when Lyons chopped off that pirate’s hand outside Beregost and everyone laughed and clapped him on the back. Don‘t doubt good intentions.”
Don‘t worry, lyons’ hatred eats him from within in due time, everyone sees the true colors of a monster.
“And for what side? The thieves and murderers of Baldur’s Gate?”
“The winning side.” Blackwell said through clenched teeth.

Valiant had heard enough and ran off to tell Lyons.
Stupid, obediant fool, if you’d of only seen who the real menace was.

Lyons’ eyes jolted open, he interpreted Valiant’s account, and started bellowing orders as if reaching a higher peak atop a mountain of madness and rage. They had Blackwell strung up on a rope moments later, the only thing stopping his death a rickety old ladder supporting his shaky stance.A man always shakes a bit before he dies, if he’s smart enough, others just hide behind divine gifts of the world.

Shana didn’t seem all that sad to see Blackwell in his current position, even said the words: “Praise Lord Tyr for the Justice we are about to have.”

You really think Tyr is watching this? He’s collecting his treasures, gloating over the ones he’s already found.

“Give me that crossbow, Funny!” Lyons roared.

“Why?”

“Do it!”

Funny handed it over. Lyons shot Beautiful right between the eyes.

I still hear that horse whinnying to this day and guess it’s why I’ve always had a soft spot for those creatures, beasts of burden. It’s a sorry thing killing a persons favorite pet before his eyes, guess i’ve done that to people myself, though.

“Any last word, Sam?”

“Yeah. You go to the Hells,” Blackwell said it in a croak, a heat in his voice.

Lyons chuckled and everyone had to laugh along, “You always were a clever one.”

Then Lyons fired off a bolt towards the rope. Everyone clapped cheerfully, Valiant with a sigh of relief and looking at Lyons with pride.

That snapping sound is burned into my memory too, another whisper of coldness.
A scar you have to lie about, just a scratch. . . just a scratch. . .